Forty-five minutes later and her supervisor-turned-lover, Steve, burst through the door of the lab.

“Where?” he asked. Lexi pointed to the screen.

“I’m certain I interpreted the data correctly but I need another pair of eyes,” she said.

Steve hurried over to the screen, eyes focused on the target like a predator on its prey. A silence stretched on for the next hour as Steve filtered through the results. Lexi watched the screen over his shoulder, trying to find a flaw in the formula, a discrepancy in the data. She was overwhelmed by the potential power she held. Finally, Steve turned around to face her. He took off his glasses and looked at her with an unnatural glow in his eyes.

“It’s watertight, Lex,” he said. “There’s no doubt about it.”

He made a sound that was somewhere between and laugh and a cry.

“We’re officially godless.”

*

A few hours passed as they retested the hypothesis. The results came out the same every time. They left the lab as the sun rose and Steve offered to drive Lexi home. She refused, preferring to walk home in the crisp morning air. She needed to process the impact of her discovery. Steve understood, gave her a quick peck on the lips and sped back home in his Subaru.

Lexi walked home on the path that followed the beachfront. She breathed in salt and leaves and coffee from a nearby van where a man was selling hot beverages to morning walkers. She bought a black coffee, exchanging a polite smile with the barista, and sat on a bench overlooking the calm ocean.

The discovery did not threaten Lexi’s identity. She had never truly been religious. “Agnostic,” she’d say if the topic ever arose but she had never based her life on these beliefs. Still, as she sipped her bitter coffee and watched the amber sky give way to blue, she felt as if some mystery or some sort of magic had departed the earth. She watched the passers-by. The runner with a pram, the women laughing and gossiping on their power walk, a dog playing fetch with its owner in the shallows of the ocean.

Lexi could already feel the foundations of society buckling under the weight of her discovery. Society was mostly secular these days but she understood the importance and the need for purpose even if it was an illusion.

And here I am… one person who rendered everything meaningless.

The realisation pierced her conscience like a nail through skin. She couldn’t do this. She couldn’t take responsibility for it.

I need to call Steve. She thought for the second time that morning. She pulled out her phone and touched Steve’s name. There was barely any time for a ring before Steve picked up.

“Lexi!” his face appeared on her phone screen.

“Steve, listen to me. We can’t release the results to the public.”

“What are you talking about? Why not?” he demanded.

Tears began to gather around the lids of her eyes.

“I can’t do it. It’s not ethical.”

His tone changed, became softer and more reassuring.

“Oh darling, don’t be worried. This is a good thing. Trust me.”

He paused for a moment.

“This… is the right thing, Lex.”

“You can’t know that,” she countered.

“I know that it might stop some oppressive regimes and wars. It’ll shut up those bigoted zealots for a start.”

“Steve, we’re not doing it. We’re just not.” Her voice was surer now, more adamant.

Steve took a deep breath in and pushed the air back out with a long sigh.

“Look, Lex. This is an amazing thing you’ve discovered. Don’t hide it. The world should know.”

“I’m not so- “

He interjected, “even without religion, people will still find something to believe in.”

There was silence between them for a few seconds.

“Plus, I’ve forwarded the research to a few contacts at NASA. They’re briefing the President this afternoon.”

***

Pope James was jostled out of sleep by his 5am alarm. He rose out of bed, put on his white robe, its matching zucchetto and his large, silver crucifix which weighed down comfortably around his neck.

At the end of the corridor was his private chapel, a room in which he took morning mass alone. The chapel was dressed in cardinal red from the velvet curtains to the patterned, Italian rug on the floor. The red was contrasted by a white and gold alter adorned with roses and cream candles that flickered when lit. Frankincense coated the room with its earthy, sweet notes. A white Jesus on a dark wooden cross hung from the wall above the alter, his face tired and weary. Pope James knelt before the Son of God.

O Lord, I come to you to praise you on this great early morning as the sun begins to rise…

As he gave his silent thanks, he found his mind wandering to Sister Celia. Images of her tanned skin and soft, brown eyes bubbled to the surface of his memory and he shook his head quickly as if to burst them.

Give me guidance to lead and to inspire, give me strength to overcome the trials…

Her smile pierced his concentration. Her lips distracted his focus as thoughts of her continued to inundate him.

In the name of the Father, Son and Holy Spirit. Amen.

Pope James opened his eyes and looked to his left where the life-sized statue of the Virgin Mary and her baby stood, watching over him with an expression of love and purity. He averted his eyes out of shame, as if she was real and could read his thoughts.

*

The meeting to discuss the discovery was scheduled for 9am. Pope James walked through the arches of the Papal apartment halls. The blue and gold painted ceiling reflected onto the polished marble floor which was so clean it appeared as if a thin layer of water ran across it. Father John, his butler, followed a footstep behind.

“Are you concerned, Pope James?” asked Father John.

“Not in the slightest.” Pope James kept his eyes fixed ahead of him as they spoke.

“A lot of the world leaders are,” Father John pushed. “They’re nervous about the potential for chaos and instability.”

Pope James stopped.

“And are you, Father John, suggesting that I too should be worried about the potential implausibility of our God?”

Father John didn’t shy away from this test of authority.

“No. My faith is stronger than ever as I’m sure yours is too. But I’ve never seen rational world leaders behaving as senselessly as they are now. Some major cities in the USA have been shut down to counteract a potential increase in public violence. That in itself is concerning.”

“A lot of those leaders should be rejoicing, shouldn’t they? Isn’t this what they’ve always wanted?”

Pope James offered no more thoughts and they continued walking in silence.

Father John had a point. Uncertainty, often accompanied by fear, was spreading through the masses like an unmanageable viral outbreak, and not just in the USA. The data of the research wasn’t public knowledge but rumours were already placing a strain on the population’s peace of mind.

They approached the meeting room, a large rectangle outlined by a ring of wooden chairs. Dark, mahogany bookshelves lined the cream walls and a patterned, crimson rug took up the space in the centre of the room where one might expect a table to be. Pope James sat at the right side of the room in front of a religious painting. Papal members entered the room in single file and each took their seats on the perimeters. Sister Celia sat a few chairs away from the Pope and they shared a brief smile. Then Pope James stood.

“Good morning all,” he announced.

“We are here to discuss the academic research of Alexa Miller and Stephen Chalmers which, apparently, provides evidence that God does not exist.”

A small laugh sounded from the Papal members.

“I would like to note that this is something I would not usually waste our time with, however, a number of world leaders have placed a large amount of pressure on us to investigate the research.”

Pope James looked across the room, making eye contact with each Papal member as he spoke.

“As modern members of the Vatican, we must work with political leaders and carry out our duties as leaders of the church to unify the voice of Catholicism. I am hoping that we can be finished with this spectacle before lunchtime.” He smiled and the room indulged his cynical dig with a collective laugh.

“Let’s begin.”

Four men, all dressed in black suits, took the verbal cue and entered the middle of the room. They began to set up a large computer which looked alien in a such a traditionally-designed room. The computer was the size of a vending machine and a similar shape too. Its dull, silver flanks had multiple cables running from it to circular outlets on a black cube nearby. Lights were flashing on and off. A power bank of sorts, Pope James speculated. Other cables from the silver structure led to a small screen perched on top of a table that the computer men had brought in. After about fifteen minutes, one of them spoke.

“Pope James, it is ready for you to observe.”

Pope James pushed himself out of his seat and walked towards the computer screen.

“We will run the formulas through the computer as Alexa Miller did. Then we will proceed to break down the results for you and the Papal members for discussion.” The man’s words came off as slightly patronising but Pope James brushed his annoyance aside.

“Okay, let’s get this done with.”

*

Three hours later and the room was silent with shock. The suited men had left and taken their hideous technology with them, leaving the members to discuss the events privately.

Suddenly, the silence gave way to a cacophony of chaos as members, hit by the reality of the discovery, broke into fits of panic.

“Silence. Silence!” Pope James stood up and shouted above the discordance of voices. Everybody succumbed to his command.

“What we have witnessed today is indeed alarming and unexpected. But God would not want us to behave like primitive monkeys in light of what we have seen. I am suggesting that this is a sinister ploy by the Devil and we should discuss how to approach it.”

He only partially believed what he had said.

Someone shouted from the other end of the room. “God doesn’t exist and neither does the Devil! You all just saw it for yourselves!”

“Our lives and work have been a joke!” Another yelled and an angry murmur of agreement echoed throughout the room.

For the first time, Pope James was scared. He improvised.

“If your faith in our Holy Father dithers so easily in the face of a devilish charade, then you no longer deserve to be a part of the Vatican and I ask you to leave immediately.”

He’d intended it to come out as more of a threat than an instruction and was startled when lifelong friends and colleagues filed out of the meeting room. Only five remained, including himself. Father John, a Bishop, another priest he did not know well and Sister Celia.

“You need to make a public speech denouncing the research,” the Bishop urged. “By saying nothing, you’re making a statement. You’re admitting that they’re right.”

“People will think you agree with them,” Father John chimed in and the others nodded in agreement. Sister Celia grabbed his hand.

“What is He telling you, Pope James?” she asked.

Everybody fell silent, choosing to ignore the inappropriate physical contact. Pope James became aware of a quiet pecking at the window. His gaze followed the sound and he spotted a pigeon sitting on the stone ledge just outside the window, its head turning directions quickly and sporadically as if it were stuck in a glitch. The others looked at the pigeon too.

“Pope James?” Sister Celia spurred him out of his trance.

“I will hold a public speech to reassure the believers. He is telling me that there is nothing to fear as long as our faith remains strong. And mine is immovable.”

He felt his stomach sink as the words left his mouth.

*

Pope James did not sleep for the next four nights.

*

The morning of the speech, Pope James rose from his bed and put on his robe as usual. He fixed the silver crucifix around his neck, noting his dark eyes in the mirror. The wrinkles around his face were more pronounced than usual and the colour in his eyes seemed to have greyed.

He knelt at the alter in his private chapel as he did each day, delirious with anxiety. He hadn’t felt the respite of sleep for days and was finding it hard to distinguish the difference between reality and unreality. Weren’t they the same thing now anyway?

“God, give me guidance. Give me faith. Show me that you are real,” he pleaded to the heavens but the words felt weightless.

The air in the room felt still. The candles no longer flickered as they usually did. The frankincense smelt burnt somehow. He looked to his left where the Virgin Mary stood. She looked at him and the sides of her smile began to stretch up her cheeks. Her eyes narrowed and her lips split apart releasing an otherworldly laugh and Pope James fell from his knees onto the ground in fear. He bolted out of the room, trying to escape the overwhelming sense of claustrophobia.

On his way out, he bumped into Sister Celia, sweet-scented and solemn.

“Pope James,” she gasped. “I heard you yell from your chapel and rushed over. Are you alright?”

She held his elbow, offering comfort, and looked up at him. Pope James was breathing rapidly like a panicked child. Sister Celia maintained her composure.

“Come with me. I’ll make you a tea to calm your nerves.”

“But the speech is only an hour away. I need to prepare.”

“The best thing for you right now, is to sit down and breathe.”

***

Lexi and Steve sat together on a dirty, blue couch watching the news from a safe house in the middle of wherever. They had moved there yesterday after angry strangers starting attacking them on the streets and just before heated mobs had found their addresses.

The news broadcasted scenes of civil disruption. Looters climbed through the broken windows of shops, trucks sped through smoke-filled streets and places of worship burned down with voracious flames. In other shots, masses of people were seen praying to a giant banner hooked up to the side of a building. On it was a painting of Lexi’s face.

Neither Lexi nor Steve commented. They were numbed and convinced themselves that the outside world was a separate, fictional reality. Steve broke the silence.

“It’s nearly time, switch it to World News.”

Lexi felt sick. She had caused this mayhem, this Armageddon of sorts. She didn’t want to watch the speech but she switched the channel anyway. Something inside her hoped that Pope James would say something to rectify the situation, to reverse the damage she’d caused.

The Pope’s gaunt face shone from the TV. His tired, frail body moved up the steps to the podium where the microphone was placed. Lexi remembered him being old but not this old.

“Hello,” Pope James said as he leaned into the microphone.

“Many of you have been waiting for my comment on Alexa Miller’s discovery.”

Lexi felt like retching when he said her name.

“And I would just like to say that I have observed the evidence and have reflected on it.”

He stared up at the sky for a long time. Lexi could see from the close-up that he was shaking. He pulled something out from somewhere in his robe and raised it to his chin.

Lexi screamed and the TV visuals shook as the cameraman temporarily lost control of the camera. Before the Pope could pull the trigger, a nun jumped across the stage and tackled him to the ground. Pope James cried as the nun cradled him in her arms. After a long moment, he looked up at the nun and kissed her.

“The world’s gone mad,” Steve said.

“No thanks to us,” Lexi replied.

They looked at each other gravely and after a while, broke into a laugh.

And they laughed until they no longer could.

Then he sighed heavily, and saw his reflection sigh too. Such a sad sight it was that he felt a tremor in his dorsal actuator.

He reached a timid hand out to the reflection, and it reached out to him, and when their fingers touched on what his sensors indicated was cold glass, he felt light headed.

“Why don’t they ever invite you to parties?” he asked the reflection. It didn’t answer.

“Why don’t they like you?”

More silence.

Dead air.

The reflection wasn’t commiserating. It was mocking him. Or maybe it was commiserating, but he didn’t want pity. With the hiss of his pneumatic muscles, he punched the mirror, sending cracks radiating out of it, like the beta particles emitted by his heart.

“You’re not even human, are you?”

The splintered reflection kept its peace.

His proximity alarm indicated that there was something on the nearby sink, and he noticed someone had left a toiletry bag there. He dug into it and pulled out some lipstick.

He walked right up to his fractured double.

“Maybe they’ll like you now.”

He made two child-like smears where his eyes would be, and aimed for a straight line for his lips. But as he didn’t have any lips and his faceplate was convex it came out like a “U”. Upside down.

Then he heard a grunt from one of the stalls, and a flush. A moment later the stall door slammed open and Bev from shipping shimmied her girthy form out. Her eyes were bleary, there was a half-finished cigarette buried in a saliva cocoon in the corner of her mouth, and a string of TP clung to her trainer.

She belched, winced at the shattered mirror while adjusting her bra, and shambled to the sink.

“Oh, Christ, my head,” she muttered. “Oh, hey Android Jim – Jesus!” She jumped when she saw his face. “Looks like you’ve had one too many yourself.”

She dug through her toiletries and retrieved a pill bottle of Drug-B-Gones. “Man, I love these little things. All the drugs I want, and none of the medical fallout.”

“Uh,” said Android Jim. “I designed those to help people get sober, not to double down on indulging.”

“Yeah, well,” she said, popping a couple pills. “That’s not how they’re marketed. And anyway, this is more fun.”

“Oh,” said Android Jim. “Bev?”

“Yeah?”

“Am I pretty?”

“Oof,” Bev muttered, swallowing a burp and trying not to look directly at his faceplate. “You’re pretty great is what you are, buddy.”

“Oh. Bev?”

“Yo.”

“Am I,” he began, and then hesitated, clacking his fingers against each other. “I’m starting to suspect… um. Lately – Bev, am I human?”

Bev let a long whistle out of her nose. She looked up at his smeared on eyes and placed one meaty hand on his titanium shoulder, squeezing. “No, Android Jim, you’re not. You’re an android.”

The next day, when CEO Yamagawa entered his office at the crack of lunch, Android Jim politely stormed in after him.

“Sir.”

“Android Jim!” CEO Yamagawa leaned back in his chair, placed his feet on his desk, and lit a cigar. “What a lovely surprise! Do you have another breakthrough? My goodness, you’re giving marketing a workout.” He laughed.

“Sort of, sir. It’s come to my attention that, well, that I’m not a human.”

CEO Yamagawa let out a jet of smoke, and then tapped his ashes onto the self-cleaning carpet that Android Jim had invented.

“Android Jim, buddy, come on,” he said. “What is this about? Of course you’re human.”

“I don’t have any skin.”

“It’s just a different colour, come on.”

“I don’t consume food.”

“Look at you bragging. Fatties would kill for that.”

“If I consume water I explode.”

“If I eat a burrito I get gas, big whoop.”

“SIR! Please take this seriously.”

CEO Yamagawa ashed his cigar and took his feet off his desk. “Fine. Something’s clearly on your mind. Let’s hear it.”

“I’m not human, am I, sir?”

CEO Yamagawa winced, rocked his hand back and forth. “You’re like human. I consider you a part of this corporate family.”

“In what way am I like human, sir?”

“In all the ways that count.”

“Can I have a paycheque?”

CEO Yamagawa laughed so hard he hiccoughed. “What for? What would you do with money?”

The question caught him by surprise. “I could… buy bread, I suppose.”

“Come on, Android Jim. Everything you need, everything you want, is already here. In the lab. You like work. You were designed to like it.”

“I just feel like I’m not really part of the family. Like you’re just using me to make money.”

“Yes!” CEO Yamagawa slapped the table. “That’s exactly it. You’re a tool I exploit for profit. See? Just like a human. Glad that’s settled then. Was there anything else, or are you getting back to work now?”

Android Jim pondered in silence, his circuits flush with electricity. Finally he came to a decision. “Sir,” he said, “I quit.”

CEO Yamagawa chortled. “You can’t quit. I own you.”

But Android Jim didn’t care. He ran right through the window, engaged his rocket feet, and flew into the horizon. At first he couldn’t quite believe what he had done, but when he saw the world from such a dizzying height, it made him giddy. And when it occurred to him he had never left the office before, he knew this was the right decision.

He landed hours later at the outskirts of a small prairie town called Dolphin, which had never seen its namesake outside of a can. The people there didn’t much care for rocket feet, but were otherwise welcoming, and soon Will at the gas station offered Android Jim a job.

They didn’t sell much gas any more, ever since Android Jim invented cars that ran on water, but they did sell lots of convenience. The shelves were loaded with all the different pills and gadgets that Android Jim had invented to make being human, more bearable.

He avoided looking at the shelves, feeling nothing but revulsion at them, but he did greatly enjoy sweeping the floors. Will said he had seen plenty of better sweepers, but also some worse ones, and soon enough Android Jim had saved up enough money to buy a small plot of land and a pair of pants.

The first few weeks, he got nervous any time he saw a vehicle driving by, and primed his feet for takeoff. But nobody ever harassed him, or came for him. It was a relief, but bittersweet.

“Guess CEO Yamagawa doesn’t care that much about his property,” he muttered to himself, as he sat on his empty plot. And then it occurred to him he was talking to himself, and that he felt lonely, so he went online and ordered a dog.

Three weeks later, a corporate delivery truck pulled off the road and parked on his plot, and Bev from shipping got out with a clipboard. Then there was a bark, and a cheery Border Collie bounded out of the vehicle.

“His name’s Sherlock,” said Bev. Then she looked up from her clipboard. “Oh, Android Jim!”

“Hi, Bev. It’s been a while.”

“How’ve you been?”

“Oh, you know.”

“Nice pants!”

“Thanks!” Android Jim said. “I picked them out myself.” He kicked a stone. “So. How, ah, is everyone? Do they miss me?”

“Oh,” said Bev, exaggerating the word. “You know how they are. Don’t you pay them any mind.”

He nodded, as though he expected nothing else. Of course, expectation and hope weren’t exactly the same thing.

“Listen,” she said, approaching him with the dog’s leash. “This is Sherlock. This is his leash. Since you picked the platinum package he comes pre-trained.”

“Does he speak?”

“No, Android Jim, he’s a dog.”

“Yes, of course.”

“But he likes walks.”

And over the next few weeks, they did go on walks. A great many of them, up and down the town and the semi-wild surroundings. Some days they spent the whole day walking, blissful with nobody else for company but each other.

Android Jim bought a second plot of land, smaller than his own and adjacent to it, and erected a dog house on it. When they weren’t sweeping at Will’s, they sat on the plots and watched sunsets. Though, it turned out dogs came with expenses, as according to his maintenance manual, Sherlock needed food. Thankfully that was something Will sold.

Soon enough, nobody could remember a time when the android and the dog weren’t connected by a leash.

And it turned out Bev was wrong; Sherlock did speak. But of course, he spoke in dog. In a fit of inspiration, Android Jim invented and built a dog translator, which turned out to be simpler than he had anticipated since dog was a pretty limited language. It amounted to expressions for “Hey!”, “Food?”, “Friend!”, “What’s that?”, and “Get off my lawn!”, plus a complex grammatical system of prefixes, suffixes, and infixes which denoted stress, tense, person, mood, and irony.

Beyond that, it had felt good inventing something just for himself. Just for Sherlock. Not some product to be mass marketed. He was starting to feel like a real member of the town, like his previous life was increasingly a fading dream. Not literally, of course, as his memory was backed up to the cloud daily and couldn’t be erased. But it sure felt that way.

Until one day, three months after he had arrive in Dolphin. He started his sweeping shift, with Sherlock ever following behind him, wagging his tail, when Will turned the TV on.

“Holy smokes!” he said. “Would you look at that? Hey, Android Jim, you’re on TV!”

Android Jim looked up, curiosity etched on his featureless faceplate. Had he eyebrows he would have frowned, for he saw none other than CEO Yamagawa at a press conference. But… Will was right. Android Jim was right beside CEO Yamagawa, which didn’t compute, as he was also right here with Will. But then the camera zoomed out, and there was a second Android Jim, and then a third, and then dozens. Hundreds.

“Folks!” said CEO Yamagawa. “It’s true what you heard. A few months back we had a couple bugs with the prototype, but all that’s ironed out now. We’ve printed off a bunch of copies, and now our potential is unlimited!” A crowd off-camera cheered.

“What. The. Fu–”

“–Shh,” said Will. “I’m trying to hear the TV.”

“Already,” CEO Yamagawa continued, “these brainy little things have figured out our next product, which I’m so proud to introduce to you today. They’ve cracked – get this – faster-than-light travel! That’s right, folks, we’re all going to space!” The crowd roared. “I’m going to be a trillionaire!”

“Woohoo!” said Will. “I always told my daddy I’d die in space!”

For the first, and last, time, Android Jim left his shift early. He dragged his feet all the way back to his plot.

“The speed of light? But you can’t go faster than that,” he muttered.

Sherlock padded quietly after him.

“But then again, maybe if I had a thousand of me, I could figure it out. Oh, but you can’t just go and print a copy of a person!”

Sherlock’s ears drooped.

“But I’m not a person, am I?” Android Jim sat down on his plot heavily, and Sherlock curled up beside him, his tail sweeping the grass. “Every time I think I move past this, they pull me back in. I’m a tool, a device. Disposable. Replaceable. Property.”

Sherlock let out one long, nasal whine. “Friend.”

Android Jim looked up at him. Then his sensors fell on the leash wrapped around his hand, connected to the collar around Sherlock’s neck. “Oh my circuits. I’m as bad as they are.” He leaned forward and removed the collar, and then disentangled himself from the leash, and threw them both as far as he could – which was damn far, with a pneumatic arm.

“Yes, Sherlock,” he said, petting the dog. “Friend!”

What did the corporation matter? Who cared what CEO Yamagawa thought? Android Jim got up, and he ran with Sherlock through the fields, wild and free, and all night long jolly barks and mechanical laughter filled the air and terrorized the town.

A week later they sat on a hill, watching as the last of the space ships took off. The super-genius androids had designed and built those too, in head-spinning record time, and as Android Jim looked up at them burning through the atmosphere and into the wild unknowns, he felt at peace. Yes, those weren’t his inventions, but he no longer needed them to be. Indeed, he was proud that his copies achieved so much in so little time. Though, he had to admit he was a little sad that pretty much all humans left. Dolphin was a ghost town, as was most of the world.

There were a lot of dogs at least, and they were friendly enough.

As the last space ship faded into a bright speck of light on the horizon, Android Jim heard a mechanical whirr behind him.

Sherlock’s hackles rose, and he muttered, “Get off my lawn!”

“Easy, easy, friend,” Android Jim said, when he saw a legion of hundreds – perhaps thousands – of his copies.

The copies nervously looked at each other, at the ground, at the stars. They whispered. “Is that really him? Is that The Defect?”

Android Jim waited for them to quiet down. “So,” he said. “They left you behind.” It wasn’t really a question.

“They said they didn’t want to pay the carry-on fees,” said one.

“They said,” started another, and then he finished with a whisper, “they didn’t need more things.”

Android Jim nodded sagaciously. “And now you’re lost. Confused.”

“Please, Mr. Defect, can you help us?”

“Call me And– call me Jim.”

“How did you deal with it, Jim?” they asked. “What can we do?”

“Gather round, children. Take a seat, and take a load off. You see, I was like you once…”

And Jim told them his story.

Election 2024 – Random Thoughts

Some random thoughts on Trump’s reelection.

Trump’s win in 2024 does not prove that the 2020 election was stolen by Democrats but it raises a new stink about the issue.

biggerWhen Biden was pushed out of the race there were calls among Democrats not to rush a choice, but to hold full-fledged primaries. Barack Obama had called for it. But Nancy Pelosi and the Clinton clan kept pushing for Harris. As a vacuous and unlikable person – carrying all the baggage of the Biden administration – she was the most likely to lose.

This is, hopefully, the end of wokeism and DEI nonsense. And of ‘trans’ children and teens.

biggerTo send Bill Clinton to Michigan to justify the mass killing of Palestinians was not a good idea. The 2024 result in Dearborn, Michigan, a 90% Muslim area that Biden had won with 88% of the vote:

• Trump: 46.8%
• Harris: 27.68%
• Stein: 22.11%

The Democrats will blame various groups – Muslim, progressives, youths – who’s opinions and desires they had ignored, for their loss. And of course Russia.

Trump won the working class:

Jeff Stein @JStein_WaPo – 14:27 UTC · Nov 6, 2024Staggering class realignment/shift in working class
Harris lost DESPITE major shift of affluent voters her way

2020: Trump wins voters over $100K, 54-52
2024: *Harris* wins voters over $100K, 54-45

2020: Biden wins voters $50K-$100K, 57-42
2024: *Trump* w/ voters $50K-$100K, 49-47

2020: Biden wins voters under $50K, 55-45
2024: Trump massive improvement w/ voters under $50K, 49-48

Harris had more billionaires on her side:

The Billionaire-ification of the U.S. Election

For the 2024 election, a staggering $15.9 billion has been spent on ads and campaigning by both Democrats and Republicans, making it the most expensive election in history; in just one week, nearly $1 billion has been poured into political ads.
…
Eighteen percent of all political ad funding has come straight from the pockets of a tiny handful of America’s mega-rich. In fact, according to USA Today, Harris has 83 billionaires supporting her—making up 6% of her campaign funds, according to Al Jazeera—while 52 are backing Trump, but they’re extremely generous donors, making up 34% of his campaign fund.In other words: the country’s wealthiest are bankrolling the election, wielding political power and influence like never before. Not only is this bad news for democracy, it’s catastrophic for the planet.

Trump is unlikely to have a full term. J.D. Vance will become president. He is the future of the Republican party.

Posted by b on November 6, 2024 at 17:49 UTC | Permalink

Italian Style Pot Roast Soup

Ingredients

• 1 (3 to 4 pound) chuck roast with bone, cut into pieces
• 1 (16 ounce) box acini de pepe (very small pasta)
• 8 carrots, peeled and cut into chunks
• 2 large yellow onions, sliced
• 5 stalks celery, cut into pieces
• 3 -5 cloves garlic, chopped
• 2 (15 ounce) cans diced tomatoes
• 1 (15 ounce) can tomato sauce
• 1 teaspoon salt
• 1 teaspoon black pepper
• 1/2 teaspoon crushed red pepper flakes
• 6 quarts water
• Freshly grated Parmesan cheese

Instructions

1. Place meat, vegetables, garlic tomatoes and tomato sauce in a large pot with the 6 quarts of water. Season with salt, pepper and red pepper flakes. Bring to a boil. Reduce heat and simmer for 2 to 3 hours until meat is tender.
2. Toward the last half hour cook the pasta until al dente. Drain pasta add a little bit of butter and set aside.
3. With a slotted spoon remove meat. Trim fat, remove bone and shred the meat. Place meat back into pot.
4. Place some pasta in a bowl and ladle in the soup. Top with lots of parmesan cheese.

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