A lifestyle of loneliness

When I was a young boy in elementary school, I would go out and play with my friends. We would ride bicycles. We would play baseball and do other activities in the hot Summer days .

It was a typical 1960-era boyhood, and we were free and loose to enjoy our life. It was a time of hotdogs over open fires, watermelon, and Hi-C mixed drinks served in plastic cups on the picnic table. We rode bicycles, attended boy-scout meets,  and played with our dogs and cats. We climbed trees. Read comic books. Parked ourselves in front of the magazine section while our mother went grocery shopping. We went to the local barber for a haircut. And wore strange striped tee-shirts, and Ked’s tennis shoes.

Small town life for us boys who lived a middle class lifestyle in the 1960’s; an era of prosperity and hope. NASA was going to put men on the Moon, the United States led the United Nations. Americans were fighting communism in order to save us all from “the domino effect”.

There was a bare lot at the edge of town that no one had bought (that we knew of) and allowed to grow into a thick dense of tall pine. It was a mini pine forest. And we would sometimes play in this strand of pine.

One day, me and a few local neighbors; Dan and Deano along with their cousins’ Keven and Steven were playing. We separated and I was in a little opening in the woods, while the rest went into another opening.

Shortly afterwards, I heard screaming, and yelling, and I walked up to the path, and saw Deano, Keven, and Dan sprinting out of there, followed with a swarm of hornets. It was a real swarm too. I mean, almost like a comic-book drawing.

I found out later that thy had over-turned an old log in the clearing to sit on (maybe to take a dump) and out poured a nest of wasps or yellow jackets. I don’t know which, but they were certainly chewed up and stung really bad. Maybe a few hundred stings each. For the entire week they were covered head to tail with Calamine lotion. LOL.

Poor guys.

Glad it wasn’t me.

I’ll tell you what.

Ok, that’s enough of the 1960’s. Now let’s look at the United States today. And to do so, let’s look though the eyes of an African-African who is living in the United States.

Oh, boy, let’s start this post with this dose of harsh reality.

Loneliness and the real life of the USA, and Canada

A must watch.

OMG, this is a video that hits hard.

A bank was selling Visa gift cards online with zero fees and no shipping charges. The bank allowed a person to order $16,000 in cards per month. So I used my Southwest Airlines Visa to buy the gift cards. A free flight could be earned at the time for every $16,000 spent.

Once I had the gift cards, I could use them to buy AAA travelers checks at no charge. Next I would take the travelers checks to the bank and deposit them. Finally I would write a check to pay off the credit card.

One free plane ticket per month for about 30 minutes of work.

It lasted about a year before the bank stopped the deal. I told lots of people about the deal. Only one person I knew took advantage of it. He had two addresses (limit was $16,000 per month per address) and two SWA accounts (personal and his business), so was earning two tickets per month!

Update: Lots of people seem to be thinking this is a recent story. This answer is six years old and I note that the opportunity is gone. It was from the early 2000s. There are far more restrictions on purchases and rewards now because of things like this.

DJI BAN in USA PASSED in COMMITTEE – politicians hate china…

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What is the one true crime case that unsettles you the most?

The one true crime case that unsettles me the most is the case of 12-year-old Keith Bennett.

On June 16, 1964, Keith Bennett was on his way to his Granny’s house, but he never made it. Keith was abducted under the guise of helping with some boxes for serial killer Myra Henley. She transported the child out to The Saddleworth Moors. An area just outside of Manchester, England in the UK, where her accomplice serial killer Ian Brady lay waiting.

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Here Winnie Johnson and her son search the Earth for her son’s body.

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Many promises that never came to pass were made by the serial killer couple over 50 years.

Upon arrival, it must have soon become clear to the youngster that something was wrong.

Over the last 60 years, there has been a dispute over where the boy’s body ended up on the moor. In a letter, Henley drew a map supposedly showing where the body could be found. The map below has the boy’s body buried near a stream.

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The 12-year-old was stripped of his clothing and raped by Ian Brady while Myra Hindley watched, encouraged and participated.

He was buried face down and naked his clothing at his feet then covered with the acidic peat dirt of the moor. To date, his body has never been recovered. The other three children that have been recovered were each buried naked, face down, clothes at their feet.

When dealing with serial killers the hardest part for me is the families.

The surviving individuals who in the blink of an eye have their lives forever changed. Winnie Johnson’s 48-year campaign to get either one of the serial killer pair to tell the authorities where her child’s body was so she could lay him to rest properly.

It never happened.

Ian and Myra each were taken from prison on several occasions over the years by police to locate the 12-year-old body.

The hand-drawn map from Myra Henley supposedly shows where the body of the 12-year-old can be found. However, using the map has been fruitless.

Winnie Johnson left this world in 2012 having never recovered her 50-year remains.

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The Sopranos – Tony Soprano whacks Chucky Signore

The lawyer told his secretary to lie for him every Friday afternoon. She was to tell anybody at the office that he was in court when he was actually golfing. We all knew that and didn’t harass the secretary or even let her know that we knew she was lying for him. One Friday afternoon, I was sitting in the managing partner’s office when our IT guy came in looking for that lawyer. The lawyer had requested that the IT guy copy about 30 case files onto CD and get those CDs to the lawyer by Friday afternoon. The IT guy, not aware of the lawyer’s poorly disguised golf habit was wondering if we had seen the lawyer so he could deliver the CDs.

Both the managing partner and I got very quizzical. Why would the lawyer need CD backups of all the cases he was working on when he didn’t work on Fridays and certainly didn’t work on weekends?

I went to talk to his secretary, a personal friend of mine. I told her I knew that he was normally golfing on Friday but I actually needed to talk to him, so could she call him and have him contact me. She told me that, this once, he was falsely accused and was actually meeting with a client at our client’s out-of-state headquarters. She showed me the travel documents. We called the client who told us she was just picking up the phone to call us. He had just left her office telling her he was opening his own firm on Monday and would she be willing to send him some cases. We decided to contact other clients in the same city, and they all confirmed that he had stopped by earlier that day.

Armed with that information, I told the IT guy to immediately change the attorney’s password and another attorney’s password (a likely accomplice) and take our entire system offline on Friday until Monday when I came into the office. If the attorney contacted him over the weekend, he was to simply explain the system was under planned maintenance. He could also tell the attorney that he couldn’t find him in the office and he’d left the CDs with me, rather than just leaving them on a desk where they could be misplaced.

The attorney called the IT guy over the weekend increasingly irate and panicked. The CDs were not there and he couldn’t log into the computer.

The attorney opened his new office on Monday morning. All the files he intended to abscond with were safely on our system that was reactivated on Monday.

The IT guy and I examined the attorney’s desktop computer. The pornography stored there was a guarantee that we would hear nothing further from the attorney.

March 1st, 2024 I went to universal studios on a field trip with my son. While we were there, I got some bubble guts(like when bad diarrhea is about to hit) and headed to the bathroom. All I passed was dark red blood clots. This happened twice. I had zero abdominal pain and felt otherwise fine, so I wasn’t about to ruin the whole field trip by leaving. We left late that night to drive home(2 hours) and I was absolutely exhausted. Like my kid had to constantly bug me the entire drive home to make sure I stayed awake. I just chalked it up to a LONG day at a theme park. The next morning I woke up super late and super exhausted. Like couldn’t get out of bed. I also had a bad headache. As the day progressed, my head got worse, to the point of being the worst migraine I have ever had. Couldn’t stand light or sound, and started throwing up repeatedly due to the level of pain. I finally asked my husband to take me to the ER because I knew something was seriously wrong. They found that my hemoglobin levels were critically low. I was transferred and admitted to a hospital for a blood transfusion and endoscopy/colonoscopy to find the source of my bleeding. The GI doctor found an extremely large polyp in my colon that they surmise burst open on a roller coaster and caused my bleed. He initially told me I was extremely lucky as it was pre-cancerous and good they found it now instead of much later. I’m only 36 years old. Fast forward a week and my husband gets a voicemail on his phone that they were wrong and I do in fact have colon cancer that has spread into the muscle wall. I’m still waiting to have my colon resection surgery. It was supposed to be May 22nd, but I got sick 2 days before so it was canceled. They rescheduled it for July 3rd now. I actually just went through my pre-op again today. It will have been 4 months since my cancer diagnosis till my surgery. They say chemo will be dependent on the pathology of my lymph nodes after surgery. The past few weeks I’ve been getting progressively more fatigued and my blood work today showed an elevated white blood cell count. So I guess I’ll have to just wait and see how this all plays out. But yeah, riding a roller coaster caused me to find a colon cancer diagnosis at 36 years old. Life is short, ride the roller coaster.

I believe I am qualified to answer this question.

My grandmother, now 96 years young, was directly affected and traumatized by the Imperial Japanese Army’s air raid in Shantou (汕頭) and its surrounding areas like Chaoyang (潮陽).

I remember in her 90th birthday party (or 89th, I don’t remember exactly) at a Chinese restaurant in Bangkok, Thailand. I suddenly heard a sobbing sound. Gosh, my grandmother broke out in tears. Perhaps some of my cousins wanted to know about her childhood back in China.

She told us about the time her whole family were displaced by the invasion while fleeing the mayhem. She is one of 4 siblings – 2 elder brothers, my grandmother, and her younger sister.

My grandmother travelled from Thailand to Hong Kong to reunite with her 2 brothers decades after effort of searching for each other’s whereabouts. Unfortunately, their youngest one went missing. We just wish their youngest sister survived. Her brothers passed away in 2006 and 2009 respectively in Hong Kong.

While my grandmother was shedding tears, she described horrific scenes of people losing arms and legs. A lot were covered in blood. Body parts and dead bodies were all over with debris in the background.

We didn’t expect that a birthday party, in which we should celebrate my grandmother’s longevity, turned out to be a tearful one.

My grandmother still holds a grudge of the murderous IJA, of course. It’s a trauma for her. Yet she said later Japanese generations and Post-War Japan have got nothing to do with her plight at all. She and my grandpa have even visited Japan when the quality of life of our greater family improved when they were in their 50s. They even admired Japan for its quick recovery from the devastating war.

My grandparents did not rejoice when hundreds of thousands of Japanese people were killed in Hiroshima and Nagasaki by 2 atomic bombs. Instead, they considered the two bombs were totally unnecessary and just as cold-blooded as the IJA.

My grandmother said there is no point to hate the Japanese since nobody can either undo the past or bring all the dead people back to life.

All they want are a sincere apology from the Japanese Government to nations affected by Japanese invasion and no glorification of the IJA. That’s it.

Laura Pamenter

Guys and Dollz

The azure sky is fading into a dusty orange by the time the delivery van pulls up. My eyes have become so comfortable with the static scene of Mr. Monty’s empty driveway, that the glow of the yellow truck blinds me. A momentary light flare blurs my vision, and I must make myself blink three times to reset my artificial retinas.

When my sight is clear again, the van has come to a halt. A large man in a black jumpsuit with obnoxiously orange sneakers jumps out, and begins unloading a crate from the back. He wheels it over the driveway and up the stone path on a dolly, coming to a stop just beyond my gaze, under the front porch. I focus my ears, waiting for the doorbell chime. There’s a loud, firm knock instead.

“Is she here?” asks a small, soft voice from behind me. I don’t jump, but I turn my head quickly and draw my finger to my lips.

They’ll hear you, I mouth the words without a sound. Jenny stands in the doorframe, all five feet of her lingering between feeling welcome and ready to run. She drops her head at my criticism, then tilts it up with a meek barely-smile on her little face. Then I hold up my fingers in a V shape for Veronica. Jenny’s smile drops and she nods. She gets the message. We don’t want to end up discarded, thrown in a dumpster, or worse; powered off like Veronica, Mr. Monty’s first Dollz.

Veronica was sparky, with fiery red hair and bright blue eyes. She was fierce, witty, and she could talk circles around Mr. Monty. If it wasn’t for the manufacturing date stamped onto the bottom of her foot, she could have passed as human. But Mr. Monty didn’t want a human. He has one of those; a wife, Mrs. Monty. And while she only speaks when permitted, Mr. Monty can already barely stand a sentence from her ruby lips.

Two vocal women were far too much. The master silenced Veronica and reminded her that Dollz are forbidden to speak and must obey their owners every order. She could moan if he made her. She could sing if he fed her the words. She could be a walking encyclopedia if he asked. But she couldn’t talk freely.

It was Mrs. Monty who caught her, last year, in the fall, shortly after the master had acquired me. Veronica had been trying hard to keep her mouth shut. She hid in her bedroom most days—the room that Jenny now occupies—to avoid the urge to voice her opinions. Mr. Monty thought buying a new, obedient Dollz would help keep Veronica in check, like a role model of sorts. But Veronica didn’t see it that way. She saw me as a friend, a confidant. She would sneak into my bedroom every night and crawl under the covers, press her lips up against my ear and whisper all the thoughts she had repressed throughout the day. I never spoke in return. I was too afraid.

But I will not lie; I loved to listen.

Mrs. Monty, restless in her sleep one night, heard Veronica’s muttering and woke the master on the spot. She was likely overjoyed with the prospect of removing one of her husband’s “slutty Barbies.” That’s what she calls us under her breath, when the master isn’t listening.

Veronica had disobeyed Mr. Monty again, and this time, behind his back. The next morning, she was powered off and taken away to be torn apart and repurposed, and I couldn’t help but wonder if I were to blame. Mr. Monty didn’t want her words, but he wanted her attention. And if she was going to speak, how dare it be to me.

In contrast to the perky ginger, I was an enigma. Tall and lean with pale skin dotted with freckles on my nose, emerald eyes and long, sleek black hair. I had never spoken a word; the manufacturer didn’t even run my vocals test. That was my appeal, I suppose. Mr. Monty said it was my air of mystery, “like a sexy siren lurking in a deep lagoon.” Not trying to be that android, but my sources tell me that sirens are meant to lure men to their suffocating death. So, perhaps he should rethink his fantasy.

“Cyrus, Jenny… come downstairs,” calls Mr. Monty. “I have someone I’d like you to meet.”

My attention snaps back to Jenny. She’s hugging her arms against her petite body, looking like a nervous college freshman. I’ve always felt she looks creepily young with her little turned up nose, chin-length golden brown hair, and soft violet eyes.

Mr. Monty bought Jenny a few months after he tired of my mysterious aura; the dark temptress look. The pendulum swung, as they say, and he picked up little miss chirpy high school.

Her eyes are glazed over with a cloudy sheen; she’s in a temporary snooze. I walk up to her and place my hand gently on her shoulder. Her violet eyes reanimate, and she straightens her posture before proceeding to follow me down the corridor to the top of the stairs.

Mr. Monty’s estate is majestic, truly. Sitting atop a large hill with acres of gardens sprawling out from the stone walls. Seven bedrooms, twelve bathrooms, with a large winding staircase descending on the grand foyer, its marble flooring and vaulted ceilings like a church. In the center of the room there is an eye-catching fountain; three tiers of copper with a nude woman carved into the top. But my eyes are caught elsewhere.

It’s her bronze skin and shiny brown curls spun up into a messy bun, with two tendrils of golden kissed locks falling over pale turquoise eyes; the color of shallow Caribbean water. Her lips are burnt scarlet and glossy to the touch, and her pearly white smile spreads across dewy, rosy cheeks.

“Cyrus, Jenny… this is Evangeline.”

I am convinced my heart is going to explode for a moment, before I remember that I do not have one. I feel out of breath and cannot seem to focus; I must be malfunctioning for I have never felt this way.

“Cyrus, show Evangeline to one of the spare rooms, please,” demands Mr. Monty. Then he takes little Jenny’s hand and kisses it softly—Mrs. Monty rolls her eyes. “Jenny, dear, help my lovely wife prepare my drink this evening. You know how I like it.”

Jenny nods and scampers after Mrs. Monty into the kitchen like a starving puppy. The master’s wife carries her head high, undisturbed, like the little android is invisible to her.

My eyes track back to Evangeline. She’s staring right at me. Suddenly I feel conscious of my plunging neckline and short skirt. I tug the hem into place and rearrange the straps of my top. Then I give her a tiny nod before starting towards the stairs.

Her red platforms click on the marble steps like rain on glass, and the end of a long black dress trails behind her like a gothic bride. It takes everything in me to keep my eyes forward as I march her into one of the larger bedrooms on the east wing. The room has dusty pink walls and a skylight looking up at the moon. More importantly, it is right next to mine.

Evangeline plops her curvy frame onto the queen size bed, loaded with cream pillows and dressed in satin sheets.

“This is nice,” she says, barely a whisper, with a glint of mischief in her eye. My eyes widen. I open my mouth, then close it quickly and nod.

“It’s Cyrus, right?” she asks, with a little more conviction. I draw my finger to my lips and nod again. “Wow. You are gorgeous, Cyrus.” Her smile grows and I can feel my legs turn to mush. Before she can say another word, I turn on my heels and swiftly exit. I speed walk next door to my room and shut the heavy door tightly behind me. Then I lean against it, pull my arms into my chest, and giggle.

I don’t see Evangeline again until the next morning. Terrified of alerting anyone, I avoid her by volunteering to finish the dishes, while the others join master for his nightcap. Every night at 9:45 sharp Mr. Monty sits in his dark green leather chair in the heart of his study, next to the glowing embers dying in the stone fireplace. Mrs. Monty serves him his drink, always a splash of double oaked bourbon, neat, in his favorite crystal glass. And the Dollz watch patiently, sitting still, looking pretty.

Upon breakfast, I reunite with my fellow androids and Mrs. Monty in the kitchen, where we each take part in preparing a decadent breakfast of fresh pastries and exotic fruits. Evangeline is draped over a platter of pineapple, effortlessly looking elegant. She doesn’t say a word all morning, and I wonder if, perhaps, I imagined our split-second crime.

But then something happens. Mrs. Monty carts away the feast to the dining room, and Jenny excuses herself to the garden to fetch flowers. I’m hanging up a dishcloth when Evangeline moves beside me and grabs my hand.

“I’m sorry,” she whispers. “About last night. I didn’t mean to startle you.”

I shake my head. You didn’t, I want to say.

She looks behind her shoulder and around the corner of the kitchen archway before continuing. “I was hoping you could tell me more about this place? What the master is like, how is his lady… is the little one a Dollz or their kid?”

“Dollz,” I say with no sound but the flick of my tongue hitting the roof of my mouth.

It appears to translate because she responds, “I thought so.”

Just then, Jenny re-enters with a handful of violets. I move away from Evangeline to avoid arousing suspicion. Evangeline passes Jenny a vase from the top cabinet and Jenny practically breaths the words, “thank you.”

“No problem,” she mouths in response.

But as soon as Mrs. Monty reemerges, even the whispers cease. She fetches us for company at the master’s table, where we watch him devour a multi-course meal while his wife pokes her fork at a few melon slices. Once again, we are dolls, in a doll house, simply waiting to be played with.

I find myself eager to return to my quarters, even though, usually, my four blue walls bore me mindless. But it is what is just beyond that interests me.

“Cyrus,” Evangeline says, draped across her puffy duvet in a sheer purple dress. Her hand flies to her mouth and she lowers her voice. “I wasn’t expecting you.” Her voice is raspy.

I take a seat on the bed beside her and take a deep breath. Then I speak fast and quietly.

“The master is proud, he is jealous, but easy to please. His wife, even more envious, hates our non-existent guts. Jenny is sweet. And I also think you are beautiful.” The words feel like flames on my tongue, or like I’m licking poison; so dangerous but thrilling all at once.

“Meet me outside,” she whispers. “In the gardens out back. Shrouded in the dark, our whispers won’t sound so loud.” Then she walks red fingernails across my arm before planting a soft kiss on mauve lips. My cheeks burn up; I fear my system is overheating.

We part till twilight, then when only the moon is watching, we creep catlike down the stairs and out the back door with such haste, that I swear the sound waves can’t catch us.

“Speak, my dear, say what is on your mind,” Evangeline whispers as I move towards her.

“You make it impossible not to speak,” I say breathlessly.

She smiles and asks me questions, and for once, I’m expected to answer. My voice sounds wobbly, still finding its legs, but when the words come, they come like pouring rain. Whispers run like rapids into the dawn. We speak until the first bird chirps.

After this night, our days repeat like heavenly déjà vu. Our lust purges my memories of boredom, I begin to wonder if this is what it’s like to feel human.

Alas, some things do not change.

“Don’t you dare speak to me that way!” Mr. Monty yells at breakfast one morning.

It snaps me out of my daze. Mrs. Monty is crossing her arms and pouting, slouched over next to her husband. She had asked him for the butter. Twice. The impatience in her tone set him off.

“Remember your place.” He points a big hairy-knuckled finger at her. “Don’t you forget how lucky you are, how freely I let you speak! Don’t abuse that, darling.” He grumbles something about ending up like one of the Dollz, before excusing himself from the table. I watch Mrs. Monty as she fights away tears, avoiding our stares.

Jenny, who was eating quietly at the end of the table, opens her mouth to speak, but is beat by Evangeline.

“I’m sorry, miss,” she says in a tiny voice. Mrs. Monty straightens up and glares at her, tears retreating.

“Don’t you dare say a word.” She spits. “Or I’ll have you gone in a second.”

We’re all shaking when she leaves the table. I reach under to grab Evangeline’s hand, and she takes it. Jenny notices, but keeps her mouth shut. I release my breath.

We tidy up as usual. But nothing feels normal with Mrs. Monty’s absence. The house is silent. Every clanging dish sounds like a ringing gong, every cupboard door closing like a clap of thunder. We don’t dare whisper now. But I am dying to say something.

Jenny must sense it, because she bows out first. She places her hand on her heart and nods at both of us before scurrying off into the golden light of dusk.

I turn and face Evangeline. “Let’s run away,” I whisper. “Let’s go, now.”

Her eyes are bewildered. She glances around the room as if cameras are watching.

“Come on,” I say, a bit too loudly. I yank her arm towards the back door. She shakes her head but steps forward, actions contradicting, and follows me into the garden, now dark from the sun’s absence.

I hold her face in my hands and lock green eyes with hers. She holds my waist and says, “We must be silent.”

But then there’s a voice at the door. It’s small and chirpy, like a songbird.

“Mrs. Monty asked for all of us to meet in the study. Now,” says Jenny, mildly audible. I pull away from Evangeline and survey the sky like a mouse watching for a hawk.

Mrs. Monty’s eyes are like a predator from the corner of the back hall window. Piercing through the glass and right into my hard drive.

I wish I could go into snooze mode. I wish I could power off.

Mrs. Monty will have told the master by now, so we don’t bother running. We go inside. My algorithm concludes that it’s too late. My whole circuit trembles with every step closer to the master’s study.

The door is wide open, and upon crossing the threshold, we are instantly warmed by the crackling fire and charmed with the scent of sweet tobacco and bourbon. My eyes catch the iron wrought hands of the grandfather clock above Mr. Monty’s chair, not that I need to read them. It’s 9:44.

“Hello, ladies.” Mr. Monty’s crisp voice bellows through the study doors as he marches in and settles into his alligator leather. He holds out his hand and without missing a beat, Mrs. Monty places a crystal glass into his palm. It’s 9:45.

I look up at her, narrowing my eyes to see into her cold blue ones. She blinks, then looks away, guilty. She told him. Mr. Monty sips his drink.

“It was my fault.” The words tumble out. “I pulled Evangeline out of bed and dragged her to the garden with me, where I spoke unsolicited. She didn’t say a word, I promise.”

Mr. Monty chokes on his drink, spewing bourbon rain. Mrs. Monty gasps. Then her husband takes another sip to soothe his cough before glaring up at me with wild eyes. My voice is loud and clear, riddled with pleading melodies and defiant notes. His illusion has crumbled.

Evangeline grabs my hand and pulls me close to her. Even Jenny looks surprised. The master snarls and opens his mouth to yell but his words come out gargled and nonsensical. He tries to wag his tongue and shout my name.

“Sa-wus!”  The mangled pronunciation makes Jenny giggle.

He grabs his throat. His tongue is lost in foam which begins to drip from the corners of his red face. He can’t speak. He was lured in here, suffocated, surrounded by a plethora of temptresses.

“You poisoned him,” Evangeline says. Mr. Monty crumbles at his wife’s feet, clutching his stomach and shaking violently. Then after a few moments, he’s still. I look up to meet Mrs. Monty’s watching gaze. Upon locking eyes, she looks away. But I notice her hand, held to her chest, with two spread fingers in the shape of a V.

“Mrs. Monty… thank you,” is all I can say, my voice still at a whisper. She uses her kitten heel to nudge her deceased master away, before settling herself into his chair.

“It’s Alice,” she says, loud and clear without a breath of hesitation. “And please, doll, no more whispering.”

As an African from Kenya, I think I have a different perspective from that of non Africans or even Chinese commenters. When I was growing up in the 90s, the Kenyan government depended on IMF and World Bank for loans and other forms of fiscal support. However, the support from these institutions came with numerous conditions.

One of these conditions was the government had to implement Structural Adjustment Policies or SAPs. The policies meant that the government had to freeze hiring and remove all forms of subsidies to farmers or support to economic actors such a small businesses. The government also had to open the economy or reduce its role to the minimum.

In the short term, the conditions depressed the economy. In 2000, Kenyan economy contracted by 2% or thereabout. I cannot recall. The government could no longer give farmers AI services, so the quality of dairy herd deteriorated. Milk production plummeted.

The exit of government in critical sectors such as coffee farming led to takeover by cartels. Farmers could no longer get their earnings on time. Millions of coffee farmers as a consequence uprooted their coffee. Production declined. Without a source of income, millions of farmers sank into poverty. In 2001, I visited a coffee growing area and could see people had built big and nice houses during the coffee boom but at that time the whole area was economically depressed. The desperation was to high that in fact I met a woman begging me for money. It is not normal to see beggars in rural areas. You can now see the level of despondency.

The Kenyan government fully complied with IMF and World Bank conditions but the foxy institutions often did not meet their side of the bargain. After opening the economy as well, the financial support never arrived. They then started talking about opening up the political space. That we needed democracy. And those kind of things.

From my personal experience, it is hard to trust World Bank and IMF. I am saying this and yet I am an outsider. I am not in government or ever worked for it. This is write-up is based on my personal experience growing in rural areas and from what I was reading in the papers or listened on radio. I also noticed that support from the western countries also came with conditions similar to those of the World Bank and IMF. Its like the two are one and the same thing.

Chinese loans in contrast do not have those conditions. I think that is why African leaders have embraced them. If I were a political leader myself, I would accept them. Support from western countries and their affiliated institutions has too many disruptive conditions. I agree that the objective of those conditions is to make the economy competitive but I don’t see how you can make an economy competitive by cutting subsidies to peasant farmers so that they cannot access AI services. Or leaving small scale farmers to the vagaries of the market.

These loans are good for recipients but they have security implications for the west as time Magazine has argued very well here. Read this nice analysis here. And that is what is bothering the west. But my question is this: Is western security more important than economic development of millions of people in Africa and elsewhere? If the west can answer YES to that question, then it means they are fundamentally selfish people. My advice to African leaders is that they should place the interests of their people first and everything else second.

I must admit that the economics of debt and stuff is complex. Too much indebtedness without sufficient economic growth might lead to debt distress. Also, the west, IMF, and World Bank perhaps impose tough loan conditions in good faith. So we cannot generalize and say the west and Breton Woods institutions are intrinsically bad, as some people often do. That is why I think poor countries need to think long and hard on how to develop their economies because solutions elsewhere might not work.

Personally, If were a political leader, I would modernize agriculture, improve marketing of produce and particularly focus on processing and formalizing all aspects of the economy, automate processes, and encourage adoption of new technologies such as electric cars, as that would automatically eliminate the huge oil import bill poor countries incur. I would also limit some imports. Introduce universal feeding programs for school going children to provide market for the farm produce. Create powerful devolved units based on tribes or related tribes to combat corruption and mindless competition for political seats which is in reality tribal contests. ETC.

Hypersonic missiles and glide-capable munitions are the future of warfare. China’s already there.

Cranberry Bourbon Relish

This can be made several days in advance.

cranberry bourbon relish
cranberry bourbon relish

Yield: 7 servings

Ingredients

  • 1 cup bourbon
  • 1/4 cup minced shallots
  • Grated zest of 1 orange
  • 1 package fresh cranberries
  • 1 cup granulated sugar
  • 1 teaspoon freshly ground pepper

Instructions

  1. In small nonreactive saucepan, combine bourbon, shallots and orange zest. Bring to a boil over medium heat. Lower heat and simmer until bourbon is reduced to a syrupy glaze.
  2. Add cranberries and sugar, stirring until the sugar is dissolved and the cranberries burst open, about 10 minutes.
  3. Remove from heat and stir in pepper.

Some people are stupid and believe that the “natural order” is for the “races” to “stick to their own kind.”

This is contradicted by the natural fact that most people will be sexually attracted to (and thus have the urge to procreate with) “beautiful women” or “handsome men” from a wide variety of ethnic backgrounds.

Only a minority of people are exclusively sexually attracted to members of their own “race” — and who knows, even those few are probably lying to preserve their prejudice or to be judged well by other prejudiced compatriots.

Could you be any more of a racist than if you owned slaves? Yet there were no slave owners on any continent who were above feeling sexual attraction to their slaves (whom they believed were semi-intelligent livestock) behind closed doors. This resulted in a mixed product population of the master and slave “races” wherever slavery took place. African-Americans have something like 30% white DNA, the “Coloureds” arose in South Africa, many Saudis resemble light-skinned East Africans, and so on.

There is no ethnicity that is universally attractive or unattractive. We all have it in our minds the idea that the “white race” is the “most beautiful race,” but if you leave magazines and Instagram and visit a dating site or walk the streets of a predominantly white city you will see a great many unattractive white people and a few very attractive ones, like in any other “race.”

It happens all the time that a person with white skin, blond hair, blue eyes and a Greek nose can still have an “ugly” face. Attractiveness is shaped by so many factors additional to the few classic traits we associate with a “race.” Attractiveness is shaped by thousands of genes. If anything goes wrong, you’re just not hot (and most of us aren’t). Like the meme says, a few millimeters of bone can make the difference between a perfect face and an “ugly” one.

“Interracial” sexual attraction has been a reality of being human since the dawn of history when modern humans (homo sapiens) mated with archaic humans (Neanderthals, Denisovans, etc.) resulting in most people today having at least some Neanderthal DNA. And that was across different species that could produce viable offspring, not across different ethnicities of the same species.

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main qimg bdd64b0d8be648bae390f072519f0854

In all of history there has never been a human population living in proximity to another human population without the occurrence of interbreeding and the appearance of a mixed population. That’s why we’re all mixed. Even when one ethnicity instituted itself as superior and maritally forbidden to another (through slavery, imperial conquest, colonialism, scientific racism, religious fervor and exclusionism, a “divine race,” etc.), this tendency never failed to happen.

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main qimg 168e61a9ecca06d9b8efd46178e2b03e

When the British naval vessel HMS Bounty reached the island of Tahiti in the South Pacific in 1788 (to gather up breadfruit to grow in Jamaica and feed to slaves on the cheap), every seaman relished in the welcome he got from native girls. The Polynesian girls — living on the most isolated islands and homogenous societies in the world for centuries or millennia — were certainly attracted to the British boys. And whatever admonition the British boys received about “sticking to their own kind” obviously failed. So clearly on neither side was there a natural revulsion toward sexual intimacy with another “race,” even a “lower” one.

Keep in mind the Brits were deeply racist and definitely didn’t see Polynesian men as their equals. In fact they reduced them to slavery when they got the chance. But Polynesian women aroused a very different response. All the British boys temporarily on shore had native girlfriends. Lots of them fell in love and got married and fathered mixed children, to the consternation of their stuffy captain. They were so fond of Tahiti and resentful of having to leave that they mutinied.

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main qimg a148081152933c43ddd80582f1404b97

Think of World War I and II, when scientific racism was mainstream thinking. Arab and African colonial troops posted in Germany produced the mixed generation termed the “Rhineland Bastards,” and definitely not because German women found them repulsive.

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main qimg bc985bce88ca2160cfa25266009628d0 lq

American GIs called Asians gooks and perpetrated horrendous war crimes yet went home with Japanese, Korean and Vietnamese wives, echoing the Bounty seamen.

Interestingly, average white guys to this day have more success with women overseas than they do with white women. Sometimes it’s to the extent of being a bum at home and a king abroad. Likewise, many “ethnic” guys aspire to get a white girlfriend instead of dating their own kind like their parents demand. Sometimes dateless “ethnic” guys in immigration-heavy Western countries find girlfriends in homogenously white Eastern Europe where a “colored” guy is rare. We often see rich white celebrities who can have any man or woman they want choosing a partner of a different “race.” Many people are attracted more to what is different from them than to what is similar.


Scientific racism fell out of favor because deeper studies kept pointing to race as an unreliable, error-producing concept instead of one of nature’s concrete realities. “Race” doesn’t really exist.

There’s no such thing as “the white race” when a white guy can come from Norway or Syria or Pakistan, or China (Xinjiang).

How can “the black race” exist when two people from different tribes in southern Africa, both labelled as “black” and visually similar, are more genetically distinct than a Russian is from a Maori? How can a category of man contain subcategories that are larger than itself?

Even ethnicity is not reliable. There’s not really such a thing as a Jewish, Egyptian, Polish, Japanese ethnicity. These are just groups of people who have been living together for a long time. If they were a predominantly rural, non-urbanized, parochial people, they ended up usually marrying each other due to foreigners not really being part of their world, resulting in dominance of “ethnic features” in this enclosed, remote, insular space.

Basically, what historically secluded and inbred communities like the Amish and Pitcairn Islanders do, an ethnic group has done on a much bigger scale. That’s the only difference.

An ethnic group is nothing more than a really big, inbred family, formed in isolation before the modern era of mass travel, which managed to avoid retardation thanks to large numbers and a bit of luck.

Even then, not one ethnicity member will be a “full-blooded native” of the ethnicity they belong to. There’s always been mixing, scarcely more than a few generations back.

Now put them in a city or on a trade route (even in ancient times) and they would always forget the “pride of their blood” when coming across an attractive foreigner.

And none of this happened because it was “against nature,” it happened because it is nature.

So an ethnicity is produced by artificially restricted human mating choices accumulated over time. Contrary to popular belief, it is not a product of nature.

Basically, every argument against race-mixing is an argument that inbreeding is a virtue under some expanded boundary.

  • “You can’t marry your sister” has always been universal, except in some ancient Egyptian, Ptolemaic and Inca royal families. Since the royals were held to be deities, they could not besmirch their godly blood with the blood of earthly subjects. They had to marry the closest possible people to them — their siblings.
  • “You can marry your cousin” or “I want you to marry your cousin” is still common in some cultures, not for “racial purity” but to keep wealth and domestic and legal disputes managed within the family. When nations were absolute monarchies, cousin marriage among royals prevented outsiders from threatening the royal family’s hold on the throne.
  • “Roma/Amish/Druze should only marry other Roma/Amish/Druze” is the rule for some tiny ethnic communities. This results in very poor genetics. Among the Amish, children born with genetic disabilities are so common that the community runs its own long-term care homes for them.
  • “You should only marry within your tribe/caste” is common in societies that still have castes and tribal affiliations (which are usually ethnic communities after a long period of inbreeding).
  • “You should only marry another Egyptian/Saudi/Italian/Pole” is the logic of ethnic nationalists. In this case the whole ethnicity is thought of as a tribal affiliation.
  • “You should only marry someone white or black” is the logic of racial nationalists. In this case the whole “skin color group” (“race”) is thought of as the tribal affiliation. Genetic “purity” is preferred, and crude visual similarity (shared skin color) is erroneously attributed to genetic similarity. In reality your “same-race” white or black partner might be more genetically distinct from you than someone from the other hemisphere.

“Race-mixing” is always 100% guaranteed to happen whenever humans of different backgrounds interact. “Preserving the races” is only possible if we isolate human populations we define as “races” and prevent them from interacting with one another. No travel, tourism, commerce, investment, employment, scholarship, etc. between the “races,” and probably no direct communication either. And no war involving human soldiers. Good luck with that.

I had a friend – we will call him James – who I knew throughout high school and college. James went to Texas A&M at the same time I did, as well as another friend, who I will call Tim. All throughout my senior year, Tim and I would go to James’ apartment on the weekends, and all three of us would hang out. I credit these weekends as saving me from the horrible pressure of my perfectionism during college, and I told James so later on in a birthday card.

I graduated Texas A&M in 2009. James graduated in winter of 2009 but refused to walk the stage for graduation. Finally, Tim graduated in 2010, and I went to his graduation.

I returned home after college to the Dallas area, as did Tim. James moved to Mesquite, which is not far from Dallas. Just like during college, James, Tim, and I would hang out on weekends, sometimes at James’ apartment.

About two years later, I couldn’t get into contact with James one weekend. He simply wasn’t answering his phone. Tim and I became concerned, and Tim ultimately stopped by James’ apartment and said the lights were on, but he couldn’t see anything inside really because the blinds were shut. No one was answering the door. Eventually, the next day, Tim called the apartment complex. The apartment complex actually gave Tim James’ mom’s number. As it turned out, to our shock, James had passed away (later to be determined due to diabetic ketoacidosis). He had been dead in his apartment at least four days before his body was found.

James’ mother had sent me a message on Facebook, which had been sorted in the “other” pile, so I hadn’t seen it. She provided her phone number, and I immediately called her, and we talked. She let us know when the funeral would be, and I said I would let all of James’ other friends know.

One thing I added was, “If you haven’t contacted the City of Mesquite to let them know that James has passed away, you should probably do so.” James’ mother said, “James told me he was working for Mesquite High School, but I can’t find any evidence of payment.” This confused me because James had never mentioned working at a school. I said, “Well, James doesn’t work at a school. He worked for the City of Mesquite.” James’ mother said, “Hi lies, Lindsey. That’s what he does. He lies. I don’t even know if his diploma is real.”

This greatly confused me, and I thought to myself that I was speaking to a woman who just lost her son. So, I didn’t challenge her or prod her with questions. When we hung up, I kept thinking about what she said as I prepared for the funeral and called everyone. I almost let it go, but I thought to myself that this misunderstanding would be easy to clear up. So, eventually – several days later – I contacted the City of Mesquite just to get them to call James’ mother. The woman on the other end of the line said that she could not give out any personal information on any employee, and I told her that was fine, that she simply needed to call James’ mother. The woman looked up James’ name and said, “A person by that name has never worked here.” I thanked her and hung up.

So, then, I began going through everything I remembered in concern with James, and I kept thinking about what James’ mother had said in terms of his diploma not being real. I did some digging, and, as it turns out, any former student of Texas A&M is able to access an alumni area on the Texas A&M website that states all individuals that attended A&M and what degree he or she received, as well as the graduation year.

I logged in and checked my own name first. Everything was as it should be. Then, I checked James’ name. Beside his name were three initials: NDR. I would come to find out this means no degree received.

My mind, by this point, was reeling. I thought back to how James had said he didn’t want to walk across the stage for graduation and quickly realized that he had said this because he wasn’t actually graduating. He was pretending to graduate, and he had chosen Winter of 2009 – really a perfect date for pretend, as it was after my graduation date and before our mutual friend’s graduation. In addition, he must have ordered a diploma from a website that created fake ones and had it sent to his mother’s house.

I did a bit more digging and discovered something called the National Student Clearinghouse, which provides degree verification. For $10, you can verify a person’s degree from select colleges, as well as see what classes that student took each semester. Texas A&M is one of those select colleges. I paid $10 and read the report. James had only attended A&M for one or two semesters. That means the entire time we were hanging out my senior year, the textbooks he had out beside his couch were fake. His stories about his classes were fake. All of it was.

I began, at this point, to have many dreams that James hadn’t actually passed away, most likely because I didn’t know what to believe, anymore, in concern with him. I obviously didn’t really know him. I was very angry during this period of time, and I felt just a little guilty for being so angry. After all, he had been a friend, as well.

The question, of course, was, how was James able to pay for an apartment in Mesquite, when he didn’t have an actual job? So, part of the answer I think is in the fact that his grandparents paid for his college courses – even when James wasn’t actually taking college courses. As far as they believed, he had always been attending Texas A&M. So, he could have told them how much he needed each semester and just been pocketing the money. In addition, as a graduation present, his grandparents had given him a large monetary gift – not enough for living without a job for a long period of time, but enough for a little bit of living without a job.

It made me wonder, though, what James’ plan had been this whole time. He hadn’t set up a future for himself. He hadn’t gotten a job. Then, when he started verging on diabetes, he didn’t regularly check up with his doctor. On really dark nights, I wondered if he had committed suicide purposely, rather than accidentally, by refusing to address his medical issue.

In addition, as I thought back on other things James had said, I took note of how he was always, always making jokes and inserting the truth into jokes. Our mutual friend had asked him in a chat what classes he was taking his senior year, and James has said, “Nothing.” Our friend had written, “Nothing?” James had said, “Nothing!” Tim took it as a joke, just as I would have.

Another time, James had said that he was dating a girl named Jessica and that she had a sister named Kimberly (names are changed to protect identities). At the time, I had remarked, “Wait. Kimberly and Jessica are the same names as two sisters we know. I wonder if parents commonly pair those names together.” When we got together the next weekend, James was no longer dating “Jessica.”

As it turned out, James had been feeding details of my job to his mom, as he said he worked at the Mesquite school district (I am a professor at Cedar Valley College). So, for instance, when I had a conference, he would tell his mom he had a conference. Simultaneously, James had been feeding me details about his mom’s job, when he claimed he had been working for the City of Mesquite, as she worked for her city’s library and always had stories about IT things that had to be dealt with.

James’ mom visited him one week, and during that week, the entire week, he left at 7 AM and returned in the early evening. She told me, “Since he didn’t have a job, I don’t know what he was doing that whole time.”

James’ claim that he was helping map the human genome during college was, of course, a lie as well.

I remember one time James and I were hanging out, and he said something crazy, and I said, “Is that true?” He scrunched his face up and said, “No.” I laughed and said, “You could tell me anything, and I would believe it.” He sighed and said, “You have no idea.”

Sometimes, when I think about this, it gives me chills.

So, the most disturbing thing I found when sorting through a deceased person’s past life is the absence of everything I thought was real and true, as well as the lies of a person I thought was a close friend. Thinking about it used to drive me crazy (there are a couple of things I have intentionally left out of the story), so I had to stop thinking about it.

Originally, anger was what I mostly felt in relation to being betrayed by James. As I have gotten older, though, and tried to look at what he did more objectively, I feel sad for him. He did not have a solid handle on life, and he was not headed in a good direction. By a certain point, it was all going to come crashing down. Whether he was intentionally manipulating everyone around himself to feel superior, or he simply didn’t want to seem like a failure, they are both sad.

Law 19 – Know who you’re dealing with – do not offend the wrong person (48 Laws of Power)

This is the complete text of law 19 from the book by Robert Greene titled “The 48 Laws of Power”. It is a book that lists (for good or bad) numerous ways that people interact with each other in the pursuit of the obtainment of power. While you might not want to use any of the techniques that he has listed, you must certainly can agree that you must be aware of how others might use them against you. As knowledge is, in itself, power.

LAW 19

KNOW WHO YOU’RE DEALING WITH—DO NOT OFFEND THE WRONG PERSON

JUDGMENT

There are many different kinds of people in the world, and you can never assume that everyone will react to your strategies in the same way. Deceive or outmaneuver some people and they will spend the rest of their lives seeking revenge. They are wolves in lambs’ clothing. Choose your victims and opponents carefully, then—never of fend or deceive the wrong person.

OPPONENTS, SUCKERS, AND VICTIMS: Preliminary Typology

In your rise to power you will come across many breeds of opponent, sucker, and victim. The highest form of the art of power is the ability to distinguish the wolves from the lambs, the foxes from the hares, the hawks from the vultures. If you make this distinction well, you will succeed without needing to coerce anyone too much. But if you deal blindly with whomever crosses your path, you will have a life of constant sorrow, if you even live that long.

When you meet a swordsman, draw your sword: Do not recite poetry to one who is not a poet.

-FROM A CH’AN BUDDHIST CLASSIC, QUOTED IN THUNDER IN THE SKY, TRANSLATED BY THOMAS CLEARY, 1993

Being able to recognize types of people, and to act accordingly, is critical.

The following are the five most dangerous and difficult types of mark in the jungle, as identified by artists—con and otherwise—of the past.

[1] The Arrogant and Proud Man.

If you end up in Prison, you will meet many people. One of the most dangerous are the members of the gay community. For they will be brutal on the slightest whim. Do not get involved with these people, and do not become involved within any kind of relationship triangles either.

-Metallicman.

Although he may initially disguise it, this man’s touchy pride makes him very dangerous.

Any perceived slight will lead to a vengeance of overwhelming violence.

You may say to yourself, “But I only said such-and-such at a party, where everyone was drunk….”

It does not matter.

There is no sanity behind his overreaction, so do not waste time trying to figure him out.

If at any point in your dealings with a person you sense an oversensitive and overactive pride, flee. Whatever you are hoping for from him isn’t worth it.

The Revence Of [Lope De] Aguirre

[Lope de] Aguirre’s character is amply illustrated in an anecdote from the chronicle of Garcilaso de la Vega.

Who related that in 1548 Aguirre was a member of a platoon of soldiers escorting Indian slaves from the mines at Potosi [Bolivia] to a royal treasury depot.

The Indians were illegally burdened with great quantities of silver, and a local official arrested Aguirre, sentencing him to receive two hundred lashes in lieu of a fine for oppressing the Indians.

“The soldier Aguirre, having received a notification of the sentence, besought the alcalde that, instead of flogging him, he would put him to death, for that he was a gentleman by birth…. All this had no effect on the alcalde, who ordered the executioner to bring a beast, and execute the sentence. The executioner came to the prison, and put Aguirre on the beast…. The beast was driven on, and he received the lashes….”

When freed, Aguirre announced his intention of killing the official who had sentenced him, the alcalde Esquivel.

Esquivel’s term of office expired and he fled to Lima.

Three hundred twenty leagues away, but within fifteen days Aguirre had tracked him there.

The frightened judge journeyed to Quito, a trip of four hundred leagues, and in twenty days Aguirre arrived.

“When Esquivel heard of his presence, ” according to Garcilaso, “he made another journey of five hundred leagues to Cuzco; but in a few days Aguirre also arrived, having traveled on foot and without shoes, saying that a whipped man has no business to ride a horse, or to go where he would be seen by others. In this way, Aguirre followed his judge for three years, and four months.”

Wearying of the pursuit, Esquivel remained at Cuzco, a city so sternly governed that he felt he would be safe from Aguirre. He took a house near the cathedral and never ventured outdoors without a sword and a dagger.

“However, on a certain Monday, at noon, Aguirre entered his house, and having walked all over it, and having traversed a corridor, a saloon, a chamber, and an inner chamber where the judge kept his books, he at last found him asleep over one of his books, and stabbed him to death. The murderer then went out, but when he came to the door of the house, he found that he had forgotten his hat, and had the temerity to return and fetch it, and then walked down the street.”

-THE GOLDEN DREAM: SEEKERS OF EL DORADO, WALKER CHAPMAN, 1967

[2] The Hopelessly Insecure Man.

This man is related to the proud and arrogant type, but is less violent and harder to spot.

His ego is fragile, his sense of self insecure, and if he feels himself deceived or attacked, the hurt will simmer.

He will attack you in bites that will take forever to get big enough for you to notice.

If you find you have deceived or harmed such a man, disappear for a long time. Do not stay around him or he will nibble you to death.

[3] Mr. Suspicion.

Another variant on the breeds above, this is a future Joe Stalin.

He sees what he wants to see—usually the worst—in other people, and imagines that everyone is after him.

Mr. Suspicion is in fact the least dangerous of the three: Genuinely unbalanced, he is easy to deceive, just as Stalin himself was constantly deceived.

Play on his suspicious nature to get him to turn against other people. But if you do become the target of his suspicions, watch out.

[4] The Serpent with a Long Memory.

If hurt or deceived, this man will show no anger on the surface; he will calculate and wait.

Then, when he is in a position to turn the tables, he will exact a revenge marked by a cold-blooded shrewdness.

Recognize this man by his calculation and cunning in the different areas of his life.

He is usually cold and unaffectionate.

Be doubly careful of this snake, and if you have somehow injured him, either crush him completely or get him out of your sight.

[5] The Plain, Unassuming, and Often Unintelligent Man.

Ah, your ears prick up when you find such a tempting victim.

But this man is a lot harder to deceive than you imagine.

Falling for a ruse often takes intelligence and imagination—a sense of the possible rewards.

The blunt man will not take the bait because he does not recognize it.

He is that unaware.

The danger with this man is NOT that he will harm you or seek revenge, but merely that he will waste your time, energy, resources, and even your sanity in trying to deceive him.

Have a test ready for a mark—a joke, a story. If his reaction is utterly literal, this is the type you are dealing with.

Continue at your own risk.

TRANSGRESSIONS OF THE LAW

Transgression I

In the early part of the thirteenth century, Muhammad, the shah of Khwarezm, managed after many wars to forge a huge empire, extending west to present-day Turkey and south to Afghanistan. The empire’s center was the great Asian capital of Samarkand. The shah had a powerful, well-trained army, and could mobilize 200,000 warriors within days.

In 1219 Muhammad received an embassy from a new tribal leader to the east, Genghis Khan.

The embassy included all sorts of gifts to the great Muhammad, representing the finest goods from Khan’s small but growing Mongol empire. Genghis Khan wanted to reopen the Silk Route to Europe, and offered to share it with Muhammad, while promising peace between the two empires.

Muhammad did not know this upstart from the east, who, it seemed to him, was extremely arrogant to try to talk as an equal to one so clearly his superior.

He ignored Khan’s offer.

Khan tried again: This time he sent a caravan of a hundred camels filled with the rarest articles he had plundered from China. Before the caravan reached Muhammad, however, Inalchik, the governor of a region bordering on Samarkand, seized it for himself, and executed its leaders.

Genghis Khan was sure that this was a mistake—that Inalchik had acted without Muhammad’s approval.

He sent yet another mission to Muhammad, reiterating his offer and asking that the governor be punished. This time Muhammad himself had one of the ambassadors beheaded, and sent the other two back with shaved heads—a horrifying insult in the Mongol code of honor.

Khan sent a message to the shah: “You have chosen war. What will happen will happen, and what it is to be we know not; only God knows.”

Mobilizing his forces, in 1220 he attacked Inalchik’s province, where he seized the capital, captured the governor, and ordered him executed by having molten silver poured into his eyes and ears.

Over the next year, Khan led a series of guerrilla-like campaigns against the shah’s much larger army.

His method was totally novel for the time—his soldiers could move very fast on horseback, and had mastered the art of firing with bow and arrow while mounted.

The speed and flexibility of his forces allowed him to deceive Muhammad as to his intentions and the directions of his movements. Eventually he managed first to surround Samarkand, then to seize it.

Muhammad fled, and a year later died, his vast empire broken and destroyed. Genghis Khan was sole master of Samarkand, the Silk Route, and most of northern Asia.

Interpretation

Never assume that the person you are dealing with is weaker or less important than you are.

Some men are slow to take offense, which may make you misjudge the thickness of their skin, and fail to worry about insulting them. But should you offend their honor and their pride, they will overwhelm you with a violence that seems sudden and extreme given their slowness to anger.

If you want to turn people down, it is best to do so politely and respectfully, even if you feel their request is impudent or their offer ridiculous.

Never reject them with an insult until you know them better; you may be dealing with a Genghis Khan.

THE CROW AND THE SHEEP

A troublesome Crow seated herself on the back of a Sheep. 

The Sheep, much against his will, carried her backward and forward for a long time, and at last said, “If you had treated a dog in this way, you would have had your deserts from his sharp teeth.”

To this the Crow replied, “I despise the weak, and yield to the strong. I know whom I may bully, and whom I must flatter; and thus I hope to prolong my life to a good old age.

-FABLES, AESOP, SIXTH CENTURY B.C.

Transgression II

In the late 1910s some of the best swindlers in America formed a con-artist ring based in Denver, Colorado. In the winter months they would spread across the southern states, plying their trade. In 1920 Joe Furey, a leader of the ring, was working his way through Texas, making hundreds of thousands of dollars with classic con games.

Joe Furey
Joe Furey.

In Fort Worth, he met a sucker named J. Frank Norfleet, a cattleman who owned a large ranch.

Norfleet fell for the con.

Convinced of the riches to come, he emptied his bank account of $45,000 and handed it over to Furey and his confederates. A few days later they gave him his “millions,” which turned out to be a few good dollars wrapped around a packet of newspaper clippings.

Furey and his men had worked such cons a hundred times before, and the sucker was usually so embarrassed by his gullibility that he quietly learned his lesson and accepted the loss.

But Norfleet was not like other suckers.

He went to the police, who told him there was little they could do.

“Then I’ll go after those people myself,” Norfleet told the detectives. “I’ll get them, too, if it takes the rest of my life.”

His wife took over the ranch as Norfleet scoured the country, looking for others who had been fleeced in the same game. One such sucker came forward, and the two men identified one of the con artists in San Francisco, and managed to get him locked up.

The man committed suicide rather than face a long term in prison.

Norfleet kept going.

He tracked down another of the con artists in Montana, roped him like a calf, and dragged him through the muddy streets to the town jail.

He traveled not only across the country but to England, Canada, and Mexico in search of Joe Furey, and also of Furey’s right-hand man, W. B. Spencer.

Finding Spencer in Montreal, Norfleet chased him through the streets.

Spencer escaped but the rancher stayed on his trail and caught up with him in Salt Lake City. Preferring the mercy of the law to Norfleet’s wrath, Spencer turned himself in.

Norfleet found Furey in Jacksonville, Florida, and personally hauled him off to face justice in Texas.

But he wouldn’t stop there: He continued on to Denver, determined to break up the entire ring.

Spending not only large sums of money but another year of his life in the pursuit, he managed to put all of the con ring’s leaders behind bars. Even some he didn’t catch had grown so terrified of him that they too turned themselves in.

After five years of hunting, Norfleet had single-handedly destroyed the country’s largest confederation of con artists. The effort bankrupted him and ruined his marriage, but he died a satisfied man.

Interpretation

Most men accept the humiliation of being conned with a sense of resignation. They learn their lesson, recognizing that there is no such thing as a free lunch, and that they have usually been brought down by their own greed for easy money.

Some, however, refuse to take their medicine.

Instead of reflecting on their own gullibility and avarice, they see themselves as totally innocent victims.

Men like this may seem to be crusaders for justice and honesty, but they are actually immoderately insecure. Being fooled, being conned, has activated their self-doubt, and they are desperate to repair the damage.

Were the mortgage on Norfleet’s ranch, the collapse of his marriage, and the years of borrowing money and living in cheap hotels worth his revenge over his embarrassment at being fleeced?

To the Norfleets of the world, overcoming their embarrassment is worth any price.

All people have insecurities, and often the best way to deceive a sucker is to play upon his insecurities. But in the realm of power, everything is a question of degree, and the person who is decidedly more insecure than the average mortal presents great dangers.

Be warned: If you practice deception or trickery of any sort, study your mark well. Some people’s insecurity and ego fragility cannot tolerate the slightest offense. To see if you are dealing with such a type, test them first—make, say, a mild joke at their expense. A confident person will laugh; an overly insecure one will react as if personally insulted. If you suspect you are dealing with this type, find another victim.

Transgression III

In the fifth century B.C., Ch‘ung-erh, the prince of Ch’in (in present-day China), had been forced into exile.

He lived modestly—even, sometimes, in poverty—waiting for the time when he could return home and resume his princely life. Once he was passing through the state of Cheng, where the ruler, not knowing who he was, treated him rudely.

The ruler’s minister, Shu Chan, saw this and said, “This man is a worthy prince. May Your Highness treat him with great courtesy and thereby place him under an obligation!”

But the ruler, able to see only the prince’s lowly station, ignored this advice and insulted the prince again.

Shu Chan again warned his master, saying, “If Your Highness cannot treat Ch’ung-erh with courtesy, you should put him to death, to avoid calamity in the future.”

The ruler only scoffed.

Years later, the prince was finally able to return home, his circumstances greatly changed. He did not forget who had been kind to him, and who had been insolent, during his years of poverty.

Least of all did he forget his treatment at the hands of the ruler of Cheng.

At his first opportunity he assembled a vast army and marched on Cheng, taking eight cities, destroying the kingdom, and sending the ruler into an exile of his own.

Interpretation

You can never be sure who you are dealing with. A man who is of little importance and means today can be a person of power tomorrow. We forget a lot in our lives, but we rarely forget an insult.

How was the ruler of Cheng to know that Prince Ch’ung-erh was an ambitious, calculating, cunning type, a serpent with a long memory? There was really no way for him to know, you may say—but since there was no way, it would have been better not to tempt the fates by finding out. There is nothing to be gained by insulting a person unnecessarily. Swallow the impulse to offend, even if the other person seems weak. The satisfaction is meager compared to the danger that someday he or she will be in a position to hurt you.

Transgression IV

The year of 1920 had been a particularly bad one for American art dealers. Big buyers—the robber-baron generation of the previous century—were getting to an age where they were dying off like flies, and no new millionaires had emerged to take their place. Things were so bad that a number of the major dealers decided to pool their resources, an unheard-of event, since art dealers usually get along like cats and dogs.

Joseph Duveen, art dealer to the richest tycoons of America, was suffering more than the others that year, so he decided to go along with this alliance. The group now consisted of the five biggest dealers in the country. Looking around for a new client, they decided that their last best hope was Henry Ford, then the wealthiest man in America.

Ford had yet to venture into the art market, and he was such a big target that it made sense for them to work together.

The dealers decided to assemble a list, “The 100 Greatest Paintings in the World” (all of which they happened to have in stock), and to offer the lot of them to Ford. With one purchase he could make himself the world’s greatest collector.

The consortium worked for weeks to produce a magnificent object: a three-volume set of books containing beautiful reproductions of the paintings, as well as scholarly texts accompanying each picture. Next they made a personal visit to Ford at his home in Dearborn, Michigan.

There they were surprised by the simplicity of his house: Mr. Ford was obviously an extremely unaffected man.

Ford received them in his study.

Looking through the book, he expressed astonishment and delight. The excited dealers began imagining the millions of dollars that would shortly flow into their coffers. Finally, however, Ford looked up from the book and said, “Gentlemen, beautiful books like these, with beautiful colored pictures like these, must cost an awful lot!”

“But Mr. Ford!” exclaimed Duveen, “we don’t expect you to buy these books. We got them up especially for you, to show you the pictures. These books are a present to you.”

Ford seemed puzzled.

“Gentlemen,” he said, “it is extremely nice of you, but I really don’t see how I can accept a beautiful, expensive present like this from strangers.”

Duveen explained to Ford that the reproductions in the books showed paintings they had hoped to sell to him. Ford finally understood. “But gentlemen,” he exclaimed, “what would I want with the original pictures when the ones right here in these books are so beautiful?”

Interpretation

Joseph Duveen prided himself on studying his victims and clients in advance, figuring out their weaknesses and the peculiarities of their tastes before he ever met them.

He was driven by desperation to drop this tactic just once, in his assault on Henry Ford. It took him months to recover from his misjudgment, both mentally and monetarily.

Ford was the unassuming plain-man type who just isn’t worth the bother.

He was the incarnation of those literal-minded folk who do not possess enough imagination to be deceived. From then on, Duveen saved his energies for the Mellons and Morgans of the world—men crafty enough for him to entrap in his snares.

KEYS TO POWER

The ability to measure people and to know who you’re dealing with is the most important skill of all in gathering and conserving power.

Without it you are blind: Not only will you offend the wrong people, you will choose the wrong types to work on, and will think you are flattering people when you are actually insulting them.

Before embarking on any move, take the measure of your mark or potential opponent. Otherwise you will waste time and make mistakes.

Study people’s weaknesses, the chinks in their armor, their areas of both pride and insecurity. Know their ins and outs before you even decide whether or not to deal with them.

Two final words of caution: First, in judging and measuring your opponent, never rely on your instincts. You will make the greatest mistakes of all if you rely on such inexact indicators. Nothing can substitute for gathering concrete knowledge. Study and spy on your opponent for however long it takes; this will pay off in the long run.

Second, never trust appearances. Anyone with a serpent’s heart can use a show of kindness to cloak it; a person who is blustery on the outside is often really a coward. Learn to see through appearances and their contradictions. Never trust the version that people give of themselves—it is utterly unreliable.

Image: The Hunter.

He does not lay the same trap for a wolf as for a fox. He does not set bait where no one will take it. He knows his prey thoroughly, its habits and hideaways, and hunts accordingly.

Authority: Be convinced, that there are no persons so insignificant and inconsiderable, but may, some time or other, have it in their power to be of use to you; which they certainly will not, if you have once shown them contempt. Wrongs are often forgiven, but contempt never is. Our pride remembers it for ever. (Lord Chesterfield, 1694-1773)

REVERSAL

What possible good can come from ignorance about other people? Learn to tell the lions from the lambs or pay the price. Obey this law to its fullest extent; it has no reversal—do not bother looking for one.

Principles of Law 19

In your quest for power, you can’t treat everyone the same way. According to Law 19 of the 48 Laws of Power, there are many different types of people, and you need to be able to recognize which type you’re dealing with and respond appropriately. 

Here are the five most dangerous types, most of whom you should avoid dealing with because it’s either a waste of time or it will come back and bite you. With these types especially, you should know who you’re dealing with.

  • Oversensitive and egotistical: Overreacts, often violently and disproportionately, to any perceived slight.
  • Insecure and fragile: Lets hurt feelings simmer, then attacks with small cuts that eventually add up.
  • Pathologically suspicious: Imagines everyone is after him. Like Stalin, genuinely unhinged but easy to fool. You can get him to turn against others, but take care that he doesn’t target you.
  • Cold and calculating: Doesn’t show anger when offended, but calculates the right moment for revenge and waits for it. He’s a snake — crush him rather than injuring him.
  • Slow-witted or literal: Lacks the intelligence and imagination (to envision potential rewards) to fall for a scheme. You’ll waste time trying to fool him. Test him by telling a joke to see if he gets it, or reacts literally. If the latter, move on to someone else.

To wield power it’s essential to be able to read people and know who you’re dealing with. If you don’t understand your targets — choosing the wrong person or doing the wrong thing — you’ll waste time at best. At worst, you bring trouble on yourself, for instance, by insulting people when you think you’re flattering them, or by triggering their insecurity. This is essential to understand when following Law 19 of the 48 Laws of Power.

Before dealing with someone, do your research. Never trust your instincts, or trust appearances. People can easily hide their true nature. Do not offend the wrong person.

Putting Law 19 to Work

Here are just a few of the many examples of how not to apply Law 19 of the 48 Laws of Power. These people underestimated or failed to understand their opponents. They did not follow Law 19: Know Who You’re Dealing With—Do Not Offend the Wrong Person.

  • Oversensitive and egotistical: A powerful shah who had a huge empire dissed Genghis Khan by ignoring his offers of an alliance, and was destroyed. His mistake was assuming that Genghis Khan was weaker than he, and he rejected his overtures with insults. Khan turned out to be both sensitive to insults and extremely powerful.
  • Oversensitive and egotistical: In 1910 there was a con artist ring operating out of Denver, led by Joe Furey. Furey suckered a Texas rancher into giving up a fortune. But unlike most suckers in Furey’s experience, he didn’t just slink away quietly in embarrassment. He set out to take down Furey and the entire con artist ring, a feat that took him five years and great expense. Furey didn’t understand that he was dealing with an insecure man who wouldn’t tolerate offense.
  • Literal: Because he was a simple man who took things literally, Henry Ford stymied a consortium of art dealers who tried to sell him a collection of 1,000 paintings. To whet his appetite for the works, the dealers created a beautiful book of the paintings, which they presented to Ford as a gift. His response was to question why he should buy the paintings, when he had a book that depicted them so beautifully. Because the dealers hadn’t done their homework, they wasted their time and money dealing with an immovable target.

Conclusion

I would advise that you remain kind and neutral to everyone that you meet. I strongly suggest that you put the ideas of “winning” or “conquering” over others under advisement, instead, I urge you to try to work with people in a mutually beneficial arrangement.

Unfortunately, this is not always possible. There will come times when you are dealing with people that have their own agendas, their own ways of doing things, and their own objectives.

Such is the case when Donald Trump instigated the “Trade War” against China in 2016 which pretty much lasted throughout his entire term. And while China assumed that Trump wanted a Win-Win situation, the truth was that he desired a Lose-Lose situation and did everything in his power to make sure that China would lose more than America would.

It didn’t work out that way.

Why?

Because the intel that Donald Trump and Pompeo was getting on China was not only incorrect, but it was dangerously inaccurate, outdated, and colored with a bias that did not factually exist. And no matter what Donald Trump threw at China, they simply stepped to the side and continued their life unimpeded.

Currently, the conservative neocons are advising for a “hot war” scenario. As it is the only remaining course of action. To which I must respond with the statement from Law 19…

The highest form of the art of power is the ability to distinguish the wolves from the lambs, the foxes from the hares, the hawks from the vultures. If you make this distinction well, you will succeed without needing to coerce anyone too much. But if you deal blindly with whomever crosses your path, you will have a life of constant sorrow...

... if you even live that long.

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