Without Paying The Ride Watch Full Length

The Ride
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The Ride

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Writer - Brendan Barker

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Average Rating: 8,5 of 10 scores: 95 vote USA Description: Ride is a movie starring Shane Graham, Ludacris, and Sasha Alexander. The inspiring story of a BMX champion who overcame an abusive childhood through the love and life lessons of his interracial foster family writers: J.R. Reher.

The 1st time I heard this song was after I got off the phone with my mom, she told me my brother was dead, I turned the tv on and this was playing on CMT, I love this song and everytime i hear it, it reminds me of my brother.
[A/N]: A bit longer this time as I get back into the swing of writing. Parts are probably never gonna get as long as Part 20 again, but who knows? [ First][ Previous][Next] Mark burst into waking with panic, his data pad falling from his lap to the floor. Try as he might, one can only stave off sleep for so long. He surveyed the underside of the sofa, scanned the inside of the television cabinet, scrutinised every facet of the lounge room, and found nothing out of place. He didn't know if that was better or worse. He continued in his search for subterfuge, examining every minute detail of his room that he could bring to his still-waking mind. He found himself spending little time inspecting the kitchen, not wanting to be tempted by the untrustworthy food provided by the government, despite his stomach's ever louder protests. The lounge, bedroom, bathroom, and kitchen all appeared to be in order. This did nothing but heighten Mark's already sky-high paranoia. Even seeing that his medical appointment was many hours away didn't ease his worries. Regardless, Mark knew that the search in and of itself was already suspect enough, and stopped himself from turning his entire room inside-out lest he attract even more unwanted attention. He quickly glanced up at the security camera sitting above his door with worry, and sat down to continue his research in the hopes of clearing his head. The X'rtan language was fairly simple, all things considered. It was a tongue of gods, catches in the throat, and compounds. It's consistently phonetic spelling was also a boon to anyone seeking to learn the language. Mark's troubles came with a lack of proper structure, with what he knew being learned in a mad scramble to ready himself for his arrival on Kerc-en. It had served him well enough, and he figured out plenty based on context clues and paying attention to gossip on the Star Chaser, but he was hitting the limits of what he could learn without further aid. Luckily for him, a message appeared on his data pad reminding him of his scheduled study session with Arnd. Unfortunately, this meant he had unwittingly spent far longer than he had intended attempting to take his mind off his paranoia, and far too little time figuring out exactly how he was going to feign his exam. Still, it was expected of Mark to attend the lesson, and he wasn't about to go and draw more attention to himself. Within ten minutes, and after a short ride in the still befuddlingly fast shuttle through the mountain-sized compound, Mark was standing at the door to Room 22. The door hissed open to Arnd stifling a yawn, her fur raising and lowering in a single wave-like motion up her body. She had slept the night, but it's hard to get a good night's sleep with an entire government and a federal offense hanging over you. Still, she invited Mark in without hesitation, knowing full well that she did indeed sign up for this. Her television was paused on a scene of two bloodied, lavishly dressed men pointing pistols at one another. Mark considered asking for context, but decided to focus on the task at hand. Arnd flicked herself on the snout to drive away the last vestiges of sleep, slumped down onto the sofa and began clearing windows on her data pad as Mark carefully sat down beside her. In short order, Arnd had the lesson planner open. She had briefly checked it out prior, but she felt it pertinent to re-read the opening message. Miss Arnd Kolr, this lesson plan has been thoroughly curated by our resident linguists and education experts. It is our belief that due to your prior interactions with Mark Stevens, that these lessons would be most effectively delivered by you. Barring special occasions or conflicting arrangements approved by the Chief Overseer of the Human Integration Project, you are expected to make a full report on your lessons daily. We cannot stress how important it is that Mister Stevens become proficient at speaking, reading, and writing X'rtan, and we hope your aid will allow his time on Kerc-en to be comfortable. Regards X'rtani House Though she couldn't deny the logic behind the administration's decision, Arnd felt a twinge of unease. Arnd began, paraphrasing an included introduction to the day's lesson. <"Okay. These first few lessons are gonna make sure you're completely familiar with the basics of X'rtan. When I'm confident you've got a handle on it, we'll move on to more advanced stuff. "> "Alright. " said Mark, noticing a slight inflection to Arnd's voice she hadn't spoken with before. And so the lesson went, explaining the basic facets of X'rtan. Essential words were jotted down and memorized; proper sentence structure, such as verbs always coming before nouns, was enforced; and exercises ranging from mundane to merely easy were completed. What puzzled Arnd wasn't that Mark had completed the first day's lessons with flying colours, she had bore witness to his staggering ability to learn before; it was that X'rtani House was making them perform these learning nursery-level exercises in the first place. They had clearly seen his ability with X'rtan despite his rushed education, why did they think it was necessary for the pair to go through such simple trials? The simplicity of the first lesson did not shorten it's interminable length any, and by the time the pair had finished, they were running a half hour behind schedule with a mere twenty minutes until Mark was expected to arrive at the Medical Research Ward. Mark tucked away his data pad full of notes he probably didn't need to take and, with his lesson in X'rtan no longer clouding his mind, began thinking of how best to subvert his upcoming appointment. Myriad scenarios played out in Mark's head, all of which were thwarted by a number of means Mark had safely assumed would be in place. He hadn't thought to move from the sofa before hypothesizing, and so Arnd was made quite curious by the human's sudden silence and concentrated expression. <"Mark, you okay? "> Arnd considered laying a hand on his shoulder to break him out of his trance, but hastily remembered just what Mark was and thought better of it. "U̲h̲. ̲ Yeah. Just thinking. " Mark began lifting himself from the couch, not wanting to disturb Arnd with his concerted speculation. Arnd's curiosity had only grown with the human's vagueness. She spoke, allowing herself a moment of indulgence. <"About? "> Mark paused as he started toward the door. She wasn't in too different a situation as him. He spoke with trepidation. ".. much do you have to tell them? " <"Just what's in the lesson. "> Immediately, Arnd knew this was something he didn't want X'rtani House hearing. She hoped he'd believe the truth. After a moment of thought, Mark turned and sat close to Arnd, keeping his voice low. "I have a medical exam later, and I don't trust these guys at all. " <"Neither do I. So, you want to get out of it? "> "No, too risky. I want to fake it. " <"And how do you plan on doing that? "> "I don't know, that's why I'm bringing this up to you. Do you have any ideas? " Arnd mused on Mark's question, using the examinations she partook in as a cadet as a basis for her hypotheses. She then immediately realized that there was no hope in successfully falsifying the results. <"They'll most likely want a blood sample to study. Other than that, you'll probably be doing some exercises. "> She looked up at the human, and saw that he was staring into space, his face subtly contorted into despondent anger. "I̲'̲m̲ ̲f̲u̲c̲k̲e̲d̲. ̲. ̲ ̲I̲ ̲e̲i̲t̲h̲e̲r̲ ̲g̲i̲v̲e̲ ̲m̲y̲ ̲g̲e̲n̲e̲t̲i̲c̲ ̲m̲a̲t̲e̲r̲i̲a̲l̲ ̲t̲o̲ ̲a̲n̲ ̲a̲l̲i̲e̲n̲ ̲g̲o̲v̲e̲r̲n̲m̲e̲n̲t̲ ̲o̲r̲ ̲I̲'̲m̲ ̲d̲e̲a̲d̲. ̲" Mark's anxiety and frustration rose as even more plans of action were foiled by assumed countermeasures. Arnd subtly stepped back for her own safety. <"Mark... ">—Still he muttered to himself—<" Mark! "> The man turned to the X'erren, his face a portrait of barely restrained panic. <"I can contact you on your pad, bring it with you. They'll probably wait until the physical exam is over before taking your sample, so that'll give me more time to think of a way out of it. "> Mark stopped for a moment. Trust was hard to earn given the situation, but if anyone he knew here had earned it, it was Arnd. He took a breath to steady his nerves. "Okay, I'll leave it to you. I'd better get going. " <"Keep me updated, and don't finish the exercises until I contact you. "> And with a solid pat on the back, Arnd watched the human leave with fear in their step. She didn't know exactly why she agreed to help Mark, but she knew damn well she wasn't going to just let the DNA of the most powerful creature she had ever witnessed fall into the hands of a shady government. This moment vilified a feeling she had long ago, back at the tail end of her cadet training: now she knew why tissue replicators made her uncomfortable. The din of the main foyer did nothing to drown out Mark's sense of dread. The entrance hall's high, artfully craggy walls echoed the chatter and footsteps of hundreds upon hundreds of X'erren scientists, accountants, politicians, and technicians as they went about their jobs. X'rtan's native plant life sat in pots and hung over glass bannisters, placed such that looking in any direction but up towards the ceiling's utterly practical yet ornate light fixture would fill your gaze with various leafy spots of colour. The many eyes of numerous curious, nervous, or disapproving X'errens only served to heighten Mark's disquiet. An awkward ride in a transparent elevator later, and Mark found himself on the ground floor and heading, as directed by a map on his data pad, toward the far wall below the door to the fancy bar that lead to the various rooms in which he and Arnd stayed. As Mark crossed the large open floor of the foyer, being within clear view of everyone in the hall, he felt as exposed as he believed he ever could be. He fought for every step beneath the uncountable watching eyes past the guards by the entrance to the chamber he was transported to below; past the security cameras keeping watch over the transparent door to further well-maintained halls; across the emblem of X'rtan adorning the wide floor, and to the door. The door to the Medical Ward was smaller than the gate that could halt a city-destroying blast just across the hall, but it's thick frame and numerous labels detailing the many important functions of the ward made it no less imposing. The door slid apart to reveal a small, empty white chamber with gun-metal grey spots spread uniformally across the chamber's every surface and an identical door sat opposite Mark. Steeling his nerves against every sense of his telling him that this was a bad idea, Mark stepped inside and shuddered as the door slid shut behind him. The room's silence spoke to Mark, it told him to break through the mountain's outer crust, run for his life, and sweep aside everything that got in his way. But Mark could never forget the level of technology on display; he knew full well that these X'errens could wipe him from the face of the galaxy whenever they wanted, all it would take is that shuttle slamming into him. Before Mark's thoughts could grow more grim, the opposing door opened to a tall woman in a lab coat standing in a long, sterile corridor. She clutched a data pad to her chest and wore an earbud adapted to her anatomy in her right ear. Despite himself, Mark wondered whether it would be easier to count the X'errens he had seen without a data pad in their grip. She had an air of unease about her, as Mark had grown to expect from most anyone he met on Kerc-en. The woman gave a respectful nod. <"Mister Stevens. I will direct you to your scheduled appointment. This way, please. "> She turned smoothly and began pacing down the empty hallway. Mark followed, wary of every door on the way. After a brief period of walking down samey corridors that smelled of disinfectant and passing through several ominous doors, the assistant had lead Mark to a large room that through it's open door, Mark could spy equipment he had neither the vocabulary, knowledge, or inclination to name. <"We had this room refurbished to serve as a small testing facility until a testing facility proper is approved. Please enter. "> She gestured through the open door. The grace with which the woman moved was undermined somewhat by her fur standing on end as Mark walked past. As the door hissed shut behind Mark, he could've sworn he heard the woman say <"He's in. "> Mark patted his pocket to ensure he remembered his data pad. Gazing around the room, Mark eyed machines that intimidated him by their sheer size, if not the various imagined ways he could see such equipment being used for nefarious means; they sat alongside many labelled sheets of metal of varying thickness and variety that were held in midair by mag-lift harnesses that hung in the air below matching apparatuses on the ceiling. It was as Mark was examining a surprisingly mundane-looking set of barbells and weights that a youthful voice pierced the chamber's silence. <"Hey Mark! Glad to see you made it! "> said F'ejen, sat at a desk opposite the room's equipment beside Mee'lo. <"Come on over and we'll go over what we have planned! "> "W̲h̲y̲ ̲d̲i̲d̲ ̲i̲t̲ ̲h̲a̲v̲e̲ ̲t̲o̲ ̲b̲e̲ ̲y̲o̲u̲? ̲" For all the terror and confusion he experienced on the Star Chaser, F'ejen was the only one Mark had felt a genuine liking for. It would hurt to lie to him, but it had to be done. Mark obliged the physician and sat gingerly down onto an empty seat beside the two physicians. A shade of the previous day's melancholy remained, but it didn't stop their usual selves from shining through. Mark was glad. F'ejen took the holographic monitor beside him and blew the screen up so it was easy for all in attendance to see. Simply put, we have to get to know your body better if anyone on Kerc-en is gonna have a chance to properly treat you if something goes wrong. We'll start with a full body scan, which will give us a model of your body to study. Then we'll have you do some exercises and fill out a form to figure out what you can do. Finally, we'd like to take some samples; saliva, urine, and blood. "> F'ejen gestured appropriately whenever Mark's expression gave off a sense of confusion. There was also something else to Mark's expression that gave the doctor pause, something he wanted to address, but knew it would have to wait. <"Come on. Let's get that scan. "> F'ejen stood up from his seat and directed Mark over to a table that gave off an ominous vibe. Mark laid down on the slab as directed, and watched as the doctor went to work on a control panel beside it. A cylindrical device began slowly lowering itself from the ceiling above, and clamped down on the edge of the table at Mark's feet. As the cylinder slowly encompassed the table and the slab's supporting leg retracted into the floor to make way, Mark's anxiety once more began to spike as thoughts of betrayal whirled in his head. <"Please close your eyes and lay still. "> said Mee'lo at the head of the table, peering down into the cylinder at Mark. Mark took in a deep breath he attempted to hide and obliged. Mee'lo gave a nod to F'ejen, and the young physician initiated the scan. As useful as the model the doctor obtained on the Star Chaser was, it proved far too imprecise to serve as a proper learning tool. This device, however, was far more powerful than the ones X'rtan Freight purchased for their ships, and would provide a far more detailed scan for the medical team at X'rtani House to study. Within moments, the machine ceased it's whirring and slid off the table, leaving F'ejen with a full body scan so detailed that it made dissection obsolete. While the lack of food in Mark's stomach was disconcerting, it removed the need for editing to make it suitable for study. ~~~ Arnd wracked her brain thinking of plausible ways for Mark to escape the doctors' prying instruments. She found herself second-guessing whatever potentially successful escape plans she conjured. Recent memories of the Star Chaser's ruinous voyage and the leadership that failed it's crew prodded her every thought, reminding her of what had happened under her command. She breathed slowly and continued in her efforts. ~~~ Mark sat up and looked over at the monitor to see himself recreated as a digital model with accuracy that scared him. Despite humanity's technological advances in the field of medicine, mapping the internals of a patient to such a degree was still in the prototype stage as far as the public knew. <"Send that off to the lab, will you? "> said F'ejen to Mee'lo as he turned to Mark. <"Now. We would like to run a few basic tests to see what your body can do. Once we know that, we'll know how to proceed in future. "> Mark was unsure of how exactly to feel about the doctor's sentence, but let none of his uncertainty show in his expression. <"We've had an outfit made for this to help track forces, speed, etcetera. It's on the table next to the bathroom over there. It should fit you just fine. "> F'ejen gestured past the assembled machinery to the far wall where a small table sat. Mark followed, patting at his pocket for comfort. Mark took the clothes and slunk into the bathroom. He immediately pulled out his data pad and checked for messages. Nothing. The emptiness of his inbox sent a cold wave of fear running up Mark's spine. He silently begged Arnd to come up with something, anything, but still his inbox remained empty. The time he spent in a quiet state of panic staring at his device's screen was beginning to drag on, so Mark took a breath, updated Arnd on the situation, and went about suiting up. The outfit consisted of an open-front sleeved vest with metal clasps at the waist; shorts that came up just past Mark's knees; gloves with padding on the palms, and a pair of foot straps that fastened around the ankle. Every garment had visible circuitry weaving it's way through the fabric, and at least one small, solid piece in which a small data-gathering computer was housed. What shocked Mark the most is how comfortable and well-fitted each piece of clothing was. He suspected they used security camera footage to take his measurements which, while scary, Mark did find impressive. He stepped out of the small room carrying his neatly-folded clothes, laid them on a table away from the doctors' desk, and stood ready to take the tests. We'll start with some weight lifting">—F'ejen mimicked a deadlift—<"and we'll go on from there. "> F'ejen lead Mark over to the rack of weights with Mee'lo in tow checking that the sensors in Mark's clothes were operational. F'ejen directed Mark to slide on and attach 20 flop'a to the bar as a baseline and to test his outfit's sensors. At the doctor's behest, Mark squatted down, grasped the bar, and lifted it like it was almost nothing. Mark guessed the bar's total weight sat at about seven pounds under Kerc-en's gravity. The doctors shared a moment to confirm that the suit was properly operational, and directed Mark to move up to 50 flop'a. Once more, Mark hefted the bar without difficulty. This continued, and continued, and continued. It was about a half hour later that Mark planted his feet, gripped the bar, heaved 720 flop'a, and watched as the bar fell to the ground permanently bent by the weight. Though he felt he was barely scratching the surface, Mark's adductors were warm; he didn't remember 170 pounds draining him like that the last time he went to the gym, and wondered if maybe he should take some time from studying to keep up his exercise routine. F'ejen blinked at the results as the bar's crashing still echoed in the room. <"I think that'll do for thigh lifts. Good thing we have a spare bar for the chest press">—He turned to Mark, the numbers still whirling in his head—<"Could you grab that second bar and start again with 20 flop'a? "> After some direction as to how Mark was to lift this bar, the human laid himself on a nearby bench, and began his series of bench presses. 50, 150, 450 flop'a, all were hefted with little difficulty, but the bar's ends nearly snapped off after F'ejen suggested they skip ahead to 800 flop'a to push the limits of the test. After Mark laid the bar back down onto the rack, which creaked under the weight of 188 pounds, and felt the heat in his chest, he was sure that he needed to start exercising again. F'ejen came up to Mark and handed him a bottle of water. <"Take a san'lo and drink up, we still have some more tests to run. "> He then turned and walked back to his desk before Mark could say thank you. The cool liquid in the bottle was tantalising, and Mark could feel it's refreshingly cold temperature tempt him to drink. He abstained for fear of tampering, and left the container beside his clothes on the table as he checked his pad. ~~~ Arnd debated back and forth whether or not she was even fit to aid Mark as her memories grew more vivid and terrible. Plans for escape clashed with the screams of her former crew as they were gunned down with barbarous cruelty. With hesitation, she pocketed her data pad and stepped out to clear her head. She sat beside a bulbous potted mal'on overhanging a balcony as she snacked on a sweetened s'orr fillet she bought from the cafeteria to her back, reasoning that they wouldn't risk tampering with the food made for employees free to come and go as they please. She'd rather be chewing on a lija pod, but this would serve as a passable substitute. She felt cautious and judgemental looks being thrown at her as she dined, and had a feeling her appearance on Me'k and Fir'la was responsible. Her pocket buzzed. Mark Scanned, testing. How many tests there were to come, Arnd didn't know, and still the uselessness of her decisions bit at her mind; if they were of any use, she wouldn't be sitting there replaying horror and despair in her head. She just hoped there were enough tests ahead for her to begin to believe she could help. ~~~ Mark grew a tad frustrated at the lack of replies, but still he told Arnd of his activities, and returned to continue the tests before the doctors got suspicious. He was directed onward toward a device consisting of a large metal wheel with a high-grip interior. A holographic screen sat inside the wheel displaying speed, time, and distance to whomever was standing within the wheel. <"Alright, we're going to measure your speed here. Start out slow and we'll tell you when to speed up. "> said F'ejen, swiveling the statistics screen to face outward toward him such that he could record the results. Mark climbed into the wheel, feeling the high quality of the machine beneath his feet. He knew immediately that this was a bad idea, but still he started running. F'ejen and Mee'lo watched as Mark's speed began to increase, and were shocked as the sensors in his clothing displayed the amount of force his body was exerting just to push his body off the ground. They realized that X'rtani House had just incurred a new expense as they urged the human on faster. Mark increased his speed until a horrible cracking and screeching noise disrupted his concentration. He turned his head and found that he had put his foot through the wheel and left a jagged gash in the device as it came to a halt against his shin. He and the doctors stared at each other awkwardly. <"It's okay, we expected this to happen at some point. "> Despite the truth of his statement, F'ejen still didn't particularly enjoy watching expensive equipment get wrecked. <"Just carefully remove yourself from the runner wheel and we'll keep going with another test. "> Even traveling a mere two se'rc per san'rc, Mark had to exert force enough to rend nuroha. F'ejen knew then that the next test was going to be very expensive. Mark pulled his foot from the runner wheel, cringing at the damage his heft had done to the machine as he unhooked an errant wire from his big toe. He looked at the two physicians as they studied the data and felt an odd combination of dread and optimism. The looming threat of the X'rtan government still occupied his mind, but he was beginning to realize just how fragile the world around him really was. Though he still by no means believed that he was safe, and as much as he abhorred violence, Mark believed that maybe his backup plan of smashing his way out wasn't entirely hopeless. The doctors finished their discussion and came up to Mark. <"Okay... That didn't go well. No problem, we'll just move on. Mee'lo, the plates. "> said F'ejen to his assistant. <"Yes Chief. "> replied Mee'lo As his assistant walked off toward the jungle of metal behind them, F'ejen continued. <"Now, we're going to measure just how much force your body can output. We would be using shielded holographic projections, but the testing hall proper still has about a week before it's approved, and this just couldn't wait, so we're going to be using sheets of metal. "> The instant F'ejen mentioned metal, Mee'lo had lined up the many large slabs of metal Mark had eyed earlier in a row above an empty part of the floor. Mark looked on as Mee'lo set about ensuring the mag-lift harnesses were fully operational before the doctor called the two over. <"Your job here is simple: Put holes in these sheets of metal. It doesn't matter how you do it, so long as it's done. The test will conclude when we either run out of plates, or you come to a metal that you cannot break. "> said Mee'lo dryly. <"You may begin when ready. "> Mark noticed F'ejen quietly hiss as he went to stand alongside Mee'lo and out of Mark's way. The human stared at the looming slabs and knew that he had a choice here that neither of the prior tests were durable enough to give: limit himself in an attempt to obfuscate his capabilities and therefore make the administration underestimate him, or put everything he had into it in an attempt to scare the government away from taking any courses of action that could make them an enemy of humanity. He was, perhaps naively, assuming that humanity at large would find X'erren space eventually. He had to have some degree of hope. "C̲a̲n̲'̲t̲ ̲k̲e̲e̲p̲ ̲t̲h̲e̲m̲ ̲w̲a̲i̲t̲i̲n̲g̲. ̲ ̲S̲t̲a̲r̲t̲ ̲s̲l̲o̲w̲, ̲ ̲f̲i̲g̲u̲r̲e̲ ̲o̲u̲t̲ ̲a̲ ̲p̲l̲a̲n̲ ̲o̲f̲ ̲a̲c̲t̲i̲o̲n̲ ̲f̲r̲o̲m̲ ̲t̲h̲e̲r̲e̲. ̲" And so Mark began by tearing a thin sheet of lakehi in two. It felt like the blasted walls of the Star Chaser, and brought with it unpleasant memories. The next sheet was handled with a bit less care. ~~~ Mark Lifted. More tests. Arnd stared blankly at the message as she paced in her room, seeing the myriad ways she could have resolved the conflict on the Star Chaser without permitting so much bloodshed. Her pride forbid her from asking for an escort for her first mission as captain; her passivity and slow wit prevented a more aggressive defense that would have nullified the pirates' attack; her mistrust and need to placate her crew kept Mark locked up and stopped him from stepping in earlier. The terrible voices of dead crew members drowned out all but the faintest shade of coherent thought fighting to regain control. <"I did some things right. I was a decent cadet; the ship made it back mostly intact; I'm not in prison... I didn't let everyone die">—Arnd slapped herself—<"No, positive. Stay positive... I completed the delivery okay; I'm mentoring the first alien our species has ever met... I allowed first contact to be a gunshot">—Arnd shook her head and flicked herself on the nose—<"Stay positive! I- wait... gunshot... Ledrn... relig- Religion. "> Like a bullet, she made for her data pad and typed out a simple instruction. She might be able to do this much right, at least. ~~~ The test made sure to make as much use of it's resources as possible, and as such the previous tests had riddled all prior slabs with holes aplenty. Lakehi; nuroha; pafalo; all sat together in a heap, abused beyond use by Mark. Mark suppressed an angry grunt as his fist collided with the thick sheet of malante. He didn't want to be there, he didn't want to be under the watchful eye of a secretive administration with no way to get home. He hated that he couldn't trust the food; the water, or anyone he saw there. All he wanted was to get home. Knuckles red from repeated use burst through the malante plate after a second swift strike. Mark panted lightly as the next, thicker plate was lowered. He was confident that he could've penetrated the previous sheet with one blow had he used proper form, but his time in boxing practice was far behind him. Still, he struck the malante plate before him with gusto, imparting his blows with pent-up frustration at his current predicament. Whether or not it was only said frustrations, he was unsure. One sheet became two became three became six pieces cut from previous plates. And still Mark proved victorious. A sheet of afanu was lowered; it's surface, clear of blemish or stain, dimly reflected the ceiling's lights. Mark heard a quiet muttering from the physicians behind him before F'ejen spoke up. <"Okay Mark, this is gonna be the latch batch of force tests. "> said F'ejen with no shortage of anticipation. <"Whenever you're ready. "> Mark took his mind back to training; the weight of the heavy bag pushing back against his fists as he put everything he had into improving, both for himself, the project, and Anne. Mark cocked his arm and stepped forward with his left foot, planting it firmly; he twisted his waist and shoulders, feeling the power traveling up from his legs and through his torso; he focused his intent into a single point on the sheet and swung forth, his arm exploding outward from his shoulder as he released every angry impulse he had into a single, powerful grunt of enraged exertion. The noise of the impact echoed off the chamber's walls, demanding silence from all else in the room. Mark retracted his fist, and felt his knuckles throb with pain. The sheet was unharmed, save for the tiniest dent. Pain took hold of Mark's mind for a moment, just enough to bring him out of his angry haze. He cradled his knuckles, knowing that they'll be visibly bruised before long. "I think that will do. I'm not breaking that before I break my hand. " As willing as he was to stand back up and blow off some steam, he knew that an injury would only ruin his chances of safety. Have some water and take a san'lo to recover. Do you want something for your hand? "> "No thanks. " Mark didn't intend to sound so confrontational. He bit his tongue before he made the situation more suspicious. <"... Right. Feel free to swap out of the suit and back into your old clothes. "> The human's odd expression and lack of food in his stomach was one disconcerting enough, this was another. As F'ejen turned back to his colleague, he noticed the still-full water bottle on the bench. <*"Later. "*> As the doctors discussed the results, Mark took the time to change and check his messages. In the bathroom, he quickly undressed himself and donned his standard wear, lamenting the loss of physical comfort in doing so. Once in his regular shirt and pants, he took a gander at his pad, and noticed a single message in his inbox. He braced himself for Arnd's plan before reading. The message was simple and concise, matching the tone of his own messages. While he still felt threatened by the entire situation, Arnd's greater understanding of X'rtan culture gave Mark a faint glimmer of hope that her suggestion would work. The human pocketed his data pad and left the bathroom. In the distance, Mark noticed Mee'lo laying out vials, tubing, and a needle: all the components necessary for a clean blood drawing. Mark silently panicked, knowing that the outcome of Arnd's plan will determine the rest of his life on this planet. F'ejen came up to the human with a spring in his step. Now that all the physical activity is out of the way, we're going to take some samples for study. We'll start with saliva and go on from there. "> said F'ejen plainly. "I'm sorry, but I can't allow that. It goes against my religion. " Mark's pitch was high and formal. His heart beat like a drum in his chest as a tense moment of silence was shared between the two. <"Oh... I'm sorry. I didn't mean to offend you. "> F'ejen's hands went up in a placating gesture as his tone of voice shifted immediately from joyful professionalism to embarrassment. "It's okay, I just can't willingly hand over my body to any but my b̲e̲t̲r̲o̲t̲h̲e̲d̲. This includes anything that comes from it. " Mark's mind was racing. His improvisation was the only lifeline he had. He hoped the sprinkling of English would help make his lies come across as the truth. <"Ah- wait. How do doctors do their jobs on Earth? "> "They perform a r̲i̲t̲u̲a̲l̲ where a team of doctors hold the patient down until they're s̲e̲d̲a̲t̲e̲d̲. Then the procedure is performed as normal. It's for this reason that doctors are the strongest humans alive. " Mark had to thank his love for myth in this moment, he wouldn't have been able to come up with this nonsense if he hadn't surrounded himself with outlandish stories for most of his life. F'ejen was visibly taken aback. He knew humans were strong, but he had no idea their strength permeated their culture so. <"I see... Another time, then? "> "Maybe. " <"... Okay. Well, that's all we had planned for today. Do you want me to get someone to lead you back? "> "No, I can manage. " said Mark as he tuned to the door, knowing full well the halls outside were too homogeneous for him to remember. <"Alright. See you around! "> said the doctor, giving a small parting wave to the human. Mark nodded respectfully to F'ejen as the door closed behind him. A small pang of slightly regretful anger bubbled in Mark's head. It felt unnatural to lie to him; his joyful professionalism on the job and his carefree, jokey demeanour around friends reminded him of Percy. Despite escaping the room intact, his paranoia refused to leave him. He subtly scanned every inch of his vision as he wandered the sterile halls of the Medical Research Ward. Mark's heart skipped whenever he came across an errant lab technician or security guard, and he feigned nonchalance until he was sure he was truly out of sight. After a while, Mark finally made it to the security chamber through which he entered the ward, and was once again within the towering walls of the main foyer. He took a breath, happy to no longer be smelling disinfectant in the air, and quickly made his way back to his room. The sun hung high in the sky, despite the relative lateness in the day, sending deep yellow rays streaming in through Mark's lounge room window. Upon arrival, Mark slumped down onto his sofa, admittedly exhausted after the hours of physical activity he just performed. He pulled up his pad and opened his messaging app. Arnd Use Earth religion. The simplicity of her plan scared Mark; even now, he refused to truly believe that it was that simple. But he had made it back to the relative privacy of his room unprobed, and for what it was worth, he considered that a success. He soon returned to his studies, with a focus on X'erren religious customs and history. But not before sending Arnd one last message for the day. ~~~ Arnd's report had been filed an hour prior, nervously typed as she worried for Mark's, and thereby her own, safety. Even as she sat, attempting to calm her mind with nostalgic films, she couldn't help but think of the myriad terrible uses one would have for the genetic material of a creature as dangerous as Mark. Her data pad buzzed, shocking her out of a worried trance. She, in her haste for closure, opened the message immediately. Mark Safe. Thank you. It took a moment for the message to sink in; even with her knowledge of X'rtan culture, it was hard to believe that it was so easy. But soon, disbelief gave way to a tentative peace in her mind. She laid the device down and returned to her film, somewhat at ease. Besides, even if she didn't entirely believe him, she could always wring the story out of him tomorrow. --- I apologize for my usual inability to adhere to a schedule; these past couple of weeks have just been event after event that I couldn't pass on and it made it really hard for me to focus on writing. That being said: Whoo! Big parts again, it's like I never left! I don't exactly like the idea of giving you all walls of text to read at a time, but I loathe the thought of ending a part at an inopportune time even more. I also noticed a difficulty in giving proper descriptions of environments in ways that didn't take up an entire paragraph, but I think I managed it okay. As always, constructive criticism is welcome!
OMFG. This song are sooooo AMAZING. 33 Love you Krewella!<33.
This is one of the best songs ever written.

Good lol. My two favorite is Bocephus, and Twitty. Those two are simply the best. Let's ride. Johnny. See you at gillette stadium king. SuchSpeed anyone. NASCAR will never be the same RIP Dale Earnhardt 4-29-1951 2-18-2001 2-17-2019. #snapchat_squad. I went down to the river to watch the fishes swim by, but when I got to the River the dog dog gone river was dry, I'll be long gone long gone long gone lonesome blues. Hang Sr the Legend. To Mr. Hank Willians Jr. This is the most inspiring video that Ive ever watched. Youre absolutely amazing, its a classic testament to real country and its a code to live everyone! I I challenge you to call me.

Great Judie Tzuke lyrics, great listen to blue chair another superb vocal and words... 16:33 The shadows on the roof are so cool this ride looks awesome. ps. congrats on getting into a boarding group. D. Serieux mec c'est de la bombe ce que tu fais, jte souhaite que du bonheur.


Ok. Since people actually seemed to want to see it. Here's what I actually have to say in response to the question asked in a previous thread about how black people feel about Black Panther. I fucking HATE black panther!!! The smug, stalinist, self-righteous, git. And yes, I know this sort of thinking is supposed to be Haram for me, according to the social justice overlords who are apparently of the opinion that myself and every other black person should be trembling mightily and praising our white-dominated society for throwing me a bone to chew on by finally giving us a character who happened to match my general level of melanin. But fuck them. And fuck them hard. T'challa is nothing more than a sickeningly, and quite frankly impossibly wealthy and powerful man with an animal theme whose father was killed before him by an evil man, who fights villains that threaten his home and its people, utiliziing a genius level intellect and knowledge, expert martial arts skills honed over a lifetime of training, an extremely keen mind tactical mind for planning and improvisation, while wearing a dark-armoured costume using high-tech gagdets and little pointy ears. And if this is all sounding really familiar to you, that's because they did it in 1939 and it was called BATMAN. Monochromatics of skin pigmentation aside, the only appreciable difference between Bruce Wayne and T'Challa in concept is that (aside from Bruce Wayne actually being LESS of a general douche let that sink in) whereas Bruce Wayne inherited all of his money, power, and unearned privaledge, by taking over his fathers company when he died. T'Challa inherited all of his money. Power, and unearned privaledge, by taking over his fathers entire country when he died. He's Batman, a character who many people already point out is something of an impossibly unrealistic Mary Sue, with even fewer flaws and vulnerabilities, and more power wealth and influence. Oh yeah, he also has a lot of magic knowledge and a grab bag of nonsense mystical based powers. He has defeated the Silver Surfer in hand to hand combat. Jury-rigged a machine mid-battle that knocked out Thanos in one go. Wielded the infinity gauntlet, raised an army of the dead, which he can command, and taken down Mephisto (Satan) with a single punch. really. Mephisto is a mutli-dimensional level threat possessed of power beyond many gods of the Marvel universe, a demon lord of such immense eldritch might that he threatens and recreates entire realities. So how does Black Panther overcome this foe who is threatening him? He punches him once and knocks his ass to the ground. Oh that's nothing. Check out this explanation for how he managed to do it. Yup. Wakandan scientists managed to figure out a way to turn off one of the fundamental constants of the universe and used it to shut off Mephistos powers. ience......? Oh, and that's not even the first time he bullshit bullshits his way into a victory against Mephisto. There was the time he tricked Mephisto (the king of lies and deceit mind you) into taking his soul in order to get something out of him. But because his soul is tied to the Panther God and all of the bullshit bullshit souls of the bullshit bullshit previous Black Panther leaders, Mephisto has to accept all of them too. Unfortunately for him T'challa's soul (and that of the other Obsidian Pussycats) is the noblest and purest of souls he's ever encountered, so much so that trying to devour it actually hurts him. And that horrible sound you're hearing is my forebrain desperately trying to consume my frontal lobe. And this was BEFORE Marvel went social justice. I invite you to let that sink in for a moment, then feel free to curl up in a corner and weep. Then there's Wakanda, one of the most blatant Marysuetopias ever put to pen. In simple terms a marysuetopia is a society depicted in a piece of media which is absolutely perfect and wonderfully functions as a Utopia, despite obvious realistic and economic reasons why it shouldn't work. Basically it's perfect because the author wants it be perfect, and damn the logic. Wakanda is an African nation rich in the fictional metal vibranium. In fact it is the only place on Earth where it seems that the extraterrestrial metal can be naturally found. This resource has made Wakanda the richest nation on the planet with Vibranium being sold at $10, 000 a gram. Yes... a gram. Because of their great wealth Wakanda has a full health care system and one of the finest education systems where all children are educated completely free including college. This has also made them the most technologically advanced race in the world. Having split the atom a full century before the rest of the world outside their borders did. Their computer technology is so insanely advanced and unique that it is impossible to hack, but they can quite easily hack into any other computer on the planet. They use no fossil fuels such as gas or oil, not because they don't have those resources, but because they prefer to use eco-friendly energies for their vehicles and power sources like solar or anyone else getting sick just listening to this yet? Oh and they have the cure for cancer. Wakanda is also a heavily isolationist nation, surrounded by a massive wall that keeps out the rest of Africa. In order to preserve it's nation and customs for all of these centuries it has cut off any contact with the outside world and does not get involved in other countries affairs. Even to provide aid to their african neighbours, or to use their wealth and power to make the world in general better via their technologies, they maintain strict isolation. Well until THEY need help. Then they run off to the Fantastic Four, or the Avengers, or someone else. And you know, I actually wouldn't have any problems with this at all as a character concept. I could handle it, I might even like to read about it. IF the comics realistically portrayed T'challa and the Wakandans as the insufferable, sociopathic, egotistical douchebags they very obviously are. You can even still keep T'challa as being relatively heroic, as long as you keep the perspective focused on him and Wakanda. Protaginist Centered Morality is a very common thing in stories. But when you have to juxtapose him and them with the rest of the world, like moral paragons such as Captain America and Spiderman. Or the Xmen who, while sometimes morally dubious and sometimes dicks, always fight the good fight even if the world is against them. Trying to portray T'challa as the noble warrior doesn't exactly work. Hell he's one lab accident, a ve5ry slight moral shift and an eternal grudge against Reed Richards away from being a point by point copy of Doctor Doom. Seriously. The Black Panther comicverse is the fictional incarnation of white guilt. A black man, or in this case a black society, can be as shitty to everyone else as they want, and yet he is a still a noble and pure-hearted heroic savage in-universe to everyone who knows him. Even if you give him power and perfection by fiat more than anything else. "Look at how awesome we made the black man look. " "See how strong and mighty we're showing him to be? Now caper and dance for my moral amusement, you gloriously negroid Monkey Man. " They even had the balls to give him Storm as a wife for a while. An actually good black character, and don't even get me started on how everyone involved with that decision should be roasted over a fire ant pit and buggered in the eye socket by pineapple dicked demons until Judgement Day approaches. And now that Marvel decided to pull down it's metaphorical pants and unleash this shit into the MCU I've got to watch all these low self-esteem niggers compete to find out who can give Marvel the most sumptuous moral blowjob. John Kani, who plays T'chaka in the film once spoke to TMZ about how the movie shows just what Africa would have been like without those damned evil white people coming in and knocking over our sand castles. I'm not sure if it's sad or hilarious that they are trying to conceptualize reality based on a fictional universe with talking cybenetic raccoons. They do realize that even in the MCU version of Wakanda all of that stuff still happened? It just didn't happen to Wakanda because they have a giant wall around themselves. Marvel Africa is still a violence ridden shit hole. But I guess we're going to ignore that, much as these Hollywood political liberals are wont to do when there's no photo op or a cute little nappy haired baby to adopt. Look let me ask you guys something. Who do you think was selling those slaves to the white men? You realize that they didn't wade into the deadly, unknown to them, jungle full of predators to catch people themselves right? They bought them from the kings and the tribal chieftains. The slaves who came over were largely prisoners of war taken during battles or on raids. The whites just built coastal forts as trading posts from which to do business and hung their signs out. It was we innocent and blameless people of colour who sold off fellow africans into slavery. Look I'm not going to pretend that slavery and the stuff that white people did in Africa are not a large contributing factor in why the continent ended up a giant shithole. Yes, they were scumbag slavers. Yes, they sold us the guns. Yes, they are assholes each and everyone of them. But WE are the ones who sold them the slaves so we could get the money, goods, and guns. WE took those guns and used them to make war on one another, tearing down our societies. WE are the ones who caused the massive labour shortages that led to poor production and poor crops because we carted 20 million plus men away and sent them to pick cotton. I'm just saying Honky Mcgee may be a proximal cause for the problems of Africa. But perhaps, just perhaps it's not the dystal cause. Oh, and fun fact by the way. Do you know how all of the major trade and contact between Africa and England got established? It happened in the 8th century when North Africa invaded and conquered Spain and Portugal. They established regular trade between Europe and Africa, centered their political power at Córdoba and turned the region into one of the most important Islamic cultural centers for centuries to come until they would eventually lose Spain and Portugal to the Christians in the late 15th. So if it bothers you that Whitey stuck his dick into African affairs and told us to bend over, well we gave him the reach around first. This is the kind of stuff I had to deal with reading all this crap in the media. And the absolute worst of it was the stuff like John Kani, Ryan Coogler, and Tre Fuckin' Johnson. The stuff coming out from these mindless black people who have absolutely not an ounce of self-respect for themselves or their own place in the world and want to drag every other black person in western society down with them. They're lapping up this shallow praise from an ideological group that is so blatantly manipulating them. Instead of doing anything about any real problems, you convince them that it's all a bunch of vague “society” shit. That way as long as you toss them the occasional irrelevant little treat, like making a movie with a black person and praising it for supposedly being ground breaking they'll smile and nod at you. Thinking that actually constitutes progress of any kind. Then toss them a couple of shiny awards and watch them flap their you notice how it seems to be the rich and the powerful blacks who are doing this. The privileged who are going along with this so easily. IE. The ones who don't really have any problems that might relate themselves to the average black person. But that's cool because we're all black, and that's the only defining trait any of us could have of any import. these people. Fuck these people. Just read some of these to excerpts from Rolling Stone contributor Tri Johnson and Ryan Coogler as they try to deepthroat T'challas whole length. Ryan ““I think the question that I’m trying to ask and answer in Black Panther is, ‘What does truly mean to be African? '” the filmmaker recently told Rolling Stone. “The MCU has set itself in the real world as much as possible – so what does it mean for T’Challa to move around as this black man in a movie reality that tries to be a real world? ” “ “When people ask me where I’m from, I tell them the Bay Area and there’s a sense of pride there. But the truth is, we’re really from that place. The place that everybody’s from. ” “ “That said, Coogler tried to ensure that “with all the technological advancements, you don’t leave the culture out. Africa is a culture that has been colonized and oftentimes demonized, so it was about reclaiming certain things as beautiful and powerful. ” “ “That’s African, man! ” Coogler says, laughing. “That’s my tribe’s world. My wife is a black woman who’s incredibly strong and smart – and the more I get out of her way, the better my life becomes. I thought that’s one of the things that makes T’Challa brilliant. He knows how to get out of the way of amazing women in his life. ” “ ““The biggest thing for me was the themes of the story – letting them know where my head was at and making sure they would get on board, ” he says. “I was very honest about the idea I wanted to explore in this film, which is what it means to be African. That was one of the first things I talked about. “ Tre Johnson “Watch the new trailer, however – the one that dropped months ago for his stand-alone film – and you’ll see someone with the arrogance of Shaft, the coolness of Obama and the hot-headed impulsiveness of Kanye West. This T’Challa is accessible, awe-inspiring and perhaps most importantly, human. “ “Yet Black Panther already feels different from all of this. Coogler has set out to do something with the modern black superhero that all previous iterations have fallen short of doing: making it respectable, imaginative and powerful. “ “As a child in school, I rarely reached for the black or brown Crayola crayons in my superhero coloring books; I have a lifetime’s worth of Halloweens where I weighed how often I could or should dress as the white superheroes. I couldn’t find ones that looked like me both outside of and underneath the mask. An entire generation of children will now know that a black superhero, society, imagination and power can exist right alongside Peter Parker, Steve Rogers and Bruce Wayne. An entire generation of children will not know what it feels like to not see themselves reflected back on costume racks, coloring books or movie screens. We’re at a pivotal time where these characters and stories are coming not out of permission or obligation, but necessity. “ Ok first off, Ryan are a middle/upper middle class born fourth generation nigger from Oakland California. Not! bile from the Yuroba tribe. What do you know about the African experience? You went to Africa once for a few weeks and hung out with a couple guys in the city. I know you sure as hell didn't shoot this movie there. You shot the movie in South Korea. I can only notice that his display of what Africa is truly like mysteriously did not involve looking at the child soldiers, the mass raping of men and women, ruthless dictatorships, blood diamonds, poverty, aids, and famine. Instead it was all about cool tribal costumes, dancing to tribal music, slinging around spears and worshipping pagan animal gods. Because I guess that it's somehow less racist, and stereotyping when YOU do it? I'm not saying that there aren't wonderful things about Africa and it's many cultures, but don't pretend that you're taking any kind of realistic look or doing any deep soul-searching, when we both know you're going to completely ignore all of the shit of the cultures as well. Unless of course you can blame it on white people. Then I'm sure you'll have it do a little song and dance number under a spotlight. And you understand that there is no such goddamn thing as “African” culture correct? There are fifty four countries, hundreds of distincts cultures and languages, and several thousand dialects. There's no great mystical Afro power coursing through our Nubian veins that binds us together. The fact that you can even talk about African culture with a straight face shows just how little your western born bourgeoisie ass understands about it. I did a story once on a former child soldier who managed to escape in his teens. At age ten he and his family were dragged from their homes by an armed group of men. His father was forced at gun point to rape his own daughter while they laughed and took bets on how long she could scream before she passed out from the pain... and then were both executed in front of him. You really want to help black kids, you assholes? There you go. Go back in time and tell that kid not to worry because one day you'll put a black man in a superhero movie and it'll be a major step forward for black people everywhere. I'm sure he'll be comforted as he wipes the blood splatter from his baby sister out of his eyes and hair. Unfortunately you'll also have to tell him that this glorious black superhero marvel of Marvels wouldn't give two shits of a damn about him because he's not the right kind of African. Remember, this is a guy who can almost literally look out his bedroom window, out over the big wall that surrounds his nation and look out onto a barren desolate tundra where children are wallowing in filth, bellies distended from starvation and malnutrition. At which point he takes a sip of his tea brushes his hands together and thinks “oh well, fuck it! If they had wanted to eat actual food they should have known enough to be born in the right country. ” What part of this screams out Hero of the Oppressed Blackman to these people? The fact that he's black and powerful? Talk about low expectations. Give him any other skin tone and he would be openly acknowledged as the racially supremacist, fascist autocrat the character is. But because he and his people are black, they're more perfect than any other society or culture in the Marvel universe. I read articles by these people, and they are gushing over T'challa in a way that is disturbingly reminiscent of thirteen year old girls describing Edward and Jacob from Twilight. They talk about his power and his awesomeness, thing. They, they talk about nothing. Nothing beyond that he is black and powerful. And these are not short articles. But nothing about these articles would actually tell you about the movie itself or the nature of the character. It's all just sad and pathetic black men whining about society and how they never had any good black people to watch in films and relate themselves to. At least until Black Panther came along riding on the back of a thousand angels. Now finally they have someone they can relate to and see themselves cause he's black. And that's it. What's interesting is that I'm willing to bet pretty hard that they're lying about how horrible it was to have black role models or black heroes. I'm pretty sure that they're just looking back with a massive set of SJW-style beer goggles. But they've somehow concivnced themselves that not having enough men to look up to who looked exactly like them was a great detriment and blow to their childhoods. So much so that because of the detrimental effect done to their lives they were never able to grow up to be any better than hollywood actors, directors, and contributors for Natioanal Publications. Clearly the system failed them. And all their liberal friends want is to have the priviledge of showing a black man up on stage. A little dancing monkey up on the big screen for them to parade around. That's all that is. And these black men, like Ryan, like Jamil, like Tre, and John, they get to lap up the praise for their blackness like a puppy as if that is the only worth that they can see in themselves. This cannot be healthy for the children being raised in the black community. Telling them that being black is the one and only dikstinguishing feature about themselves, and the only thing that they can relate to. It's a recipe for racial tension and ignorance. It's hilariously ironic that the SJW/feminist crowd took Black Panther on as their Golden Boy, when he is the complete antithesis of everything they claim to stand for and believe in. Firstly, Black Panther is anti-globalist. T'challas whole worldview is marinated in a strong nationalistic conviction that constantly places the wellbeing of his people’s history, culture, and identity over any external attempts at opening up the culture and economy of Wakanda. Second, Wakanda is a hierarchal society that’s intentionally racially homogeneous, and its immigration policy is effectively non-existent (unless T'challa wants to marry a hottie like Storm, and don't even begin to get me started on how many fucks that deserves) Other cultural influences are permitted to exist, as Black Panther believes them to be harmful to the wellbeing of his people. In fact even outside education is not allowed (again, unless you're T'challa). The only schools and universities are those run by the state and teach the state approved curriculum. Third. The Wakandan King enforces these policies through an entrenched military, the Hatut Zerzae (a former secret police force turned mercenary group) & the Dora Milaje (the King’s all-female Praetorian Guard). Hey this is all starting to sound familiar again. Fourth. Wakanda is a theistic monarchy where all power rests in the hands of the male who happens to be on the throne. T'challa is not just king he is also the religious leader and symbol of his people. A position passed down from father to son (ie an actual patriarchy). Wakanda is not a constitutional republic, democracy, or any other form of governmental rule that emerged from the Enlightenment. T’Challa is a militaristic absolute monarch & Wakanda is a nation that has historically thrived as a society where the king rules both as the national religious leader and the commander-in-chief. In Wakanda, there is no separation of Church and State, and T’Challa is the authoritarian ruler of every aspect of Wakandan society. Fifth, and perhaps the most characteristically anti-globalist aspect of Wakandan society, is the fact that although Wakanda possesses universal healthcare and a cure for cancer, its government refuses to assist other countries. Wakanda is chiefly concerned with the wellbeing of its own people, foreign plights and would-be immigrants be damned. T’Challa is basically a Fascist autocrat when it comes to ruling his country. OK...... I think I pretty much exhausted my supply of bile for this shit and this character. And I feel oddly cleansed. For those who think that was too long, I warned you. This is what happens when you ask a cranky old nigger to tell you what's pissing him off about something.

This music transcends types. It is a story with a message. A song with real essence.


(chorus) And it's just a ride. Does anybody say this a favorite song and inspires anyone.

Dothraki: Lelelelelelelelelele. Rohirrim: Rohan theme music

At first when I was younger my dad played this song and it was a really good song but I'm now 14 and as I keep understanding what everything means this song almost makes me cry and it's hard to make me cry and I'll always listen to this song no matter what. Right now we are in month two of the disappearance of a person's dog. The dog, per them, is NOT chipped or wearing a collar due to a past neck injury. The collar I can understand, by why no chip!? They has plastered the neighborhood with signs and have a veritable army of people actively searching for the dog or praying for it's safe return. I've had people side-eyeing my dog and they've also tried to claim other dogs as being the missing one. The owner's latest post makes it seem that they truly believe someone is keeping their dog hostage. They claim that the stress of the dog's disappearance has landed them in the hospital and that they will no longer be searching for the dog due to how detrimental it has been to their health. They have left "instructions"/a bio for the "new owner": I have had him since he was 4 mths old. He was a gift from God. He is 10yrs old now. Most people say he still looks like a puppy. He is prone to ear infections so watch his ears they get bright pink and he shakes his head alot when it starts. He was not like that until I took him to a vet to get him groomed and it started after that. A few years ago he was playing when he jumped off the couch and hurt his neck. When it happened the pain was so bad that he could not push the doggy door. The vet said he could no longer ware a collar or go for long walks. My sister got him a stroller (which he loved) and if we were going to be out side for any length of time I would put a harness on him. This is the reason he was not chipped or had a collar on when he got out. There are times even now that it gets inflamed and I have to kennel him to keep him calm. He loves to go for rides. His favorite time of the day was the morning before work when I would take him to Starbucks for his puppochino. When he rides in a car he likes to ride on your shoulders. If you can manage it that would be his favorite place to ride in a car. He loves his puppochinos, the barista's know that he gets that before anything else, no money exchanges hands or any other drinks go out until he has his. 4. He prefers table food to dog food (even wet dog food) He will stage a hunger strike to get it. His favorite place to sleep is under the covers with you, between your knees. 6. He likes to chew on and tear up microfiber blankets. Speaking of shredding things, if you give him a couple of squares of toilet paper he will shred that too and leave it for you to clean up. He is not a Chihuahua, he is a basenji mix and has more Characteristics of a Basenji than whatever else he is. He does not bark like a normal dog, his major form of communication is growling so he seems aggressive but he is not. The curly tail is a basenji trait also. You will probably notice he doesn't bark a whole lot. It is a barkless breed. 9 He will get into the trash if he can reach to get the people food he wants 10. I have been taking him to doggy parks since he was a puppy but he is not crazy about other people or dogs. It took him a long time to learn to play. Even then he stuck very close to me. 11. He likes to sing and if you howl you can get him going. I am mourning him even now and I am praying to God that if you have him. You take good care of him. Keep him inside where he is safe and warm and can climb up between your knees and watch TV with you, Get him a stroller and Harness rather than a collar so he does not hurt and a kennel for when he does. Get him a stroller so you can take him on long walks because loves to do that. Take him to a secluded area of a park and take him off the leash so he can run and explore. I promise he will not go far from you. I pray to God that you love him like I do. The comment section was chalk full of people offering their condolences and trying to find "the dognapper". They also believe that The Homeless and/or various other nefarious groups currently have the dog.

Coe CD stays in my palyer 2019. This song changed my life. it's simply wonderful... My favorite part of this ride is at 8:41 when you hear evac say my guns jammed and then sideswipe yells catch.



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