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Tag Archives: Putin

That Fatal Flaw

06 Friday Nov 2020

Posted by petersironwood in Uncategorized

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betrayal, coronavirus, COVID19, fiction, GRU, KGB, pandemic, Putin, treason

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Note to readers: Have you been wondering what happened to Dmitry? I have. You remember, Dmitry, don’t you? He was the Russian GRU officer who first came up with the idea of subverting large amounts of the the GOP into becoming a death cult. Needless to say, he initially met with a — what to call it? — a red wave of skepticism. But Dmitry had numbers and math models to back up his bold plan.

After the plan was approved by Vlad himself, the main implementation sticking point appeared to be finding anyone depraved enough to be traitor enough to kill a quarter million of their own people. It turned out, there were such people in America. Soon they began to focus the efforts on someone who was both a profound failure and who had an overblown opinion of themselves. And, when I say, “overblown”, I don’t just mean the garden variety of “overblown” wherein a dandelion insists he’s really a yellow rose. Oh, no. I mean the galactic variety of “overblown” wherein a small asteroid…a teeny asteroid imagines itself … really nothing more than a small stone floating around in space imagines itself to be of U Y Scuti size! That size of over-blown.

As we know, provided that at least occasionally we poke our heads outside the Fox News bubble, the pandemic is having its third wave in America — the biggest one yet. And, it is largely thanks to the efforts of #45 and his enablers. (For real!) And, that means, it is largely thanks to the efforts of Dmitri (fiction). 

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Of course, I’m not too happy about that. In truth, I also wouldn’t be happy if it were a million Russian citizens who needlessly died (or those from any other country on earth). Dmitry may or may not have had second thoughts about killing a million Americans. If he did, he didn’t share it with me. You and I would both understand that he would be greatly rewarded for his patriotic efforts on behalf of Putin’s ambitions to weaken or destroy the United States of America. So, let’s go check in on Dmitri and discover what his reward was for his innovative attack on America. 

—————————

Just as the Commissar arranged, Dmitry was the last one to enter the conference room. A broad grin broke out on Dmitry’s face as he realized what was happening. The Commissar had arranged a celebration, complete with flags and bunting. 

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“Why today?” Muttered Dmitry and immediately realized because America was drowning in new cases — breaking 100,000/day. 

The Commissar himself poured shots for everyone. Dmitry noted the brand and raised his eyebrows. This was the good stuff, he noted to himself. 

Dmitry greatly appreciated the gesture. Ilya, in particular, gave him a very inviting smile. Even Olga raised her glass and mouthed the words acknowledging that he had been right. 

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After the toast, and the synchronous clapping, Dmitry walked up to the dais and took the mike. He beamed and bowed and gestured for silence.

“This was a team effort. And I say we toast the leader of our team, the man we affectionately call “The Commissar.” Dmitri held his glass aloft. A few other toasts were offered and the din in the room grew correspondingly. Dmitry glanced at the clock. Hours before quitting time, and most folks were already impaired. He enjoyed a shot, but he didn’t really relish being impaired. His current buzz was plenty. Too much in fact. He decided to sneak away and check to see what his web crawlers and sentiment analysis programs had turned up. 

He turned suddenly. The large beefy hand of The Commissar came down heavily on his shoulder. “Hey! Congratulations again, Dmitry. Now. I need to see you in my office.” 

The Commissar gestured to a chair for Dmitry and he himself walked around his desk and sat in his appropriately more comfortable version. He enjoyed the plushness. The Commissar chuckled as he recalled that line from Animal Farm, “all are equal but some are more equal than others.” He smiled at Dmitry and wordlessly arose and sauntered over to his private reserve where he kept the really good vodka. He swung around with two shot glasses and handed one to Dmitry.

“Dmitry. You should be proud. Here’s to you!” The Commissar tossed his glass back and Dmitry did the same. 

“Oh, my God! That’s good! Thank you, Commissar!” 

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“Dmitry, It’s nothing. You have come to the attention of Putin himself! He has a special assignment for you — something he says will require a combination of discipline, mathematical brilliance, and out of the box thinking. Well, you’re it. I have no idea what the situation is, but you were asked for specifically and by name! Congratulations! Sorry, I don’t have more details, but I think you’ll like this part. It’s on the Caspian! You’re going to have your own damned dacha there! I’m more than a bit jealous, but you deserve it! Hey! Look at the time! You’ve got to get back to your apartment and pack. I’ll arrange to send on your stuff here. The way things usually work, your contact will come by and have tickets for you. I won’t even find out specifically who you’ll be working for! Your talent has been noticed. Go. And Congratulations!” 

Dmitry stuttered, “Are you… ? Really? This is so … sudden. I mean, I’m not going to say I’m not flattered or protest some false modesty, but … shouldn’t I stay and take Operation SuperSpreader to its logical conclusion.” 

The Commissar shrugged. “It’s not my decision. Sorry. I don’t think we have much choice here. Just go get yourself ready. And sober. Your contact will be there shortly. Sorry, I don’t have more info. It’s obviously top secret. Beyond my clearance level. We’ll be okay here. You’ve done an excellent job — a generous job of sharing your expertise. We’ll be fine. GO! I’ll let your co-workers know what’s happening.” 

Dmitry frowned. He looked at the blank poker face of his boss. He glanced at the party which had not diminished in intensity during his absence. If anything, they were becoming more boisterous. OK. The Caspian! That did sound nice. Moscow was already damned cold but he knew it would become much worse. He spent the Metro ride home trying to decide what to pack. Replaying the Commissar’s comments however, he realized he had no idea even what country he’d be in or whether he’d be on the relatively warm side.

He stumbled up the steps to his third story studio. “Crap,” he muttered and he threw himself on the couch. I just need a nap before that guy — what was his name? He shook his head, trying to sober himself up. Maybe cold water. Or coffee. But where am I going? His head still spinning, Dmitry conked out. 

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Meanwhile, the boss they called The Commissar had gone back in to share the happy news with everyone in the section. He glanced around. People were wasted. Oh, well. He tapped the side of a glass with a caviar knife and asked for attention several times. It was times like this that having a mike was helpful. People quieted quickly.

“Hey, I just have a very short announcement to make. I received orders from high up — from very high up, that Dmitry has been transferred on an emergency basis to another location. Meanwhile, the division head says to scuttle all our records on Project SuperSpreader. If anyone asks, tell them it was my idea, and mine alone. None of you should admit to having anything to do with it. And, don’t mention Dmitry. He is such an important asset now that we want there to be no way for foreign agents to trace him or find him. The CIA may be onto us and they will think nothing of killing him or torturing him for information. So…as far as the outside world goes, he was never here.” 

The Commissar prided himself on being able to read faces, even those trained in deception. People with alcohol were happy people. They were used to hearing arbitrary decisions. They were used to obedience. 

“Oh, one more thing, before you get back to partying. Dmitry told me to give everyone his regards and his thanks — and his regret for not having time to say goodbye to everyone personally. I’m sorry I don’t know anything more about his promotion and assignment. Top Secret. Now, Party!” 

Back in his apartment, Dmitry heard a knock or a telephone or possibly a doorbell. What was it? He had had way, way too much to drink. But, he recalled, or thought he recalled, it was only three shots. I should have a buzz, but not — how can I be this drunk. He tried to swing his legs over the edge of the couch but they didn’t move. Suddenly, he jerked his head. There was a man here. $hit! He thought, It’s my contact. I’ve got to get it together.

The man smiled genially, yawned and glanced at his watch. “Ah, you’re still here. Well, not for long. Sorry. I got here a little early. If you’re embarrassed to die in front of me, I could leave and come back.” 

Dmitry just couldn’t think straight. “What? What? Caspian?” 

The man tilted his head with curiosity as though wondering precisely how this one would die. “There’s no Caspian, my friend.” He chuckled a bit. “Nice idea by the way — the whole death cult thing. I would have never thought of it. Well, maybe. But I never would have thought it could work. Brilliant really. Thing is, it’s so brilliant, people like your Commissar feel it might be more appropriate if someone with a longer career deserves to get the credit. Don’t worry. It won’t be long.” He paused and then added thoughtfully, “If you’re in pain or anything, just give me a sign. I can break your neck. SNAP! Real quick. Just give me a wink.” 

Dmitry cast his mind back. Who was this man? What was he saying the Commissar who gave me his special vodka wants to … an image flashed into Dmitry’s mind. The clear vodka had only been poured into one glass, not both. Only Dmitry had actually drunk the clear liquid. No wonder it tasted so good. Liquid death. 

The man chuckled the deep chuckle of someone who revels in evil. “I see the truth is dawning on you, Dmitry. You’re supposed to be a genius. You should understand — in a system that puts power over truth, the people at the top are not the most able or the smartest or the most educated or the most talented. They are the cruelest and most ruthless. I hope you find that useful info in the next world.” 

Dmitry realized he was going blind. He blinked several times and squinted to look into the face of this man who had come to … take the body, he supposed. The nameless man stared right back as though he were a stamp collector staring at a rare stamp for that flaw, that flaw, that fatal flaw. Dmitry realized that his had been trusting his boss. 


This is part of a longer story line in four chapters. Here are links to other chapters.

Chapter 1: Plans for us; some GRUesome

Chapter 2: Finding the Needleman in the American Haystack

Chapter 4: https://wordpress.com/post/petersironwood.com/5422

Trumpism is a New Religion

The Truth Train

The Pandemic Anti-Academic

The Watershed Virus

A Profound and Utter Failure

Index to a Pattern Language for Collaboration & Teamwork

https://www.amazon.com/author/truthtable

Finding the Needle Man in the Haystack of America

20 Tuesday Oct 2020

Posted by petersironwood in Uncategorized

≈ 3 Comments

Tags

America, Democracy, fiction, Putin, Russia, story, USA

Dmitry paced the fifteen feet of his fifth floor studio apartment, sat down, immediately got up and began pacing again. “Damn!”he muttered under his breath. “I should have never gotten involved in this to start with.” 

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Natasha knew better than to follow her instincts and try to comfort him. She knew from their decade together that Dmitry never liked to be comforted when he paced. Instead, she tried to reason with him. “Why are you so sure you’re in trouble? Maybe … “

“Because I know, dammit. How many times has Vlad called someone in for a “special meeting” and that person simply disappeared?” 

Natasha nodded. “OK,” she admitted, “but this time may be different. Do you have any idea what it’s about?” 

“Oh, hell yes. I know exactly what it’s about! The GRU took up my idea to morph the American political party known as GOP into a death cult. They double checked my computer modeling and eventually most everyone agreed it was worth a try, however absurd it seemed on the face of it. But in six months of work, we have yet to find anyone depraved enough to come on board. We’ve compromised quite a few GOP Senators, but none of them will go along with actually killing tens of thousands of their countrymen.” 

Natasha frowned and said gently, “Should you be telling me this?” 

“No, but what the hell. I’m going down anyway. We couldn’t find anyone that crooked. No-one.”

Natasha realized that if Dmitry really did get disappeared, she was in mortal danger as well. After all, her job was to ensure his success. And, if he really did fail big time, the axe would fall even harder on his handler. He knew damned well that he shouldn’t be saying anything about this to his ‘girlfriend’. Maybe she would report him. Maybe not. First things first. “Hey, what about a prominent actor or businessman? It doesn’t have to be a politician does it? Didn’t they have a popular President who was only a second rate actor?” 

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“You don’t think we thought of that? We tried … we got close with a few. They’re okay with stealing money, but actually killing people — so many wimpy Americans. For some weird reason, they draw the line at murder. We need someone who has no grasp of reality. On the edge of insanity. Most business successes — unless they just inherited all their wealth — and even then, they’ll just lose their inherited wealth if they can’t face reality so … and actors? Sure there are a lot on the edge. But not over the edge…well, none that would be popular enough. We’ve tried successful people in religion, business, show business…but no luck. There has to be something. But we haven’t found it. What are we missing?” 

Natasha spoke quietly. “What about unsuccessful people, Dmitry?” 

“What? What are you talking about? Why would we want someone unsuccessful?” 

“OK, Dmitry, just hear me out. Someone who is actually successful has some sense of accomplishment. They are not going to be that easy to puppetize. On the other hand…if you could find someone who is actually a failure as a politician, or a failure as a businessperson or a failure as an actor….”



Dmitry stopped pacing and looked at Natasha. “Wait a moment! You might be onto something, Natasha! We have been baying at the moon all this time when we really should be baying at the streetlight!” 

Natasha smiled, “Or, even a porch light. Or a picture of the moon.”  

Dmitry frowned. “A porch light? What are you talking about? What picture?” 

Natasha tilted her head and clucked her tongue. “He — or she — but probably he — he could be a complete failure. But someone who wants to be seen as successful. Someone who has lied about his success would be perfect.” 

Dmitry began pacing again. “I see what you mean, but there’s one problem. Someone that inept would be too inept to carry out the assignment even though — I agree that they might be willing — how can they be inept and competent at the same time?” 

Natasha thought for a moment. “Their ineptitude could actually be an asset, Dmitry. They could be saying and doing all sorts of random and idiotic things. But that would distract the American people from the real action. See what I mean? The more inept and stupid he is publicly, the more people will discount the effectiveness of our puppet — to the point where they won’t see our operations and plans at all.” 

Dmitry walked over to the window and stared out at the harsh sodium lit streets of Moscow. He wondered why he hadn’t thought of this himself. Someone who was actually an abject failure but who liked to project the image of a success. Someone who was a complete sociopath, obviously, and so hungry for success, they would betray their country, their party, everything. But does such a person even exist, he wondered. He turned back toward Natasha.

“It might just work. If I could go in tomorrow with a few likely names, I might just turn this thing around. Can you start searching? I’m not sure how to find such a person, but it’s worth a try. I’m going to call — it’s late — but not too late. I’ll get a research team on it too. I can’t tell them why. I just need the names of some complete frauds, maybe even someone in legal trouble but not in jail. There has to be someone in a country of 370 million people.” For the first time in many days, Dmitry laughed. “Maybe we can put an ad in FORBES or FORTUNE. Wanted: Complete business failure. Must be vainglorious and divorced from reality. If only we could be that open about it!” He laughed again. 

Natasha smiled. She wondered whether Dmitry would ever discover her own assignment. She liked Dmitry. She really did. She enjoyed their love-making sessions. How would he react to discover that their falling in love had been orchestrated by the GRU. All their so-called geniuses had to be overseen. After all, how else could the Kremlin ensure that people such as Dmitry didn’t become jaded, compromised, or even double agents? Maybe she could make him see that. But maybe not. When it came to mathematical modeling, not to mention chess, Dmitry really was a genius. But when it came to people, his career would have been minor indeed without Natasha taking care of the people side of things. 

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She had grown genuinely fond of him. It was sad to think that if she succeeded in helping Dmitry carry out his audacious plot, she herself would probably have to be the one to poison him. Maybe she could talk her superiors into making it a quick-acting one or even a fall from the balcony? She had to be careful though. Too much push in that direction would bring suspicion on her. Her handlers might think that she had “gone soft” — really fallen in love. She couldn’t let that happen. No, she’d carry out whatever plans they had. There was always an outside chance that the powers that be would not want to “tie up the loose ends.” After all, he did do excellent modeling. And, teamed up with her, they might even be rewarded with a bigger apartment and a higher salary. Natasha doubted it, but — one never knew.

First things first, she thought. She sat down at the keyboard. How the hell to find someone who is both a gigantic failure but also a con man who has always portrayed himself as a success? Rich. That’s where to start. Someone who inherited a lot of money but never actually accomplished much on their own. As for Dmitry…she really hoped the GRU decided to keep him on. It would be a pain to be assigned to someone else. Ah, well, she thought, such is life.

She typed: fraud loser business failure con man

She smiled and thought to herself: This may be easier than I thought.

——————————————————————————-

Prequel to this story: Plans for us; some GRUesome 

Here are links to chapters subsequent to today’s blog.

Chapter 3: https://wordpress.com/post/petersironwood.com/5400

Chapter 4: https://wordpress.com/post/petersironwood.com/5422

Trumpism is a new religion

The Truth Train

The Pandemic Anti-Academic

The Watershed Virus 

Unmasked

The Ailing King of Agitate

The only “Them” that counts is all of US

Where does your loyalty lie? 

Essays on America: My cousin Bobby

Essays on America: The Stopping Rule

Essays on America: The Game

Essays on America: The Update Problem 

Essays on America: Wednesday 

Essays on America: The Interview

15 Tuesday Sep 2020

Posted by petersironwood in Uncategorized

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Tags

#45, America, disaster, Election, politics, Putin, treason, USA

The room smelled of old money, paneled as it was with Chestnut from a time when Chestnut trees grew to 100 feet tall. The draperies hung thick, blocking out the cheery morning sun. The trappings lent an air of solemnity and useless lavishness to the proceedings. Marvin saw one of the skirts sashay in with a tray of the sundry sweets and coffees. Everyone checked out their order — and the skirt which was appropriately short. Marvin could see from everyone’s expression that they were pleased. Apparently, she had brought the treats without messing up anyone’s orders for a change. Good, thought Marvin. A good omen. Let’s get this sucker started.

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“All right gentleman. I hereby call this meeting to order. As you know, we have a weighty decision before us. Who is going to run our domestic business enterprises. Our first candidate has been running our Midwestern division for three and a half years. During that time, our profits have reached record numbers. Some of his detractors say he fudged the numbers. What we do know is that we have had a record number of lawsuits and fines from OSHA, the FDA, the EPA, and the EOC. We’ve tied all these suits up in the courts and they won’t be settled till long after everyone on this board, myself included, will be long dead.”

There were appreciative nods and chuckles throughout the room. 

“I know there were those among you who didn’t think we should hire a reality TV show host instead of a competent and experienced engineer. And, it’s true that he’s shaken things up a bit. But I think, on the whole, the profit numbers speak for themselves.” 

Marvin could see that Mark wrung his hands and bit his lip. He ignored it and pressed on. 

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Matthew broke in. “Marvin, I am just wondering: do the numbers really speak for themselves? Have we done any independent auditing of those numbers? And, if the profits are up, why is it taking four times as long per unit? Why are we losing so many sales people to the competition? Why are we having a record number of customer complaints?”

Thoughtful nods surrounded Marvin. He had to nip this crap in the bud. If Connie Boy didn’t get the job, Marvin knew he wouldn’t get his promised kickback or the 13-year old virgin he’d been promised. “Look, we can delve into the details in a minute or two and you can ask all the questions you want. But I just want to go over the high points first. So, let’s review more about his actual results before … “ 

Now, James interrupted. “Speaking of results, doesn’t it bother you that we’ve lost almost our entire Midwestern sales force? And no wonder! Connie Boy has repeatedly dissed them. He does it with his morning ‘Pep Talks.’ He does it on social media. And, there are reports that he goes out golfing almost every afternoon with the CEO’s of some of our major competitors. Doesn’t that strike you as strange?”

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Marvin chewed his lips as though he were taking the objection seriously and opened his mouth to counter this new avenue of attack against the guy who would make him rich. 

Too late, thought Marvin. Damn!   

Luke, who rarely spoke, had launched into a new tirade. “I hate to be the one to say this, but we cannot ignore the fact that he’s clearly skimming off the top. The books are cooked, folks. This guy said he was independently wealthy so we didn’t even have to pay him a salary. I know we thought at the time we’d save some money for the shareholders, but actually he’s stolen far more than his salary and he uses the company cars and jet, not only for his own pleasure trips but for his family’s trips as well.” 

Before Marvin could formulate a counter-argument, John piled on. “And, then there are his strange hiring decisions. He fired the Director of Engineering and replaced him with his caddy. He doesn’t know anything about engineering. And, he fired the VP of Logistics, who was highly respected in the field, with his son-in-law who doesn’t know diddly about logistics. In fact…have you met him? I’m not sure he knows much about anything. Anyway, he certainly doesn’t know logistics.” 

Marvin jumped in by pounding on the table, “IF YOU PLEASE, Gentleman, I would like to finish my — look, I’m not advocating for Connie Boy, but I mean, he has been in the job and — yes, he has some foibles, but … “

“Foibles?” Questioned Timothy. “Foibles? From what I heard, his disdain of safety regulations is precisely why not one, not two, but three factories burned to the ground.” 

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Marvin scowled. “Those were accidents and you know it! Bad luck! No-one could have predicted that using smaller gauge wires than recommended would cause fires.” 

Peter sighed heavily, “Of course it’s predictable! It’s simple physics.”

Marvin felt the blood in his temples pound. His heart began to race. The vision of the beautiful young virgin clouded up. “It’s not science! He says he knows more about science than scientists do! I believe him! I don’t know what’s wrong with you people! He was trying to save us money by buying thinner wires. Isn’t saving money a good thing?” 

Marvin stood up and banged the gavel. “As Chairman of the Board, I am in charge here! And, we will have plenty of time to discuss the pros and cons later. I just wanted to review the record before his scheduled interview. It’s time for the candidate. Let’s table the discussion until we hear from him directly. I’m pretty sure you’ll be more amenable to his candidacy once you hear his plans for improving the entire domestic operation.” 

He pressed the button near the gavel. Within seconds, the skirt returned. She smiled prettily and said, “Yes, Mr, Mitchell? What can I do for you?” 

“Sally, bring in Connie Boy, would you?” 

Susan reddened slightly. She thought to herself, I’ve worked here for four years and he still doesn’t know my name. “I’m sorry, Sir. He’s not here.” 

Marvin clenched his teeth tightly. “Not here?! What the f+$# is wrong with you, Shirley? I’ve got the whole damned Board here! I distinctly told you to have him here at 9 am sharp!”

“You certainly did, Mr. Mitchell. And, he agreed to come. He confirmed when I called again yesterday. And, he texted me an hour ago that he would be here on time.” 

Marvin knew that his face was turning purple but he didn’t care. “Well get him here now or I will fire your sorry ass!” 

Susan reddened still more. “Am I the FBI? How am I supposed to find him. I’m not his … keeper.” 

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Timothy chuckled slightly. “Come on, Marvin, how is she supposed to make him appear?” 

Marvin turned to Timothy. “How should I know? That’s her job! That’s your job, Sally! Or, was. You’re fired! Send in Betty! I’m promoting her. Clear out your desk.” 

Susan took several deep breaths to calm herself. “There is no-one in the office named ‘Betty.’ Do you mean Barbara?” 

Marvin knew he was skating on thin ice now, but he was past caring, “Send in the one with the biggest tits!”

“Certainly, Sir. That would be me.” She stared insolently at Marvin.

Marvin reddened, his blood pressure skyrocketing dangerously. “Fine. Get hold of him.” 

Just then, Timothy felt his cellphone vibrate and he glanced at the face. He read it and held it up as he said, “It’s Connie. He wants to call in. Says his foursome got stuck behind a foursome of … well … of women — though that’s not the word he used. He’s going to call in on my phone. He didn’t have your number, Marvin.” 

Marvin said, “Thanks. Put it on speaker.” Marvin made a sweeping gesture toward Susan as though he were brushing a fly off the desk. “Shoo. Shoo.” 

The minutes went by in silence. Finally, the voice of Connie Boy came on. “Hey, guys! I hear you wanted to ask me some questions. I know it’s just a formality. But here I am. Ask away.”

Marvin tried to sound cheerful. “So, Timothy says you were stuck behind a group of … of … women and that’s why you’re late.” 

Connie Boy yelled, “What? No, no. He misunderstood. We were stuck behind a foursome of pussies but I’m not late. It’s only 9:45 am.” 

Marvin looked at the clock on the wall. It said 10:30. He glanced at his watch. 10:30. He checked his cell. 10:30. “Fine. Connie, can you please tell us about your plans for how you will improve our domestic operations if we make you President of that division.” 

Connie thought in silence for a moment and then said, “But so I think, I think it would be, I think it would be very, very, I think we’d have a very, very solid, we would continue what we’re doing, we’d solidify what we’ve done, and we have other things on our plate that we want to get done.”

Marvin put his face in his hands. He didn’t want to see the reaction on the faces of the Board. 

Marvin chewed his lower lip. Maybe Connie Boy was just nervous. “OK, Connie. That’s good. Say more. How would you improve things?” 

“Well, I hear there’s another candidate, and he’s a communist. And, he will literally burn down your factories. Look at the news! Turn on the news! There’s a picture of a factory burning! That’s what will happen if you choose him! He’ll burn down our factories. Turn on Fox News right now.” 

Marvin, grabbed the remote and clicked on the TV. Sure enough, there was a picture of a factory fire.



Thomas walked over to the TV and pointed at the caption. It said: ‘Kenosha.’ “Connie, isn’t that our factory in Kenosha? That’s one of the one’s you’re in charge of, right?” 

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“Yes! Yes! That’s what I’m talking about! It’s horrible! It’s terrible! If you choose that commie, he’ll burn down factories like this!” 

Thomas looked long and hard at Marvin. 

Connie continued, “Look, guys, I gotta go soon. Any other questions?”

Paul asked, “Connie, can you just say a little more about what you actually plan to do to improve domestic operations?”

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Connie Boy launched into another answer. “Well, I took over this job as a rookie. You know. I was famous. I should have won three, four, maybe five Emmy’s for my show, but whatever. Politics. You know. But I was not familiar. Not experienced with running factories. One of the things that will be really great — you know the word ‘experience’ is still good. I always say talent is more important than experience. I’ve always said that. But the word ‘experience’ is a very important word. I never did a factory before. I only was in the Midwest maybe I think 17 times. All of a sudden, I’m in charge of factories in the Midwest. I go to Chicago and ride down the Miracle Mile and I say, ‘This is great.’ But I don’t know anyone in the Midwest. No-one. But now I know everyone. Plus, I am a stable genius. So there’s that. Did I tell you I had a cognitive test? Yes, the doctors were like, ‘Oh, My God, this guy is a genius. He remembered the words.’ You know. Words. Like they tell me, ‘remember these words: Putin, Mango, Slut, Camera, Porn.’ Then they ask me the words and I say, ‘Putin, Mango, Slut, Camera, Porn Film.’ Okay. But then, like a few minutes later, they say, ‘Hey, you know those words. Tell us them again. So, I’m like, ‘Okay, Putin, Mango, Slut, Camera, Porn Star.’ And the doctors are like flubbergasted, falbergasted, whatever…amazed…they say, no-one in the history of the world has been able to remember five words like that. I got all of them. It was — I should win a Nobel Piece Prize — no-one else is such a stable genius. So that’s my plan. You know. And don’t pick the commie. Because he will set your factories on fire. Gotta go.” 

Paul spoke up. “Before you go, why are we having such an unusually high number of employee complaints?” 

Connie Boy said quickly, “Oh, that’s fake news. Nobody and I mean nobody has done more for our workers than I have! Nobody. Look it up. Everyone knows it. I’m the best friend any of those employees ever had. But now, I really have important stuff to get to. Bye.” 



The line went dead. Marvin drew in a long breath. He felt like hiding under the table, but instead, he put on his most steely look and decided he may as well brazen it out. “Well, there you go. I say we vote him in. We don’t really need to waste time listening to the other candidate. You heard Connie. The other guy is a commie! We don’t need a commie running our factories.” 

Marvin pushed the button and a dark-haired woman came in. “Where’s … who are you?” 

“I’m Barbara. I’m Susan’s replacement. How can I help you?” 

“What happened to Sally?” 

“There is no-one here named ‘Sally’ — Susan — who was your secretary for four years — you fired her and I’m her replacement, Barbara.”

“You’re not … well, get Sally back! Anyway, never mind. Doesn’t matter. Cancel the other candidate. We’ve heard enough. Connie is our man. Right guys?” 

Marvin kept his eyes glued on the gavel ready to shout anyone down who disagreed with him. “All in favor of appointing Connie Boy as President of domestic operations, signify by raising your right hand the ayes have it. Next order of business is….”

Peter spoke in a calm quiet voice. “Marvin. None of us voted for Connie the Con Man. Actually, you didn’t even raise your own hand. No-one thinks he’s competent to do the job. No-one.” 

Marvin bit his lip so hard it nearly bled. “But. But. Sure, no-one’s perfect, but he was a TV Star! You heard him! He should have won Emmy’s!” Damn. I’m going to miss my chance on that virgin! thought Marvin. “Come on, guys! We’ve never had a porn star run one of factories before. He turned out pretty good though, right?”

Peter frowned, “Did you say ‘Porn Star’?

Marvin shook his head, “No, no. I said TV star. I didn’t say ‘Porn Star.’ Don’t be ridiculous.” 

————————————————-

Fictional stories about a child sociopath. 

Donnie Plays Bull-Dazzle Man

Donnie Gets a Hamster

Donnie visits Granny

Donnie Learns Golf

Donnie Plays Soldier Man

Donnie Plays Captain Man

Donnie Takes a Blue Ribbon in Spelling

Donnie Gets his Name on a Tennis Trophy

Donnie Lets his Brother Take the Fall

————————————————

Essays on America:

Trumpism is a New Religion

Wednesday

You Bet Your Life

The Update Problem 

https://petersironwood.com/2020/08/01/essays-on-america-the-stopping-rule/

Absolute is not just a Vodka

A Profound and Utter Failure

Rejecting Adulthood

The Loud Defense of Untenable Positions

Plans for us; some GRUesome

The Game

——————————

Author Page on Amazon 

Transcript of Mystery Call

01 Tuesday Sep 2020

Posted by petersironwood in Uncategorized

≈ 1 Comment

Tags

Putin, treason

I have no idea how I came into possession of the audio file upon which this transcript was based. It just appeared as an attachment in my inbox on June 24th. The transcription has take some time and is very likely riddled with errors. I have no idea who the speakers are. Maybe someone else can figure it out? 

——————————  

Photo by VisionPic .net on Pexels.com

Russian Accented Male (RAM for short): “Come on now, don’t be such a wuss. We talked about this. Do you want to be dictator or not?”

Egomaniac Without Empathy (EWE, for short): “But … what if the protestors get me? What if the police accidentally shoot me? What if….” 

RAM: “Hush. Did you think becoming dictator would be easy? Have you learned nothing? You have to show some bravery.” 

EWE: “Well, that’s easy for you to say. You’re strong and fit. And don’t have heel spurs.” 

Photo by Apostolos Vamvouras on Pexels.com

RAM: “You don’t have heel spurs either. Did you forget? Look, it’s fine to lie over and over again to the people. Eventually, they will believe you, no matter how absurd what you say is. No matter how easy it is to see it’s a lie. But you need to keep track of your lies. Write them down.” 

EWE: “What if somebody finds my list of lies?”

RAM: (sighs). “It doesn’t matter! I told you before. You just keep spouting lies and if someone finds your list of lies, just call that person an Enemy of the State and part of the Deep State and the Fake News. Of course, it would be helpful if you don’t actually label it: ‘List of Lies’; instead, label it: ‘Important Truths.’” 

EWE: “OK. But what if I get COVID?” 

RAM: “Don’t worry about it. You won’t get COVID so long as you do what I say and take your shots regularly. Speaking of COVID, how are you coming with — as you say — opening up the economy?” (sniggers). 

EWE: “Pretty good. Except for the Democratic governors and even some of the Republican governors who seem. They seem. They are more interested in the health of their citizens than pleasing me! Fools!”

RAM: “Again, Donnie Boy, it’s just temporary. They’ll be gone soon and you’ll be in charge. Would you like that? Absolute power? Like me?” 

EWE: “Oh, yes! Yes! Yes!”

RAM: “Good boy. Now, let’s practice. What is your platform?”

Photo by NEOSiAM 2020 on Pexels.com

EWE: “What’s my platform? What’s a platform?” 

RAM: “What you promise to do if you’re elected.” 

EWE: “I don’t — Oh! Oh! I remember! I just tell them to go f*** themselves and that I’ll do whatever the f*** I want!” 

RAM: “That’s right, Donnie. But you can’t use those exact words. I gave you the platform. It’s right there in the top left drawer. Read it to me.” 

EWE: (shuffling sounds). “It’s…I can’t find it. What does it say? How can I find it?” 

Photo by Mike on Pexels.com

RAM: (sighs). “Look in the red folder with the big white letters that say, “PLATFORM.” 

EWE: “Hmm. OH! Here it is! I found it! OK. I’ll read it! Here goes. But so I think, I think it would be, I think it would be very, very, I think we’d have a very, very solid, we would continue what we’re doing, we’d solidify what we’ve done, and we have other things on our plate that we want to get done. Is that right? Did I get it right?”

RAM: “Yes, Donnie. Good boy.” 

EWE: “When can I be dictator? I can’t wait any longer.” 

RAM: “Donnie? What are you doing right now?” 

EWE: “Me? I’m sitting here behind my desk talking with you on the secure line like you said. Why?”

RAM: “Donnie. What are you supposed to be doing whenever you talk to me?” 

EWE: “Supposed to be doing? I don’t know. What?”

RAM: “Donnie. Think about it. When you talk to me, where are you supposed to be?”

EWE: “Um. I don’t know. Oh, wait. I know. On my knees. But that’s too hard. I may not be able to get back up on my own. And, if I need to call someone to help me back up, what will they think?”

RAM: (Sighs loudly). “Donnie, do I have to figure everything out? Just tell them you had another porn star that you were — better yet, tell them it’s none of their business. Or, best of all, tell them you’re praying. (Laughs). I forget how gullible some of those folks are. You’ve never shown the slightest interest in religion and now they think you’re a Christian. And speaking of praying and all that nonsense, get down there on your knees like a good boy.” 

EWE: (Grunts, pants, grunts): “Okay. I’m down.” 

RAM: “Good. Good boy, Donnie. Good boy. If I were there, I would pat your head. Softly. Not hard enough to knock off your rag. You almost ready to do the vaccine deal we talked about?”

EWE: “Yes, Sir.”

RAM: “Great. I hear you’re going to go out to Kenosha and stir up more trouble. Good for you.” 

EWE: “Yes, Sir. But what if I get hurt?”

RAM: “Donnie, I told you before. You can’t just attack dead heroes all the time. You’re going to have to face some crowds some time. You’re surrounded by Secret Service. Now, you go out there and you cause some trouble. Bad trouble. Then, you send in the unmarked storm troopers to kill some peaceful protestors. That will cause more protests, of course. And so on. Got it?” 

EWE: “Yes, Sir. It’s like … ice skating. Or flags.”

RAM: “Never mind, Donnie. You’re a good boy. It’s not your fault you’re damaged. Anyway, I have been thinking a lot about closer ties between our two great nations, and I think it would be helpful for Sechin to have an office right there in the White House. I’m thinking the Cabinet Room. We’ll have him there for a while at least.” 

EWE: “Yes, Sir. By the way, you know some people are saying that once I’m dictator, you might poison me and put in your own person.” 

RAM: “Donnie, Donnie, Donnie. Why would I do that? No. Not so long as you do what you’re told.”

EWE: “I know. I know, Sir. But they say, no-one trusts a traitor. They say —- “

RAM: “Who says that, Donnie? They are just trying to drive a wedge between us. Don’t let them do that. I haven’t poisoned anyone for … I don’t know. Awhile.” 

EWE: “A week?” 

RAM: “Yeah, something like that. Don’t pay any attention. We are close. Like father and son. Or master and slave. No more nonsense. Speaking of getting close, Sechin will require a concubine or two. Arrange that.”



EWE: “Yes, Sir. Hey! How about Ivana!”

RAM: “Your first wife? Way, way too old.”

Photo by Designecologist on Pexels.com

EWE: “No, not — did I say Ivana? Sorry, Sir. I meant Ivanka. It’s easy to confuse — you know daughter, wife, sister.” 

RAM: “Still way too old. He’s kind of like you, Donnie. You know. Thirteen or fourteen would be perfect.” 

EWE: “OK. We have a bunch in storage near Mexing or Canid. I’m not sure. I’m kind of falling asleep. In fact, I need more added or all. Add in all. I need … can I please get up now? My knees hurt. I need Advertall.”

RAM: “Are you trying to say ‘Adderall’ Donnie?” 

EWE: “That’s it! Adding all. Ladder all. Person. Man. Woman. Camera. TV. Porn movie. See! I still remember! Did I tell you that I amazed the doctors with how memory I am?”



RAM: “Hey, Donnie Boy. I have to go soon. One more thing before I hang up. Did you get those codes I told you about?”

EWE: “My Chief of Missiles told me I don’t need the codes myself. He’ll just target and launch at our command.” 

Photo by Dominika Kwiatkowska on Pexels.com

RAM: “Fire him and put in someone else who will do whatever they are told. You need someone like Pom-Pom-Pee-Oh or Bilious Barr or Louis NoJoy. Someone who knows what it means to be a puppet. Like you. Only they will be your puppet.” 

EWE: “Some people say you might threaten nuclear annihilation yourself. Without my help. You wouldn’t do that would you?” 

RAM: “Donnie, don’t listen to that crap. Of course not. We’ll make the announcement together. Like partners. Like the partners we are. Equals.” 

EWE: “Do I get to push the button though? I mean, can I just blow up one major city to show we mean business?” 

RAM: “Sure, Donnie. Which one would you like to blow up? London? Paris? Berlin? Or, maybe one of your own? I think that would be best to show you’re really committed to this partnership.” 

EWE: “Yeah! One of my own! That’s a great idea! Somewhere where there are lots of liberals! Or, blacks! Or both! How about the Washington Post! Or the Democrat side of Congress? Those would be good targets! I’ll be right here to watch out the window!”

RAM: (Long pause). “Donnie, are you sure you understand how hydrogen bombs work? You can’t watch it from the White House lawn.” 

EWE: “Can to! Can to! It’s no fun if I can’t see it!” 

RAM: “Donnie. Don’t be a baby. You’d better let my people handle the targeting. That’s why it’s important to get those codes.” 

EWE: “Well, they said they couldn’t — they weren’t allowed to give them to me.”

RAM: “Fire them! And put in someone who will carry out any ridiculous or cruel order you give. Do you even understand what it means to be dictator? Geez, Donnie you’ve done it throughout government and yet you keep forgetting to do it where it matters most. Now, look, I’ve got — I’m going to hang up now.”

EWE: “No! Don’t go! Don’t go! Let’s talk! Tell me again about the rabbits, Vlad! Vlad? Vlad? Are you there?”

(Dial tone). 

Photo by Element5 Digital on Pexels.com

———————————-

Trumpism is a New Religion

The Truth Train

The Pandemic Anti-Academic

The Watershed Virus

Unmasked

The Update Problem 

Where Does Your Loyalty Lie? 

Absolute Is Not Just a Vodka.

Trumpland: An Almost Perfect Solution

Try the Truth

Trump Truth Treason

Roar, Ocean, Roar!

Put in the Fool; Put out the Fool

11 Tuesday Aug 2020

Posted by petersironwood in America, apocalypse, COVID-19, poetry, politics, psychology, Uncategorized

≈ 1 Comment

Tags

America, Constitution, Democracy, double-cross, fascism, pandemic, politics, Putin, traitor, treason, truth, USA

E056DBCD-67B8-415B-9ECF-A7DE15F7164F_1_105_c

 

Another bright and shiny thing!

Let’s all shout and dance and sing!

It glitters in polluted air!

It makes you want to sit and stare!

The newest bright and shiny thing!

happy woman

Photo by Jesus Arias on Pexels.com

 

I’ll cage the babies! Ain’t it fun!

I’m chosen as The Chosen One!

I’ll bring you pain; I’ll bring you down. 

But as of now, my game’s in town!

At end of day, my game is done.

680174EA-5910-4F9B-8C75-C15B3136FB06_1_105_c

 

All my wondrous treacherous creatures!

All my crimes — now being reported! 

But I’ll fight back with reporters deported. 

Let’s open schools and kill some teachers!

They’re over-eager over-reachers!

burial cemetery countryside cross

Photo by Mike on Pexels.com

 

Black lives matter? What’s with that? 

I’ve grown fatter! Chomp on my chat!

I’ll spew and spatter racist chatter.

I’ve stolen so much my platter is flatter.

I’m careful as a junkyard rat.

 

DCA8FC9A-F229-4538-9EA2-D9E13D4796EB_1_105_c

My Pelf on Shelf – he’s such a Sweetie!

Never tries to do his duty:

Lock me away to save the nation.

He’d rather mouth his incantation: 

“Lootie, Booty, Gawd-darned Tootie!”

person holiday people cute

Photo by Public Domain Pictures on Pexels.com

 

I’ll rest at last when all is mine,

“Der Fooler” they will claim’s divine! 

Pootie will show me how it’s done!

Torture, steal — it’s all such fun! 

Just drink a little chloroquine! 

brown and white snake

Photo by Pixabay on Pexels.com

 

What’s that you’ve given me to drink? 

Why Vlad, you’ve broken rank

Given me polonium — and I drank. 

I threw others under bus and tank, 

But I gave you your life long prize. 

You betrayed me  – what a surprise!

You said I was the light — just right —

The son you never had

Oh, Vlad, Oh, Vlad.

You used me like a tool it seems.

close up photo of woman holding lollipop

Photo by VisionPic .net on Pexels.com

 

I never thought in foulest dreams

You’d play me for the fool.

You’re bad. 

You promised me and now I’m had.

Winning bigly is so sad. 

I’ll tell! I’ll tell! They’ll all believe

Me when I say…

2E9EBFDF-8366-41E3-B9D1-47136A7D029B

————————————

Trumpism is a New Religion

You Bet Your Life!

Rejecting Adulthood

Essays on America: Wednesday

Absolute is not just a Vodka

Plans for us some GRUesome

What about the butter dish?

A profound and utter failure.

Essays on America: The Game

Winning by Cheating is Losing

 

The Ailing King of Agitate

05 Wednesday Aug 2020

Posted by petersironwood in America, apocalypse, COVID-19, poetry, politics, psychology, Uncategorized

≈ 13 Comments

Tags

ANTIFA, COVID19, Democracy, fascism, life, pandemic, poem, poetry, politics, Putin, traitor, treachery, treason, truth

IMG_1442

 

A lonely lackey claims a throne:

A peasant traitor to the bone;

A peasant who’s impressed with gold;

A coward who pretends he’s bold. 

E056DBCD-67B8-415B-9ECF-A7DE15F7164F_1_105_c

 

The teeniest hands in all the lands;

The teeniest glands among the bands. 

The frailest ego ever found.

The smallest heart to ever pound.

 

male bugs illness disease

Photo by Pixabay on Pexels.com

 

A shroom: Ka-boom! An ort of sorts.

The base proclaim his magic warts.

Eschews a fight that’s not a fix. 

The courts are clogged with crappy tricks.

 

woman with face paint with pumpkin

Photo by VisionPic .net on Pexels.com

 

Now watch him crumble; watch him fold;

He’s frail and his tricks are old.

He’s flat and rancid as a toad

He’s stupidly squashed upon the road.

 

sign slippery wet caution

Photo by Skitterphoto on Pexels.com

 

He cannot think from A to B; 

Betrays his country easily.

Now Weenie’s caught; he can’t be taught.

He does not do coherent thought. 

 

4F969AEC-A579-4A8B-9B35-F773A44B3E8B

 

He’s too inept to fairly race.

Instead he hides behind his face,

A mango face with wobbly head

He whimpers; cries of “foul!” Instead.

 

baby child close up crying

Photo by Pixabay on Pexels.com

 

It’s he himself who’s truly rank

A Fraud as big as Deutsche Bank.

He sucks the wealth of everyone.

But now at last his time is done.

 

2ED5B35A-54F8-43CB-8534-46D31A07049D_1_105_c

 

He’s needless slain a host of lives

To compensate, he feints and dives.

He rants and raves; corrupts; depraves.

He likes to rape the younger slaves.

 

woman in black tank top blindfolded

Photo by Thuanny Gantuss on Pexels.com

 

His daddy never showed him love;

Kowtows to every Putin shove.

He felt a quiver and a thrill.

When Putin ordered him to kill. 

 

flight sky sunset men

Photo by Pixabay on Pexels.com

 

But soon the people will arise

Vote out the Vichy Putinate!

The People all with open eyes

Will oust the King of Agitate.

 

usa flag waving on white metal pole

Photo by Element5 Digital on Pexels.com

 


 

The Truth Train

The Pandemic Anti-Academic

The Watershed Virus

Trumpism is a New Religion

Essays on America: Wednesday

Winning by Cheating is Losing

Unmasked

Index of Patterns — Best Practices in Collaboration

Myths of the Veritas: The Orange Man

(A myth about what happens when insatiable greed is combined with lying).

Myths of the Veritas: The First Ring of Empathy

(A series of tales that features ethical, empathic, & effective leadership in times of crisis and uncertainty. Our tale begins as the leader of the Veritas seeks an eventual successor so she devises a series of seven trials that mainly test empathy.)

 

 

Essays on America: The Stopping Rule

01 Saturday Aug 2020

Posted by petersironwood in America, apocalypse, COVID-19, politics, psychology, Uncategorized

≈ 15 Comments

Tags

authoritarians, autocracy, coronavirus, COVID19, Democracy, pandemic, politics, Putin, treason, Trumpandemic, truth

Everyone I met as a child had a vivid, or at least a willing, imagination. 

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Let’s see how yours is doing. Imagine that you are in a role-playing game. The goal of the game is to acquire as much money as possible. You are cast into two very unusual roles. On the one hand, you are a player competing against a large number of other players.

On the other hand, you are also the banker/moderator of the game. You handle all the money and no-one else can see or double check on the amounts. If any disputes arise among the players (including you) you and you alone are in charge of deciding the outcome.

woman with face paint with pumpkin

Photo by VisionPic .net on Pexels.com

Now, let’s say the game begins. 

Do you see how you are guaranteed a win unless you restrain your power with ethical principles such as a sense of fair play?

Exactly. 

IMG_1442

Remember that the goal of the game is to acquire as much money as possible. Given that, when will enough be enough? At what level will you stop? When you have 50% of the wealth? 75%? 90%? 95%? Read the goal again.

The only thing that would prevent you would be your ethical principles.

If you have any.

Exactly. 

usa flag waving on white metal pole

Photo by Element5 Digital on Pexels.com

 


 

Trumpism is a New Religion

The Truth Train

The Pandemic Anti-Academic

The Watershed Virus

Unmasked

You Bet Your Life

Plans for us — some GRUesome

What about the Butter Dish?

Essays on America: Wednesday

The Update Problem

Trump Truth Treason

27 Monday Jul 2020

Posted by petersironwood in America, apocalypse, COVID-19, poetry, politics, psychology, Uncategorized

≈ 3 Comments

Tags

coronavirus, COVID19, lies, pandemic, poem, poetry, Putin, treason, truth, verse

E808CBB1-00E5-4E7A-B871-4DD07E410F51“Try the truth! Try the truth!
Forsooth, forsooth
I clearly say and loudly state:
All those lies — just let them abate.
Try the truth and you might find,
The truth is good for heart and mind!”

DCA8FC9A-F229-4538-9EA2-D9E13D4796EB_1_105_c

“Go away you pesky fools,
Your real news hurts my orange head!
You count each death as really dead!
I like to fudge a bit instead!
Lies and cruelty are my tools!
I mix them up with bogus rules.” 

0542E9DA-3F34-462E-BA0D-5EA4FAD2AEF0

“Would you try the truth today?
Would you taste the truth this day?
Tell the truth — just this once.
Try it Trump and you may see
Lies are for the cowardly.
Lies are for the little runts.
Heroes take the truthful way.”

male bugs illness disease

Photo by Pixabay on Pexels.com

“I do not like the truth at all!
I would not tell it at a ball!
I would not tell it on a call!
I would not tell it to a doll!
I do not like the truth at all!
It makes my teeny hands go itchy.
It makes my suck-lips go all twitchy.
I do not like the truth at all!”

4770779D-0898-482C-B861-83F8498070A4_1_105_c

“But try it once and you’ll discover
The truth means there’s no Cover-
Up and Down and Left and Right,
Let it all come out in shining Light!
You’ll be part of something great!
No need more to exaggerate.”

680174EA-5910-4F9B-8C75-C15B3136FB06_1_105_c

“I do so hate the truth at dawn.
I do so hate the truth at dusk.
I hoard the corn and tout the husk.
I flash my flab as though it’s brawn.
I tell them all I’m as smart as a whip.
And fly on a magic crystal sailing ship.”

snow capped mountain

Photo by Life of Wu on Pexels.com



“Yet, if you’d try the truth you might well see
That truth, my friend, would set you free!
Sharing truth allows humanity
To cure disease and mount the moon!
Without the truth, no-one learns.
Without the truth, everything burns.”

toddler with red adidas sweat shirt

Photo by mohamed Abdelgaffar on Pexels.com



“I hate the truth since I was born!
Give others husk; I’ll gorge on corn!
Give others poo while I watch porn!
Steal their wealth and kids with lies!
Rape the kids! A sweet surprise!
I believe Putin; not our own spies.”

6ED86DEA-F6EC-4482-827F-8275A931F7F0

“Try the truth! For just for one hour.
You’ll find it’ll cure your cowardly cower.
You’ll find that you can learn from errors;
Improve; get better; leave more for your heirs.”

462C8C26-5000-4E05-8687-CF39C8A0D3CA_1_201_a

“More? You’re nuts! That wouldn’t be wise!
My wealth is based entirely on lies!
I’ve never worked! No a day in my life.
Just ask my wife or my wife or my wife.”

IMG_3071

“Well Mr. Trump, if you won’t try the true,
You’ll be out of a job; even Pu-
Tin can’t rig the entire election.
Lies will spoil your climb to power!
Lies will ruin not only the garish Trump Tower,
But even the teeniest shroom of erection.”

2E9EBFDF-8366-41E3-B9D1-47136A7D029B

 ———————————

The Truth Train

Trumpism is a New Religion

The Pandemic Anti-Academic 

Happy Talk Lies

A Lot is Not a Little

It’s Just Tommy Being Tommy

Myths of the Veritas: The Orange Man

A Profound and Utter Failure

Essays on America: The Game

How did I get Here? 


 

The only “Them” that Counts is all of “US”

25 Saturday Jul 2020

Posted by petersironwood in America, apocalypse, COVID-19, family, health, politics, psychology, Uncategorized

≈ 17 Comments

Tags

America, Constitution, coronavirus, COVID19, Democracy, fascism, pandemic, Putin, treason, USA

usa flag waving on white metal pole

Photo by Element5 Digital on Pexels.com

Read history, folks.

Totalitarian regimes do this: they divide the citizens agains each other. Trump starts by trying to prevent Muslims from coming to America (unless, of course, they are Muslims from countries where he has financial interests).

grayscale photography of woman

Photo by Lucxama Sylvain on Pexels.com

Then, he ignores the needs of Puerto Rico and kills 3000 American citizens with his ineptness and attempts to throw the business for rebuilding the infrastructure to a small inexperienced shell company.

Then, he cages kids and tears babies from their mothers because — after all — they are “illegals.” It is NOT illegal to come to the US border and ask for asylum! No-one IS an illegal. A person is a person. If you sped once and got a speeding ticket that doesn’t make you an “illegal” does it?

two girls doing school works

Photo by Pragyan Bezbaruah on Pexels.com

The above are only a few examples. He has been working to divide Americans against each other ever since he got Putin office. Why? What “leader” does that? Who benefits?

Democrats don’t benefit. Republicans don’t benefit. Independents don’t benefit. POC don’t benefit. White people don’t benefit. Putin benefits!

680174EA-5910-4F9B-8C75-C15B3136FB06_1_105_c
Trumputin has been trying to divide Americans against each other from day one of the Misadministration. If you let him break the law and ignore the courts when it comes to POC or immigrants or Muslims, you can be 100% sure that they will do the same for you no matter what your color or origin.

Once the rule of law no longer exists, what will prevent them from coming to your house and taking every damned thing they want?

flight sky sunset men

Photo by Pixabay on Pexels.com

Nothing is the answer. And at that point, if you think you will be safe because you voted for Trump or wear a magic red MAGA hat or have an assault weapon — think again.

Remember: Hitler promised to restore Germany and do wonderful things. What actually happened? Tens of millions of people died — including many Germans. Hitler himself ended up committing suicide. Mussolini was beaten to death by an angry mob as was Caligula two millennia earlier.

Wake up, America!

Putin is having Trump use chemical and biological weapons against America’s own people.

air air pollution climate change dawn

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Trump is putting zero energy into getting re-elected. He’s too chicken to ever play by the rules or have a fair fight. Heel Spurs is such a coward that he won’t even fire people face to face. He’s such a coward he can’t even admit to making a mistake. He’s such a coward that he won’t ask women to have sex. He just grabs them. And, if they are 13 and he can beat them up, so much the better.

You will not benefit from a Trump dictatorship. He may give you the illusion that he will. But that’s all it is. An illusion. He’s a con man. There is no substance to him. There is nothing but a desperate, cowardly baby screaming that he must have all the pudding because he wants all the pudding. His GOP enablers have let him get away with bribery, theft, and now murder.

Murder? Surely, that’s an exaggeration, right?

Is it?

2E9EBFDF-8366-41E3-B9D1-47136A7D029B

What if you knew a bridge was out and you encouraged someone to drive that bridge and they plunged to their death?

That’s what months of lies and bad modeling has done — needlessly killed tens of thousands of Americans with more on the way.

Wake up.

Wake up.

Before it’s too late.

actor adult business cards

Photo by Nikolay Ivanov on Pexels.com

—————————–
The Truth Train

The Pandemic Anti-Academic

The Watershed Virus

Absolute is not Just a Vodka

Where does your loyalty lie?

Trumpism is a New Religion

A Profound and Utter Failure

You Bet Your Life

What about the Butter Dish?

The Declaration of Interdependence

Author Page on Amazon

 

 

Who are the Speakers for the Dead?

13 Monday Jul 2020

Posted by petersironwood in America, apocalypse, COVID-19, family, health, poetry, politics, psychology, story, Uncategorized

≈ 3 Comments

Tags

communication, coronavirus, COVID19, death, Impeachment, pandemic, plauge, Putin, Trumpandemic, truth, wisdom

adult affection baby child

Photo by Pixabay on Pexels.com

 

With space-Alien violence, people all across the world are ri

pped from their worlds and taken to those special beds.

The COVID beds. 

And just as in the movie an alien presence is 

forced down their throat and in their 

head

Perhaps they wonder whether they

Will get a final say 

Departing to those left behind 

The wisdom of an old, yet un-befuddled mind.

4F969AEC-A579-4A8B-9B35-F773A44B3E8B 

Of, if befuddled, who’s to say

Whether older wisdom may filter through 

To light a little (just a little), our path to a brighter day.

3FC757BE-A645-4C45-B75F-BD101D6225AC_1_105_c

Who are the Speakers for the Dead? 

What do they say? 

 

Perhaps they whisper one and all with the self-same silence of the lambs

The lambs led to slaughter from the King-Con Man of the Cowards. 

Supported by the most menial of the Blowhards. 

If they have no breath, 

If no-one speaks before their death, 

Then,

 

Who are the Speakers for the Dead? 

What do they say? 

 

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No-one can say. 

That’s kind of the whole point, don’t you see? 

Everyone is different. 

Everyone learns something different. 

Everyone has a piece of the puzzle laid before us growing ever larger till it will overwhelm

And when no-one will dare to grab the helm. 

And so these lives go silently 

Out of this life and into something else entirely.

 

Are we learning 

Through the burning 

And the yearning unfulfilled 

All the turning unwilled

That we are all:

photography of maple trees

Photo by Johannes Plenio on Pexels.com

Leaves upon the Tree of Life. 

The Life of the Tree

Depends upon the health of every Leaf

And every Leaf 

Depends upon the Health of the entire Tree. 

Is that so hard to see? 

That’s it — in its entirety. 

Like most trees, humanity 

Must be its own gardener, 

Tender, 

Lover.

A6253369-6ABE-4B57-884E-BEFF53F7F505

How can we grow and glow 

Without the unspoken words of the many 

Dispersed instead of our waiting ears,

The unspoken syllables slide into the bowels of a machine?

 

And some few recover.

We should be listening carefully to each one. 

They are bringing tales from distant lands 

Which we hope never to visit ourselves. 

 

Are they, then, the Speakers for the Dead? 

And what, prey, do they tell? 

 

Or, shall we let the politicians far and wide 

Whose ear-to-ear grins have never faded.
Regardless of thousands of corpses laded.
(They’re playing for the other side) 

Shall we let them be 

Speakers for the Dead? 

No, they will not be Speakers for the Dead.

Because they cannot hear.
Because they cannot see.

Because they cannot feel. 

Because they have forgotten that Truth is not “ours” or “theirs.”

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Truth belongs to the Tree of Life 

Not to one Leaf or Another.

Every single Leaf’s your sis or brother!

Let us sing then; sing together.
Heal the Tree wherever it’s needed. 
That’s how forests are reseeded. 

worms eyeview of green trees

Photo by Felix Mittermeier on Pexels.com

 

Other Poems on the Web

The Impossible

The Truth Train

The Pandemic Anti-Academic

The Watershed Virus

Isa Dream?

Ah Wilderness!

 

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