Ah, Twitter, the bottomless wellspring of magic unicorns.
A Trump supporter actually said, and I quote, "Cancer ... if you don't have insurance, they don't stop treating you!"
“… and if you don’t have insurance they don’t stop treating you!”
Say that out loud to yourself.
Mouth the words.
Say them as if you mean it, as if you believe it.
Pause in the middle, give the sentence a dramatic beat.
If you don't have insurance...
...they don't stop treating you.
Feel the words in your mouth, the sweet, sweet taste of magic unicorn meat like cotton candy spun from the tears of Ayn Rand and Republican freedom.
If you don’t have insurance, they don’t stop treating you.
How many times have you heard this?
You can always go to the emergency room if you have cancer.
They have to treat you, even if you can’t pay. Nobody goes without healthcare in America.
How many times? How many times have you heard that in this debate, in this endless shitfight about healthcare in America?
Yeah, listen, if you could get treated without insurance in this country, well, then we wouldn't be having this conversation in the first place and actually, they do stop treating you if you run out of money.
Yes, they do.
Some specialized gene-specific cancer drugs are $15,000 PER MONTH. Or more.
In cases of aggressive cancers where all other therapies have failed, these drugs are the only options.
These drugs, they're difficult to develop.
They’re difficult to make.
They're difficult to get.
And they cost.
Now, we can argue about the ridiculous cost of drugs in this country (and I'm sure you all will in the comments), but that's not actually the point here.
The point is this: if you can't pay, you die.
Hell, you don't even have to get cancer. It doesn’t have to be $15,000. A couple of hundred bucks is the difference between life and death for many Americans.
If you're allergic to bees and you can't afford $300 for an Epipen, well, you'd better hope somebody comes along with a clean pocket knife and some idea of how to perform an emergency tracheotomy when your throat starts swelling closed.
If you can't pay, you die.
This idiotic idea, that everybody has access to healthcare, that you can just go to the emergency room for any kind of condition and be treated free of charge, is one of the most obviously wrong and most deliberately obtuse blind spots of modern conservationism – which not only rejects the idea of universal healthcare out of hand but also thinks your healthcare should involve their religion and your employer and that the Insurance you've been paying for (if you're lucky enough to have insurance) should be able to drop coverage if you get sick.
Earlier this week, Kellyanne Conway, Evil Counselor, ur, I mean, Advisor to the President, said "Obamacare took Medicaid, which was designed to help the poor, the needy, the sick, disabled, also children and pregnant women, it took it and went way above the poverty line and opened it up to many able-bodied Americans. [Those able bodied people] should probably find other — at least see if there are other options for them. If they are able-bodied and they want to work, then they'll have employer-sponsored benefits like you and I do."
If they are able bodied and they want to work, they'll have employer-sponsored benefits like you and I do.
They'll have employer sponsored healthcare.
Employer sponsored healthcare.
Like you and I do.
You. And I.
This is the kind of idiotic blather you get when you elect privileged rich people who have never actually had to work for a living at the bottom end of society.
This is the kind of ridiculous cluelessness that can only be achieved by people who never have to decide between eating and paying for a prescription.
This is the kind of smug arrogance that you get when your politics and your religion come from the same ideology of “Fuck you, I got mine.”
Furthermore, these are the same people who also reject the idea of a living wage.
They have no idea. They literally have no idea.
I'm here in the impoverished South.
I'm surrounded by far too many people who have trouble putting food on the table and paying the rent.
They're good people, these poor Southerners. They work hard. They're mechanics who fix cars. They're yard care workers who mow lawns for rich people in the boiling heat. They run daycare out of their houses. They're students, trying to fit in classes at the junior college between shifts at the local burger joint.
Some of them, like my wife 30 years ago, might through grit and raw determination claw their way out.
But many, the majority, don’t.
I could go on and on. I could show you pictures. I could introduce you to them by name.
These people, some of them work 60, 70, 80 hours, six and seven days a week. And still – and still – they're trapped in an endless cycle of low wages and lack of opportunity, crushed by poverty and the inability to get ahead in any fashion. It’s just how it is. It’s always been like this here. It doesn’t matter if the economy is booming or has gone bust yet again. These people, they don't own the crappy houses they live in, they rent. They don't have anything in the bank. Every couple of years a hurricane comes along and wipes out whatever it is they have managed to build up. Many of them don't even have teeth – and the cliché of the toothless Southerner is a whole lot less funny when you see an attractive young girl behind the counter at the local hardware store and her smile is full of rotten brown pegs because her parents couldn't afford even basic dental care for their children. And don't you think for one second that won't impact her future, her opportunity, her employment, her health. These people, they can't afford birth control, so they have kids they can barely feed, let alone send to the dentist, digging themselves in deeper and deeper. And the goddamned churches aren't any help, with the preachers and their useless messages of abstinence and damnation and guilt.
These people, they can't afford even random healthcare at some shitty neighborhood for-profit clinic staffed by a single physician's assistant in a dirty lab coat when their kid inevitably gets strep throat much less CANCER.
It’s not just the South, it’s the slowly decaying wreckage of Northern industrial cities, places like Flint and Detroit, Baltimore, Rome, Louisville, Milwaukee, places where manufacturing and industry and jobs long ago fled for more profitable fields. It’s New England were the fishing industry, never particularly profitable in the first place, has collapsed. It’s the Salton Sea. It’s the farms of the Midwest. It’s the coal mining towns of the Appalachians.
It’s America, everywhere outside the gilded towers of the rich.
If you've got cancer, and you cut yourself, sure, you can go to the Emergency Room and get stitches even if you can't pay.
Of course you can.
But that is as far as it goes.
The ER doctor sure as hell isn't going to give you chemo treatments or $15,000 per dose miracle drugs based on an expensive DNA screening. You'll get a sympathetic referral to an oncologist who maybe does some pro-bono work if you're lucky, and shown the door if you're not.
Emergency rooms treat emergencies, not cancer.
If you can't pay, you die.
And there are far, far too many people at all income levels in this country who don't have access to even lousy healthcare.
There are far, far too many who don't have access to the drugs and the therapies and the doctors they need just to live.
There are far, far too many people who have to daily make a choice between eating and paying for healthcare – even when they've worked their whole lives.
And beyond that, somewhere above the poverty line, there are far, far too many people who did everything right, who got an education, who worked and did without and got insurance, who paid into Medicare for 40 years, who bought supplemental insurance, and then got sick and suddenly they got dropped, or faced lifetime caps, or just weren't covered for that illness because people who are already sick and out of resources can't fight the bottomless pockets of the insurance companies or their employer who suddenly decided covering cancer was against their religion.
This is what happens when healthcare isn't a right.
This is what happens when those in charge are insulated from those they govern, when they are safe in their districts and assured of their power and privilege.
This what happens when the morality of those in power is based on profit and greed and the arrogant certainty that they are better than those they govern.
This is what happens when religion and political ideology alike are based on the simple selfish principle of “Fuck you, I got mine.”
This is what happens when you elect billionaires to office and believe them when they try to sell you magic unicorns.
If you can't pay, you die.
Joss is among 774 members of the film industry to receive invitations to join the Academy of Motion Picture Arts and Sciences (AMPAS).
Pairing/Characters: Severus Snape/Harry Potter.
Word Count: 100 x 6
Challenge: Written for snarry100/snarry100/snarry100's prompt# 582: Opportunity.
Summary: When opportunity knocks, the boys answer.
Part Seventeen of the Wisdom Series (LJ/IJ/DW).
Beta(s): sevfan and emynn.
Disclaimer: The characters contained herein are not mine. No money is being made from this fiction, which is presented for entertainment purposes only.
Severus fondled himself slowly, a look of concentration on his face. Harry watched for a bit before reaching out to help.
“Wait,” said Severus.
“I’ll probably come as soon as you touch me.” Severus smiled tightly. “And I’d like the opportunity to fuck you tonight. I don’t want to…disappoint you.”
“You won’t.” Harry kissed him, whispering against his mouth, “I want to feel you inside me more than anything, so if you come too soon, we’ll just start again.” He nodded at the still almost full phial. “We have plenty of the potion left.”
“Indeed.” Severus exhaled. “Proceed.”
A shudder went through Severus when Harry touched his erection, and while a bead of pre-come leaked from the tip, he didn’t come immediately.
Harry smiled, lowering his head. “May I taste you?”
Severus nodded, closing his eyes. “I can’t watch, though.”
“I don’t look good sucking your cock?”
Severus growled. “Potter—”
Laughing, Harry licked the tip teasingly before sealing his lips over it.
Another shudder wracked Severus’ frame, and his hips began thrusting forward, driving his cock into Harry’s mouth.
Harry took the opportunity to relax his throat, taking Severus deeper.
“Coming!” Severus cried.
Harry simply hummed his agreement.
“I wanted to fuck you,” Severus grumbled when he could speak.
Harry, lying atop him, smiled. “You will. We’ve more potion.”
“There’s no guarantee it’ll work a second time. I may have lost my only opportunity,” Severus whispered into Harry’s neck.
“I don’t believe that and neither do you,” Harry replied. “You’re a brilliant potions master. Your cure works.”
Severus sighed. “It seems we’re about to find out,” he said, reaching for the phial. “Care to do the honours?”
“Actually,” said Harry, rolling onto his side, “I rather like watching you touch yourself.”
“Pervert,” Severus murmured, but he was smiling.
It took longer the second time, but they filled the time kissing, caressing each other, Severus stroking Harry until he came.
When Harry recovered, he could feel Severus’ erection against his thigh. “Told you,” he whispered into his ear.
Severus hummed. “So you did.” Moving quickly, he rolled Harry onto his back. “And now comes the opportunity for which I’ve been waiting.”
Harry looped his arms around Severus’ neck. “Me, too.”
Severus made short work of preparing Harry, and as he pressed his thick cock to his hole, Harry braced himself. Something told him things wouldn't be the same afterwards.
Harry moaned as Severus thrust inside him. Severus was splitting him open, Harry could almost taste him. He felt glorious, filling up all the empty spaces Harry hadn’t known he had. “Yes,” Harry hissed.
“Harry,” Severus whispered as he moved. “You feel—”
“You, too,” Harry moaned.
As Severus moved in and out of him, he panted, “Want to…make it good—”
“It’s brilliant,” Harry said. “You’re…brilliant.”
Severus sped up, until he was crying out, coming, shuddering through his orgasm.
Afterwards, Harry held Severus, trembling, close. “I never thought I’d have the opportunity again—”
“Shh,” said Harry. “I’ve got you.”
The potion changed things. After that night, Severus did more casual magic around the flat. It was as if a switch had flipped inside him. He laughed more, teased Harry, seemed content.
He also took the opportunity to initiate sex more often, delighting Harry, but sometimes making him late for his MACUSA morning meetings, much to his chagrin.
When Robards Floo-called one evening, Harry figured he knew what he was going to say. Relaxed, he nodded, until Robard said something that made him blink. “What?”
“I’m sending an Auror cadet to shadow you there,” Robards repeated.
My love of football actually started when I was in high school (no need to count the years -- it was a long, long time ago). When I was a freshman, our PE teacher ended up with a difficult pregnancy and ended up bed-ridden. Since this was a very small school, the only one to take the class over was the football coach. Since it was the middle of a South Dakota winter on the prairie, we couldn't go outside. The coach was obviously uncomfortable with a group of 14-year-old girls in the gym, so he moved us into a classroom. He went through the basics, rules, player positions, strategies, formations, and just about everything Football 101 for teenage girls. Some of my friends rolled their eyes and looked out the windows, but I was riveted. I loved the trickery of the offense and the mind-reading ability of the defense. It went from a sport of high school boys just beating each other up to a game of strategy as challenging as chess. Now I saw the appeal of football and I was hooked.
Football went from a game of entertainment to a passion when I went to college. I lived in an apartment building with three other women, and we had the only color TV in the building (remember, this was in the 1970's). Just down the hall from us was a couple of apartments of law students from Minnesota. The Vikings was a regional football team for not only Minnesota, but also the Dakotas. This was during the Fran Tarkenton era, so football was big. Every Sunday, these guys brought the food and the beer to our apartment so they could watch their beloved Vikings on our color TV (like four college women would deny these handsome law students their football obsession!). These guys loved to talk football and I gathered all kinds of information. Occasionally I would ask a "dumb" question (yes, I already knew the answer, but hey, these with handsome law students who loved to talk to pretty college girls), such as "Why would you ever decline a penalty?" That question was good for at least a quarter-long discussion.
After college, I moved to Colorado, just because I loved mountains and was tired of prairies. As it turned out, Denver is a big, big football town and the Broncos were on their way to their first Superbowl. As a young woman in my 20's, I discovered the culture of watching football in a bar full of people, cheering and drinking.
And in Colorado, there is nothing like a Bronco sunset!
Now you are probably wondering how this relates to knitting, and I am getting there.
I became a wife and a mother and as time went on, I desperately needed time of my own without ignoring my family. So my husband became a "football widower" and my kids became "football orphans." Leave Mom alone when she is watching football. You can talk to her, ask where things are, ask questions, but don't ask to leave her place in the front the TV while her beloved Broncos are on. It worked perfectly! Now the question is which is more important: Her knitting or her Bronco game. The answer is simple: Leave me alone, I am counting my stitches and counting the number of first downs.
So now that you have plowed through my football history, it is time for my hat pattern. This is a orange and blue slouchy hat I made for my son's friend who is obviously a big Bronco fan. The big trick of this hat is that I use very small needles (size 1) for the ribbed band and needles several times larger for the body. So enjoy in the colors of your favorite team from Little League to the Pros.
Size US 1 (2.25 mm) Circular Needles
Size US 6 (4.0 mm) Circular Needles
Size US 6 (4.0 mm) Double Pointed Needles
United States Marine, Andrew Morales, was do to take a commercial flight with his family, this included his two dogs. Upon arriving to the check in counter, the Morales family were told that the dogs were too big to travel on a commercial flight.
Got a nice long facebook message from Herschel. His job is moving to Alabama but he's not going. Going to quit and go into environmental activism full time as a career. I'm impressed and enthused.
The FWiB called and we talked while I made my way to my meeting. The meeting was very good, biggest we've had in months! Five people!
Got a ride home as usual, and when I got here, found Bjorn's missing collar and put it back on him. So that's good.
And that's all the news.
1. The FWiB.
3. My meetings and the people there.
4. The AC at work seemed much less deadly cold today.
5. Last day of school for the summer.
6. Found the missing collar.
I had a great time at the live taping of the Savage Lovecast at Chicago's Music Box Theatre. Audience members submitted questions on cards, and I tackled as many questions as I could over two hours—with the welcome and hilarious assistance of comedian Kristen Toomey. Here are some of the questions we didn't get to before they gave us the hook...
If your partner's social media makes you uncomfortable—whether it's the overly friendly comments they get on their photos or vice versa (their overly friendly comments on other people's photos)—do you have the right to say something?
You have the right to say something—the First Amendment applies to relationships, too—but you have two additional rights and one responsibility: the right to refrain from reading the comments, the right to unfollow your partner's social-media accounts, and the responsibility to get over your jealousy.
A couple invited me to go on a trip as their third and to have threesomes. I am friends with the guy, and there is chemistry. But I have not met the girl. I'm worried that there may not be chemistry with her. Is there anything I can do to build chemistry or at least get us all comfortable enough to jump into it?
Get this woman's phone number, exchange a few photos and flirty texts, and relax. Remember: You're the very special guest star here—it's their job to seduce you, not the other way around.
Incest porn—what is the reason behind why it's so hot?
I reject the premise of your question. There's nothing hot about incest porn.
My partner really wants an open relationship; I really don't. He isn't the jealous type; I am. We compromised, and I agreed to a threesome. I want to meet him in the middle, but I really hate the idea of even a threesome and can't stop stressing about it. What should I do?
You should end this relationship yourself or you can let an ill-advised, sure-to-be-disastrous threesome end it for you.
Any dating advice for people who are gay and disabled?
Move on all fronts: Go places and do things—as much as your disability and budget allow—join gay dating sites, be open about your disability, be open to dating other disabled people. And take the advice of an amputee I interviewed for a column a long, long time ago: "So long as they don't see me as a fetish object, I'm willing to date people who may be attracted to me initially because of my disability, not despite it."
Why do I say yes to dates if I love being alone?
Because we're constantly told—by our families, our entertainments, our faith traditions—that there's something wrong with being alone. The healthiest loners shrug it off and don't search for mates, the complicit loners play along and go through the motions of searching for mates, and the oblivious loners make themselves and others miserable by searching for and landing mates they never wanted.
My boyfriend keeps talking about how much he would like for me to peg him. (I'm female.) Should I wait for him to buy a contraption or surprise him myself? We've been dating only three months.
Traditionally, straight couples exchange strap-on dildos to mark their six-month anniversary.
Gay guy, late 20s. What's the best timing—relative to meals and bowel movements—to have anal sex?
Butts shouldn't be fucked too soon after a meal or too soon before a bowel movement. For more info, read the late, great Dr. Jack Morin's Anal Pleasure and Health: A Guide for Men, Women, and Couples—which can be read before, during, and after meals and/or bowel movements.
My sister's husband describes himself as sexually "vanilla." She says she hasn't had an orgasm without a vibrator in seven years. They are currently separated, and he wants her back. If he makes some lifestyle changes (stops smoking so much weed, goes to the gym), is there hope for her sex life?
Does your sister want him back? If so, taking him back is the only way to find out if he's willing to make these lifestyle changes and make them permanently.
I went to a big kink event. Why are the people so fucking creepy? How can you find kinky folks who aren't super pervy?
They're hanging out with the kinky folks who aren't super judgy.
Why do all of my gay friends make passes at my boyfriends at some point? It's not just harmless flirtation, either.
Your boyfriends are irresistible, and your gay friends are irredeemable.
My girlfriend and I are having a debate. Which is more intimate: vanilla sex or sharing a whirlpool bath with someone? Can you settle this?
Three great dates followed by a micropenis. What do I do? Him: six-foot-four, giant belly. Me: five-foot-five, normal proportions. Great guy, but the sex sucked.
If you require an average-to-large penis to enjoy sex, don't keep seeing this guy. He needs to find someone who thinks—or someone who knows—tongues, fingers, brains, kinks, etc., can add up to great sex.
As a trauma/rape survivor, I found myself attracted to girls afterward. Is this because I'm scared of men or am I genuinely attracted to girls? Is this a thing that happens after trauma?
People react to trauma in all sorts of ways—some of them unpredictable. And trauma has the power to unlock truths or obscure them. I'm sorry you were raped, and I would encourage you to explore these issues with a counselor. Rape Victim Advocates (rapevictimadvocates.org) can help you find a qualified counselor.
Do you think a relationship in this day and age can last forever?
Some relationships last forever and should, some last forever and shouldn't. "Forever," here defined as "until one or both partners are dead," isn't the sole measure of relationship quality or success.
My boyfriend refuses to finish inside me. When he's about to come, he pulls out and comes on my chest. Every time. I told him I have an IUD and there's no risk of pregnancy. How do I remain a feminist when my boyfriend comes on my chest every night? I know he loves me, but I feel very objectified.
A woman who enjoys having someone come on her chest doesn't have to surrender her feminist card for letting someone come on her chest. But you don't enjoy it—it makes you feel objectified in the wrong way. (Most of us, feminists included, enjoy being appreciated for our parts and our smarts.) Use your words: "I don't like it when you come on my chest. So that's over." He'll have to respect that limit or he'll have to go. If he doesn't feel comfortable coming inside you, IUD or no IUD, you'll have to respect his choice. He can pull out and come somewhere else—in his own hand, on his own belly, or in a condom.
My boyfriend wants me to talk more in bed. I am not a shy person, but making sentences during sex doesn't come naturally to me—though I am very uninhibited with my vocals! What's a good way to get more comfortable talking during sex?
Tell him what you're gonna do ("I'm gonna suck that dick"), tell him what you're doing ("I'm sucking that dmmffhm"), tell him what you just did ("I sucked that dick").
Hey, Dan! I'm 27 and I just lost my virginity. Thanks for all the help!
On the Lovecast, Dan chats with the author of Everybody Lies: savagelovecast.com.
Researchers at Soongsil University in Seoul, South Korea, recently tested different car horn alternatives on 100 volunteers, hoping to create a more soothing, yet still functional, alternative to the traditional toot-toot. What they discovered will ... maybe weird you out.
A Tennessee Wildlife Resources Agency officer spotted two deer near a trail this week. The two white-tailed bucks appear to be up on their hind legs slapping each other in a fight.
Submitted by: (via Tennessee Wildlife Resources Agency)
There will also be a "Buffy the Vampire Slayer: 20 Years of Slaying" fan event to be held in San Diego to coincide with Comic-Con.
Aaron is the Hoomin. Michael is the Cat. They have managed to achieve a sort of détente as far as their living arrangements go. But of course, this peaceful co-existence could crumble at any time.
Submitted by: (via Aaron's Animals)
According to blu-ray.com there will be a Scandinavian release in October.
Pairing/Characters: Neville Longbottom/Draco Malfoy.
Word Count: 100 x 5
Challenge: Written for neville100/neville100's prompt# 359: Accident.
Warning(s)/Genre: None, romance/erotica.
Beta(s): sevfan and emynn.
Disclaimer: The characters contained herein are not mine. No money is being made from this fiction, which is presented for entertainment purposes only.
Rounding the corner, Neville smacked into someone. As they went down, Neville registered white-blond hair, and he almost groaned. “Draco?” he gasped, willing his body not to react to the other man’s nearness.
“Oof! You’re heavy,” Draco groaned. “Are your muscles made of steel?”
“Sorry,” Neville muttered, trying to stand. But the mud they’d landed in made it difficult, and he ended up pressing his groin against Draco’s.
Draco went still. “Well, well,” he murmured, smirking up at Neville. “Someone’s pleased to see me.”
Mortified, Neville looked away. “Sorry—”
“Don’t be.” Draco arched up. “I’d call this a fortuitous accident.”
“Wh—what are you doing?” Neville stammered as Draco rolled him over and straddled him.
Draco raised an eyebrow. “What’s it look like?”
Neville licked his lips. “I’m not sure, actually.”
Draco rolled his eyes. “Oh for—! I’ve fancied you for ages. Why do you think I’ve been hanging about the greenhouses?”
“Because you’re Potions master and you need ingredients?”
Draco huffed. “And the herbologist is sex on legs!”
“Me?” Neville whispered.
“Are there any other herbologists at Hogwarts? Yes, you!” Draco rocked against Neville, making them both moan. “Now, shall we take advantage of our…accident?”
Neville grinned. “Definitely!”
After Draco Banished their clothes, and they were naked, the mud actually felt good. “What do you want?” Neville whispered.
Draco smirked. “I’ve heard rumours about you.” He shifted, resting his arse against Neville’s cock. “Apparently they were all true.” He licked his lips. “I plan to ride you.”
“Fuck,” Neville wheezed.
“Exactly.” Closing his eyes, Draco reached around himself. “Gotta…prepare.”
Neville’s breath escaped in a rush. “Next time can I watch?”
“Fuck, yes.” Draco opened his eyes. “Does that mean you’re glad we had this accident?”
Grinning, Neville steadied Draco’s hips as he lined himself up. “Fuck yes!”
Draco worked himself onto Neville’s cock, groaning as he slowly sat.
Neville clenched his jaw, attempting to not accidentally come immediately as he was steadily engulfed in slick tightness. “Tight,” he grunted.
“Big,” Draco gasped in reply. Rising, he sat down again, taking Neville deeper.
“Fuck,” Neville moaned. “Please…faster!”
“Working on it,” Draco bit out, and then there were no more words, just panting and groaning and the slap of flesh on flesh.
Neville came so suddenly he barely had time to draw breath, and as pleasure flowed over him, he distantly felt Draco shuddering through his own orgasm.
“We’re filthy,” Draco whispered into Neville’s neck.
Neville nodded. “I need a shower.”
Raising his head, Draco captured Neville’s gaze. “Care for company?”
Neville grinned, cupping Draco’s bum and squeezing. “I was counting on it.”
“Good.” Draco rolled onto his side, into more mud. “Because I’ll need help getting this mud off.”
“I’ll get you clean,” Neville promised.
Draco turned his head, eyeing him. “Before you get me dirty again?” he purred, a filthy grin on his face.
After recovering their clothes, they limped out of the greenhouse, running into Headmistress McGonagall. “What happened?” she asked.
Neville smiled. “Accident.”
This earns me a suggestion that I'm not perzackly sure is anatomically possible -- kids these days -- and then she yelps, "Oh, hell! I've got to pay off the Outside Inmate Work Crew!"
I pause in the sipping of my tea to raise an eyebrow at her.
"Remember? Dumpster diving for midget porn?"
I smile happily at OldNFO, who blinks at her, then, in a slow Cajun drawl, he announces, "Girl, you ain't right."
I am tallying up the fact that -- finally -- an Innocent Third Party has witnessed the sort of shenanigans that fly past me on a regular basis, when Reno's voice rumbles out from behind a bank of monitors, "What are you paying them off with?"
Thing 1 chirps, "Wendy's frostys."
She sniffs, "Of course."
Again the rumble, "And french fries?"
Thing 1 continues, "Although I really don't understand dipping your french fries into chocolate ice-cream. That's just ... weird."
"Well," says Reno, meditatively, "You just might be a Communist."
OldNFO blows coffee across the stack of files he's carrying.
Today ... is a Good Day.