recruited under duress by the FSB
one of the most chilling asspecks of that article to me. if you can be useful and they have the goods on you for anything anywhere you have ever done that you absolutely must keep quiet, here they come and you will now jump when they say froggy.
that in mind, look at the senate.
i think they thought they didn't need to. the leader of a successful coup doesn't worry about the rules before he got there. i don't think it ever occurred to them how stupid they are and how badly they would fuck it all up.
yes, and i bet there's a lot more roosky money flowing around this country than just in congress. if i were an entity that took it, i'd be sweating right now. that mueller bunch is on the hunt.
my bet is he's slipped out and is right now stepping onto the tarmac that leads to the presidential rail car. what he doesn't know yet is the train is gassed up and express to tympy, a scant 2800 miles from the rojo rectangle.
also, at what point does the "president can pardon a wounded duck" talk go out the window? i believe we can function as a nation without that annual rite of stupidity.
i doubt that for the same reason bin laden's body was lost. whatever that library had to say inside, it would be a shrine that would attract constant trouble.
thank you. i'm not surprised it's in a national gallery. nice piece of work.
interesting. i'm looking at ufootage of a train line through the mountains from oslo to bergen. the side line from flam to myrdal is spectaculated. steep, lots of snow, and that hindu lady doesn't mess around. i'd need blinders to make that run.
this is a remarkable painting that i've not seen previously. do you know who painted it?
let me tell you who these people are. the young man near the fence with a detached expression was the husband to the deceased lady, and he cannot wipe from his eyes what he saw as his wife died trying to pass that child. the younger man is his elder son who can't believe that that mound of dirt is all that's left of his mother.
the old fellow with the shovel is her father and the woman her mother. the man with his hands in his pockets is an older brother of the fresh widower, and the tall man is their father. their mother lies nearby. beyond the fence is the only doctor in those parts who was two counties over, tending to a man whose leg was shattered by a runaway wagon. by the time someone got to him it was already too late.
however we complain about our lives and our hardships, we have it very easy compared to our forebears. death for them was always a wrong turn ahead.