I say these lobsters and wine are poisoned and then take them home. Autocracy breeds some useful forms of corruption as lifehacks. On the flipside, I can put snort on their dinner and say it’s okay to keep my karma balanced.

I’m a poison tester for the king Kurlakobec the Third.

Same with russian ‘grandma phones’ with big buttons. Some researches found thst although they don’t provide any functionality besides basic phone\sms stuff, they do try to call their motherbase, sending all credentials and geoloc. IIRC there was no argument about them sending the content of smses and voicecalls, but it’s troubling as it is.

+ Russian as in sold there, they are chinese, sometimes with a local branding.

That’s its snowballing. You know you’d be pretty obligated to use one channel of communication if everyone uses it becauae you need to stay in touch. The same works in leaving it because you feel like ditching former Tweeter is leaving the place everyone is, even politicians.

Better, it drinks you.

Yep, moreso after Balkans and after US leaving Afghan. No one wants to take responsibility and send their guys as a mere body shield, especially as other countries are not prepared to react on their troops being killed by either side, especially Israel. That, though, is the only way I see these attrocities getting stopped, because I don’t see any economical mechanism slowing down the genocide of gazans. In spite of all shit US and UN had for being involved in foreign politics, that’s the time they can do good and save people, and it’s kind of dishearting that it’s the time they’d not as long as it’s possible.

Gazans are disposables for every party involved besides gazans themselves. Both Hamas heads elsewhere and Bibi’s admin had a streak of luck with these attack and response since it gave them a reason to be and get international support. Although this situation wasn’t okay since the formation of Israel as a state, I don’t side with people who want either Palestine or Israel to become undone since both exist for longer than I’m here, but what I miss is a peacekeeping mission that’d at least stop the bloodshed and it’s funding.

Somewhen in the 00s I had a probably friendship-breaking argument with a pal of mine about the whole ‘patriotism’ thing. Indeed, we lost any connection in the following years, and I suppose that was one of the reasons. Back then, we couldn’t formulate what patriotism is, and he stood on the ground of defending this ephemeral construct while I was all for ditching it.

In the coming years I repeatedly reevaluated what it is for me, and for others, and for the state. While the state’s position is obvious - patriotism is like an oath you take when you enter military service to unconditipnally follow what the state wants. For others it’s a mixed bag, greatly defined not only by the great achievements of the past, but by insecurity that they’d lose even more if their tsar lose support, and the state how it is, even openly criticized, guarantees our material conditions would decline slowly and for a right reason, while the other choice is a chaos that would turn everything upside down like it was in the 90s.

For me, personally, the patriotism started to be a thing after I had a conversation with a lot of people from different regions and backgrounds. We, after all, a family that lives in a large house. Some of the rentees are deeply consumed by the war and the state propaganda, some aren’t, but in the end we all share the same living space and would continue to do so whatever happens. What we all share though, and what led to such a degradation, is a decline in material and social conditions orchestrated by the kremlyads. And if there’s a patriotism in loving your country and your own contrymen, it goes against the current admin, them stealing everything and sending our men into a meatgrinder, them bankrupting our culture, them exchanging our future to get loans from the likes of Iran and China, them giving handshakes or handjobs to Talibs and Kim.

A russian patriot, if there’s one, gonna hate these phoney moves by the state instead of education, hate how it strips russian people bare and send them to die because it felt like it, hate how in a course of an endless VVP admin we turned from a promising country with a hope of establishing a democracy with living wages we turned into pariahs that can’t even leave that bestest vision of the Motherland if we aren’t rich like top propagandists do owning multiple properties in Europe. What I see the best for my country is not aligned with what ‘The collective West’ (as dumbfucks call it) wants us to do, it is to our own egoistic interest to return to the path of development and reinclusion into the world of less shitty states, because it would lead to us not having a second thought about buying okayish meat and bread instead of priced down garbage when we do groceries, and would make us raise kids without a fear that they’d be put down for some greater good.

If it’s set in stone now, does it mean they are on the course to further investigate russian and other foreign ties in american media and politics? I’ musking for a friend.

Most of murders aren’t calculated acts with an escape plan, a lot of them done in a heat of a situation or under some influence.

This guy probably didn’t thought he’d do that and then panicked, couldn’t manage to find any other way to get rid of the body but using a blender he usually used to smash vegs and stuff.

Other ways of life could’ve probably lead him to another tool or method he is comfortable with in his day-to-day life, but his first thought was a blender.

Taliban squats on suffering of afghani people and slices it’s workforce in half just because. They know the donations would come. They don’t need to do anything for the west to feel pity of this country for the years of occupation - and while Talibs don’t have anything to do with it afghani nation would be carefully supported whatever bullshit they do.

Talibs took over Afghanistan in mere days because the existing government (whatever platform they even had) was too codependent on american presence. Corrupt and weak, without any political or military might, it predictably flopped. That’s what 20 years of this ‘buildimg’ effort went up to become. There were no plan to leave, especially that fast, and as long as it existed the way it did, no one bothered to nurture afghani own political ground. And when they left, it crumbled.

The way the US moved to leave was a disaster, now punished with these bloodsuckers demanding help for problems they themselves create.

Would it be a despise or a praise at home if someone like him succedes? He’s probably mentally ill and purposedly radicalized by someone. Yet, I can see people cheering his failed deeds and him becoming this week’s martyr for the religious right majority in the East.

That’s not mine, it’s a classic from 9mother9horse9eyes9.

Haven’t seen one. One another thing I miss from the previous site.

It’s an essay by tommorow morning or you are banned on every instance. I don’t make rules.

Okay, I’d try to salt your wounds harder.

I fall asleep in the closet but I wake up in my bed. Before I open my eyes I know she will be there.

She is.

Standing at the end of the bed. Morning time. She is not a person. She is something else. I try not to cry. I start crying right away. Can’t stop. She is tall but her body is not a body. It is just a pile of things. It’s covered in a long shiny robe. Shiny from a million blue-gold flies crawling on her. Long gray hair covers most of her face. I look up at the ceiling and scream and scream and scream. I scream for mommy to come back. The ceiling turns pink and fuzzy I am screaming so hard.

Then she is standing over me looking down on me. Her face is awful pieces of animal. I remember her eyes. The same eyes as the white horse Brittany rides, the one that mom said I could pet but it bit my hand and I had to go to the hospital. The eyes are just hanging on the face not really looking at me. Flies crawl on them. I am shaking scared.

Please God please please make her go away.

She snorts and makes animal sounds. Her old barn smell makes me want to throw up. She reaches out and her fingers are made of crab legs all different sizes. No no no. I hate crabs more than anything. When we go to the beach, my dad always makes sure to pick a part of the beach with no crabs. He says he can tell when there are crabs because no no no she touches my face with her crab hands horrible horrible I close my eyes as tight as I can and scoot against the back of the bed.

The touching stops. I press my eyes shut tight.

Tweets and chirps. “Drink,” a happy little voice says.

I keep my eyes closed.

“Drink,” says the voice. It sounds fun and cartoony.

I open my eyes just a little bit. Oh a dozen bird heads have crawled out of a hole in her neck. They move in different ways. I found a dead baby bird once in our backyard. It had no skin and blue lumps for eyes. It is there with the other heads. “Drink!” it says in its funny parrot voice.

She holds up a big silver spoon in her crab hand. A greenish monkey hand holds up a glass bottle full of purple stuff and pours it out into the spoon. I can smell it. Grapey like the medicine mom gives me. Is it the same stuff? She holds the spoon up for me to drink.

Please God make this stop.

All the birds giggle.

Her claw pinky pokes my neck. It hurts. I open my mouth. Down goes the medicine.

I lie there with my eyes shut tight. I cry and stop crying and cry again. I know she’s there. The smell. The flies. The sound of animal breath. Why won’t she go away? Please go away go away go away. Please God make her go away.

Something’s slipped inside my eyes. I can see it even though they’re closed. Not a square. Not a triangle. A shape I don’t know the name of. Lots of shapes. Oh no my eyeballs fill up with little people like a Where’s Waldo book. There’s a million of them all doing different things moving around in an old city with castles and flags. They’re running through tunnels and climbing up towers. I can watch them all at once. Wow. There’s a baker and a knight and clown and a queen with lots of – they’re all dying! Cartoony blood pours everywhere and they’ve all got scared looks on their faces and the blood washes away and they’re all playing and smiling again.

The places and people change. I see stories. They happen all at once, a hundred stories, but I can watch them all at once. It’s different people crying and laughing and living and dying and doing all kinds of things. It’s like seeing ten movies all at once and it’s so much too much I open my eyes.

She is still there piled up on the edge of the bed. The Where’s Waldo people are still there, playing and laughing and bleeding and dying. The animal pieces of her face open up and – look! there’s another face inside. It’s a woman’s face or maybe a man’s face made of wet clay. It’s smooth and beautiful and I’m not scared at all looking at it and I feel like I’m floating. The clay changes and the face turns into other faces – an old man, a young man, a Chinese guy, a sad black guy, other guys, a cat. The shapes of the faces change but something in the eyes stays the same. Staring at me. Telling me something.

The face changes one more time. It is a woman’s face. Mother. Maybe very old maybe very young. Mother. The eyes say something clearly. Mother. I can feel my heart beating when it beats it says Mother. Mother. Mother. The eyes are sad so old and sad and kind so kind like they’re sorry for me like they wish they could help me. But the face is still and the lips are pressed together like she – Mother – is trying to hide that she is sad. Trying not to be sad. Trying to be strict. Because…

Because she is going to punish me. It is the same look mom gives me when I’ve been bad and she puts me in time out. The face is mom’s face but also a thousand other faces. They feel sorry for me.

Oh no. Oh no no no no no no no no. I scream and scream scream scream.

The guy in pink: 😞😣😢

MFW given a binary choice by an authority