Since it was an eight hour shift, everything from here on was time-and-a-half. As Bill figured it, he would make at least two hours overtime a day. That would increase his salary handsomely and was, as he could see it, a nice benefit. Bill saw Rosie pass by on her way through the double doors. He followed her with his eyes as far as he could see her checking out her ass and her legs. Only when she was completely gone out by Kalista did he turn back.
“Like what you see?” Edelgarde was standing at the serving counter of the open-kitchen window.
He could have been embarrassed. Maybe someone else would have been. Instead he just smirked and said, “Yeah.”
“You can have it, you know. She’s stricken.” Edelgarde smiled, shifted her weight one foot to the other as she stood there. “You can have us both if you want, separately and together.”
Bill stood there, looked at her.
“You’re cute,” she said. “I’m usually not this forward and I generally don’t fool around at work. But… Rosie and I are really good friends and as good friends sometimes do, well, you know, we share things and we enjoy being with each other.”
“That so?” Bill asked.
“That’s so,” Edelgarde said. “Anyway, we got an order. And I’d like a hamburger with fries for dinner, if you don’t mind. Usually I eat first and then Rosie.”
“We done for the night?”
“Probably. Mostly. We don’t usually get much after 10:00 and if you’re wondering, tonight was a pretty good sample of what it’s like. We do about fifty covers on average. Maybe seventy-five on a really good night and a hundred on an exceptional night. Friday nights are usually up there.”
“Okay, Bill said. “Let me know when you want the hamburger.”
“You can do it now. Rosie will do the table.”
“How you like it cooked?”
“Rare.”
“Really?”
“Yup. I like all my meat rare.”
“Me too. Good girl.”
“I am a good girl,” Edelgarde said. She smiled and leaned forward so that she was leaning on the counter. “In time, you’ll see what good girls me and Rosie are.”
As she leaned there, kind of resting on her arms which she’d rested on the counter, Bill could see almost all of her bosom. He knew, given what she’d said, she’d made this move so he could see exactly what he was seeing. She knew he knew too, or he surmised this by her somewhat blatant attempt to look cute, which she surely did. She looked downright edible.
“So…” she finally said. As she said this the double doors opened and Bill could see Rosie step through. She was carrying two shrimp cocktails. He saw her look at Edelgarde in the service window and maybe frown a bit, maybe not, maybe he just imagined it. Anyway, as Rosie went around and out into the dining room, Edelgarde stood up and moved away from the service window.
With her gone, first thing Bill did was fetch a hamburger and set it on the grills of the broiler. The broiler was plenty hot since nothing had been cooking, so he watched the hamburger patiently and as soon as he was sure the down-side was striped, he slid his spatula under it and moved it so it was rotated and would be diamond-marked. Because the grills were so hot this did not take long and a moment later he slid the spatula under it again and flipped the burger.
While the burger was on the second side, he quickly dropped an order of French fries into the fryer. Then he grabbed a bun and put it face-up under the broiler. It toasted in about five seconds real-time. He grabbed up the bun, set it on a plate, slid his spatula under the hamburger and placed the burger on the bun’s bottom.
Done! He put it a set-up of lettuce, red onion and pickle on the plate before he went for the French fries.
By Peter Weiss
Dressed in her civvies and ready to go home, Jo Ann stopped by the kitchen entrance. Bill thought she was younger than her age, that she carried herself like a girl at least 20 years younger. He was cleaning up some when he saw her, stopped what he was doing, approach her.
He was still alone in the kitchen. Jimmy had been gone a good while now, had left him all alone on his very first night once he was sure that Bill knew how to serve every entrée on the menu.
“I just wanted to say you did good,” Jo Ann said.
“Thanks.”
“See you tomorrow?”
“God willing.”
“Don’t let Caesar get you down. He’ll leave you alone once he sees how well you do your job.”
Bill winked at Jo Ann. “Not a problem,” he said.
“Well, night then.”
“Night, Jo Ann. Thanks.”
As Jo Ann left, Bill went back to what he was doing. He was wrapping things that could be wrapped, cleaning things that could be cleaned. No new orders had come in. He’d long ago finished the soda Rosie had brought him. Neither Rosie nor Edelgarde seemed to be anywhere to be found. He wanted a coffee, wondered momentarily if it were all right to leave the kitchen unattended, decided without hesitation that it surely was and went out through the double doors to where Kalista worked.
Jimmy was sitting off to the side and slightly behind Kalista where he could not too easily be seen. Bill walked around her service counter to where the coffeemakers were.
The Falstaff Room, at least as it tried to be, was a step up, maybe more than one step up, from Suburban. It was fancier, much more elegant with its real-silver silverware and fine china. Everything had to be just so, set just so, served just so.
And Caesar watched over it like a dictator. Just before the service started every day, he checked every table to make sure everything was set straight. He checked the three girls to make sure their nails were clean, their shoes polished, their uniforms fell just so. He really believed he was Caesar, Bill thought.
When he returned from Kalista’s station with his coffee, a mug of coffee, Caesar was waiting for him.
“You can’t leave the kitchen unattended,” Caesar said.
Bill did not say anything. He looked at Caesar, consciously decided not to say anything. Instead, he sat down on Jimmy’s box and put the mug of coffee on the counter there. He was waiting for Jimmy to return to show him when and how to clean up everything.
Of course he knew how to clean things. He could clean the grill, the stove and all the equipment. He knew how to do that. The issue was exactly what he had to do and how they did it there.
So he sat and drank his coffee.
Realizing that Bill was not going to answer him, Caesar did an about-face and walked away. Still no more orders had come in.
Bill was thinking that if this were it for the job it was going to be a piece of cake. Clearly, he could handle everything all by himself. In fact, he would learn in time that he was expected to do so, especially when there were banquets going on at the same time they were doing their dinner service. That would not happen all the time, but it would happen somewhat frequently and since Jimmy’s cousin Jimmy was the banquet chef, Jimmy G. would always want to be around him.
As he drank his coffee from a mug that Kalista had taken from the main kitchen and given to him (they did not use mugs in the Falstaff room, they used matching cups and saucers) he checked the time. It was nearing ten o’clock. He’d now been on his job for eight hours.
By Peter Weiss
Ellen is the metaphor.
She sat with President Bush at a ballgame and got called out by the liberals, the lefties, because she was sitting with a Republican. How terrible it was to do such a thing! In their playbook (mostly the Alinsky playbook), the lefties playbook, you’re not allowed to associate with Republicans or conservatives, and are certainly not allowed to be friends with them.
No Sir!
So the lefties chastised Ellen, castigated her, called her out such that she had to defend herself for sitting with President Bush, for being friends with someone on that side.
Ellen defended herself, made a “human” statement. Yay Ellen.
And some people on the left then came out to support her.
But get this!
Those people who came out to support Ellen were themselves castigated such that, for fear of being blacklisted and losing work, they withdrew their support for Ellen by erasing and deleting their social media postings.
Ellen is the metaphor, plain and simple.
What they did to Ellen shows where those intolerant, fascist-like lefties have brought America.
While they say they are the tolerant ones who champion everyone’s rights, their rhetoric and their actions belie what they say they stand for.
If you are a Christian and you believe in God…
If you are conservative and want to speak at a university or college…
If you are a white male…
If you are conservative woman…
If you are conservative politician…
Is it necessary to complete the sentences?
But if you’re the governor, lieutenant governor or attorney general of Virginia…
Or if you are Joe Biden…
Or Bill Clinton…
Or an illegal alien…
The Despicable Democrats have no morals, no standards, no sense of decency or fairness. They claim they have the moral high road and that they speak for the American people. But here too, their actions belie their words and at best they might speak for some of the American people. The facts show they don’t speak for at least more than 60 million voting people.
Ellen is clearly the metaphor. They are with you until you go against them, and once you go against them, even if you don’t really go against them, even for something as little as sitting with a conservative, you no longer have rights, you no longer are liked, you no longer are accepted and they will do their best to destroy you.
It was Maxine Waters who told the Democrat supporters to not let any of the Trump people eat in restaurants, get gas in gas stations, etc. It was the Democrats who fixed the laws so that innocent children, male and female, can no longer be assured that their bathrooms in schools will be gender safe. It is the Democrats who put the rights of illegal aliens above those of American citizens.
As Ellen can now say that according to the Despicable Democrats you only have rights to beliefs that are in accordance with theirs. Whether she will say it or not is a different story.
It is clear that those who profess most to being the champions of human rights and our moral leaders are nothing more than full of hot air. And Ellen is the clear metaphor for what they are.
by Brian Shilhavy
Editor, Health Impact News
link to article on Medical Kidnap
Imagine a day where every child born in a hospital gets ranked on whether or not their parents will be good enough parents to take care of them, and a risk score is attached to that child based on how the government views the child’s parents.
If the risk score is too low, the parents do not get to take their child home. The child is seized by the government and assigned new parents through the multi-billion dollar foster care system.
Does this sound like something terrible from a science fiction movie? Or something that might happen in other tyrannical countries where parents have little or no choice over how their children are raised?
This system is actually already in place and is already being used in many states all across the U.S.
Richard Wexler from the National Coalition for Child Protection Reform published an excellent piece last week on the topic of “Predictive Analysis” in child welfare, and how Allegheny County, which includes Pittsburgh and surrounding suburbs, is now using a system like this to label every child born in the county with a “risk score” which supposedly tells Child Protective Services how likely parents are to abuse their newborn children.
From Pittsburgh’s child welfare agency goes full Orwell:
It is perhaps the ultimate Orwellian nightmare: From the moment your child is born, the child and family are labeled with a “risk score” – a number that supposedly tells authorities how likely you are to abuse your newborn. The big government agency that slaps this invisible scarlet number on you and your newborn promises it will be used only to decide if you need extra help to raise your child, and the help will be voluntary.
But once you’re in the database, that score stays there forever. And if, someday, the same big government agency wants to use the score to help decide you’re too much of a risk to be allowed to keep your child, there is nothing to stop them. The scarlet number may haunt your family for generations. The fact that your child was supposedly born into a “high risk” family may be used against the child when s/he has children.
Welcome to the dystopian future of child welfare – and childbirth – in metropolitan Pittsburgh, Pa.
As we have reported in previous articles, in places where Predictive Analysis software is used for risk assessment for child abuse, poor minorities are targeted as more likely to have a high risk score.
From Wexler’s article
For a couple of years now, Allegheny County, which includes Pittsburgh and surrounding suburbs, has been using something called the Allegheny Family Screening Tool (AFST), a predictive analytics algorithm, to help decide which families should be investigated as alleged child abusers.
The algorithm is weighted heavily toward punishing parents for being poor. In her brilliant book, Automating Inequality, Prof. Virginia Eubanks calls it “poverty profiling.” In her review of Automating Inequality, Prof. Dorothy Roberts (a member of NCCPR’s Board of Directors) extends the analysis to show how predictive analytics reinforces racial bias.
County Starts “Hello Baby” Program in January 2020
According to Wexler, starting in January, 2020, the county plans to start a program it calls “Hello Baby” which will assist them in getting newborn babies into their database. To NOT have your baby included in the database, one has to “opt out,” but how to opt out is apparently not clearly defined yet.
Here’s how the county says it will work.
During some of the most chaotic hours of a family’s life, those hours in the hospital after a baby is born, when one medical professional, volunteer or other hospital-affiliated person after another is traipsing in and out of the room, the family will be handed a packet of information about the help available through “Hello Baby.” A nurse may also discuss the program with the family.
The program offers three tiers of services. Tier 1 is automatically available to everyone without having to surrender their data. That tier is simply information about help that’s already out there. Tiers two and three provide more intensive help to individual families. But to get that help you must accept having the child labeled by an algorithm as at moderate or high risk of abuse.
The program automatically assumes you have given permission for this massive invasion of family privacy – it’s the equivalent of a “default setting” on an app you may download without realizing how much data you surrender in return. (Or just think of all the data you may have given to Facebook to share at will because you didn’t find the right button among the settings.)
The “Hello Baby” document is vague about the whole opt-out process. You get one notice – in the form of a postcard mailed to your home a few days after the child is born. Along with a reminder of the benefits of “Hello Baby” somewhere on that postcard will be a notification that you must specifically opt out of being run through the database – otherwise you and your child are slapped with that risk score whether you really wanted to participate or not.
The material made available by Allegheny County does not mention how much time you have to opt out before your name is run through the database. Nor does it say anything about expunging a risk score if you choose to opt out after the county has already done it.
Can We Trust Government with “Risk” Data?
In his article Wexler points out how government officials are dancing around ethic problems and trying to assure the public that the system will be voluntary, and that they will never misuse the data.
The biggest problem with this promise, of course, is that it depends on health officials and CPS to police themselves.
As an example of how this kind of data can be misused to take children away from their parents, Wexler mentions a case in New York earlier this year where a mother had her children rated as “at risk” simply because she disclosed that during her pregnancy with twins, she used cannabis for medical purposes.
Shakira Kennedy wrote about her experiences in the New York Daily News:
I am a 28-year-old loving mother and a taxpaying citizen. I have a beautiful 7-year-old daughter in a gifted and talented program and two beautiful twin baby boys. I would do anything for my children.
Unfortunately, during my pregnancy with the twins, I suffered from extreme morning sickness and could not keep food or water down. I sought the best medical care, and my doctors told me I needed to gain weight for the health of my babies.
But the medicine they prescribed didn’t work. Nothing did, until I tried cannabis.
Making sure to tell my doctor everything, I disclosed that I smoked cannabis and it helped me eat normally. That’s when I became a victim of circumstance. When my children were born, they tested negative for marijuana. But still the hospital called ACS.
I made clear to ACS that I had to use marijuana under unique circumstances — but that I would not continue to use it. I asked to schedule a drug test to prove that it would no longer be in my system.
They made me go to court or face the loss all three of my children. Then, instead of ongoing drug-testing, I was compelled to go to an outpatient rehab program three days a week for an addiction I don’t have.
Now, I have complete strangers from ACS coming into my home and telling me what to do as a parent.
Unless I am able to win my case in Family Court and get my record sealed at a later hearing, I will be blacklisted for alleged child neglect — and unable to get any job near children until my twins turn 28. (Source.)
With a long history of CPS using whatever means they can to abduct children, Wexler has a healthy skepticism when it comes to trusting government sources who say they will never misuse risk assessment data.
County officials solemnly promise not to use the data that way – they say they’ll use it only to target help, and won’t make it a part of child abuse investigations. But even the promise has a loophole:
As the county’s “Hello Baby” overview puts it:
The County pledges that this Hello Baby analytic model will only be used to provide voluntary supportive services as described here and updated over time. [Emphasis added.]
But there is no institutional safeguard in place. There is nothing to stop the leaders of the agency that created “Hello Baby” and crave having data on every child from birth from changing their minds whenever they damn well feel like it.
When might that be? How about the first time there’s a child abuse tragedy and word leaks out that the family had been labeled “high risk” at the time of the child’s birth? That’s when the demands will come to make this information available immediately to child protective services and to use it to immediately trigger a CPS investigation – or worse.
Read the full article at the National Coalition for Child Protection Reform blog.
By Peter Weiss
That little rush ended pretty near nine o’clock. About that time, about when they only had one order working, Jimmy went out to Kalista. Bill found himself alone in the kitchen, which was quite all right with him.
The order was straightforward and easy: two sirloin strips with baked potatoes and veggies. They were both cooked medium-rare.
“This is my last table,” Jo Ann said. She lingered at the service window waiting for the food to come up. “If you don’t mind, I’ll have an order of salmon for my dinner.”
“That allowed?” Bill asked her. “I mean Caesar’s on my case and I don’t want to get in any real trouble.”
“It’s okay. Only things we can’t have is steak, lobster tails or frogs legs.” She smiled at Bill, not flirting, just what he thought of as her being friendly and cordial. Then she said, “Anyway, apparently you can cook, so you’ll be okay. And you’ve already shown you can handle Caesar and aren’t afraid to do so.”
“That’s a matter for the chef.”
“If you don’t mind my asking, where’d you cook before?”
“In a big steakhouse down in Columbus.”
“Go to school?”
“Yep.”
“Graduate?”
“Yep.”
“College boy, huh?”
Bill stopped what he was doing momentarily and looked directly at Jo Ann. “Ready for your order?” he asked.
“Sure. Let me have it.”
Bill smiled. He turned to the Garland, took up his tongs, flipped both steaks one last time. Then he plated each one on a plate he’d laid out and already set up with the garnishes. Done, he put a potato on each plate, split each one and gently spread the split by squeezing the end of the potato.
The last thing he did was spoon vegetables onto the plates. Then, one plate in each hand, he lifted them to the service counter, set them down and slid them toward Jo Ann.
Jo Ann took both plates in one hand, said, “Thank you sir,” and walked off to serve them.
Alone in the kitchen and with nothing working, Bill set up an order of salmon on a metal plate. He slid the plate onto the grill where the fish could broil. As it worked, he cleaned the area around him. When the salmon was sufficiently browned, he took up his kitchen fork and using it for the curved part of the fork (the back end of the two prongs) he hooked the metal plate, lifted it from the grills, opened the Dutch oven with his free hand, slipped the metal plate inside and released it from the fork. With the fork, he closed the Dutch oven.
When he turned to face the window, still alone in the kitchen, which he would discover in the first few days was going to be a norm of sorts, he found all three waitresses there facing him.
“This one knows what he’s doing,” Jo Ann said.
“Rosie likes him already,” Edelgarde said.
“Guilty,” Rosie said with a smile. Bill noted her dimples.
“You know, I’m standing right here,” Bill said.
“We all know,” they said pretty much all together.
“This is our way of letting you know that if tonight was any indication of what you can do, we’re hoping you’ll stay around a while.”
“Gee,” Bill said, “thanks.”
“My salmon ready?” Jo Ann asked.
“Getting there,” Bill said.
“Want anything to drink?” Rosie asked.
“A beer would be super,” Bill said.
“Not allowed,” Rosie said. But I’ll buy you one after work.”
“I’ll take a rain check,” Bill said.
“Open-ended offer,” Rosie said.
“Diet Coke be fine,” Bill said.
Bill turned away from them to the Dutch oven. He opened it and once again using the curved end of the fork prongs he hooked the metal plate then carefully lifted it from the oven and set it on the grill. There, he took up his spatula and slid it under the salmon.
After he plated the fish, he spilled most of the water in his sink. Then he melted some butter on the metal plate in the little bit of water he’d left. He squeezed juice from a lemon wedge into it and some capers with their juice. He let this reduce then spilled it onto the salmon.
Joanne watched him work on her plate. When the fish was set, he put a baked potato and vegetables on it. The plate, like all the plates he’d put out, was beautiful.
By Peter Weiss
Bill’s first order was three-top, a Cupid (a surf and turf, a filet mignon with a lobster tail), a sirloin strip and a frog legs. Each came with a baked potato and vegetable.
Jo Ann handed in the order. She slid the dupe on the counter, said “Ordering,” and waited for Jimmy or Bill to pick up the piece of paper.
“I’m early girl,” Jo Ann said. “I’m always early girl, so unless we get slammed the first orders are usually mine. You’ll see that some regular customers prefer Rosie or Edelgarde. You’ll get to learn it all if you stick around.”
First thing, Bill put the steaks on the broiler. They were both medium. Next he took out a lobster tail, slit it to open the shell, peeled out the lobster meat (the tail) but not quite all the way so it was still attached, set it atop the shell. He used a brush to brush on melted butter and sprinkled it with paprika, salt and pepper. He set the whole thing on a metal plate which he slid into the Dutch oven after lining the plate with just a touch of water.
Jo Ann watched him work. She was hanging around to see what Bill would do with her order. When he’d started everything, she went back to her tables.
Bill didn’t say anything to her. He knew she was checking him out to see if he knew what he was doing. He just looked at her, turned to Jimmy and asked him if he wanted him to sauté the frog legs too.
Jimmy shrugged his shoulders, said, “Sure.”
So Bill did that first order all by himself.
The frogs legs were easy. As they were, they got sautéed in butter with a touch of fresh garlic, salt and pepper. When they were done, white wine was put in and reduced. Finally a small ladle of crushed tomato in its juice was put into the pan to complete the sauce.
All Jimmy had to do was put the sides on the plates.
Jimmy showed Bill how they made the presentations, the steak with a candied apple and a sprig of parsley, chopped parsley atop the lobster tail. The frogs legs were set slightly overlapping, the sauce on top and then sprinkled with chopped parsley. The Cupid and the frogs legs got a wedge of lemon. The lemon was set atop the parsley sprig for the frogs legs. It was set in the candied apple for the Cupid.
Caesar came in to inspect it all before it went out. He looked and he looked. He was looking for something to criticize, but there was nothing. It was all pretty and perfect.
“Why don’t you take a picture,” Bill said, “so instead of you holding it here getting cold it can go out while it’s hot.”
Jo Ann stood by waiting for Caesar to allow her to pick it up, which he did quickly after Bill had spoken.
Bill knew he shouldn’t have said anything. He knew the moment it came out of his mouth. On one level, he really wanted to put Caesar in his place. On another level, he knew intellectually that he would have to wait ninety days to be able to do it. Still, it was fun on a whole different level to see how far he could push Caesar until Caesar did something stupid.
After that first order, orders started coming in regularly such that by seven-thirty, now five and a half hours into his first day, Bill had cooked and served everything there was to cook and serve on the Falstaff Room menu.
In the midst of what they called a little rush, Bill overheard Jo Ann, Rosie and Edelgarde talking. They were getting things from the shelves under the serving window’s shelf.
“He surely knows how to cook,” Jo Ann said.
“He’s cute too,” Edelgarde said.
“Very cute,” Rosie said.
By Peter Weiss
Wishing family, friends and everyone of you an easy fast. It would serve us all to look deep into ourselves! G’mar Tov
Be back Thursday!
Caesar returned at five-thirty on the dot. He was clearly flushed in the face and Bill could see he was perturbed, maybe even irate. Jimmy took the moment Caesar returned to go out to Kalista. He came back a few moments later with espressos for him and Bill.
Jimmy and Bill stood over on Jimmy’s side of the kitchen which had a little wall that kept them partially out of view from customers. From there they could see Caesar call the waitresses to him right before the kitchen’s serving window. No customers had come in yet. None would come in until just about six o’clock.
Caesar lined the waitresses up and stood facing them. Bill surmised that he’d done this before since the waitresses seemed familiar with the procedure. He would learn that Caesar did this every day.
Perfectly lined up, Caesar checked their uniforms, front and back by making them turn around. He tucked here, pulled there, straightened the bows in the back, didn’t stop until the uniforms fell how he wanted them. Then he checked the waitresses’ hands and fingernails.
“Shit,” Bill said to Jimmy. “I wouldn’t stand for that.”
“Ya,” jimmy said. “Lot of girls want this job. Plenty competition.”
As they were sipping their espressos and watching Caesar with the waitresses, the phone rang in the kitchen. Jimmy answered and rattled off some words in Greek. When he hung up, Jimmy told Bill that little Jimmy said the chef had laced it into Caesar pretty good. The chef told Caesar that he worked for him and that the cooks, all of them, and all the wait staff and banquet staff worked for him, that he and he alone as chef de cuisine was in charge of the food operation. Little Jimmy, according to Jimmy G., said Caesar turned red in the face, that all he could say was ‘yes chef.’
So Caesar was irate, he was perturbed, he was pissed at Bill altogether and shot him bull daggers all night long. Only one thing would be Bill’s saving grace and that was that he could, very easily and even all by himself, handle the entire food service for the room no matter how busy it got.
Just before the first order came in, the two women Bill did not know and who were now in French Maid’s uniforms, came up to the window to introduce themselves. Bill saw when he met them that their uniforms were less modest than Jo Ann’s was, at least on top because with the serving wall between them he couldn’t quite see them much below the waist until they stepped away.
The taller and less angular one spoke first. “I’m Edelgarde,” she said in what Bill knew immediately was a distinct German accent. She did a little curtsy for Bill and smiled at him, revealed even, straight white teeth. Her lips were painted red and very inviting.
“And I’m Rosie,” the other one said also with a heavy German accent. Rosie was shorter, more normal height since Edelgarde was unusually tall for a woman. She winked at Bill as she did her curtsy and she gave Bill a big, big smile. “We can talk later,” she said. “I’m looking forward to it.”
So there they were, the three Falstaff Room girls. Jo Ann, the oldest one somewhere around fifty, was more mature-looking, more sedate, more modestly dressed even in the maid’s uniform. She was somewhat plump and blonde and very interested in making money. Rosie and Edelgarde, both German, were in their thirties, both cute, both dark-haired and thick-lipped. They wore their uniforms tighter and skimpier than Jo Ann and immediately flirted openly with Bill.
“Ya,” Jimmy G. said. “This will work out well.”
By Peter Weiss
They had a commercial—you remember—with the Republicans pushing Grandma-in-a-wheelchair over the cliff. They said if you voted for Republicans you’re killing Granny.
And remember that commercial with the egg and the frying pan that fried the egg and said this is your brain/this is your brain on drugs?
Well take a good look at the media-assisted Democrats. Take a very good look. They were crazed when they produced the Grandma-In-the-Wheelchair commercial and their brains are totally fried now. Their drug is power. They’d do anything and everything for it. Anything and everything includes purposefully working to collapse and/or disable the elected government. Anything and everything means breaking the law, lying to the public, dividing to conquer, and overall, perpetrating a total scam on the American people.
They are currently wholly immersed in and fully committed to this scam. They have adopted the old “I’d rather be dead than red” attitude (from the Cold War) and are clearly in the process of killing the very America they portend to be fighting for.
And so it goes.
Sometimes it seems kind of remarkable that it has to be stated so many times, the old adage that says that when you point a finger at someone three fingers are pointing back at you. Clearly, if you look at what the Democrats have done, and it’s beginning to look, no, not like a lot like Christmas, but a lot like the Obama administration not only knew about but actually helped orchestrate the crazed attempt to delegitimize the duly elected president once they discovered that they couldn’t prevent him from being elected.
As we’re beginning to see, a good part of the reason the Democrats, wholly assisted by the Pravda USA mainstream media, are so crazed is because they are knee-deep in corrupt and illegal doings. It goes on and on and on, all through the Obama administration including things like the uranium deal to the Russians that Hillary Clinton was part and parcel of and profited from.
Remember that pants suit darling? Remember Hillary standing there on that debate stage and asking Donald Trump, her opponent, if he would accept the results of the election?
So smug! So wealthy from all the money that she and her husband, the ex-president, collected into their charity in what we now know was a pay-for-play not investigated by the FBI because the FBI was so deep into her pants suit. Well, that darling in the pants suit has, of course, not accepted the results of the election. She chips away at its legitimacy every chance she can get to speak publicly, the latest of which proclamation of hers was that election was stolen, or, not legitimate.
Her people, inclusive of her lawyer Lanny Davis (who defended Michael Cohen and served as special counsel to her husband, President Bill Clinton for several years) are infused everywhere in this campaign to delegitimize and/or unseat President Trump. It’s incest to the nth degree.
Clinton’s people are active in this to protect what they do not want made public, which is the deep-seated corruption within the Clinton machine which goes way back to their Arkansas Governor days and plods forward to theirs (and the Democrat Party’s) illicit scheme to get her elected president or ruin Trump so that he could not disclose the dirty dealings they’ve been involved in all along the way.
The Crazed-Idiot Democrats and their Pravda USA mainstream media aiders and abettors, their personal propagandists, are so very crazed now because they are only a hair’s throw away from being exposed as trying to effect the take-down of a duly elected president.
In all likelihood, when fully exposed their scheme will be one of the biggest scandals in America’s history, not to mention the crimes involved which are all the more reason for them to keep pointing their fingers without any sense of their fingers, three times over, pointing right back at them.
Run by crazed idiots, the Despicable Dems, all-in now, are cornered cats scratching out at anything and everything. And we, the American people, are nothing more than collateral damage.
By Peter Weiss
Victor was stocky and gruff. He looked as if he hadn’t shaved in a couple of days, had a gray stubble on his face.
“I’ll walk with you,” he said.
They walked together, mostly in silence. Finally, just before they got to where Kalista’s pantry station was, Victor said, “Don’t give Caesar a thought. He tries that with everyone. The chef will put him in place.”
“He’s an asshole,” Bill said.
“Big time,” Victor said. Then he had a big, long conversation in Greek with Kalista. This would be the norm. Bill would see it again and again.
All the while Victor and Kalista spoke, Kalista was busy, or she busied herself. She was making a big Greek salad which when it was done she served to Jimmy G., Victor and Bill.
That salad was magnificent, everything in it that was supposed to be in it and more. She divided it into four big plates, one to send back with Victor for little Jimmy.
Bill watched Jimmy and Victor dig in with relish. He did too. They ate, Kalista and Victor talked, they ate some more. Jimmy told Bill that later he would have him cook a steak for Kalista.
“We’re all family here,” Jimmy said. “You’ll see.”
“And you’ll be part of us,” Victor said.
“Yes,” Kalista said. “I like you stand up to Caesar.” He smiled at Bill. “I make you salad any time.” She gave Bill a big smile.
While they were eating and talking, Caesar came through the double doors. He didn’t say anything, looked their way, walked past them on his way to the chef’s office. Bill thought he didn’t appear too happy.
When Caesar was gone Jimmy and Victor laughed a scoffing laugh. Then with the same relish they all had at first, they finished eating. Bill drew himself a diet soda from the tap. Jimmy and Victor drank lemonade. Kalista drank hot tea.
“The room opens five-thirty, Jimmy said. “We go back soon, make sure everything is set up and ready.”
They sat. They smoked. Victor told Bill that Jimmy the banquet Chef liked him already and hoped he would come to work banquets when he could. That would actually happen later in the week when they had a small luncheon banquet, only six-hundred people. Bill would get his first taste of grand ballroom cooking and kitchen service and his first of many days of overtime. By then, really by the end of the second night’s dinner service, much to Caesar’s dismay, the chef would know that Bill was a keeper. By the third night’s work, Bill would be doing a lot of the service all by himself.
Back in the small kitchen, after they’d checked that everything was set, Jimmy sat himself on a wooden box he kept over on his side of the kitchen. Bill cleaned and brushed the grills, set several garnishes where he wanted them, where he was sure they were in his reach.
Everything done, he looked out into the dining room. He saw Jo Ann and the two other women. They were going systematically over every table to make sure they were properly set and everything on them was perfectly straight. He watched them work, most particularly he watched them as they leaned over toward him and he could see their bosoms, full, ample bosoms clearly and purposefully on display. Even better, he watched as they bent over away from him where he could see all the way up their uniforms, could see the little panty-pants under the tiny skirts that barely covered their butts.
He decided he was going to like this gig.
