The Bishop and the Butterfly: Murder, Politics, and the End of the Jazz Age

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Election: 665 in GA & Counting

One less than the Antichrist?

Midnight Train to Georgia?

New day, new page?

Updated 25m ago

>98% REPORTED

Candidate Party Votes Pct.
Donald J. Trump* Rep.     2,448,183  49.4%
Joseph R. Biden Jr. Dem. 2,447,518  49.4%

Difference: 565     Time: 3:09 EDT

Total reported: 4,957,885

Those waiting for Nevada results should remember, "what happens in Vegas stays in Vegas" - we might never know. But some on Twitter are hunting Kanye won and they're scared to tell us.

Election Contiunuum: and the BeatDown Goes On

Stuff: Back by Popular Demand

Stuff is just flying off of shelves - and that's before the late night protesters.
Meanwhile, Shell stepped in deep doodoo asking the public what it could change - seems "a lot" is the unsurprising answer. Just goes to show, the Marketing Dept may not be the brains of the company.

Election Day Clean Sheet

Alright, you worms, taps playing 6:30a.m. reveille - get out there and blog, mix it up, do some damage. "Taxi's waiting, blowing it's horn, dawn is breaking it's early morn, already I'm so antsy I could die..." Stir it up, little darling, stir it up, right now... Ok, enough soundtrack - let's do what needs doing. Make the GOP cry.

Trump/GOP/DOJ Corruption XII

More FOIA dumps courtesy Jason Leopold, tireless (& amazingly successful) fighter for sunlight

Election Thread #1

Revolution #9: Belarus et al

View from a Treehouse: Vanuatu singer

It's 2020, and still the cultural touch of the rest of the world on our lives seems minimal. Is this one another hodgepodge if appropriation and quaint outback notions, is this just the kind of Bob Marleyish knockoff we'll accept back home, or is this a voice among others we need (or just want) to hear? And why does 3rd World music always have a message? Blur did a anti-culture song called "Whoo Hoo" ( or actually Song #5 I think). They didn't particularly care that the oceans are rising. What's the anti-musicbiz or apathy trend in the South Pacific? What do teenagers think, play, do?

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Superpowers
Defies gravity Can spit really far Almost touch my toes Can cut a fly's legs off with a beer cap from 20 paces Know how to say useless stuff and prattle on in a dozen languages Don't know when to shut up
Favorite Quotes
To be for or against the Plague, it's much the same thing. Fiddledee, how a body shure do get around - just 2 weeks ago I was in Mississippi and now I'm all the way to Tennessee... Eat or Be Eaten Better to be pissed off than pissed on.
Biography
Born in swaddling clothes (designer, of course) at the confluence of big waters, my first recorded words were "Dad, can I have the keys to the car?" Raised a Southern Pedestrian, my musical talents were recognized at an early age, leading to my being exiled to the shed out back with a stack of books that became my eddykayshun - advanced readin', writin' & ritmytick, creating a major quandary of "what will I do, oh what will I do?" (Gunslinger) As an old black man advised in song, "You Gotta Move", so move I did, traveling the byways sideways even a lot of driveways, picking up sticks and psychological tics, even movin' to Beverlee through a quaint misunderstanding of the seriousness of TV series, until finally I blew up so big the carry nation incarnation tarnation couldn't hold me no more, so I fixed my sights on yonder sitar, and like Queequeg and Paul Bowles and one of those abducted kids by the Pied Piper of Hamelin, I ventured forth to the larger world, pickin' and grinnin', doin' me some reckonin' and naughts from naughts, occasionally rightin', building me some buildings and wiring and just trying to understand the babble comin' out of people's mouths and heads, I finally ended up in what Rummy quaintly calls "New Europe", which ain't so new from what I sees, but that pit in my stomach from lack-of-moving-sickness finally disappeared, and instead I sit behind a whopping big desk stacked with missives from all the chiefs with big whampum around the world telling me "what's going on". Which seems like a load of boolshit to me, but I guess that's what keeps me busy and entertained now, separatin' the weeds from the chapstick. So my name is Perry Keys, or Peracles to you, and since my mammy always said, "say please and thank you", I added the please, but I'm holdin' back on that thankee until I feel you've earned it. But do welcome, and I hope we's a gonna have a real good time. It all starts with, "I wuz born a poor young white chile livin' in the South..." and we cycle through again, like Nietzsche and his infernal regurgence. So enjoy, and let's spin a spell...

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