DJTs Grandfather Frederick it would have been, DJT Jr.s GG grandfather, made his fortune in the Klondike, in the Last Great Goldrush. The richest gold strike in history, and all the gold laying in the creek beds half way up Rabbit Creek canyon rim - that was impossible, the old timers said. "Nothing but moose pasture up there," they said. They were wrong.

The Roths had their agents there from the beginning, the usual MO being to let the discoverers, the miners, work the creeks and take the surface gold, and when that ran out, the Roths agents would bring in dredges and heavy equipment and put everything through a stamp mill – large scale industrial mining processes.

which they did.

Wonder what DJT Jr is up to up there

Ice begins flowing in the Yukon River in late October, with freeze-up usually by mid-November.

>>14615420

http://thepoleproject.co.za/pole-dance-for-kids/

>>14615547

The Congo

Vachel Lindsay

Is a rayciss poem, they say.

I. Their Basic Savagery

Fat black bucks in a wine-barrel room,

Barrel-house kings, with feet unstable,

A deep rolling bass.

Sagged and reeled and pounded on the table,

Pounded on the table,

Beat an empty barrel with the handle of a broom,

Hard as they were able,

Boom, boom, BOOM,

With a silk umbrella and the handle of a broom,

Boomlay, boomlay, boomlay, BOOM.

THEN I had religion, THEN I had a vision.

I could not turn from their revel in derision.

[More deliberate. Solemnly chanted.]

THEN I SAW THE CONGO, CREEPING THROUGH THE BLACK,

CUTTING THROUGH THE FOREST WITH A GOLDEN TRACK.

Then along that riverbank

A thousand miles

Tattooed cannibals danced in files;

Then I heard the boom of the blood-lust song

A rapidly piling climax of speed and racket.

And a thigh-bone beating on a tin-pan gong.

And "BLOOD" screamed the whistles and the fifes of the warriors,

"BLOOD" screamed the skull-faced, lean witch-doctors,

"Whirl ye the deadly voo-doo rattle,

Harry the uplands,

Steal all the cattle,

Rattle-rattle, rattle-rattle,

Bing.

Boomlay, boomlay, boomlay, BOOM,"

With a philosophic pause.

A roaring, epic, rag-time tune

From the mouth of the Congo

To the Mountains of the Moon.

Death is an Elephant,

Shrilly and with a heavily accented metre.

Torch-eyed and horrible,

Foam-flanked and terrible.

BOOM, steal the pygmies,

BOOM, kill the Arabs,

BOOM, kill the white men,

HOO, HOO, HOO.

Like the wind in the chimney.

Listen to the yell of Leopold's ghost

Burning in Hell for his hand-maimed host.

Hear how the demons chuckle and yell

Cutting his hands off, down in Hell.

Listen to the creepy proclamation,

Blown through the lairs of the forest-nation,

Blown past the white-ants' hill of clay,

Blown past the marsh where the butterflies play:—

"Be careful what you do,

[All the o sounds very golden. Heavy accents very heavy.

Light accents very light. Last line whispered.]

Or Mumbo-Jumbo, God of the Congo,

And all of the other

Gods of the Congo,

Mumbo-Jumbo will hoo-doo you,

Mumbo-Jumbo will hoo-doo you,

Mumbo-Jumbo will hoo-doo you."

https://www.gutenberg.org/files/1021/1021-h/1021-h.htm

>>14615818

>where do they get the money for this?

They print it

https://archive.org/details/pdfy–Pori1NL6fKm2SnY

>>14615831

"procedures" keep us safe.

>>14615890

China IO is best IO.

>>14615978

posted once.

Anon seen't em too.