The Silent World is speaking. It spoke in the UK by voting for Brexit. It spoke here on Tuesday by voting for Trump. The not-so-silent world spoke there following their referendum. It is speaking here now. And what we see is how ugly the not-so-silent world people can be, how ignorant they are. What we see is their deep-seated, dark feelings of hatred and disdain for anyone who does not agree with them.
Let’s get something straight from the get-go. We are really talking about less than one half of one percent of those people, the rioters, many of whom are paid professional rioters. They are followed by the idealistic lambs who have been led astray. Those lambs, by the way, are the victims of a failed education system and the false promises of a failing leftist government whose policies preach a false sense of entitlement and which have consistently failed socially and economically for more than fifty years.
Let’s get something else straight. Bruce Springsteen, Barbara Streisand, Jay Z, Katy Perry, Cher, Madonna and all the other celebrities who publicly supported Clinton immediately went on about their luxurious lives doing their concerts, making millions and capitalizing on Hillary supporters who will go to their concerts and buy their materials. The normal everyday people, 99 percent of the populace, will plod on in their everyday struggles exacerbated by the failed Clinton-advocated Obama economic policies.
Furthermore, Mark Cuban and George Soros won’t lose any of their billions, probably made money on the big drop in stock futures followed by the market run-up, and won’t have lost any sleep by Hillary’s loss. Bill Clinton had already begun finding work-arounds for continuing foreign contributions to the Clinton foundation when Hillary was elected. Now there’s no conflict. The Clinton Foundation paid for Chelsea’s three-million dollar wedding. That’s a 3 followed by 6 zeros. It also paid for a full decade of Chelsea’s life. Those dead-broke Clintons…
The not-so-silent media that orchestrated the rise of Clinton and tried to orchestrate the demise of the President-elect continue to stoke the fires of division and hate they attempted to paint upon the President-elect but which we clearly see is painted on them. They profit from the fires they stoke; many of the media outlets are owned and run by those who benefit economically from the leftist policies that destroy the silent world people and, believe it or not, the 99.5% of the minorities the leftist, Obama-Clinton policies have enslaved and kept captive.
Yes. The silent world is speaking. It didn’t create the violence at Trump rallies. Whether you like Wiki-leaks or not, they showed that the Clinton campaign bought and paid for that. It didn’t call the Clinton supporters deplorable and irredeemable. The not-so-silent world did that. It simply voted for upholding traditional values like religious freedom, a non-interpretive Constitution and a lawful America where the laws are enforced. It voted for self-dependence, self-determination and an end to the nanny state which has created a modern, bastardized form of slavery. It voted for defending itself against radical Islamic terrorist threats, reestablishing it’s sovereign borders and protecting itself against foreign enemies.
What’s so bad about that?
In all, the barber, or whatever he was, only made about ten strokes. He went front to back from one side of Bill’s head to the other and came back again. Years and years of growing that hair, and in less than two minutes it all lay there on the floor of the jail barbershop.
The barber had left his cigarette in an ash tray on the counter. Finished with Bill, he stepped over the hair and took it up, flicked the ashes on the floor on the hair. Cigarette in mouth, he walked over to where the broom and dustpan were. He returned to Bill who was standing by the chair with his tormentor.
“Clean up your hair,” the barber said.
No other inmate that Bill had seen had to clean up his hair. That one guard, his tormentor, had fixed it like this. It wasn’t the first time he’d been picked on or discriminated against in his life, he thought. Anyway, there was nothing he could do. He shrugged it off, took the broom and went to work.
“Garbage, like you,” Bill’s tormentor said about the hair.
Bill didn’t say anything. He swept up his hair, did what he was told and wondered what was ahead of him.
On the walk back to the dorm, Bill and his tormentor were unaccompanied. Not even completely clear of the barbershop, his tormentor started in on him. “I got all my people watching you. Step out of line anywhere and it comes back to me. Say something, it comes back to me. I’m making you my mission, boy. We’re gonna teach you about America. We’re gonna teach you respect. We’re gonna teach you you ain’t as free as you think. You understand me boy?”
“Yes sir,” Bill said. What else could he say?
His tormentor stayed on his case all the way to D dorm, but when they got there and he opened the door for Bill, he turned nothing but sweet. He walked Bill in and stayed with him so Bill could make sure all his things were still on the bunk. Only then did he head out, leaving Bill on his own.
Bill hadn’t peed since just before getting on the bus. The scariness of it all and the constant anxiety had kept that urge at bay. Now he really had to go, so before he started setting up his bed and getting settled, he walked to the toilets. No one seemed to pay him any mind and Bill thought that was a good thing.
Back at his bunk, he stowed himself away. On the wall between the bunks were two shelves, one above the other. Bill folded his towel, still slightly damp, and placed it on his shelf. He did the same with his skivvies and socks. Then he unrolled the mattress and made the bed. Set, he climbed up, slipped off the shoes and lay down. He so wanted to cry, but he didn’t dare. He wanted to close his eyes and sleep, but he didn’t dare. He didn’t know what time it was. He just knew he was locked in this dorm with forty-five other men and he wasn’t getting out for twenty-one days.
A Note About the Fiction Outtakes:
The Fiction Outtakes are based upon my fiction. Very often they utilize characters which appear in different pieces of fiction written over the years. However, the events and incidents do not generally appear in the fiction. For the most part they are outtakes, pieces written and not included in the actual works or pieces written for fun. All of The Ghost Writer outtakes are not actual events depicted in the upcoming novel (tentatively to be released in February 2017) but the characters are actual characters from the novel. Similarly, Bill Wynn is a character from The Kitchen Stories (written over many years and also to be released in 2017). However, the actual experiences depicted in the outtakes do not necessarily appear in The Kitchen Stories.
We’ve all heard this one: if you lay down with dogs, you’re bound to get fleas. That’s what happened to James Comey, and his latest move was merely an attempt to shed his fleas. It won’t work, of course, because all the dogs around him are infected too.
It was reported that Comey is a religious man and that his wife has been telling him he did wrong in July by not recommending that Hillary Clinton get indicted. His wife, per the report, said he needed to redeem himself. So the speculation is his move last week was his attempt at redemption.
Boy, haven’t we heard it all this time!
Of course yesterday’s move, whether true or not (but who really believes they went through 650,000 emails) only shows that the fleas have gotten worse despite any attempt at getting rid of them.
And so it goes.
Moving upward, the analogy changes, gets worse. The infestation starting in the White House isn’t just fleas. It’s termites. The termite infestation began a long time ago, surely not with Obama per se, but Obama put it into hyper-drive. It started with his lack-of-justice department and Eric Holder, with the purposeful decision not to prosecute blacks. With that and Fast and Furious, the termites really took hold, such that the lack-of-justice department is a crumbling house.
It’s almost redundant to mention Loretta Lynch, her connection to Bill Clinton (no one seems to talk about his 26 flights on the pedophile Jeffrey Epstein’s plane labeled the Lolita Express, at least 5 of them without Secret Service Agents and heading to Asia—long flights) or the tarmac meeting followed by the HRC announcement she would keep Loretta as her AG. It’s not even a pseudo-justice department anymore. Of course, finally, there was the lack-of-justice department’s blocking the FBI investigations and the President saying, like he always does, that he would never attempt to influence the FBI, then going on to blast Comey.
No sympathy for Comey, but the house is crumbling all over.
Under Obama, the IRS is a crumbling house too. It’s another politicized agency, one that isn’t supposed to be political. Targeting of conservative groups so as to withhold their ability to form—not an accident, to be sure. No one was punished or fired. It was all okay because the White House is a termite-ridden, flea-infested structure that should be condemned.
The VA? Another termite-ridden, flea-infested structure that should be condemned. The truth there, though no one will admit it, is that our illegal aliens are given more benefits and considerations than our veterans. The flea-bags in our government should be ashamed of themselves, but they are not because they are depraved souls. If you don’t believe that, consider that HRC’s ads say her foundation gives 90% of its funding to the charities it supports, but the foundation’s tax returns show that it gives only 6%. Depraved!
The State Department? Iran deal, Russia being sold our uranium—is there really anything more to be said? Another termite-ridden, flea-infested structure that should be condemned.
Comey put himself in the bed that he knew was flea infested. If HRC is elected, our government will not only be in crisis, but it will continue being termite-ridden and flea-infested, a structure that should be condemned.
Would Trump be any better? Who knows? But if Hillary is elected, buyer’s beware. She’s corrupted everything she’s touched. Her husband too. Leopards don’t change their spots.
The line at the barber was thirty deep. The guards deposited Bill and went out for a smoke. They told the guards guarding the line to call them if they weren’t back in time.
There was no talking allowed. There was no anything allowed. Like all the other inmates, Bill stood quiet, trying not to make serious eye contact with anyone, especially the guards. With other inmates, eye contact could mean a stare down which could mean a conflict. If a stare down happened and you punked out, that could mean getting picked on.
No response to eye contact led to no predictable results. Each case was a crap shoot. With the guards, however, it was a sure problem unless they were addressing you directly. So like the other inmates, Bill stared at his feet, stared at the walls, looked up to the ceiling and around at the jail. He noted the walls and the floors were painted institutional grey. He noted the absence of windows. He noted the constant order maintained. He noted that the guards never traveled among the prisoners alone. They always walked in pairs, always carrying night sticks, never wearing sidearms. He noticed there were guard stations. Inside these stations, guards wore sidearms and carried shotguns. They looked down upon everything, watched everything everywhere.
Bill hadn’t cut his hair since he was fourteen. Until then his father made him wear a crew cut and took him to the barber once a month. At fourteen he’d rebelled and fought his father for what he’d wanted.
His was thick black hair, curly and long, falling more than halfway down his back. It had taken a long while to grow it so. At football camp just before his senior year in high school, when he was seventeen, he’d met a girl named Beth. They’d had a summer fling. Every night they went off into the woods and did what they did. Beth loved stroking his hair. She loved brushing it and braiding it. She brought her own brushes and did his hair. Then they made out and everything more. Beth was crazy about Bill. Bill liked her well enough.
At the University he was just one among many with hair down his back. His hair had become a trademark for him, even his tradition. To say he loved his hair was a bit strong, but as the line cut down to about fifteen, he started to feel separation anxiety. Up till now the idea of losing his hair had been an abstraction. He knew it was there on his head and he knew it was getting cut off. But he didn’t feel the reality of its going. Its getting cut off did not yet exist among the realm of that which actually happened.
Bill had had that same experience–really it was a sensation–about going to jail too. Way back even before the summer trimester had begun the deal had been cut and he’d known he was going to jail. He’d known exactly what he was getting: twenty-one days in the workhouse, a two hundred-fifty dollar fine and a year’s probation. In return, they kept the case out of court until after the summer session so Bill could graduate.
He did graduate. The court date had come, moved from the conceptual to the actual. Now he was first in line and the reality of losing his hair was upon him. Bill still couldn’t believe it.
“Next.”
Bill’s tormentor led him to the chair. “Not short,” he said. “Take it all.”
Bill noticed that the barber shop had windows. He closed his eyes to the light. He felt the first stroke with the clippers, then the next, then the next and the next and the next.
A Note About the Fiction Outtakes:
The Fiction Outtakes are based upon my fiction. Very often they utilize characters which appear in different pieces of fiction written over the years. However, the events and incidents do not generally appear in the fiction. For the most part they are outtakes, pieces written and not included in the actual works or pieces written for fun. All of The Ghost Writer outtakes are not actual events depicted in the upcoming novel (tentatively to be released in February 2017) but the characters are actual characters from the novel. Similarly, Bill Wynn is a character from The Kitchen Stories (written over many years and also to be released in 2017). However, the actual experiences depicted in the outtakes do not necessarily appear in The Kitchen Stories.
The workhouse was set up as a series of dorms. Each dorm housed forty-eight inmates. They were all constructed and setup exactly the same way. The front wall was prison bars with a door in the middle like any jailhouse or prison cell door. Along each side wall was a row of double bunks twelve deep. This left a nice pathway down the middle wide enough for two or three people. Just past the bunks was a half wall like in the showers with a divide in the middle for the entrance. Bill would learn on his first night that beyond that wall was where the bad stuff happened.
In that back section were three sinks on each side attached to the side walls, a small mirror over each sink. Along the back wall spaced out two on each side of the divide were four toilets with no backs. Forty-eight men, six sinks and four toilets, the sinks and toilets only separated from the bunks by a half wall: that was D dorm and every other dorm since they were all the same.
Only Bill was delivered to D dorm. Three guards delivered him. With Bill, they stood outside the dorm. One guard rapped on the bars with his stick. Then another guard shouted for the inmates to line up. This meant they all had to stand in the aisle in front of their bunks. After they were lined up, the guard who had shouted for the lineup took his keys off his belt and opened the door. The third guard held a shotgun.
“You know the drill,” he said. “Make a move, meet your maker.”
The other two guards, one of them the one who’d been razzing Bill about his stick, the other the one who seemed to be his friend, walked Bill inside.
“We got you a pretty young hippie boy,” Bill’s tormentor said. “We gonna get him all cleaned up at the barber then he’s all yours.”
They walked Bill down the middle, his tormentor next to him, his friend behind them. The guard with the shotgun watched them from the doorway. He stood at the ready. He could shoot then close the door within five seconds. He was prepared to do so. All the guards were.
Three beds were empty, two bottoms and a top. The two bottoms were toward the front. The top, which Bill chose, was toward the back on the right side as they walked that way.
“Leave your stuff on the bunk and let’s go,” Bill’s tormentor said.
Bill tossed his stuff up on the bunk. All there was was a sheet, a blanket, a pillow case, the towel which was still wet from when he dried himself after the shower and his underclothes. Bill kept his toothbrush in his pants pocket.
“Any of this stuff disappears, I’m tossing this place when I come back,” Bill’s tormentor said. “If I have to do that, I know I’m going to find contraband. You know I’m going to find contraband. When I find contraband, I’m taking the baddest of you mothers and putting it on you. Then I’m gonna make sure you do a two year stretch in the State pen. Anyone wanna try me, let something go missing.”
From somewhere not too far off, one of the inmates spoke out “F–k you,” so faint it could hardly be heard yet so clearly distinguishable it couldn’t be missed.
“You see it?” one guard asked the other.
“No.”
“I got this,” Bill’s tormentor said. “Whoever said that, you got one chance to step forward. Otherwise I’m cracking someone with this here nightstick. You got to five.”
He counted out loud to five. When no one stepped forward, he walked five inmates toward the front looking each one in the eyes. The words had come from the other side, so he turned, walked three inmates on the other side back. That third one was young and big. Without any warning, the guard thumped him on the front of his thigh, a full swing. The blow dropped the inmate to his knees.
“You say something boy?” the guard said.
“No sir.”
“Stand the f–k up, pussy,” the guard said.
“Yes sir.”
The inmate struggled up and as soon as he was standing, the guard cracked him again, this time on the other thigh. He went down again.
“Pussy,” the guard said again. “Let’s visit the barber,” he said to Bill.
A Note About the Fiction Outtakes:
The Fiction Outtakes are based upon my fiction. Very often they utilize characters which appear in different pieces of fiction written over the years. However, the events and incidents do not generally appear in the fiction. For the most part they are outtakes, pieces written and not included in the actual works or pieces written for fun. All of The Ghost Writer outtakes are not actual events depicted in the upcoming novel (tentatively to be released in February 2017) but the characters are actual characters from the novel. Similarly, Bill Wynn is a character from The Kitchen Stories (written over many years and also to be released in 2017). However, the actual experiences depicted in the outtakes do not necessarily appear in The Kitchen Stories.
