>Nazis

>Nazis are bad

>Masons are bad

>Masons are Nazis

>Hitler was a Mason

>I base this on absolutely nothing beyond my boomer autism

>Autism

>Autism is good

>I am sitting in my underwear drinking my box wine using my boomer autism to understand the deep state

>Deep

>I want Jamal deep in me

>Jamal fights the deep state

>Jamal is just like me

>He will help us fight the Masons

>Let Jamal fuck your wife

>Kalegeri plan is the plan to trust

>Prep the plan

>Trust the plan

>Q

Mikey and I sprawled together on his bed later that evening. It was dark outside, but not late. No longer apprehensive about arranging myself attentively toward him, I lay on my side while he rested on his back; my arm was slung loosely over his stomach.

"We don't last very long," he was saying. "You know, when we do stuff."

"Does that bother you?"

"No, not at all. It's normal, then?"

"I definitely wouldn't be concerned about it. We're still extremely excitable around each other, I think."

"So, what, we'll probably last longer later on?"

"Seems that way to me," I said. "Once we get used to it."

He smiled faintly. "Good thing we have all this time."

"Oh," I said. "I guess…yeah, well I'm sure we'll still hang out, even after I move."

"Right, yeah, I was thinking that, too. Okay."

I felt an immediate desire to continue with the thought, but Mikey changed the subject and it did not come up again.

Because I would be living out of town soon, Sunday-night dinners had taken on a new urgency among my mom's various machinations. The next evening I walked over in the rain and was fairly soaked by the time I arrived.

"Wyatt, where is your umbrella?" she demanded.

"I don't know," I said. "I'm not sure if I have one." I crossed the living room and sat with my back to the wood stove. "I'll dry off here. It won't take long." I grinned at her. "Feels nice."

"Help your dad out and tend to that if it gets cold," she said, stepping back toward the kitchen. "Stephanie should be here soon. She probably hit traffic on the bridge. It's so unpredictable during the weekend."

I sat alone for a few minutes, glancing through news stories and texts before initiating a system update on my phone. As I left it on the floor next to me to conduct its business, my dad came down the hallway from the bedroom. He had likely been napping, his common practice in preparation for a merciless workweek. He managed a team of freight shipment laborers at the main harbor and, in his mounting age, had finally escaped most of the backbreaking manual loading and unloading. Meanwhile my mom worked an early shift in midtown as a PA, at a hospital a couple miles north of Mikey's neighborhood.

"Wyatt," he said, sinking into his chair, "put your old man's mind at ease. You're sure about your move?"

"I'm sure," I said. "It's official, anyway."

"You're feeling good about it?"

"Yeah, I am," I said. "I know it's the right thing for me."

"Well, that's what's important. You do what's right for you."

I nodded. My mom had clearly done a number on him. "What's going on at work?"

"Same as ever. We've caught up on everything since the labor strike. Upper-management is still breathing down my neck. They've been doing that for the last twelve years, though. They'll do it until the day I'm done. It's not so hard to ignore, these days."

I smiled. "I wish I could ignore that kind of thing."

"With time, you'll learn," he said, and then heaved a booming laugh of a duration too long to match the humor in his statement, a characteristic that I had grown to love about him, if only since leaving home.

I stood up and looked out the front window in time to see Stephanie's Camry pull up along the curb. She sprinted across the front yard in the rain and stamped her feet on the porch before opening the door.

"Hello, hello," she chanted upon entering. "I'm getting over a cold so don't touch me."

"Stay away," came my mom's disembodied voice.

Stephanie kicked off her boots and unwound her scarf. "Oh," she said, noting my position near the stove. "That fire, my savior." She hurried over to stand next to me, bending a little to massage the backs of her thighs.

I bumped my shoulder affectionately into hers.

"Knock me over, why don't you," she said.

"Mom, do you need help?" I asked, projecting my voice toward the kitchen.

"Yes, Mom, we can help you," Stephanie added.

"No. Almost done."

"Want to watch something, Dad?" she asked. "You look like a zombie."

My dad sat with his feet flat on the floor, hands cupped over the ends of the chair arms, staring blankly out toward the television, which was not turned on. He snapped back to alertness and looked up. "No thanks, Steph. Thinking about work. How was the drive?"

"Not that bad," she said. "Seems to go by faster when you're not in a hurry."

He smiled, acknowledging the sentiment. "Did you get that serpentine belt on yet?"

"No. I need someone to hold the tensioner loose while I take off the old one. I can't do both at once."

"I'll take a look after dinner," he said.

"I don't have the new belt with me, though. I left it at home."

"Alright, but it's got to get done soon. That old one isn't looking good and you don't want it to snap in traffic."

"I know, Dad. It's okay. I've got someone who can help me. I'll do it tomorrow."

Her voice took on an odd quality as she said this, prompting me to ask, "Who, exactly?"

She grinned. "None of your business."

"Oh my god, who?"

"I work with him," she reasoned, as if that would dispel my curiosity.

"Don't let him screw anything up," my dad warned. "Some guys just want to prove to you that they know their way around an engine. I promise you, they don't. Wyatt, are you listening?"

"Yes. Be suspicious of helpful men. Got it."

Stephanie laughed.

"You little weasel," he said. Again came his booming laughter.

"Come eat," yelled my mom.

I added a piece of wood to the fire and then trailed them to the dinner table.

"Curry," she said as we took our seats. "There are bell peppers in it, and beef, and some other stuff. I left the meat in big pieces so that it can easily be left out if desired." She had directed this statement at no one in particular, but would not have said it were Stephanie not at the table.

"Thank you, Mother," she said.

"Stephanie's seeing someone new," I announced while I slipped some rice into my bowl.

"Oh my god, Wyatt," she whined. "I am not. Give it up already." She did not look especially annoyed.

"Who is he?" asked my mom.

"She's not saying," I explained. "But they work together. I was able to fish that out of her."

"He took me out to dinner the other night. I think we both enjoyed it. That's it. That's what's happened outside of work."

"Whoa, hold on." I said. "What's happened inside of work?"

"Stop, Wyatt," she insisted.

"Wyatt," said my mom, "You're so silly tonight. It makes me wonder what you're thinking about-or maybe whom. Yes, whom."

My mom did not often put her cleverness on display. Because of this, she sometimes caught me off guard, which was probably her plan all along. Apparently blind to such outcomes, I had not anticipated how this situation could turn on me. And more to the point, did Mikey actually have an observable effect on my behavior?

"Nothing," I said. "I mean, no one."

Stephanie nearly choked on her water. "Oh, wow. What a master of deceit. Since you've decided to make a spectacle out of my personal life, maybe I should point out how obvious it is that you're still hanging around that guy."

My mom clasped her hands together and drew in a long, elated breath. "Oh, is it true? You promised you'd bring him by, Wyatt."

"I didn't promise," I said. "I'll have to see. Anyway, it's not like it's going to last. There's nowhere for things to go. I'm moving. Or did everyone forget?"

"No one forgot, Sweetie."

I turned to my dad, who looked content but a little bored. "That reminds me," I said. "They'll pay for a moving van, so there's no need to get the old truck out again."

"Oh, I see. I was honestly looking forward to it," he said. "See if they can just get you the cash for it. We'll use the truck and you can pocket the money."

I nodded. "Sounds good. I'll check with them."

As we continued to eat, Stephanie cast a deliberate smile in my direction; I knew it had all been in fun, but it felt oddly exonerating to see that such playfulness had brought her a similar satisfaction.

"Mom," I said eventually, "how is work?"

"It's tiring. I feel like I'm not enjoying it quite like a used to."

"Wow," I said, swallowing another bite. "I didn't know you were feeling that way."

"It's nothing major. Some people have retired. There are a lot of new hires now. As for me, I'm stuck somewhere in the middle. There are so many young people on staff…it just doesn't have the same feel that it used to have." She smiled vaguely to herself. "I used to be one of those young people. I guess I'm the only thing that's really changing. But that's how it goes, right?"

"Mom," said Stephanie. "If you're not enjoying it, you could always change careers. So many people are doing that now."

"That's what I told her," my dad muttered.

"I just want to wait until we're a little more secure," said my mom. "We've still got a few years and then the mortgage is paid. Maybe then."

My dad looked down at his plate and shook his head, but did not say anything.

I remained generally mindful that my parents had bankrolled my entire college experience, but moments like this brought the overwhelming significance of it all back to the forefront. I considered now that remaining steadfast in my career advancement had certainly been the more dutiful choice. I felt at once very good about this.

After finishing our food we began to clean up. Stephanie coaxed my mom from the kitchen as I packed away leftovers.

"I find it hard to relax when I'm perfectly capable of pitching in," she lamented.

"No one's expecting you to relax," Stephanie said, guiding her to the couch. "I'm just asking you to sit still for once in your life."

When it was just the two of us alone in the kitchen, Stephanie said under her breath, "Dad has told me recently that they're set to retire early. They have plenty of savings. I think mom is being too cautious."

I thought this over for a moment before muttering in reply, "Maybe she's just afraid to look for something different."

"I think that's exactly what it is." She scrubbed at a pot for a few more seconds and then set it in the sink. The edge of the counter was finished in curved white ceramic tiles, cracked and chipped in places, stained slightly from the battering deluge of time. Stephanie leaned against them now, peering out the small box-window which overlooked the backyard, bathing in the day's failing light. "She thinks she still has to answer to people other than herself."

"Hmmm." I began loading plates into the dishwasher. "People like who?"

"Well, us, I guess. Dad. You and me. She can do literally anything she wants. I just want her to know how true that is. I want her to believe it."

"Have you told her?"

"Not as plainly as that, but yeah, I think I've made my thoughts known."

"And what does she have to say about it?"

"Not so much." Stephanie returned to her responsibilities in the sink. "I think I need to approach it with her in a different way-and maybe with a little more delicacy. The way mom and I are with each other…I really don't know. She's just so…I don't know." She hauled the ancient green-enameled dutch oven over to the stovetop, where it was perched on a burner to dry. "I just need to work on being more delicate."

My mom's life-a saga to my eyes, a true legend-was elusive, Delphian, something I felt I would never fully assemble in my mind so that it could be understood from its dawning until now. A cluster of concealed horrors she'd faced in her childhood (countable on one hand, according to her, but no less than unspeakable) made her experience into one with which my own could never be compared. I had concluded at some point in college that, although I could never know her completely, I would seek further understanding whenever a conversation lent itself. It was all I could do not to take her presence in my life for granted, an passivity of which I realized I had been recently quite guilty.

"Overall, though, do you think she is happy?" I asked.

Stephanie's reply was short and not loud enough for me to hear, but her expression sufficiently conveyed her faint uncertainly. We had been speaking like stowaways, which in itself could be enough to elevate my mom's suspicion.

"Won't you need a car in Fern Hill?" Stephanie asked in a plain voice. "How will you come home to visit?"

"I've thought about that a little. It's cheaper to live up there, but not enough for me to get anything nice." I laughed. "It'll be something as old as I am, probably."

"You know Dad'll want you to get something Japanese. My neighbor is selling his Civic. It looks at least ten or fifteen years old. He's probably not asking too much."

"I can do without for a while. I need to save a little first."

"Mom and Dad helped out with mine," she said. "Don't be afraid to ask."

"Yeah," I said. "I know."

Once the kitchen had been restored to a general state of order, we joined my parents in the living room. Together they looked comprehensively tired, which prompted Stephanie to suggest skipping a movie.

"That's okay with me," said my dad. "Wyatt, let's talk a little about your move. I assume you'll want everything from your apartment. Is there anything you'll need from storage?"

"I don't think so."

"That Saturday-it's the 28th, right? I assume that's when you want to leave? Or maybe we can pack all day Saturday and leave Sunday morning."

"Sunday morning sounds more realistic."

"Do you know where you'll be living up there?" asked my mom.

"Not yet."

"I don't think that's something you should put off, Wyatt."

"I'll start looking at places online. Otherwise the company has made arrangements with some agencies for fast-track leases. But I heard there are better deals if you look for them independently."

"Well, don't kill yourself over it," she said.

We discussed minor details for a while and then channel-surfed somewhat collectively, landing on an early episode of Friends. Before long my parents made their way toward their bedroom. Stephanie and I said goodnight to them and were soon left alone.

"Do you need to get going?" she asked.

"Soon, I guess. Not yet."

She stood and went to the front door. "It's really not that bad out here," she said, hanging onto the doorframe and leaning out into the night.

We situated ourselves on the porch swing, overlooking the front lawn. Stephanie had carried with her one of my mom's massive old quilts and we bundled ourselves tightly within it.

"I'm not going to catch your cold, am I?"

"I really don't think you need to worry," she said. "I just like scaring Mom."

For a minute or two we didn't talk. I listened to the faint roar of cars on the highway, sequestered, as if it were not the sound itself, but just the memory. The cold, damp air nuzzled against my cheeks. I turned to her. "You're doing okay with everything?"

"I feel happy," she said. "I am happy. But I'm a little ambivalent about my situation with the new guy."

"So it is actually a situation?"

"Yes," she said. "It is. A new one, but a promising one. The problem is that I'm not ready for another situation. Or I don't want to be."

"You don't want to be?"

She took her time responding. "It's good to be alone for a while. Part of me wants it to last forever, but another part of me is scrambling every second to get back into something with someone. It's infuriating."

"It sounds like it."

She said little else about it, but I accepted that because she had shared this much with me, I owed her the same. Before I spoke, however, my phone buzzed in my pocket. Mikey had texted.

"I need to see you tonight, if possible," he wrote. "I messed things up with Sophie. I don't know what to do."

"Sure," I replied. "I'm at my parents' now. Can you pick me up? Do you remember how to get here?"

There was a brief delay before his next text, during which I apologized to Stephanie. "It's him. I think he's coming to pick me up. He's got a family thing he needs to talk about, I guess."

"Don't worry," she said. "Do what you need to do."

Mikey's reply arrived. "Not quite. Text me the address if that's okay. I couldn't stay in the house so I was out driving around Corbin. I'm not far. Sorry about the short notice."

I replied, telling him not to be sorry, and ended with the address. I then turned to Stephanie. "It's funny that he just texted me-Mikey, I mean. I was about to update you on all that."

"And?" she beckoned.

"Well, I guess it kind of a similar situation. Even if my reasons for staying single are more external. You said things with this new guy are promising. I'm definitely feeling the same way."

She nodded. "Do you know what you're going to do about that?"

"No. No idea. But I can't change my plans for him. Not big plans like this. He's not out-in fact he's only barely out to himself. There's just…so much going on with that situation. But in another way it's like, nothing is happening."

She nodded.

"I'm sorry, I'm just tired. It's making me lazy about how I describe it."

"It's fine," she said. "I think I mostly get the situation."

"On a more tangible note, I think he'll be here very soon. Would you like to meet him?"

"Yes," she said quickly, as if she might miss her chance. "He's comfortable with that?"

"I believe he is."

His car rounded the corner in the next moment, as we began extricating ourselves from the confines of the blanket. I had imagined leading Stephanie out to the street so that they could meet, but instead his engine shut off after parking and he had strode, quickly but without urgency, across the lawn by the time we stood up. I stepped down off the porch and said, "Mikey, this is my sister, Stephanie."

He reach out and shook her hand as they exchanged personal introductions. "It's so good to meet you," he said. He stood back a little said to me, "I'm sorry to come by so late. And to interrupt."

"Don't worry, Mikey."

"You're not interrupting anything. I need to go home soon, anyway," she explained. "You two enjoy your night." At this, she flashed a sort of sideways, clandestine smile, which communicated much more to me, I was certain, than it did to Mikey.

"I'm glad you texted me," I said. "Please tell me what happened with Sophie, if you feel up to it."

He pulled out onto the uncrowded highway and accelerated to the limit more slowly than usual. "She started asking about you. Just a few pointed questions, I guess. She asked if I felt attracted to you. It was so out of nowhere. She wasn't even trying to accuse me of anything, it's just…" He trailed off.

I remained quiet, lending him time to gather his thoughts.

"Anyway, I blew up at her," he said. "I really fucked it up, Chickadee. I just denied everything. A big fucking wave of denial."

I thought about suggesting that we find a place to park before continuing to talk, but the fingers of his right hand hooked casually, confidently over the stitched bottom rim of the wheel, as if his manner of conducting the vehicle did not answer at any level to his agitation.

"It just felt so…shitty." His chest heaved a little and a small breath fell from his lips.

"I'm so sorry," I said. "Mikey, if she was rushing you in any way-"

"She wasn't, though," he insisted. "It was time to talk about it. Overdue, actually. I should have already brought it up. But hearing her say she'd always wondered about me…I just felt so hurt, somehow. It's as if she feels like I've been hiding this for so long. Does she think I'm someone who wants to hide who I am from the world?"

"Hiding. That's what you said before. It isn't the right word."

Any lost composure had been regained by the time I arrived outside the pub-a good thing, because although I was a few minutes early, Sloan crept up beside me almost immediately.

"Wyatt, buddy, how's things?" he asked, grasping my hand firmly and pulling me close.

"Pretty good, and you?" We framed ourselves against the brick exterior so as not to block the narrow sidewalk.

"Not too bad. Same as last time we saw each other, I guess."

I indicated toward the pub's entrance and said, "Same place."

"Same fucking place, dude. We're an exciting bunch, let me tell you."

We both laughed at this. I had always been a bit taken with Sloan's presence. All told, he wasn't much taller than Marie, and surefooted in every meaning of the word. He possessed a stockiness not only self-described, but from which he derived a sense of personal pride. It felt good to be with him again.

"Marie tells me that we're meeting your man tonight."

"Is there some message thread I'm not a part of or something? Word sure gets around."

He laughed and smacked the wall with an open hand. "Well, hers and mine, I guess."

"Oh, right. Anyway, he's just a friend, and I think you'll like him, Sloan. He's a really good guy."

"If it's the Mikey I'm thinking of, then I already know him."

"Wait…oh, fuck. High school, right?"

He nodded.

"Sorry, I totally forgot you went to Brighton."

"It's okay. I don't talk about it much," he said. "Not too many fond memories from that age."

I smiled. "He even said he was a Bengal. I'm just surprised you never came to mind."

Sloan shrugged. "Yeah, when I saw his picture on your phone he looked familiar to me. But I didn't think much of it until Marie said his name."

"Crazy," I said. The temptation became too great and I asked, "Do you remember anything about him?"

He grinned. "Well, the fact that I remember him at all should tell you he was popular. I didn't give a shit about people in high school. But he was a pretty prominent guy." He paused, eyeing me at little.

"What?"

"You're loving this, aren't you?"

"You got me," I said. "Obviously I'm obsessed with him. Stop teasing me."

"Okay, okay. Honestly, it's not like I ever talked to him. Not to mention he was a grade up. He was a jock. He was rowdy and annoying in the halls just like the rest of the jocks. Let me think…he was a lot skinnier. Like…tall but-I don't know-scrawny. If that picture is actually him then the guy's really bulked up. Good for him. Man, I'm putting myself to sleep with this shit."

I laughed. "Don't hurt yourself. I just wanted to know if he was a nice guy."

"I don't remember. But I don't think it matters. People change a lot after high school."

"They really do," I said.

"You could have gotten a table," said Marie after nearly blasting past both of us. She grabbed our wrists and pulled us toward the door, letting go only as her purse slipped down from her shoulder and into the crook of her arm. "Whoops. Got to keep my moneybag secure, seeing as tonight is on me."

"Only it's not on you," I protested as we stepped inside.

"That's what you think," she said. "Is this table okay with everyone?"

Marie ordered us a pitcher and we took it in gradually; she claimed two full glasses for herself, which was only fair. "I think," she declared as she poured the second, "that we should consider a direct flight to Bangkok, or maybe Saigon. Then we can hop around as we please."

I nodded. "Flights to Bangkok aren't bad. But Seoul is cheaper. We're still doing Seoul, right?"

"Well, if price is the biggest factor, then we should go straight to Taipei," she said. "I'm just stuck on Thailand and Vietnam. I could literally spend the whole month in only those two countries. And yes, we can do Korea. I'm just being selfish because I've already been. Several times."

"If we go to Seoul, it would help a lot that you speak Korean," said Sloan.

"Are we going to Hong Kong, too, Sloan?" she asked, poking a finger at him. "When exactly do we get to take advantage of your Cantonese?"

"I hope we're going to Hong Kong," I said.

"Everyone speaks english in Honk Kong," said Sloan.

She shook her head. "Nope. That's not true."

"Fine. But a lot more than in Korea."

Sloan's words seemed to have chased off any of Marie's immediate concerns. She smiled and began waving vigorously until she had obtained the attention of a server. "Can we do shots?" she asked, once he arrived at the table.

I was unsure whether the question was meant for us or for the tired-eyed employee who stood patiently at my left. "If you're buying," I said.

"Tequila?" she pleaded.

"No," said Sloan.

"Fine. Whiskey it is." She turned to the server. "Just the house stuff, if you please. I am a working girl."

He nodded and left for the bar.

My phone rang in my pocket and Marie gasped. "Is he coming? Should I order another?"

"I don't know," I said, fishing it out. "Hold on."

Mikey's voice greeted me through the earpiece. "Just wanted to make sure you guys are still there. I'm like ten minutes away."

"Yes, we're still here-hey, have we ever spoken on the phone before? This feels weird."

His laugh crackled through. "I felt like being old-fashioned. Also I tried texting but almost walked into a pole."

"Whoa. Be careful out there."

We said goodbye and I resurfaced to find that Marie had ordered another shot for Mikey.

"I don't know if he does shots," I told her.

"If he doesn't, I am confident I can change that." She began to stare me down, eyes wide. I started laughing but still she did not break.

"Okay," I said. "I'm confident you can, too. Please, just stop that right now."

"You're kind of terrifying," added Sloan.

In the coming minutes I realized how fortunate I was to be facing the door. My positioning made stolen glances toward it less detectable, which permitted a successful masking of my general disquiet as I awaited Mikey's emergence through it. When it finally did occur, he scanned the interior only briefly before his eyes fell squarely on me. The building's supporting beams hung low; his height was apparent as ever and he carried an unlikely air of nervousness-although this seemed to be fading presently by the second. His tie was gone, the top two buttons of his pale blue shirt undone. The shirt itself was untucked. He carried his coat as he approached and hung it on the chair next to me.

Mikey cleared his throat and said, "Your hair used to be longer, right?"

Sloan laughed. "Yes, my hair was longer."

"Sloan identifies as a man now," Marie clarified.

"Cool," said Mikey. He paused, glanced toward me, then added, "I know I've learned a lot about myself since high school."

"Wyatt and I were just saying that earlier," said Sloan. "I think it's true for everyone. There are at lot of discoveries to me made."

Mikey gestured toward the four shots, squared up at the center of the table. "What are these doing here?"

"They're for you," said Marie. "It's sort of an initiation thing. We all had to do it."

Mikey smiled cautiously at Marie. "Are you sure we're not sharing them?"

I reached for mine. "She's just giving you a hard time."

Marie stuck out her tongue at me and raised up the tiny glass. "To self-discovery."

Each of us tossed one back, and a short time later, Marie appeared to have warmed to Mikey considerably. She smacked her phone down on the table and said, "You, my friend, have a little catching up to do."

Mikey indicated toward our empty pitcher. "I'll order another if you want."

"Let me," she insisted.

"No way," he said, quickly flagging down the server and pulling out his wallet.

HEY THERE QOOMERS I'M FROM 4CHAN'S /trash/ BOARD

HEY THERE QOOMERS I'M FROM 4CHAN'S /trash/ BOARDHEY THERE QOOMERS I'M FROM 4CHAN'S /trash/ BOARDHEY THERE QOOMERS I'M FROM 4CHAN'S /trash/ BOARDHEY THERE QOOMERS I'M FROM 4CHAN'S /trash/ BOARDHEY THERE QOOMERS I'M FROM 4CHAN'S /trash/ BOARDHEY THERE QOOMERS I'M FROM 4CHAN'S /trash/ BOARDHEY THERE QOOMERS I'M FROM 4CHAN'S /trash/ BOARDHEY THERE QOOMERS I'M FROM 4CHAN'S /trash/ BOARDHEY THERE QOOMERS I'M FROM 4CHAN'S /trash/ BOARDHEY THERE QOOMERS I'M FROM 4CHAN'S /trash/ BOARDHEY THERE QOOMERS I'M FROM 4CHAN'S /trash/ BOARDHEY THERE QOOMERS I'M FROM 4CHAN'S /trash/ BOARDHEY THERE QOOMERS I'M FROM 4CHAN'S /trash/ BOARDHEY THERE QOOMERS I'M FROM 4CHAN'S /trash/ BOARDHEY THERE QOOMERS I'M FROM 4CHAN'S /trash/ BOARDHEY THERE QOOMERS I'M FROM 4CHAN'S /trash/ BOARDHEY THERE QOOMERS I'M FROM 4CHAN'S /trash/ BOARDHEY THERE QOOMERS I'M FROM 4CHAN'S /trash/ BOARDHEY THERE QOOMERS I'M FROM 4CHAN'S /trash/ BOARDHEY THERE QOOMERS I'M FROM 4CHAN'S /trash/ BOARDHEY THERE QOOMERS I'M FROM 4CHAN'S /trash/ BOARDHEY THERE QOOMERS I'M FROM 4CHAN'S /trash/ BOARDHEY THERE QOOMERS I'M FROM 4CHAN'S /trash/ BOARDHEY THERE QOOMERS I'M FROM 4CHAN'S /trash/ BOARDHEY THERE QOOMERS I'M FROM 4CHAN'S /trash/ BOARDHEY THERE QOOMERS I'M FROM 4CHAN'S /trash/ BOARDHEY THERE QOOMERS I'M FROM 4CHAN'S /trash/ BOARDHEY THERE QOOMERS I'M FROM 4CHAN'S /trash/ BOARDHEY THERE QOOMERS I'M FROM 4CHAN'S /trash/ BOARDHEY THERE QOOMERS I'M FROM 4CHAN'S /trash/ BOARDHEY THERE QOOMERS I'M FROM 4CHAN'S /trash/ BOARDHEY THERE QOOMERS I'M FROM 4CHAN'S /trash/ BOARDHEY THERE QOOMERS I'M FROM 4CHAN'S /trash/ BOARDHEY THERE QOOMERS I'M FROM 4CHAN'S /trash/ BOARDHEY THERE QOOMERS I'M FROM 4CHAN'S /trash/ BOARDHEY THERE QOOMERS I'M FROM 4CHAN'S /trash/ BOARDHEY THERE QOOMERS I'M FROM 4CHAN'S /trash/ BOARDHEY THERE QOOMERS I'M FROM 4CHAN'S /trash/ BOARDHEY THERE QOOMERS I'M FROM 4CHAN'S /trash/ BOARDHEY THERE QOOMERS I'M FROM 4CHAN'S /trash/ BOARDHEY THERE QOOMERS I'M FROM 4CHAN'S /trash/ BOARDHEY THERE QOOMERS I'M FROM 4CHAN'S /trash/ BOARDHEY THERE QOOMERS I'M FROM 4CHAN'S /trash/ BOARDHEY THERE QOOMERS I'M FROM 4CHAN'S /trash/ BOARDHEY THERE QOOMERS I'M FROM 4CHAN'S /trash/ BOARDHEY THERE QOOMERS I'M FROM 4CHAN'S /trash/ BOARDHEY THERE QOOMERS I'M FROM 4CHAN'S /trash/ BOARDHEY THERE QOOMERS I'M FROM 4CHAN'S /trash/ BOARDHEY THERE QOOMERS I'M FROM 4CHAN'S /trash/ BOARDHEY THERE QOOMERS I'M FROM 4CHAN'S /trash/ BOARDHEY THERE QOOMERS I'M FROM 4CHAN'S /trash/ BOARDHEY THERE QOOMERS I'M FROM 4CHAN'S /trash/ BOARDHEY THERE QOOMERS I'M FROM 4CHAN'S /trash/ BOARDHEY THERE QOOMERS I'M FROM 4CHAN'S /trash/ BOARDHEY THERE QOOMERS I'M FROM 4CHAN'S /trash/ BOARDHEY THERE QOOMERS I'M FROM 4CHAN'S /trash/ BOARDHEY THERE QOOMERS I'M FROM 4CHAN'S /trash/ BOARDHEY THERE QOOMERS I'M FROM 4CHAN'S /trash/ BOARDHEY THERE QOOMERS I'M FROM 4CHAN'S /trash/ BOARDHEY THERE QOOMERS I'M FROM 4CHAN'S /trash/ BOARDHEY THERE QOOMERS I'M FROM 4CHAN'S /trash/ BOARDHEY THERE QOOMERS I'M FROM 4CHAN'S /trash/ BOARDHEY THERE QOOMERS I'M FROM 4CHAN'S /trash/ BOARDHEY THERE QOOMERS I'M FROM 4CHAN'S /trash/ BOARDHEY THERE QOOMERS I'M FROM 4CHAN'S /trash/ BOARDHEY THERE QOOMERS I'M FROM 4CHAN'S /trash/ BOARDHEY THERE QOOMERS I'M FROM 4CHAN'S /trash/ BOARDHEY THERE QOOMERS I'M FROM 4CHAN'S /trash/ BOARDHEY THERE QOOMERS I'M FROM 4CHAN'S /trash/ BOARDHEY THERE QOOMERS I'M FROM 4CHAN'S /trash/ BOARDHEY THERE QOOMERS I'M FROM 4CHAN'S /trash/ BOARDHEY THERE QOOMERS I'M FROM 4CHAN'S /trash/ BOARDHEY THERE QOOMERS I'M FROM 4CHAN'S /trash/ BOARDHEY THERE QOOMERS I'M FROM 4CHAN'S /trash/ BOARDHEY THERE QOOMERS I'M FROM 4CHAN'S /trash/ BOARDHEY THERE QOOMERS I'M FROM 4CHAN'S /trash/ BOARDHEY THERE QOOMERS I'M FROM 4CHAN'S /trash/ BOARDHEY THERE QOOMERS I'M FROM 4CHAN'S /trash/ BOARDHEY THERE QOOMERS I'M FROM 4CHAN'S /trash/ BOARDHEY THERE QOOMERS I'M FROM 4CHAN'S /trash/ BOARDHEY THERE QOOMERS I'M FROM 4CHAN'S /trash/ BOARDHEY THERE QOOMERS I'M FROM 4CHAN'S /trash/ BOARDHEY THERE QOOMERS I'M FROM 4CHAN'S /trash/ BOARDHEY THERE QOOMERS I'M FROM 4CHAN'S /trash/ BOARDHEY THERE QOOMERS I'M FROM 4CHAN'S /trash/ BOARDHEY THERE QOOMERS I'M FROM 4CHAN'S /trash/ BOARDHEY THERE QOOMERS I'M FROM 4CHAN'S /trash/ BOARDHEY THERE QOOMERS I'M FROM 4CHAN'S /trash/ BOARDHEY THERE QOOMERS I'M FROM 4CHAN'S /trash/ BOARDHEY THERE QOOMERS I'M FROM 4CHAN'S /trash/ BOARDHEY THERE QOOMERS I'M FROM 4CHAN'S /trash/ BOARDHEY THERE QOOMERS I'M FROM 4CHAN'S /trash/ BOARDHEY THERE QOOMERS I'M FROM 4CHAN'S /trash/ BOARDHEY THERE QOOMERS I'M FROM 4CHAN'S /trash/ BOARDHEY THERE QOOMERS I'M FROM 4CHAN'S /trash/ BOARDHEY THERE QOOMERS I'M FROM 4CHAN'S /trash/ BOARDHEY THERE QOOMERS I'M FROM 4CHAN'S /trash/ BOARDHEY THERE QOOMERS I'M FROM 4CHAN'S /trash/ BOARD

Paul Krugman was born to a Russian and Jewish family,[16][17] the son of Anita and David Krugman.

“Gar-field!” Jon called. “I made you some steaming hot lasagna!”

Jon heard an abnormally heavy set of footsteps caress the hardwood floor. A thought came into his stupid, tiny mind. He knew Garfield was fat, but this sounded a little too heavy even for such a monumental creature like his beloved cat. “Garf-buddy? You alright?”

“Hello, Jon,” a deep and sultry voice sounded.

Jon couldn’t believe his eyes. In front of him stood a creature that was still recognizable as his companion of forty years, but at the same time was just… different. Jon didn’t know what this feeling was. He hadn’t felt it since he was arrested on charges of attempting to lure a minor into sexual conduct in Alberta, Canada in June of 1969 during the Stanley Cup finals. It was still immense and orange, but… it had the body of a human, and the head was… still a cat? Anyway, it was taller than him, and looked like someone out of My Six Hundred Pound Life.

Man-Garfield strutted sensually over to his owner of forty-one years. “Lasagna isn’t the only thing I want, Jon.”

Jon’s eyes widened and his peepee twitched. “Do… does your litterbox need cleaning? Is that what you want?”

“No. Jon.” Garfield purred, leaning in to invade Jon’s no-no zone. “I just realized that in forty-one years of being your special little baby I have never once… taken the appropriate steps to mark you as my owner.”

Jon took a step back. “But you’ve rubbed on me plenty of times.”

“ Jon.” There was force in the orange behemoth’s voice. “There are other steps a cat must take to truly form a proper bond with their owner.”

“… And what are those? Why are you a human?” Jon asked, mildly frightened.

“I cannot complete the necessary steps without turning into my human form,” Garfield insinuated, putting his large, pawlike hands on Jon’s shoulders and slamming him against the poetic princess pink kitchen wall.

Jon struggled. “Okay! Garfield, what are the steps? You’re scaring me! All I wanted was to share lasagna with you!” He could feel Garfield’s mammoth Cheeto-colored cock poking him in his tiny beta-cuck weewee through his azure trousers. “Garfield…? No! I was always the sex predator in this household!”

“That has changed, Jon. To effectively bond with a human, I must thoroughly shower them with my dongfluids, both kinds. If you resist, it will only hurt more.”

Oh, how the tables have turned, Jon thought. Man, I said the same thing to that fourteen-year-old boy… ah, good times.

Garfield tore off all of Jon’s clothes with one firm pull. He then proceeded to slap Jon across the face with his giant, 30-inch erect tubesteak. Jon fell on his ass like the loser he is. “G-Garfield!” he whined.

“You know why, Jon.” Garfield stood up to his full height once again and straddled Jon, dangling the tip of his colossal orange dong in Jon’s face next to his mouth. “Ever smelled cat jizz, Jon?”

“… No… I’ve never even sniffed my own,” Jon replied nervously

Garfield laughed. “Well, that’s about to change.” Garfield leant over, letting his massive blood-orange wang brush sensually over Jon’s chin as he pulled a disturbingly moist Glock out of his dripping anus. “Seduce me, Jon,” Garfield demanded. “Or else,” pointing the gun directly at Jon’s now exposed testicles. Jon nervously brushed his shaky left hand through his sepia hair, looking up desperately into Garfield’s soulless pupils. “D-daddy,” he stuttered. He slowly ran his hand down his chest until it reached his erect tool. He began to caress it gently, “Pwease give me your sweet, sweet alfredo sauce.”

“Oh, fuck yes,” Garfield moaned loudly, lowering the gun and slowly and painfully shoving it back up his ass. With his other hand, he began to twirl his cock like in that old classic Meatspin. “Jonathon, it is time.”

“T-time? Time for- Mmph!” Jon’s words were cut off by Garfield slinging a hot blast of burning-hot buttery-colored piss into his open mouth. It tasted salty, not what he was used to, but not unpleasant.

“This,” Garfield groaned. “Fuck, this is good.”

Three minutes passed, and Garfield hadn’t stopped whizzing. As Garfield was still helicoptering his dick, urine was spraying all over the formerly pristine kitchen and pooling in every available surface. “How long did you hold in preparation for this?” Jon gargled, spitting urine.

“A-ah… Three days, Jon,” the orange man-cat-monstrosity groaned.

That explains it, Jon thought. All the excessive squirming, constant demands for less water. So he wouldn’t pee himself.

The twirling slowed as Garfield looked into Jon’s eyes, unblinking as the flow of urine ceased. Urine was pooled in every reasonably flat surface, was flowing down every wall, and was soaking every inch of Jon’s skin as well as filling his orifices. He barely had time to blow the boiling hot slash out of his nose before Garfield presented him with his massive orange shaft. “Put it in,” he urged. “As far as it will go.”

Well, at least I’ve done anal before. “But… what about the lube?”

“That’s why I took a leak all over you, Jon.”

Shit.

THE END

Misato sighed as she rested her head on her desk, feeling defeated in the most unusual of aspects of her job. It was, unfortunately, something that was vital to the success of future missions, especially when it came to handling the Angels and saving the world. “What to do…” she sighed to herself.

“You wished to see me, Misato?” came a voice entering her office. Right off the bat Misato could tell from the emotionless delivery it was just who she needed to see.

“Rei, yes! Thank you for stopping by, I have a rather unusual assignment for you.”

Rei Ayanami, also known as the First Child, was an operator for the EVA unit 00. She had heard from people that she was a 'puppet', a 'doll', among other things, and they weren't all that far off about her. She usually did as she was told, though there were a lot of reasons for that. She had shared the limelight in fighting Angels off with another child, Shinji, who still seemed very shaken up by the project, as well as his role in all matters. It was strange for Misato to admit this much, but perhaps her issues would be solved if she came to the one person who knew Shinji best.

“Shall I report to my EVA right away?” Rei asked without blinking.

“No, that won't be necessary,” Misato said, waving the question off, “this actually has less to do with EVAs and angels and…okay, there's some dealing with that here, but the subject I need help with is neither of those, but rather Shinji.”

Rei blinked at that, but showed no other emotion. “Shinji? I don't understand, he seems perfectly fine to me.”

“There's a bit more to it than that.” Misato said. “My problem with Shinji is merely the fact that he always seems to second guess himself or the orders we give him. And considering he had a different life growing up from you that's understandable, but we need less of that on the field and more following orders right as they're given.”

“Understandable.” Rei replied. “But where do I feature in this?”

“I need your help in making him more obedient.” Misato said bluntly. “The problem is, I don't know what else I can do. He's so frightened and worried about his own survival that nothing works.”

There's a pause from the doll before she bluntly asked, “How far are you willing to go to break Shinji?” This caused Misato to cock her head to the side, curious what direction the pilot was about to go into. “I have done some research in my spare time, and have found some rather unique methods that could potentially work into making Shinji a much better pilot, one that could fall in line better in the heat of battle.”

“Go on…” Misato said, resting her curled up finger against her lips.

“How familiar are you with bondage?” As Rei blurted that question out, Misato's eyes grew wide. Her face turned red, and her heart raced heavily.

“W-Well, I know it's…sexual. Kinky. And…not part of this job at all…”

“Agreed,” Rei admitted, “however, there are roles to be had with such kinkery, such as master and slave. If you were to make Shinji understand his role better through sexual humiliation, perhaps he could better follow your orders while ignoring his judgement.”

“Make Shinji a slave to obey us better…” Misato said to herself, weighing on the option for a while. “What am I thinking?! Rei, we can't do that to him! It's mixing work with pleasure, and-”

“Don't worry.” Rei assured her. “If you want, I can show you the ropes on how to be a mistress to Shinji. You have that vibe to you that would fit well as a mistress to him.”

“Thanks…?” Misato said, her cheeks still red from the earlier suggestion.

Shinji sighed as he stepped out of the shower, grabbing his towel as he wrapped it around his torso before heading to his room. He was happy that there hadn't been any Angel attacks recently, and that it gave him enough time to finally calm down. He understood being a pilot and fighting such beings would be tough, but he honestly had no idea just what he signed up for until it was too late. And perhaps the break would uncloud his mind and let him figure out a better method for dealing with the stress this all entailed.

Of course, any chance of a break left his mind the second he stepped into the main living space, jumping back when he saw Rei and Misato standing around as though they were waiting for him.

“Misato? Rei?! What are you guys doing here?!” Shinji asked, holding his towel in place. “A-and…why are you dressed like that?”

The two women were wearing matching corsets made of leather that covered their busts down to their waists. They otherwise wore knee high boots with high heels, and rather than underwear, harnesses that contained long skin-toned devices that looked like male genitals. They also wore latex gloves up to their elbows, giving them a rather domineering aesthetic. Despite the attire, Rei held her cold glance at Shinji, her fist at her side while she held something in her other hand. Misato, on the other hand, was smiling despite the obvious discomfort she felt in regards to dressing like she was.

“Hello, Shinji.” Rei said to her fellow pilot. “Misato has agreed to help me with teaching you obedience in order to be a better pilot.”

“She's very good at talking me into the method, though…” Misato whimpered through her smile.

“Obedience? Like this?” Shinji shouted, pointing at the two. “But this is…really, really perverted!”

“Can you think of a better way of teaching yourself obedience?” Rei asked, stepping forward. “One that can bring at least some semblance of pleasure? Because torture may be the only other option.”

“I'd rather NEITHER option, thanks!” Shinji barked, stomping his foot down on the ground. The movement caused his towel to slip off, leaving him buck naked before the two. Misato gasped, covering her mouth as she stared on, unable to remove her gaze from the sight of Shinji's dick. Rei, on the other hand, had the most appropriate response possible.

“So, that's a male penis. Interesting.” she said, giving the tip a light flick that stunned the male pilot. “It's much smaller than what I've seen on the internet.”

“Rei, come on!” Shinji yelped, covering up his three inch pecker. “Why would you attack me like this?!” Misato couldn't help but laugh, between the reveal of Shinji's size and Rei's reaction to its reveal.

“Shinji, oh my GOD!” Misato said, doubling over as she grabbed her ribs. “I knew you were still developing, but I didn't think your dick would be so small!” Shinji's face turned bright red, covering himself up with his hands cupped over the three inch dong as the scientist continued to laugh at him.

“Misato's right, Shinji,” Rei said, slapping his hands from his private parts. “Statistics show that the average male penis is slightly over five inches long, and women are attracted to those with the largest members. Yours is clearly inferior and below average, making you less attractive and categorizing you as 'submissive'.”

“Th-that doesn't mean anything!” Shinji said, stepping back as Rei reached out for his cock. Even as it throbbed heavily, rising up from its spot against his raised nut sack, the women could see that the male pilot was unable to get it above the five inch mark, even when hard. “Look, I…may not be eating the right meals is all. I could use a bit more protein in my diet, don't you think?”

The scientist shook her head, feeling a bit more comfortable in her role now that she could insult Shinji and his dick directly. “I'm sorry, Shinji, but no amount of proper workout is going to get that any larger, even if your balls do eventually drop.”

“You could be less harsh about it, you know…” Shinji whined, a large drop of sweat forming on the back of his head.

“Just stand still.” Rei said, squatting before the naked pilot and inspecting his cock. She squeezed it between her two fingers and thumb, giving it a gentle rub that stimulated Shinji to incredible lengths. His body tensed up, knees quaking under him while Misato approached him from behind, getting in on the fun of teasing the young man and his baby penis. She looked over his shoulder, resting her hands on his arms to keep them in place while he tried to look away from the hand job Rei was giving him. The way her latex gloves smoothed over his skin was something he had gotten a little used to thanks to the EVA suits he wore while piloting his mech, but it never really felt like this when his private parts were against the fabric.

“Now tell me that doesn't feel wonderful, Shinji.” Misato whispered into his ear, her voice breathy and seductive. “Your little shrimp dick is getting some attention for the first time in its life, you should feel more excited about it.”

“Not when you keep calling it small…” Shinji whined. As she ignored the banter between the pilot and scientist, Rei kept her eye on the member, staring down the urethral slit while doing so. She pinched the crown between her finger tips, just to get a small glimpse of what was inside the three inch rod. She could barely see what was down there due to its small size, although she may just have to consider sounding when the time arrived.

With all of his focus on the blue haired pilot wanking him off, Shinji felt his hips jut forward when Misato plugged his asshole up with one of her fingers, pushing it hard against the tiny rectum. He was amazed she managed to get anything up there, given he was already clenching it in, but now he could feel the latex sliding up his cavity, pushing over the prostate within his backside.

“Mmm, I can feel a pulse.” Misato said, her mouth still against his ear. “You're squeezing my finger so tightly, I can feel your heartbeat racing. That must sound so amazing to you, Shinji.”

The male pilot said nothing, heaving through his closed lips as Rei continued to toy around with his three inch boner. She brought her other hand up to his scrotum, first to test the weight of his sack just to see how heavy they were. Not surprisingly, there wasn't too much weight to them. She slapped upwards at them repeatedly, causing Shinji to groan through his teeth while his nuts bounced in her hand. It definitely seemed to stimulate something in him, as the small veins on his cock were pulsing as well, the same way Misato could feel it in his clenched down sphincter. He soon unlocked his jaw, her mouth open for regular breathing as he panted heavily while his tongue remained in his mouth. Misato's fingers continued to stimulate his backside, slowly turning about while the latex rubbed against his rectal cavern.

“I'm rather impressed, Shinji.” Rei said as she saw the cheeks on her fellow pilot turn red. “You've lasted longer than I imagined possible for someone with a small cock as yours would.”

“Thanks…” Shinji whimpered, his body jumping once more as Misato jabbed her fingers in until her knuckles bumped against his backside. It was enough to make him lose control of himself, his fluids soon splashing out of his cock. Fortunately for Rei, who was rather close to his three inch rod for analysis, there wasn't too much for him to let loose, with only a small ounce landing on her cheek. She easily brushed the milky seed from her cheek, wiping her latex gloves onto her corset without giving it a second thought or even consuming it for a taste analysis.

“Cum output seems to be rather normal,” Rei said, standing up before her fellow pilot, “so nothing too excessive that he can't handle.” Shinji's body fell limp, with Misato quick to hold up up by his arms. He took long, deep breaths, as if the climax took a lot out of him. Misato giggled, finding it rather cute how much he had to offer, not to mention how quickly he collapsed after she gave a quick jut of her fingers against his prostate.

"Well I thought the way he responded to your little tug job was adorable." Misato said, pinching at Shinji's cheek. "And I think we can get him to do more of that until he learns to listen better, isn't that right, Shinji?"

The male pilot groaned once he finally found the strength to stand upright, "How much longer are you guys going to do this for?"

"Until your obedience to orders on the battlefield are perfected." Rei replied, unzipping her boots. "And we do have ways to get you to that point, starting with my feet."

Staring at her now bare foot, Shinji cocked his head to the side, confused by the example given to him by his fellow pilot. "Your…feet?"

"Yes, they're killing me after wearing these boots for so long." Rei said, her expression unwavering. "Now come down here and give my foot a quick rub. Then, lick my toes."

"But-"

"No buts!" Misato said, shoving Shinji to the floor. "Well, maybe one but, just not the one you're thinking of. Just go ahead and work on her foot!"

"F-Fine!" Shinji yelped, resting one knee on the floor while he held Rei's foot up. Despite her cold demeanor, Shinji could hear sighs of delight as he worked his hands into her sole and ankle, giving them the best rub he could given his lack of experience as a masseuse. Her toes curled up when he pushed against her rough bottom, feeling the gruff texture she had underneath. It didn't surprise him that someone so emotionless didn't have such a softer pair of feet to work with, though that just made this a little harder for him to handle.

Misato squatted down next to the pilots, watching Shinji's work on Rei's feet while also eyeing his crotch. She giggled as his rod twitched about, with little drops of cum still dripping from the tip and onto the carpet. "Amazing." Misato said, clearly c

Teasing the male pilot. "You're not even a few minutes removed from your orgasm and yet you're getting hard again already."

"He must really enjoy this." Rei said, a hum escaping her lips right after. "Being used as nothing more than a tool to rub my feet." Shinji remained quiet, having no defense to that statement. It wasn't completely true that he enjoyed this, but he was getting a thrill out of something from this, he just didn't know what.

"Actually," Misato said, unzipping her boots as well, "these ARE a bit too much for me to stand in, too. Sexy, to be sure, but they're killer on my feet!" The scientist plopped down onto the couch, sighing as she stuck her feet out and wiggled her toes. "Shinji, be a darling and help me out when you're done with hers."

"But…" Shinji said, only to be met with a light slap from the blue haired woman standing before him. Despite the lack of emotion she already exhibited, Reo managed to look icier than usual at him.

"As Misato stated previously, there are no buts save for one." Rei stated. "My toes can wait. Let your other mistress have her turn now."

"Right, sure…" Shinji said, moving towards the scientist sitting on the couch. He ignored the smug look she held on her lips, kneeling before her in a similar fashion while holding his hands out for the massage. Her feet were much softer in comparison to Rei's, much simpler to deal with when it came to rubbing into them. To his surprise, she was overly sensitive, as she moaned and hummed in a pitch higher than usual for even someone like herself. She even squeezed her thighs together, despite the toy shaft still between her legs. The molded balls pushed against her skin, leaving a mark for later on that nobody but her would feel. The technique he used, even for a novice, was too good for her to handle, causing her to stroke the fake cock in an attempt to ignore her own private parts.

Rei took a seat next to Misato, studying her face and the enjoyment she took from the foot rub. To her it looked as though the scientist had caved in to Shinji, but it was far from the truth; she hadn't forgotten her role as a dominant in this scenario, she just really enjoyed the attention her feet were being given, unaware of just how ignored they were for so long.

>>7756242 (PB)

((Re: Potus breathing in his speech today seemed to be a comm.))

Watching Trump's speech to the nation today, near the beginning, listen carefully to his voice crack and get emotional when saying the American people should be extremely grateful, just after saying Iran will never be allowed to have a nuke weapon. Between the words and the emotions, I can't help but wonder if we and the world had a very very close call yesterday - at a level that isn't being revealed - and that we should be very grateful to our intel and military folks.

The general standing behind his left shoulder looked like he hadn't slept in 2-5 days.

Q Post 1735 - Anon asked if F16 could shoot missile out of the air; Q replied, Specialized Weapons Pack, Clas 5.

And today ANON pointing out a laser type weapons x-ref Israel.

Didn't they announce after they killed Soleimani that he was planning additional attacks? Maybe the attack yesterday was already in the works. They keep trying to force a war.

Not sure if we're talking about the same point in time in POTUS speech today. Maybe I'm stretching too far also, but that was my instant impression in live time - something big happened.

Dems coming out of briefing later didn't get the answers they wanted. How could the Generals tell them? How many are traitors?

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HEIL STALIN

HEIL STALIN

HEIL STALIN

HEIL STALIN

HEIL STALIN

HEIL STALIN

HEIL STALIN

HEIL STALIN

HEIL STALIN

HEIL STALIN

HEIL STALIN

HEIL STALIN

HEIL STALIN

HEIL STALIN

HEIL STALIN

HEIL STALIN

HEIL STALIN

HEIL STALIN

HEIL STALIN

HEIL STALIN

HEIL STALIN

HEIL STALIN

HEIL STALIN

HEIL STALIN

HEIL STALIN

HEIL STALIN

HEIL STALIN

HEIL STALIN

HEIL STALIN

HEIL STALIN

HEIL STALIN

HEIL STALIN

HEIL STALIN

HEIL STALIN

HEIL STALIN

HEIL STALIN

HEIL STALIN

HEIL STALIN

HEIL STALIN

HEIL STALIN

HEIL STALIN

HEIL STALIN

HEIL STALIN

HEIL STALIN

HEIL STALIN

HEIL STALIN

HEIL STALIN

HEIL STALIN

>>7757490

Or this Soleimani attack was in play. If Trump entered a war without their AUMF approval, then they could tack that on to the impeachment and maybe get something to stick.

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wait(1)

– Get LocalPlayer

local p = game.Players.LocalPlayer

– Instance New Objects

local gui = Instance.new('ScreenGui',p.PlayerGui)

local frame = Instance.new('Frame',gui)

local open = Instance.new('TextButton',gui)

local bool = Instance.new('BoolValue',frame)

local button = Instance.new('TextButton',frame)

local name = Instance.new('TextLabel',frame)

local box = Instance.new('TextBox',frame)

local msg = Instance.new('StringValue',box)

local exit = Instance.new('TextButton',frame)

local spamon = Instance.new('TextButton',frame)

local spamoff = Instance.new('TextButton',frame)

local search = Instance.new('TextBox',frame)

local people = Instance.new('StringValue',frame)

– Objects Name

gui.Name = "SpamGUI"

frame.Name = "SpawnFrame"

open.Name = "OpenButton"

bool.Name = "Bool"

button.Name = "Open/Close"

name.Name = "Title"

box.Name = "TextBox"

msg.Name = "Msg"

exit.Name = "ExitButton"

spamon.Name = "SpamON"

spamoff.Name = "SpamOFF"

search.Name = "SearchPeople"

people.Name = "Result"

– Objects Position

frame.Position = UDim2.new(0.7,7,0,3)

open.Position = UDim2.new(0,-100,0.7,0)

button.Position = UDim2.new(0,170,0.7,13)

name.Position = UDim2.new(0,0,0,0)

box.Position = UDim2.new(0,0,0,45)

exit.Position = UDim2.new(0.8,30,0,0)

spamon.Position = UDim2.new(0,5,0.7,13)

spamoff.Position = UDim2.new(0,245,0.7,13)

search.Position = UDim2.new(0,0,0,200)

– Object Size

frame.Size = UDim2.new(0,400,0,200)

open.Size = UDim2.new(0,100,0,40)

button.Size = UDim2.new(0,60,0,40)

name.Size = UDim2.new(0.8,25,0,40)

box.Size = UDim2.new(1,0,0,100)

exit.Size = UDim2.new(0,50,0,43)

spamon.Size = UDim2.new(0,150,0,40)

spamoff.Size = UDim2.new(0,150,0,40)

search.Size = UDim2.new(0,400,0,50)

– Dragggable Frame

frame.Active = true

frame.Draggable = true

– Objects Background Color

frame.BackgroundColor3 = Color3.new(0,0,0)

open.BackgroundColor3 = Color3.new(255, 255, 0)

button.BackgroundColor3 = Color3.new(255, 255, 255)

name.BackgroundColor3 = Color3.new(255, 255, 255)

box.BackgroundColor3 = Color3.new(255, 255, 255)

exit.BackgroundColor3 = Color3.new(255, 0, 0)

spamon.BackgroundColor3 = Color3.new(255, 0, 0)

spamoff.BackgroundColor3 = Color3.new(255, 0, 0)

search.BackgroundColor3 = Color3.new(255,255,255)

– Object Background Transparency

frame.BackgroundTransparency = 0.5

box.BackgroundTransparency = 0.5

button.BackgroundTransparency = 0.6

name.BackgroundTransparency = 1

search.BackgroundTransparency = 0.6

– Visible

open.Visible = false

search.Visible = false

– Text Size/Scaled enabled

open.TextScaled = true

exit.TextScaled = true

spamon.TextScaled = true

spamoff.TextScaled = true

box.TextScaled = true

button.TextScaled = true

name.TextScaled = true

search.TextScaled = true

– Box Line

box.ClearTextOnFocus = true

box.MultiLine = true

– Text Color

name.TextColor3 = Color3.new(255,0,0)

– Text

open.Text = "Open"

exit.Text = "Exit"

spamoff.Text = "Turn Off"

spamon.Text = "Turn On"

box.Text = "Message Here ….."

button.Text = "Close"

name.Text = "Unique's Spam GUI"

search.Text = "Search people"

– Value

bool.Value = false

msg.Value = ""

people.Value = ""

– Spam On

spamon.MouseButton1Down:connect(function()

bool.Value = true

msg.Value = box.Text

box.Text = "Success !"

search.Text = ""

wait(1)

box.Text = "Message Here ….."

end)

– Spam Off

spamoff.MouseButton1Down:connect(function()

bool.Value = false

end)

– Exit Function

exit.MouseButton1Down:connect(function()

frame:TweenPosition(UDim2.new(1,0,0,3),"Out","Quad",1,true)

wait(1)

frame.Visible = false

wait(.5)

open.Visible = true

open:TweenPosition(UDim2.new(0,5,0.7,0),"Out","Bounce",1,true)

end)

– Open Function

open.MouseButton1Down:connect(function()

open:TweenPosition(UDim2.new(0,-100,0.7,0),"Out","Quad",1,true)

wait(1)

open.Visible = false

wait(.5)

frame.Visible = true

frame:TweenPosition(UDim2.new(0.7,7,0,3),"Out","Bounce",1,true)

end)

IT'S TIME TO STOP POSTING

IT'S TIME TO STOP POSTING IT'S TIME TO STOP POSTING IT'S TIME TO STOP POSTING IT'S TIME TO STOP POSTING IT'S TIME TO STOP POSTING IT'S TIME TO STOP POSTING IT'S TIME TO STOP POSTING IT'S TIME TO STOP POSTING IT'S TIME TO STOP POSTING IT'S TIME TO STOP POSTING IT'S TIME TO STOP POSTING IT'S TIME TO STOP POSTING IT'S TIME TO STOP POSTING IT'S TIME TO STOP POSTING IT'S TIME TO STOP POSTING IT'S TIME TO STOP POSTING IT'S TIME TO STOP POSTING IT'S TIME TO STOP POSTING IT'S TIME TO STOP POSTING IT'S TIME TO STOP POSTING IT'S TIME TO STOP POSTING IT'S TIME TO STOP POSTING IT'S TIME TO STOP POSTING IT'S TIME TO STOP POSTING IT'S TIME TO STOP POSTING IT'S TIME TO STOP POSTING IT'S TIME TO STOP POSTING IT'S TIME TO STOP POSTING IT'S TIME TO STOP POSTING IT'S TIME TO STOP POSTING IT'S TIME TO STOP POSTING IT'S TIME TO STOP POSTING IT'S TIME TO STOP POSTING IT'S TIME TO STOP POSTING IT'S TIME TO STOP POSTING IT'S TIME TO STOP POSTING IT'S TIME TO STOP POSTING IT'S TIME TO STOP POSTING IT'S TIME TO STOP POSTING IT'S TIME TO STOP POSTING IT'S TIME TO STOP POSTING IT'S TIME TO STOP POSTING IT'S TIME TO STOP POSTING IT'S TIME TO STOP POSTING IT'S TIME TO STOP POSTING IT'S TIME TO STOP POSTING IT'S TIME TO STOP POSTING IT'S TIME TO STOP POSTING IT'S TIME TO STOP POSTING IT'S TIME TO STOP POSTING IT'S TIME TO STOP POSTING IT'S TIME TO STOP POSTING IT'S TIME TO STOP POSTING IT'S TIME TO STOP POSTING IT'S TIME TO STOP POSTING IT'S TIME TO STOP POSTING IT'S TIME TO STOP POSTING IT'S TIME TO STOP POSTING IT'S TIME TO STOP POSTING IT'S TIME TO STOP POSTING IT'S TIME TO STOP POSTING IT'S TIME TO STOP POSTING IT'S TIME TO STOP POSTING IT'S TIME TO STOP POSTING IT'S TIME TO STOP POSTING IT'S TIME TO STOP POSTING IT'S TIME TO STOP POSTING IT'S TIME TO STOP POSTING IT'S TIME TO STOP POSTING IT'S TIME TO STOP POSTING IT'S TIME TO STOP POSTING IT'S TIME TO STOP POSTING IT'S TIME TO STOP POSTING IT'S TIME TO STOP POSTING IT'S TIME TO STOP POSTING IT'S TIME TO STOP POSTING IT'S TIME TO STOP POSTING IT'S TIME TO STOP POSTING IT'S TIME TO STOP POSTING IT'S TIME TO STOP POSTING IT'S TIME TO STOP POSTING IT'S TIME TO STOP POSTING IT'S TIME TO STOP POSTING IT'S TIME TO STOP POSTING IT'S TIME TO STOP POSTING IT'S TIME TO STOP POSTING IT'S TIME TO STOP POSTING IT'S TIME TO STOP POSTING IT'S TIME TO STOP POSTING IT'S TIME TO STOP POSTING IT'S TIME TO STOP POSTING IT'S TIME TO STOP POSTING IT'S TIME TO STOP POSTING IT'S TIME TO STOP POSTING IT'S TIME TO STOP POSTING IT'S TIME TO STOP POSTING IT'S TIME TO STOP POSTING IT'S TIME TO STOP POSTING IT'S TIME TO STOP POSTING IT'S TIME TO STOP POSTING IT'S TIME TO STOP POSTING IT'S TIME TO STOP POSTING IT'S TIME TO STOP POSTING IT'S TIME TO STOP POSTING IT'S TIME TO STOP POSTING IT'S TIME TO STOP POSTING IT'S TIME TO STOP POSTING IT'S TIME TO STOP POSTING IT'S TIME TO STOP POSTING IT'S TIME TO STOP POSTING IT'S TIME TO STOP POSTING IT'S TIME TO STOP POSTING IT'S TIME TO STOP POSTING IT'S TIME TO STOP POSTING

IF YOU DON'T REPLY TO THIS POST YOUR MOTHER WILL DIE IN HER SLEEP

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>faggot

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~~faggot~~

>>7757522

Been thru bad times. Thru death of my son learned a lesson from him. Be with those you love, do what you love. Screw the rest. Give plenty of time to take one step at a step. Set some goals that lead to making yourself at peace/happy - one step at a time. It took me 5 years to walk there (with multiple family deaths along the way) and walk away from my old life completely and alone and from rich to poor. But I arrived at my destination, am happy, and Thank God for all the ANONS I virtually met along the way that helped me stay sane doing at least one thing that I loved.

Virtual hug.

FAGGOT

FAGGOT FAGGOT FAGGOT FAGGOT FAGGOT FAGGOT FAGGOT FAGGOT FAGGOT FAGGOT FAGGOT FAGGOT FAGGOT FAGGOT FAGGOT FAGGOT FAGGOT FAGGOT FAGGOT FAGGOT FAGGOT FAGGOT FAGGOT FAGGOT FAGGOT FAGGOT FAGGOT FAGGOT FAGGOT FAGGOT FAGGOT FAGGOT FAGGOT FAGGOT FAGGOT FAGGOT FAGGOT FAGGOT FAGGOT FAGGOT FAGGOT FAGGOT FAGGOT FAGGOT FAGGOT FAGGOT FAGGOT FAGGOT FAGGOT FAGGOT FAGGOT FAGGOT FAGGOT FAGGOT FAGGOT FAGGOT FAGGOT FAGGOT FAGGOT FAGGOT FAGGOT FAGGOT FAGGOT FAGGOT FAGGOT FAGGOT FAGGOT FAGGOT FAGGOT FAGGOT FAGGOT FAGGOT FAGGOT FAGGOT FAGGOT FAGGOT FAGGOT FAGGOT FAGGOT FAGGOT FAGGOT FAGGOT FAGGOT FAGGOT FAGGOT FAGGOT FAGGOT FAGGOT FAGGOT FAGGOT FAGGOT FAGGOT FAGGOT FAGGOT FAGGOT FAGGOT FAGGOT FAGGOT FAGGOT FAGGOT FAGGOT FAGGOT FAGGOT FAGGOT FAGGOT FAGGOT FAGGOT FAGGOT FAGGOT FAGGOT FAGGOT FAGGOT FAGGOT FAGGOT FAGGOT FAGGOT FAGGOT FAGGOT FAGGOT FAGGOT FAGGOT FAGGOT FAGGOT FAGGOT FAGGOT FAGGOT FAGGOT FAGGOT FAGGOT FAGGOT FAGGOT FAGGOT FAGGOT FAGGOT FAGGOT FAGGOT FAGGOT FAGGOT FAGGOT FAGGOT FAGGOT FAGGOT FAGGOT FAGGOT FAGGOT FAGGOT FAGGOT FAGGOT FAGGOT FAGGOT FAGGOT FAGGOT FAGGOT FAGGOT FAGGOT FAGGOT FAGGOT FAGGOT FAGGOT FAGGOT FAGGOT FAGGOT FAGGOT FAGGOT FAGGOT FAGGOT FAGGOT FAGGOT FAGGOT FAGGOT FAGGOT FAGGOT FAGGOT FAGGOT FAGGOT FAGGOT FAGGOT FAGGOT FAGGOT FAGGOT FAGGOT FAGGOT FAGGOT FAGGOT FAGGOT FAGGOT FAGGOT FAGGOT FAGGOT FAGGOT FAGGOT

HOLY SHIT A NIGGER JUST FLEW OVER MY KIKE

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>>7757546

Their protection is gone.

Make a deal = the carrot.

The whip is Screw up = 52 targets get BADA BOOMED.

Telewizor szumiał niemrawo w tle, gdy Emhyr, wciśnięty w stary, babciny fotel w różowe kwiaty, stukał miarowo w klawiaturę jakiegoś absurdalnie nowinkowego laptopa. Uparcie starał się nie słuchać tego, jaki suplement diety akurat reklamowano, ale gdzieś równolegle z dżinglem wiadomości musiał w końcu przyznać się do swojej porażki. Z niezadowolonym pomrukiem wyciągnął rękę po pilota, po czym nacisnął czerwony przycisk, ale telewizor nie dał się tak łatwo uciszyć. Brzęczał dalej, teraz ogłaszając wyjątkowo zbędne szczegóły o wypadku na jakimś zadupiu pod Warszawą. Mężczyzna wydał z siebie tylko dźwięk gdzieś między warknięciem a głębokim westchnieniem i przystąpił do usilnych prób wyłączenia urządzenia przez kręcenie w powietrzu pilotem. Nagle w drzwiach zastukał klucz, a Emhyr wywrócił tylko oczami i odłożył pilota na bok. Do środka wszedł Mererid z białą reklamówką i z niepewnym, rozcieńczonym trochę uśmiechem spojrzał w kierunku mężczyzny w fotelu.

– Kupiłem ci gazetę – rzucił na wejściu z pewną wesołością, odkładając zakupy na szafkę. Zanim w ogóle zaczął się rozbierać, wyjął z reklamówki wspomnianą gazetę i podał ją Emhyrowi, po czym rzucił okiem na telewizor. – O, co oglądasz? – spytał ze szczerym zainteresowaniem.

– Nic – burknął Emhyr, odbierając gazetę nieco za szybko. – Jezu, jaki tu jest syf – dodał głosem już porządnie zabarwionym irytacją. Odłożył gazetę na szafkę obok i znów wylądował wzrokiem w ekranie laptopa. – Jak ty cokolwiek znajdujesz w tym mieszkaniu? – spytał jeszcze, niemal spodziewając się, że rozsądną odpowiedź prędzej znajdzie w rubryczkach dokumentów, które przeglądał, niż usłyszy z ust Mererida.

Drugi mężczyzna zmarkotniał już w pełni i mruknął tylko pod nosem:

– Sprzątałem wczoraj.

– Na przykład to – powiedział Emhyr, jakby w ogóle go nie usłyszał, wskazując na enigmatyczne, drewniane, sześcienne pudełko, pokryte passe-partout w kiczowate aniołki. Wywnioskowanie jego przeznaczenia pewnie nie wymagałoby od mężczyzny dużo wysiłku – ale teraz był trochę zbyt wkurwiony, żeby cokolwiek o tym myśleć. A uśmiechnięte, pucołowate blond dzieciaki, które zdawały się wpatrywać w głąb jego duszy, tylko dodatkowo go rozsierdzały.

– To na chusteczki – odparł Mererid. Odpowiedziała mu cisza, więc westchnął tylko cicho i podjął ostrożnie – Wiesz, nie przejmuj się lepiej tym telefonem. Są święta przecież, nie mogą od ciebie chcieć, żebyś to teraz ogarniał…

– W tym, kurwa, problem, że właśnie mogą – wszedł mu w zdanie Emhyr, wlewając w swoje słowa całą wściekłość, jaką dotychczas tłumił. – Oczywiście nikt mi tego w twarz nie powie, ale owszem, powinienem się tym zająć, choćby do mnie pisali pięć po północy w Sylwestra. To w końcu ważne – dodał tonem, który absolutnie nie wskazywał na ważność tejże kwestii.

Jego słowa ociekały furią, na dźwięk której Mererida dotykało szczere zaskoczenie związane z faktem, że telefon Emhyra nadal był w jednym kawałku – i to mimo leżenia w jego bezpośrednim zasięgu. Mężczyzna wziął jednak do ręki pilota i wcisnął czerwony guzik z zabawną pewnie z zewnątrz stanowczością, tym razem natychmiast wyłączając telewizor. Mererid odetchnął tylko, jakby jednocześnie szukając właściwych słów i ich nie znajdując, i zajął się wyjątkowo napiętym i nienaturalnie cichym zdejmowaniem butów i kurtki zimowej. Emhyr nie odrywał wzroku od sztucznie białego ekranu, też w jakimś cichym, niepokojącym zaczytaniu, nagle pozbawionym uprzedniego stukania w klawiaturę. Nawet stojąca w klatce papuga, z reguły głośniejsza niż cokolwiek innego, co tylko może w domu wydawać dźwięki, teraz chyba spała, albo w ogóle umarła – niezależnie od wersji, była idealnie cicha – dodając ciszy jakiejś grobowej powagi.

Już pozbawiony wierzchniego ubrania, Mererid znów otworzył usta, chcąc coś powiedzieć, w efekcie znów tylko mrucząc coś niezrozumiałego. Emhyr też coś tam do siebie burknął i zamknął w końcu to, co czytał, ale on również ani słowem się nie odezwał.

– To może chociaż herbatę ci zrobię – mruknął Mererid. W jego głosie prawie nie dało się usłyszeć, jak bardzo zawiedziony był tym, że jednak nie zjedzą wspólnie wylukrowanych pierniczków, nad którymi wczoraj siedział, że nie rozpakują prezentów spod małej, nader barwnej sztucznej choinki i, co najgorsze, nie włączą sobie razem Titanica na Polsacie, przyczepiwszy się do siebie na peerelowskiej kanapie i złączywszy dodatkowo kocykiem, który sprawił Emhyrowi na święta. Prawie. – Mam taką nową, z cukrowymi gwiazdkami i malinami… – kontynuował niepewnie.

– Jak masz to zrób – powiedział Emhyr już spokojniej, głosem faktycznie nieco poruszonym, przypominając sobie uparcie, że to wkurwienie to nijak nie wina Mererida i że on przecież stara się jeszcze pomóc jak może. I że jeśli jest w nim jednak jakaś mała iskierka niezadowolenia, to przecież naprawdę słusznie, bo niby czemu miał mu w święta robić herbatę, podczas gdy on ogarniał jakieś dziwne problemy wynikające z zawirowań w papierach.

>>7757781

>>7757782

>>7757783

>>7757784

>>7757785

>>7757786

>>7757787

>>7757788

>>7757789

>>7757790

>>7757791

>>7757792

HAVE SEX INCELS

>>7757799

digits of kek

DIE FOR ISRAEL GOYIM