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CeruleanForLife: The Cerulean Regiment Barracks of the Periwinkle Army and the NoFapWar
2015.11.08 23:55 LuckyJB CeruleanForLife: The Cerulean Regiment Barracks of the Periwinkle Army and the NoFapWar
Subreddit of the Cerulean Regiment in the Periwinkle Army of the NoFapWar http://www.reddit.com/NoFapWa
2024.05.19 16:30 TheForce122 The Jewish Holocaust of 6M Jews was bad, by Satanist Adolf Hitler. However, the Christian Holocaust of 20-66 million mostly Christian Russians, by the Satanic Bolsheviks who called themselves Jews, was the worst Holocaust of all time. Rothschild NWO did Bolshevik Revolution to install central bank
 | Ynet article (https://archive.is/F1sJW): submitted by TheForce122 to conspiracy_commons [link] [comments] "Stalin's Jews: We mustn't forget that some of greatest murderers of modern times were Jewish" Here's a particularly forlorn historical date: Almost 90 years ago, between the 19th and 20th of December 1917, in the midst of the Bolshevik revolution and civil war, Lenin signed a decree calling for the establishment of The All-Russian Extraordinary Commission for Combating Counter-Revolution and Sabotage, also known as Cheka. Within a short period of time, Cheka became the largest and cruelest state security organization. Its organizational structure was changed every few years, as were its names: From Cheka to GPU, later to NKVD, and later to KGB. We cannot know with certainty the number of deaths Cheka was responsible for in its various manifestations, but the number is surely at least 20 million, including victims of the forced collectivization, the hunger, large purges, expulsions, banishments, executions, and mass death at Gulags. Whole population strata were eliminated: Independent farmers, ethnic minorities, members of the bourgeoisie, senior officers, intellectuals, artists, labor movement activists, "opposition members" who were defined completely randomly, and countless members of the Communist party itself. In his new, highly praised book "The War of the World, "Historian Niall Ferguson writes that no revolution in the history of mankind devoured its children with the same unrestrained appetite as did the Soviet revolution. In his book on the Stalinist purges, Tel Aviv University's Dr. Igal Halfin writes that Stalinist violence was unique in that it was directed internally. Lenin, Stalin, and their successors could not have carried out their deeds without wide-scale cooperation of disciplined "terror officials," cruel interrogators, snitches, executioners, guards, judges, perverts, and many bleeding hearts who were members of the progressive Western Left and were deceived by the Soviet regime of horror and even provided it with a kosher certificate. All these things are well-known to some extent or another, even though the former Soviet Union's archives have not yet been fully opened to the public. But who knows about this? Within Russia itself, very few people have been brought to justice for their crimes in the NKVD's and KGB's service. The Russian public discourse today completely ignores the question of "How could it have happened to us?" As opposed to Eastern European nations, the Russians did not settle the score with their Stalinist past. And us, the Jews? An Israeli student finishes high school without ever hearing the name "Genrikh Yagoda," the greatest Jewish murderer of the 20th Century, the GPU's deputy commander and the founder and commander of the NKVD. Yagoda diligently implemented Stalin's collectivization orders and is responsible for the deaths of at least 10 million people. His Jewish deputies established and managed the Gulag system. After Stalin no longer viewed him favorably, Yagoda was demoted and executed, and was replaced as chief hangman in 1936 by Yezhov, the "bloodthirsty dwarf." Yezhov was not Jewish but was blessed with an active Jewish wife. In his Book "Stalin: Court of the Red Star", Jewish historian Sebag Montefiore writes that during the darkest period of terror, when the Communist killing machine worked in full force, Stalin was surrounded by beautiful, young Jewish women. Stalin's close associates and loyalists included member of the Central Committee and Politburo Lazar Kaganovich. Montefiore characterizes him as the "first Stalinist" and adds that those starving to death in Ukraine, an unparalleled tragedy in the history of human kind aside from the Nazi horrors and Mao's terror in China, did not move Kaganovich. Many Jews sold their soul to the devil of the Communist revolution and have blood on their hands for eternity. We'll mention just one more: Leonid Reichman, head of the NKVD's special department and the organization's chief interrogator, who was a particularly cruel sadist. In 1934, according to published statistics, 38.5 percent of those holding the most senior posts in the Soviet security apparatuses were of Jewish origin. They too, of course, were gradually eliminated in the next purges. In a fascinating lecture at a Tel Aviv University convention this week, Dr. Halfin described the waves of soviet terror as a "carnival of mass murder," "fantasy of purges", and "essianism of evil." Turns out that Jews too, when they become captivated by messianic ideology, can become great murderers, among the greatest known by modern history. The Jews active in official communist terror apparatuses (In the Soviet Union and abroad) and who at times led them, did not do this, obviously, as Jews, but rather, as Stalinists, communists, and "Soviet people." Therefore, we find it easy to ignore their origin and "play dumb": What do we have to do with them? But let's not forget them. My own view is different. I find it unacceptable that a person will be considered a member of the Jewish people when he does great things, but not considered part of our people when he does amazingly despicable things. Even if we deny it, we cannot escape the Jewishness of "our hangmen," who served the Red Terror with loyalty and dedication from its establishment. After all, others will always remind us of their origin. "The Bolshevik Revolution: An Iluminati takeover of Russia?" The murderous Bolshevik Revolution made communism a political reality by mostly Jewish activists. Alarming similarities to today’s political climate invite comparison. Czar Nicholas II abdicated in March 1917. Since Bolshevik leaders Vladimir Lenin and Leon Trotsky weren’t even in Russia then, how did they gain control of it by November 1917? Western analysts uncovered parts of this mystery, but much remained unknown due to the Soviet government’s stranglehold on its history – as Orwell said, “Who controls the present controls the past.” With glasnost, archives creaked open. Perhaps no one has collated the information better than Juri Lina in his book Under the Sign of the Scorpion. The Rothschild-Illuminati axis, through their network of banksters and Freemasons, controlled the Bolshevik operation. In February 1917, an artificially induced bread shortage accompanied orchestrated rioting in Petrograd (then Russia’s capital). In a “false flag,” the mobs were machine-gunned from hidden positions; the casualties were blamed on the Czar. British agents bribed Russian soldiers to mutiny and join the rioting. White Russian General Arsene de Goulevitch wrote: “I have been told that over 21 million rubles were spent by Lord Milner in financing the Russian Revolution.” 33rd degree Freemason Alfred Milner was a Rothschild front man. Several Russian generals were Freemasons who betrayed the Czar under Masonic instructions. Russians thought the provisional government, established under Alexander Kerensky after the Czar’s fall, meant future democracy. But Kerensky, Grand Secretary of Russia’s Grand Orient, was “phase one” of communist takeover. His government pardoned all political exiles – green light for return to Russia of fellow Freemasons Lenin and Trotsky. Jacob Schiff and Federal Reserve founder Paul Warburg ran Kuhn, Loeb & Co. – the Rothschilds’ New York banking satellite. Schiff supplied $20 million in gold to Trotsky, who sailed from New York with 275 other terrorists on a passport obtained through pressure the bankers put on the Wilson administration. In Germany, Warburg’s brother Max helped persuade the government to provide millions to Lenin and allow him to cross Germany with other revolutionaries in a special train. The Germans agreed because the Bolsheviks promised to remove Russia from the raging First World War after taking power. The Bolsheviks succeeded because they had what other revolutionaries (e.g., Mensheviks) lacked – limitless cash. By May 1917, Pravda already had a circulation of 300,000. It is a myth that Kerensky and the Bolsheviks were adversaries. Kerensky received $1 million from Jacob Schiff. During summer 1917, when it was revealed the Bolsheviks were on Germany’s payroll – treason during wartime – Kerensky protected them. When the Bolsheviks moved to seize power that autumn, he declined the option of requesting troops to preserve the government. Lenin and Trotsky gave Kerensky money and safe passage out. He died wealthy in 1970 in New York, where the Russian Orthodox Church refused him burial services. Postwar Britain sent the Bolsheviks rifles and ammunition for 250,000 men. With this and other Western assistance, the Reds crushed the White opposition. Loans and technology from Western capitalists poured in for decades, as documented in such books as Antony Sutton’s Wall Street and the Bolshevik Revolution and Joseph Finder’s Red Carpet. In 1992, the newspaper Literaturnaya Rossiya estimated that, including starvation and civil war, Soviet communism left 147 million dead. Even accepting the more moderate claim of Harvard University Press’s Black Book of Communism – that communism murdered “only” 100 million worldwide – what these numbers represent is beyond comprehension. Stalin reportedly said: “One death is a tragedy; a million is a statistic.” Leon Trotsky (Jewish born “Lev Bronstein”) and his 300 well-trained Jewish communists from Manhattan’s Lower East Side, boarded the Norwegian steamer “Kristianiafjord” for a journey that brought them to St. Petersburg in Russia. Their purpose was to establish a Marxist government under the leadership of Lenin, Trotsky, and Stalin. Before departing, Jacob Schiff gave this group $20 million in gold to accomplish the task, but the plan was already under way before they even boarded the ship thanks to the Rothschilds. By December 1917, the Bolsheviks established their instrument of terror, the Cheka (the KGB’s precursor). Lina writes: “Lists of those shot and otherwise executed were published in the Cheka’s weekly newspaper. In this way it can be proved that 1.7 million people were executed during the period 1918-19. A river of blood flowed through Russia. The Cheka had to employ body counters.” By contrast, under the czars, 467 people were executed between 1826 and 1904 (78 years). Trotsky declared: “We will reduce the Russian intelligentsia to a complete idiocy.” Lina writes: “1,695,604 people were executed from January 1921 to April 1922. Among these victims were bishops, professors, doctors, officers, policemen, gendarmes, lawyers, civil servants, journalists, writers, artists…” The Bolsheviks considered the intelligentsia the greatest threat to their dictatorship. This sheds light on the Marxist buzzword “proletariat.” The Illuminati knew nations are easier to enslave if only peasants and laborers remain. But even the proletariat wasn’t spared. The Cheka brutally suppressed hundreds of peasant uprisings and labor strikes, executing victims as “counter-revolutionaries.” Satanic torture often accompanied killings. Many priests were crucified. Some victims had eyes put out, or limbs chopped off, or were otherwise mutilated, while the next victims were forced to watch. Although Russia had been “the world’s granary,” over five million died of starvation during the famine of 1921-22. This wasn’t “socialist inefficiency,” but genocide from grain confiscation. In the Holodomor, Stalin murdered 7 million Ukrainians, including 3 million children, by ordering all foodstuffs confiscated as punishment for resisting farm collectivization. Communist brigades went house to house, ripping down walls with axes searching for “hoarded” food. In Soviet gulags (concentration camps) millions perished. Aleksandr Solzhenitsyn estimated that, just during Stalin’s “great purge” of 1937-38, two million died in gulags. The Bolsheviks meanwhile lived royally. Lenin, who occupied Grand Duke Sergei Alexandrov’s estate, placed 75 million francs in a Swiss bank account in 1920. Trotsky, who lived in a castle seized from Prince Felix Yusupov, had over $80 million in U.S. bank accounts. Top Cheka officials ate off gold plates. Communism was plunder masked by ideological slogans. Money and jewelry were stripped from homes at gunpoint. Lenin and Trotsky repaid their masters. Lina writes: “In October 1918, Jewish bankers in Berlin received 47 cases of gold from Russia, containing 3125 kilos of gold.” The Grand Orient de France refurbished its Paris Lodge with money Lenin sent in 1919. In New York, Kuhn, Loeb received, in the first half of 1921 alone, $102 million in Russian wealth. Bolsheviks were predominantly Jewish – unsurprising given the long linkage of cabalistic Jews to Freemasonry and revolution. I state this objectively, without anti-Semitism. I am half-Jewish; my paternal grandparents emigrated from Russia in 1904. In Les Derniers Jours des Romanofs (1920), Robert Wilton, The Times’s Russian correspondent, named each person in the Bolshevik government. The tally: Bolshevik Party Central Committee: of 12 members, 9 were Jews. (NOTE: Actually 10 now that we know Lenin has been declassified to be part-Jewish) Council of People’s Commissars: 22 members, 17 Jews. Central Executive Committee: 61 members, 41 Jews. Extraordinary Commission of Moscow: 36 members, 23 Jews. In 1922, the Morning Post listed all 545 civil servants in the Soviet administration; 477 were Jews, 30 were ethnic Russians. “Russian” Revolution was a misnomer. Leon Trotsky (real name Lev Bronstein) was a Ukrainian Jew. He introduced the cabalistic five-pointed star as the Red Army’s symbol. In New York, Trotsky belonged to B’nai B’raith – the Jewish Masonic order – as did his financial angel, Jacob Schiff. Juri Lina has unearthed evidence that Schiff ordered the murder of the Czar and royal family. Under Lenin, anti-Semitism became a capital offense. [lightbox full=”https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=uoAEKHBtNIA”]The Bolsheviks destroyed 60,000 churches[/lightbox]; many became latrines or museums of atheism. Yet Russia’s synagogues went untouched. Jews dominated the Cheka (formed of 23 Jews and 13 others). Lina lists 15 Jewish gulag commandants (Under the Sign of the Scorpion, p. 310). The Cheka targeted classes and ethnicities: the “bourgeoisie”; “kulaks” (landowning farmers); and Cossacks, whom the Central Committee declared “must be exterminated and physically disposed of, down to the last man.” They tried to eradicate [lightbox full=”https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=2kW4T8m2wWc”]Russian culture[/lightbox], renaming Petrograd and Tsaritsyn after the revolution’s psychopaths. In Ukraine, the Bolsheviks seized traditional national costumes. Obliterating nationalism is a precursor to the Illuminati world order. Though it is sometimes claimed Jewish dominance ended under Stalin, in 1937 17 of 27 Presidium members were still Jewish, and 115 of 133 Council of People’s Commissars. Stalin did turn against the Zionists in 1949, heavily persecuting Jews during 1952, after which he was poisoned. "THE FINANCING OF THE OCTOBER REVOLUTION OF 1917 BY WARBURG AND THE CONTROL OF THE RUSSIAN CENTRAL BANK BY ROTHSCHILD" Tsarist Russia was a thorn in the side of western high finance because at the end of the 19th century the Russian empire was the only European power not to have a central bank. “It was still the tsar who decided on coinage in his country”. "It was very simple: the money was his and he controlled the amount." That was to change quickly when the communists came to power: one of Lenin's first measures was the establishment of a Russian central bank after the fall of the tsar. After the Bolshevik Revolution, “unimaginably large sums of money from the private assets of the Russian tsarist family flowed into the hands of international bankers”. It is easy to guess why that happened. The October 1917 Revolution under Lenin, or the violent seizure of power by the Russian Communist Bolsheviks, was co-financed by German bankers. There are estimates that 50 million marks flowed back then, which today corresponds to at least half a billion euros. The saying of the mother of the 5 Rothschild sons is well known: "If my sons don't want it, there is no war." Anyone who wanted to wage war needed money; but money was only available from the Rothschilds at the time. So the success of the Russian Revolution of 1917 was dependent on money. The money came from Trotsky, who was hooked up with the Wall Street banks. Trotsky married Sedova, the daughter of Jivotovsky, who was closely associated with the Warburg banking house and the cousins of Jacob Schiff, the financial group that financed Japan in the war against Russia. Here an ominous as well as powerful connection opens up, the alliance between capitalism and communism. Thus there is the apparently paradoxical connection that private capitalism, as the arch enemy of communism, financed its revolution in powerful Russia (thesis and antithesis). “We cannot state that all Jews are Bolsheviks. But – Without Jews there would never have been Bolshevism. For a Jew nothing is more insulting than the Truth. The Blood Maddened Jewish terrorists had murdered 66,000,000 in Russia from 1918 – 1957. Between the years 1917 and 1991 preceding the collapse of the Soviet Union, it is estimated that Communist Jews murdered somewhere between 60 and 135 million innocent people." Source for quote: https://archive.is/xRVOA |
2024.05.08 14:52 GordyFL Rashida Tlaib: Rafah Invasion Directly Connected to Approval of US Military Aid
"For months, Netanyahu made his intent to invade Rafah clear, yet the majority of my colleagues and President Biden sent more weapons to enable the massacre." -- Rashida Tlaib.
Tlaib was one of 37 House Democrats who voted against the $26 billion foreign aid package to Israel as it continues its war on Gaza. (173 Democrats voted in favor.)
A few days ago Israel's military ordered more than 100,000 people in eastern Rafah to evacuate the area.
"There is nowhere safe in Gaza. Nearly 80% of the civilian infrastructure has been destroyed."
"The Israeli government is only trying to provide a false pretense of safety to try to maintain legal cover at the International Court of Justice."
Tlaib went on to demand that the International Criminal Court (ICC)—which is tasked with investigating individuals for violations of international law —"swiftly issue arrest warrants for Netanyahu and senior Israeli officials to finally hold them accountable."
“Many of my colleagues are going to express concern and horror at the crimes against humanity that are about to unfold, even though they just voted to send Netanyahu billions more in weapons,” Tlaib said.
Rashida's statement page 1: https://pbs.twimg.com/media/GM-p3sQWoAE3IRw?format=png&name=900x900
And page 2: https://pbs.twimg.com/media/GM-p4OwXcAAUVP1?format=png&name=900x900
It was six months ago that Rashida Tlaib was censured by Congress for her defence of the chant "from the river to the sea, Palestine will be free".
The Anti-Defamation League and Jewish groups say the slogan, used at protests around the world, is a call for the destruction of Israel.
Pro-Palestinian activists argue that most people using it are calling for an end to Israel's occupation of the West Bank and blockade of Gaza, not the elimination of Israel itself.
Rashida Tlaib defended her use of the slogan, calling it "an aspirational call for freedom, human rights and peaceful coexistence, not death, destruction, or hate."
submitted by GordyFL to WayOfTheBern [link] [comments]
Tlaib was one of 37 House Democrats who voted against the $26 billion foreign aid package to Israel as it continues its war on Gaza. (173 Democrats voted in favor.)
A few days ago Israel's military ordered more than 100,000 people in eastern Rafah to evacuate the area.
"There is nowhere safe in Gaza. Nearly 80% of the civilian infrastructure has been destroyed."
"The Israeli government is only trying to provide a false pretense of safety to try to maintain legal cover at the International Court of Justice."
Tlaib went on to demand that the International Criminal Court (ICC)—which is tasked with investigating individuals for violations of international law —"swiftly issue arrest warrants for Netanyahu and senior Israeli officials to finally hold them accountable."
“Many of my colleagues are going to express concern and horror at the crimes against humanity that are about to unfold, even though they just voted to send Netanyahu billions more in weapons,” Tlaib said.
Rashida's statement page 1: https://pbs.twimg.com/media/GM-p3sQWoAE3IRw?format=png&name=900x900
And page 2: https://pbs.twimg.com/media/GM-p4OwXcAAUVP1?format=png&name=900x900
It was six months ago that Rashida Tlaib was censured by Congress for her defence of the chant "from the river to the sea, Palestine will be free".
The Anti-Defamation League and Jewish groups say the slogan, used at protests around the world, is a call for the destruction of Israel.
Pro-Palestinian activists argue that most people using it are calling for an end to Israel's occupation of the West Bank and blockade of Gaza, not the elimination of Israel itself.
Rashida Tlaib defended her use of the slogan, calling it "an aspirational call for freedom, human rights and peaceful coexistence, not death, destruction, or hate."
2024.05.05 03:16 notzfd Infographics
 | submitted by notzfd to u/notzfd [link] [comments] |
2024.05.03 10:57 apenature Haaretz -Opinion Israelis Must Flood the Streets to Keep the IDF Out of Rafah- Ehud Ohlmert
https://www.haaretz.com/opinion/2024-05-03/ty-article-opinion/.premium/israelis-must-flood-the-streets-to-keep-the-idf-out-of-rafah/0000018f-3aac-d516-afbf-feeea9ff0000
After more than six months of hybrid warfare – in the air, on land and underground – it's possible to conclude that the bulk of Hamas' military power has been dismantled. Most of its rockets and launch sites have been destroyed and there has hardly been any rocket fire from the Gaza Strip for over four months.
This isn't the result of some tactical decision by Hamas intended to deceive and disarm Israeli security forces, to then surprise us again with an unexpected attack that could gravely damage the home front and our combat units. It is highly likely that Hamas has hardly any rockets or launch sites left and is incapable of operating the few it has, as the military controls most of the areas from which rockets could be fired at Israel.
A considerable portion of Hamas fighters has been killed, an accomplishment that is highly significant. These are not just its frontline combatants, but also members of its command level. It is almost certain that the most senior commanders, above all Yahya Sinwar and Mohammed Deif, are still alive. They are hiding in places whose penetration could exact a heavy price from Israel, one that would be wrong to pay.
However, as has been said repeatedly, the course of the war and its priorities must not be made subordinate to Netanyahu's personal needs. There is no one in Israel who isn't yearning to hear of Deif and Sinwar being killed. They are cold-blooded arch-murderers who lack moral inhibitions, terrorists in the fullest sense of the term. As much as we want to take them out, we must act with restraint, patience and reason.
During the Second Lebanon War, Hezbollah leader Hassan Nasrallah was defined as a target for a strike. We wanted to chop off the head of that poisonous snake, but we did not make the war subservient to this cause alone. Ultimately, Nasrallah stated on Lebanese television that had he known what 1 percent of the scope of Israel's response to the abduction and murder of Ehud Goldwasser, Eldad Regev and other soldiers would be, and Israel's ferocious response to Hezbollah's rocket attack, he wouldn't have done it.
As an Israeli military accomplishment, such a statement from a live Nasrallah was almost the same as killing him and displaying his body. The 17 years in which he took caution not to initiate a single attack on Israel – not even with light arms – are a profound reflection of the military accomplishment of that 2006 war and the deterrence it created on the northern border. Even though some among us still enjoy criticizing its successes after all these years, the fact that Nasrallah understands the magnitude of his defeat is enough to put that war in the right perspective.
At this point, we have achieved the same level of deterrence in Gaza that we had at the end of the Second Lebanon War. At the beginning of the ground maneuver in Gaza, the prime minister set an unrealistic goal, which there was no way to achieve and no way to measure. Benjamin Netanyahu did it, to my understanding, for vile conspiratorial reasons that can't be concealed. He knew talk of "total victory" over Hamas was an empty slogan. There will not be such a victory. In its absence, he can always blame the military for not accomplishing it.
In reality, we have seen a genuine, impressive and unprecedented victory. Never has a conventional military been forced to fight a terror organization that hides almost entirely inside a network of underground tunnels dozens of meters deep, located in dense urban centers housing hundreds of thousands of uninvolved civilians. These civilians were, against their will, placed at the center of Israel's military activity and, unavoidably, became exposed to airstrikes and fire from commando units chasing terrorist leaders, becoming tragic victims of the war.
In this complex entanglement, and under the international community's critical eyes – including those of our staunchest friends and supporters – the Israel Defense Forces has performed admirably. There is no military campaign this complicated that is conducted without mistakes, without unnecessary friendly fire and shooting toward uninvolved civilians.
There have been some troubling displays of trigger-happiness, whose victims included some of our hostages as well as Gazan civilians who were caught in combat zones and paid with their lives. Few could deny that in several cases, our soldiers were unnecessarily reckless. But it is hard to blame them, considering the highly unique nature of this combat, which takes place in the total confusion of fighting inside residential neighborhoods and above Hamas death-tunnel shafts.
However, there is one goal we have not achieved yet – releasing the hostages. This goal was not at the center of Netanyahu's attention from the start, and he has apparently thwarted several opportunities to expand understandings brokered between Israel and Hamas and proceed to a comprehensive deal that would release all the hostages. Rafah is not a crucial objective that would decide the outcome of the fighting between Israel and Hamas.
Although it's emotionally difficult, almost impossible to accept, it's important to understand that Israel will not emerge victorious from this confrontation. The boastful talk of "total victory" reflects stupidity, arrogance and, above all, an effort to create distance from an image of non-victory and evade the inevitable public judgment that will likely follow.
Netanyahu long ago stopped thinking about what is best for Israel, its future and its strategic interests. It's been a long time since he's considered the inevitable obligation to start limiting the damage of the harsh blow we have suffered and laying foundations for restoring the country, the military, the security forces and, most of all, Israeli society, whose solidarity was once the secret of its strength.
Netanyahu lives in a bubble that is cut off from reality. Inside the bubble, he tells himself and the others inside that he is fighting for Israel's existence, that an immediate risk is threatening it and that his historic mission is to face off against the entire world and defend Israel from those who want to destroy it.
Netanyahu's behavior leaves no other conclusion than that in his view, many of his opponents knowingly and deliberately seek Israel's destruction. I presume that those staying in the emotionally impervious human tunnel in which he is trapped (along with his family and a few supporters) believe most of Israel's friends in the world, chiefly U.S. President Joe Biden and perhaps a few European leaders, could cause Israel's destruction because of pressure from leftists and Israel-haters from within and their allies elsewhere.
In this respect, it seems that in Netanyahu's worldview, the country's biggest enemies are the most fearless and daring of Israel's soldiers and members of the elected opposition in the Knesset. I include Benny Gantz and Gadi Eisenkot, whose decency and devotion to Israel is being exploited by Netanyahu, while deep down, he unquestionably despises them and sees them as both enemies and rivals.
We have reached the decisive stage: Are we heading for a hostage rescue deal or hurtling at an insane speed toward a crash in the outskirts of Rafah?
Taking Rafah has no strategic significance as far as Israel's vital interests are concerned. Netanyahu understands this, as do some senior military officers and retired officers. Destroying four additional Hamas battalions might have been the correct move had it been disconnected from the wider context of events. But such a maneuver would take months and involve many fatalities among our soldiers, kill thousands of uninvolved Palestinians and crush what remains of Israel's international reputation.
It would intensify demonstrations on every campus in America and around the world and lead to arrest warrants being issued against Israeli leaders and combat soldiers. Most of all, it would put the hostages in immediate danger. Such a move would constitute criminal recklessness by a group of people, led by Netanyahu, who are prepared to shatter the foundations of our existence merely to continue holding on to power.
Some of the decisions I made when I headed Israel's government were heavily criticized. Near its end, the Second Lebanon War was a source of incessant attacks on me and my cabinet members, as well as on the military commanders who waged the campaign. It does not matter at all that in retrospect, most critics realize it had been a successful – albeit not devoid of failures and mistakes – war with several strategic accomplishments, which have become clearer from a distance of many years. However, none of those who objected to the war at the time even thought about arguing that the government was motivated by the personal interests of the person in charge.
The consensus among the overwhelming majority of Israelis is that the only motivation for expanding the military campaign and invading Rafah is not what's right for Israel, but part of a planned decision to sacrifice the hostages' lives in order to preserve the political life of the man who continues to push Israel into the abyss.
It's time to stop Netanyahu and the government of Ben-Gvir and Smotrich. It's time to flood the streets with millions of resolute opponents to surround the group of outlaws leading Israel to a crash and stop them, before it's too late.
submitted by apenature to Israel [link] [comments]
This isn't the result of some tactical decision by Hamas intended to deceive and disarm Israeli security forces, to then surprise us again with an unexpected attack that could gravely damage the home front and our combat units. It is highly likely that Hamas has hardly any rockets or launch sites left and is incapable of operating the few it has, as the military controls most of the areas from which rockets could be fired at Israel.
A considerable portion of Hamas fighters has been killed, an accomplishment that is highly significant. These are not just its frontline combatants, but also members of its command level. It is almost certain that the most senior commanders, above all Yahya Sinwar and Mohammed Deif, are still alive. They are hiding in places whose penetration could exact a heavy price from Israel, one that would be wrong to pay.
However, as has been said repeatedly, the course of the war and its priorities must not be made subordinate to Netanyahu's personal needs. There is no one in Israel who isn't yearning to hear of Deif and Sinwar being killed. They are cold-blooded arch-murderers who lack moral inhibitions, terrorists in the fullest sense of the term. As much as we want to take them out, we must act with restraint, patience and reason.
During the Second Lebanon War, Hezbollah leader Hassan Nasrallah was defined as a target for a strike. We wanted to chop off the head of that poisonous snake, but we did not make the war subservient to this cause alone. Ultimately, Nasrallah stated on Lebanese television that had he known what 1 percent of the scope of Israel's response to the abduction and murder of Ehud Goldwasser, Eldad Regev and other soldiers would be, and Israel's ferocious response to Hezbollah's rocket attack, he wouldn't have done it.
As an Israeli military accomplishment, such a statement from a live Nasrallah was almost the same as killing him and displaying his body. The 17 years in which he took caution not to initiate a single attack on Israel – not even with light arms – are a profound reflection of the military accomplishment of that 2006 war and the deterrence it created on the northern border. Even though some among us still enjoy criticizing its successes after all these years, the fact that Nasrallah understands the magnitude of his defeat is enough to put that war in the right perspective.
At this point, we have achieved the same level of deterrence in Gaza that we had at the end of the Second Lebanon War. At the beginning of the ground maneuver in Gaza, the prime minister set an unrealistic goal, which there was no way to achieve and no way to measure. Benjamin Netanyahu did it, to my understanding, for vile conspiratorial reasons that can't be concealed. He knew talk of "total victory" over Hamas was an empty slogan. There will not be such a victory. In its absence, he can always blame the military for not accomplishing it.
In reality, we have seen a genuine, impressive and unprecedented victory. Never has a conventional military been forced to fight a terror organization that hides almost entirely inside a network of underground tunnels dozens of meters deep, located in dense urban centers housing hundreds of thousands of uninvolved civilians. These civilians were, against their will, placed at the center of Israel's military activity and, unavoidably, became exposed to airstrikes and fire from commando units chasing terrorist leaders, becoming tragic victims of the war.
In this complex entanglement, and under the international community's critical eyes – including those of our staunchest friends and supporters – the Israel Defense Forces has performed admirably. There is no military campaign this complicated that is conducted without mistakes, without unnecessary friendly fire and shooting toward uninvolved civilians.
There have been some troubling displays of trigger-happiness, whose victims included some of our hostages as well as Gazan civilians who were caught in combat zones and paid with their lives. Few could deny that in several cases, our soldiers were unnecessarily reckless. But it is hard to blame them, considering the highly unique nature of this combat, which takes place in the total confusion of fighting inside residential neighborhoods and above Hamas death-tunnel shafts.
However, there is one goal we have not achieved yet – releasing the hostages. This goal was not at the center of Netanyahu's attention from the start, and he has apparently thwarted several opportunities to expand understandings brokered between Israel and Hamas and proceed to a comprehensive deal that would release all the hostages. Rafah is not a crucial objective that would decide the outcome of the fighting between Israel and Hamas.
Although it's emotionally difficult, almost impossible to accept, it's important to understand that Israel will not emerge victorious from this confrontation. The boastful talk of "total victory" reflects stupidity, arrogance and, above all, an effort to create distance from an image of non-victory and evade the inevitable public judgment that will likely follow.
Netanyahu long ago stopped thinking about what is best for Israel, its future and its strategic interests. It's been a long time since he's considered the inevitable obligation to start limiting the damage of the harsh blow we have suffered and laying foundations for restoring the country, the military, the security forces and, most of all, Israeli society, whose solidarity was once the secret of its strength.
Netanyahu lives in a bubble that is cut off from reality. Inside the bubble, he tells himself and the others inside that he is fighting for Israel's existence, that an immediate risk is threatening it and that his historic mission is to face off against the entire world and defend Israel from those who want to destroy it.
Netanyahu's behavior leaves no other conclusion than that in his view, many of his opponents knowingly and deliberately seek Israel's destruction. I presume that those staying in the emotionally impervious human tunnel in which he is trapped (along with his family and a few supporters) believe most of Israel's friends in the world, chiefly U.S. President Joe Biden and perhaps a few European leaders, could cause Israel's destruction because of pressure from leftists and Israel-haters from within and their allies elsewhere.
In this respect, it seems that in Netanyahu's worldview, the country's biggest enemies are the most fearless and daring of Israel's soldiers and members of the elected opposition in the Knesset. I include Benny Gantz and Gadi Eisenkot, whose decency and devotion to Israel is being exploited by Netanyahu, while deep down, he unquestionably despises them and sees them as both enemies and rivals.
We have reached the decisive stage: Are we heading for a hostage rescue deal or hurtling at an insane speed toward a crash in the outskirts of Rafah?
Taking Rafah has no strategic significance as far as Israel's vital interests are concerned. Netanyahu understands this, as do some senior military officers and retired officers. Destroying four additional Hamas battalions might have been the correct move had it been disconnected from the wider context of events. But such a maneuver would take months and involve many fatalities among our soldiers, kill thousands of uninvolved Palestinians and crush what remains of Israel's international reputation.
It would intensify demonstrations on every campus in America and around the world and lead to arrest warrants being issued against Israeli leaders and combat soldiers. Most of all, it would put the hostages in immediate danger. Such a move would constitute criminal recklessness by a group of people, led by Netanyahu, who are prepared to shatter the foundations of our existence merely to continue holding on to power.
Some of the decisions I made when I headed Israel's government were heavily criticized. Near its end, the Second Lebanon War was a source of incessant attacks on me and my cabinet members, as well as on the military commanders who waged the campaign. It does not matter at all that in retrospect, most critics realize it had been a successful – albeit not devoid of failures and mistakes – war with several strategic accomplishments, which have become clearer from a distance of many years. However, none of those who objected to the war at the time even thought about arguing that the government was motivated by the personal interests of the person in charge.
The consensus among the overwhelming majority of Israelis is that the only motivation for expanding the military campaign and invading Rafah is not what's right for Israel, but part of a planned decision to sacrifice the hostages' lives in order to preserve the political life of the man who continues to push Israel into the abyss.
It's time to stop Netanyahu and the government of Ben-Gvir and Smotrich. It's time to flood the streets with millions of resolute opponents to surround the group of outlaws leading Israel to a crash and stop them, before it's too late.
2024.04.29 06:05 MaryAnnGrysbeck 9 reasons why Apple stock will fall dramatically after earnings on May 2,2024
9 reasons why Apple stock will fall dramatically after earnings on May 2,2024
At least a 5% further drop from $169 levels.To $160 or lower.
I just cannot see any good news except the fairly bullish open interest on the latest option contracts. But is that enough ?
Even Jim Cramer is quietly bearish as of April 24,2024.
Reason one. Apple had a death cross on March 14,2024.Just over 7 weeks ago. Long time to be under the 200 days moving average .
Current 200 days Simple Moving Average is $181.36 per share.
Current 50 days Simple Moving Average is $173.29 per share.
Current 14 days Relative Strength Index is a 47.33 Definitely not oversold by any means. In the low 30’s it would be oversold and ripe for a strong bounce.
In the case of Apple stock, its 50-day “line crossed below its 200-day line on March 14,2024.
The last time Apple did that was in June 2022, and the stock was already several weeks into a major decline.
The two lines touched again in September 2022 and the death cross expanded from there.
https://www.investors.com/research/apple-stock-aapl-death-cross/
The Death Cross is a technical analysis pattern in the stock market that occurs when a short-term moving average crosses below a long-term moving average.
Typically, the Death Cross involves the 50-day moving average crossing below the 200-day moving average.
This pattern is considered bearish and may suggest a potential reversal of an uptrend, indicating that a stock or market might be entering a period of decline.
Reason two. Apple had a double top of $199.37 in December 2023 and $196.13 in January 2024. This is extremely significant.
A double top is an extremely bearish technical reversal pattern that forms after an asset reaches a high price two consecutive times with a moderate decline between the two highs.
It is confirmed once the asset's price falls below a support level equal to the low between the two prior highs.
The double top pattern is a bearish reversal pattern that can be observed at the top of an uptrend and signals an impending reversal.
The double top chart pattern resembles the letter “M”, due to the two equal highs.
A double top is a chart pattern that signals the end of an uptrend.
Therefore, when the market forms a double top, close out long positions (sell)before prices fall.
You can also take a short position (short sell) to profit from the market's decline or buy put options on the stock.
The double top pattern can be a very profitable and highly predictable price action pattern.Usually dramatic drops over the next 2 weeks to 2 months of the second peak price.
Reason three. Apple broke below its recent double bottom of $167.19 in September 2023 and $165.24 in October 2023.
In April 2024 Apple dropped to a $164 range over 3 days or from April 19 to 23,2024. The 48 to 68 million was not convincing or heavy enough to suggest that a major low had truly formed on Apple stock.
If it was one day,it would be okay. But for 3 consecutive days of $164 range trading is a bit much. Trouble in Apple paradise or further downside coming soon ?
Double Bottom breakdowns on charts are bearish patterns that mark a downside support break.
But you might say the breakdown was only $1.00 or less from last 6 months highs.
Reason four. Apple is below its 20 days moving average of $169.37. Where it has been much of the last 3 months. Apple stock current price is $169.30
Reason five. Apple hit another double top formation recently. Hit $178.67 in March 2024 and $178.36 in April 2024. And more worrisome,it broke the neckline of $167 per share in April 2024. Very bad.
Reason six. Apple’s market share declines in China by 25% year over year according to Canalys Report.
Apple declined the most among the top five, with 10.0 million units, a year-on-year decrease of 25%. Canalys Senior Analyst Toby Zhu commented. Pronounced downtrend. Not a good trend.
iPhone sales spiral 25% in China as Apple drops from first place to fifth. April 26,2024
According to Canalys, Apple saw its shipments in China hit 10 million units in Q1 2024, a decrease of 25% year-over-year.
This gives Apple a 15% share of the Chinese smartphone market, down from the 20% share it held at the same time last year.
https://9to5mac.com/2024/04/26/iphone-shipments-china-q1-2024-decline/
https://canalys.com/newsroom/china-smartphone-market-Q1-2024
With the continued expansion of the HarmonyOS ecosystem, Huawei emerges as the third OS for smartphones and other edge computing devices, breaking the two-horse race of Android and iOS in Mainland China.That is a big deal.
Apple is expanding its manufacturing outside of China. Definitely a good thing.
But can the India manufacturing and sales help overcome the 25% China drop in units or iPhones.
Here is a sign of things to come for Apple stock.
For years, eight words were stamped on the back of every iPhone: “Designed by Apple in California. Assembled in China.” The slogan illustrated the tech giant’s two power bases: its headquarters in Silicon Valley and the manufacturing giant it had become in the factory of the world.
Apple no longer lists the words on the back of the iPhone. When the company launched a new supplier transparency website earlier this month, the phrase was updated: “Designed by Apple in California. Made by people everywhere.”
Reason seven.
Expected EPS for May 2,2024 is $1.51
The latest earnings whisper is $1.50
Expected revenue for May 2,2024 is $90.61 billion.
The latest revenue whisper is $89.79 billion.
How can Apple meet these earnings and revenue with the huge 25% drops in units in China in its most recent quarter,
Make the revenue shortfall from India and Europe.
According to revenue and earnings whispers,Apple will barely be under expected earnings and revenue.
Based on this, Apple should drop on earnings date.
Unless Apple gives strong guidance regarding AI or Artificial Intelligence during the earnings call.
But what about Apple Watch sales. And Vision Pro sales. Plus the iCar exit.
Reason eight. Apple Vision Pro sales tank.
According to prominent analyst Ming-Chi Kuo, Apple has revised its Apple Vision Pro shipment expectations for 2024 down to 400,000 to 450,000 units.
Apple originally expected to sell as many as 800,000 Apple Vision Pro units this year, reports Kuo, who has accurately broken news on the company over the years due to his supply chain contacts.
The Apple Vision Pro is undoubtedly a flop as of April 2024.When is the last time you heard anything good about it in the news.Disappeared like lightning.
Will the “iCar” Exit Impact Apple Stock.
Why Apple scrapped its autonomous vehicle (AV) project, while iPhone earnings could be a bigger concern. April 12,2024
https://www.morningstar.ca/ca/news/248065/will-the-%E2%80%9Cicar%E2%80%9D-exit-impact-apple-stock.aspx
Apple Watch X: The latest on Apple’s plans for a major design refresh April 24,2024
https://9to5mac.com/2024/04/24/apple-watch-x-design-overhaul/
Are you bearish or bullish on Apple stock. Could a steep drop after earnings begin bigger drops in the SP500 index or SPY ETF.
Reason nine.
Jim Cramer is bearish on Apple stock.
Jim Cramer said on April 22,2024 or on Cramer’s Mad Dash that Apple could hit $160 after earnings report on May 2,2024.
That is a huge $9 drop from current April 26,2024 levels of $169 per share.
Despite all these nine negatives, the options market is extremely bullish for May 2,2024.
The put call open interest ratio is decidedly bullish at 0.57 for the May 3,2024 contracts.
A falling put-call ratio, or below 0.7 and approaching 0.5, is considered a bullish indicator
For May 2024 the put call open interest ratio varies from 0.17 to 0.66 Very bullish.
For June 2024 the put call open interest ratio varies from 0.32 to 0.72 Definitely bullish.
The average investor thinks Apple is headed in the wrong direction. Maximum pessimism.
Morgan Stanley likes Apple stock.
But even suggest that there will be post-earnings weakness and that Apple will significantly lower guidance or a 4 to 7% drop for next quarter.
Buy the dip on tech stocks like Apple and Nvidia ahead of earnings, Morgan Stanley says.
We believe Apple will slightly beat March 2024 Quarter ests, but guide to June Quarter revs/implied EPS 4-7% below Street.
At $165, this appears priced in but in today’s volatile market, it’s a tricky setup.
That said, with Apple’s biggest WWDC ever on June 10th, we’d buy post-earnings weakness. Remain OW; $210 PT.
If Apple drops on opening of May 3,2024 will SPY 1 day options bought on May 2,2024 be a smart play for the next day. Hint.
In other words,will the Apple stock drop trigger a 1% plus drop on the SPY ETF.Very likely.
What say you regards. Listen to the option investors or options money flow.
Or is Jim Cramer right on Apple.
submitted by MaryAnnGrysbeck to wallstreetbets [link] [comments]
At least a 5% further drop from $169 levels.To $160 or lower.
I just cannot see any good news except the fairly bullish open interest on the latest option contracts. But is that enough ?
Even Jim Cramer is quietly bearish as of April 24,2024.
Reason one. Apple had a death cross on March 14,2024.Just over 7 weeks ago. Long time to be under the 200 days moving average .
Current 200 days Simple Moving Average is $181.36 per share.
Current 50 days Simple Moving Average is $173.29 per share.
Current 14 days Relative Strength Index is a 47.33 Definitely not oversold by any means. In the low 30’s it would be oversold and ripe for a strong bounce.
In the case of Apple stock, its 50-day “line crossed below its 200-day line on March 14,2024.
The last time Apple did that was in June 2022, and the stock was already several weeks into a major decline.
The two lines touched again in September 2022 and the death cross expanded from there.
https://www.investors.com/research/apple-stock-aapl-death-cross/
The Death Cross is a technical analysis pattern in the stock market that occurs when a short-term moving average crosses below a long-term moving average.
Typically, the Death Cross involves the 50-day moving average crossing below the 200-day moving average.
This pattern is considered bearish and may suggest a potential reversal of an uptrend, indicating that a stock or market might be entering a period of decline.
Reason two. Apple had a double top of $199.37 in December 2023 and $196.13 in January 2024. This is extremely significant.
A double top is an extremely bearish technical reversal pattern that forms after an asset reaches a high price two consecutive times with a moderate decline between the two highs.
It is confirmed once the asset's price falls below a support level equal to the low between the two prior highs.
The double top pattern is a bearish reversal pattern that can be observed at the top of an uptrend and signals an impending reversal.
The double top chart pattern resembles the letter “M”, due to the two equal highs.
A double top is a chart pattern that signals the end of an uptrend.
Therefore, when the market forms a double top, close out long positions (sell)before prices fall.
You can also take a short position (short sell) to profit from the market's decline or buy put options on the stock.
The double top pattern can be a very profitable and highly predictable price action pattern.Usually dramatic drops over the next 2 weeks to 2 months of the second peak price.
Reason three. Apple broke below its recent double bottom of $167.19 in September 2023 and $165.24 in October 2023.
In April 2024 Apple dropped to a $164 range over 3 days or from April 19 to 23,2024. The 48 to 68 million was not convincing or heavy enough to suggest that a major low had truly formed on Apple stock.
If it was one day,it would be okay. But for 3 consecutive days of $164 range trading is a bit much. Trouble in Apple paradise or further downside coming soon ?
Double Bottom breakdowns on charts are bearish patterns that mark a downside support break.
But you might say the breakdown was only $1.00 or less from last 6 months highs.
Reason four. Apple is below its 20 days moving average of $169.37. Where it has been much of the last 3 months. Apple stock current price is $169.30
Reason five. Apple hit another double top formation recently. Hit $178.67 in March 2024 and $178.36 in April 2024. And more worrisome,it broke the neckline of $167 per share in April 2024. Very bad.
Reason six. Apple’s market share declines in China by 25% year over year according to Canalys Report.
Apple declined the most among the top five, with 10.0 million units, a year-on-year decrease of 25%. Canalys Senior Analyst Toby Zhu commented. Pronounced downtrend. Not a good trend.
iPhone sales spiral 25% in China as Apple drops from first place to fifth. April 26,2024
According to Canalys, Apple saw its shipments in China hit 10 million units in Q1 2024, a decrease of 25% year-over-year.
This gives Apple a 15% share of the Chinese smartphone market, down from the 20% share it held at the same time last year.
https://9to5mac.com/2024/04/26/iphone-shipments-china-q1-2024-decline/
https://canalys.com/newsroom/china-smartphone-market-Q1-2024
With the continued expansion of the HarmonyOS ecosystem, Huawei emerges as the third OS for smartphones and other edge computing devices, breaking the two-horse race of Android and iOS in Mainland China.That is a big deal.
Apple is expanding its manufacturing outside of China. Definitely a good thing.
But can the India manufacturing and sales help overcome the 25% China drop in units or iPhones.
Here is a sign of things to come for Apple stock.
For years, eight words were stamped on the back of every iPhone: “Designed by Apple in California. Assembled in China.” The slogan illustrated the tech giant’s two power bases: its headquarters in Silicon Valley and the manufacturing giant it had become in the factory of the world.
Apple no longer lists the words on the back of the iPhone. When the company launched a new supplier transparency website earlier this month, the phrase was updated: “Designed by Apple in California. Made by people everywhere.”
Reason seven.
Expected EPS for May 2,2024 is $1.51
The latest earnings whisper is $1.50
Expected revenue for May 2,2024 is $90.61 billion.
The latest revenue whisper is $89.79 billion.
How can Apple meet these earnings and revenue with the huge 25% drops in units in China in its most recent quarter,
Make the revenue shortfall from India and Europe.
According to revenue and earnings whispers,Apple will barely be under expected earnings and revenue.
Based on this, Apple should drop on earnings date.
Unless Apple gives strong guidance regarding AI or Artificial Intelligence during the earnings call.
But what about Apple Watch sales. And Vision Pro sales. Plus the iCar exit.
Reason eight. Apple Vision Pro sales tank.
According to prominent analyst Ming-Chi Kuo, Apple has revised its Apple Vision Pro shipment expectations for 2024 down to 400,000 to 450,000 units.
Apple originally expected to sell as many as 800,000 Apple Vision Pro units this year, reports Kuo, who has accurately broken news on the company over the years due to his supply chain contacts.
The Apple Vision Pro is undoubtedly a flop as of April 2024.When is the last time you heard anything good about it in the news.Disappeared like lightning.
Will the “iCar” Exit Impact Apple Stock.
Why Apple scrapped its autonomous vehicle (AV) project, while iPhone earnings could be a bigger concern. April 12,2024
https://www.morningstar.ca/ca/news/248065/will-the-%E2%80%9Cicar%E2%80%9D-exit-impact-apple-stock.aspx
Apple Watch X: The latest on Apple’s plans for a major design refresh April 24,2024
https://9to5mac.com/2024/04/24/apple-watch-x-design-overhaul/
Are you bearish or bullish on Apple stock. Could a steep drop after earnings begin bigger drops in the SP500 index or SPY ETF.
Reason nine.
Jim Cramer is bearish on Apple stock.
Jim Cramer said on April 22,2024 or on Cramer’s Mad Dash that Apple could hit $160 after earnings report on May 2,2024.
That is a huge $9 drop from current April 26,2024 levels of $169 per share.
Despite all these nine negatives, the options market is extremely bullish for May 2,2024.
The put call open interest ratio is decidedly bullish at 0.57 for the May 3,2024 contracts.
A falling put-call ratio, or below 0.7 and approaching 0.5, is considered a bullish indicator
For May 2024 the put call open interest ratio varies from 0.17 to 0.66 Very bullish.
For June 2024 the put call open interest ratio varies from 0.32 to 0.72 Definitely bullish.
The average investor thinks Apple is headed in the wrong direction. Maximum pessimism.
Morgan Stanley likes Apple stock.
But even suggest that there will be post-earnings weakness and that Apple will significantly lower guidance or a 4 to 7% drop for next quarter.
Buy the dip on tech stocks like Apple and Nvidia ahead of earnings, Morgan Stanley says.
We believe Apple will slightly beat March 2024 Quarter ests, but guide to June Quarter revs/implied EPS 4-7% below Street.
At $165, this appears priced in but in today’s volatile market, it’s a tricky setup.
That said, with Apple’s biggest WWDC ever on June 10th, we’d buy post-earnings weakness. Remain OW; $210 PT.
If Apple drops on opening of May 3,2024 will SPY 1 day options bought on May 2,2024 be a smart play for the next day. Hint.
In other words,will the Apple stock drop trigger a 1% plus drop on the SPY ETF.Very likely.
What say you regards. Listen to the option investors or options money flow.
Or is Jim Cramer right on Apple.
2024.04.23 21:55 Ok-Discussion-7720 Have y'all heard of this restaurant? I wonder if they'll expand to Houston...
From Texas Monthly:
The Battle of Big Taco
With their anything-goes approach to ingredients—and deep-pocketed investors—Torchy's Tacos and Velvet Taco have ambitious plans to expand nationally.
Something stops Clay Dover cold as he strolls behind the restaurant’s counter. The CEO of Velvet Taco has been all smiles and high fives since he entered the chain’s location in the Grandscape shopping center, amid the suburban sprawl north of Dallas. But now, staring at a few chicken strips in a bin under a heat lamp, he cuts off his friendly patter midsentence and pulls out one of the little brown hunks. He turns it over in his hand, tears it apart, takes a bite, and throws the rest in the trash with a faint trace of a pucker on his face. He’s not going to call anyone out on the spot, but he’s clearly not pleased.
Dover happens to be one of the world’s leading experts on chicken strips. As a former executive with Raising Cane’s, a Plano-based restaurant chain whose entire menu revolves around chicken strips, he knows instantly whether they’ve been made with tenderloins, a narrow cut found on the underside of the breast—“It’s the filet of chicken,” he says—or from an oversized breast that’s been sliced. He can detect whether a strip is crispy on the outside and moist on the inside or has devolved into a bumpy slab of rubber.
Today the strips in question were too small and too bready, suggesting that the crew had been serving customers the better pieces out of a batch and leaving the remains too long under the heater. The chicken didn’t pull apart with the telltale ease of a fresh tender. “Thirty-five percent of the protein in our tacos has chicken tenders in it,” he explains. “So if it’s not hot and juicy on the inside, if it’s not perfect—if you screw up the chicken, you’re done.”
Velvet Taco, which launched in Dallas thirteen years ago and now runs 46 locations in seven states, numbers among a handful of chains with the potential to redefine what a fast-food taco looks and tastes like. Sixty-plus years after Taco Bell turned a regional staple into a cheesy drive-through treat, there has yet to emerge a serious challenger with national reach, besides Chipotle, where tacos are a menu afterthought. But Velvet faces stiff competition for that prize position, and nowhere more than at home in Texas.
A few days after Dover’s Grandscape chicken-strip discovery and 220 miles south, Mike Rypka pulls on a fashionable knit blazer over his black T-shirt and heads into a conference room at the headquarters of Torchy’s Tacos, in East Austin. It’s headshot day at the chain Rypka founded in an Austin food trailer, in 2006, and which now operates 127 locations in fourteen states. “Sometimes I have to look professional,” he mutters, before stepping in front of the camera and transforming instantly from a 48-year-old tattooed dude into a corporate executive with thousands of employees.
Torchy’s started as the kind of lovably quirky local outfit whose devoted followers treat it like an extension of their personalities. But as the chain conquered city after city, it began to mirror the experience of a beloved local band that signs with a major label and lands a radio hit only to see its fans cry “sellout.” Rypka at one point stepped aside to make room for a seasoned CEO, but then he stepped back in to lead a changed company—one that’s poised to become a household name in every part of the country.
In phrasing that many taqueros might take umbrage at, Velvet’s and Torchy’s offerings have been described as “elevated” takes on the taco. What that means exactly differs quite a bit between the two chains, but each offers creative combinations of ingredients and an irreverent brand identity that trades on hedonism. Both have taken large investments—hundreds of millions of dollars—from coastal private-equity firms aiming to grow them into enormous publicly traded companies.
Mexican restaurants are on a tear in the U.S., recording some $50 billion in sales in 2022 and growing by more than 9 percent annually, far outpacing the overall economy, according to food-service consultancy Technomic. Meanwhile, Latinos have grown into the second-largest ethnic group in the country, accounting for roughly 20 percent of the population (and double that in Texas, where they constitute the largest ethnic group). As the U.S. absorbs the effects of changing demographics, opportunities for multiple national taco chains will only increase.
To be sure, other players are scrambling to claim a piece of that emerging mega industry—call it Big Taco—but Velvet and Torchy’s share an important advantage in being headquartered in Dallas and Austin, two of the best places anywhere for building food brands. “Both companies are expected to grow much faster than their competitive set,” says David Henkes, a senior principal with Technomic. It’s not surprising that the future of the taco business is being invented in Texas, but the reason has less to do with the state’s Mexican heritage and 1,200-mile international border and more to do with its proclivity for shrewd business.
Turning tacos into cash has been a Texas tradition since the late nineteenth century. Though tortillas emerged as far back as 10,000 BC, it wasn’t until the eighteenth century, according to the prevailing theory, that a stuffed tortilla became a “taco”—a word that Mexican silver miners also used to describe the little explosive paper-and-gunpowder wraps that they stuck in rock walls. When a group of women who came to be known as the Chili Queens of San Antonio started selling food from pushcarts and colorful stalls in the city’s plazas in or near the 1880s, they ushered in a blending of Mexican and American flavors that grew into Tex-Mex cuisine. Among the dishes that took off as a result—chili con carne, enchiladas, tamales—the taco was the most convenient.
It took a Californian, though, to build the first big brand around the taco. Into a crisp-fried tortilla, Taco Bell founder Glen Bell essentially stuffed a deconstructed cheeseburger—ground beef, iceberg lettuce, and shredded cheese. It was 1962. McDonald’s had revolutionized restaurants just a few years earlier with a quick-service concept that Bell adopted for his chain. By 1978, Taco Bell had nearly one thousand locations—including stores throughout Texas—thanks to an aggressive franchising model also borrowed from McDonald’s. With Mexican food still considered somewhat exotic in much of the United States, Taco Bell didn’t face as much competition as its burger brethren. But after it helped usher tacos into the mainstream, the differences between its food and that of mom-and-pop taquerias suggested an enormous opportunity to build something fresher and more authentic.
Enter Felix Stehling, the owner of a bar called the Crystal Pistol, who opened the first Taco Cabana in a decommissioned Dairy Queen in San Antonio in 1978. While Taco Bell emphasized assembly-line speed and precooked ingredients, Taco Cabana offered house-made tortillas, sizzling fajita plates, and a salsa bar. Taco Cabana’s success prompted a Minnesota entrepreneur to copy its formula almost exactly, in a Houston-based chain called Two Pesos. The resulting trademark lawsuit went all the way to the U.S. Supreme Court, in 1992. Taco Cabana prevailed and eventually bought Two Pesos. But after Stehling handed the CEO reins to a former Fuddruckers executive, the emphasis on fresh ingredients began to slip, and ultimately, so did sales. The chain, which had at one point expanded to seven states, has 149 locations today, all but six of them in Texas.
As Taco Cabana’s fortunes waned, a new entrant called Chipotle was rising in Colorado with a message about ethically sourced ingredients and an investment from McDonald’s. Chipotle was the first Taco Bell challenger to take a serious bite out of the market. By the time it went public in 2006, the chain had nearly five hundred locations in 21 states. Today it has more than three thousand, compared with Taco Bell’s eight thousand, and hauled in about $10 billion in 2023. By emphasizing the quality and freshness of its food, Chipotle popularized the fast-casual dining concept and ignited an industry revolution, an upscaling of fast food without sacrificing the “fast.” Workers chopped onions and lettuce by hand every day. Customers could see raw chicken being grilled on a flattop in the back of the kitchen. Some Chipotle items—such as carnitas and barbacoa—are prepared in a central kitchen and show up in big plastic bags, but none of it arrives frozen.
Amid the stampede of restaurant concepts that then attempted to re-create the Chipotle phenomenon in countless other formats in the first two decades of this century—burgers, grain bowls, pizzas, salads, sandwiches—Shake Shack stood out. Not only did the chain started by New York fine-dining impresario Danny Meyer create a better burger—a melty pile of guilty pleasures packaged in a spongy potato roll—but it charged two or three times as much as McDonald’s for a meal. While McDonald’s and Chipotle report some $3 million in annual sales per location, Shake Shack pulls in $4 million or more.
Shake Shack also showed how an aggressive private-equity investment could grow a restaurant brand as if it were a tech firm. Leonard Green & Partners, based in Los Angeles, had funded the expansion of other companies, such as the Container Store, based in the Dallas suburb of Coppell. It invested in Shake Shack in 2012, when the company operated only a handful of restaurants, and took it public less than three years later, with 63 locations. By then the goal for investors had shifted from finding the next Chipotle to finding the next Shake Shack—and it did not go unnoticed that in the taco space, there were fewer large competitors than in burgers.
Taco Bell delivered lower annual sales per location—about $1.6 million—than burger chains. And as much as Chipotle had changed the game, its menu emphasized burritos, not tacos. Meanwhile tacos were becoming a national obsession, with tiny trailers turning out Mexican-style street tacos, Netflix commissioning taco shows, and one storied magazine even hiring a dedicated taco editor (ahem, Texas Monthly; ahem, the James Beard Award–winning José R. Ralat).
The door was open for a new taco giant—if it had a novel concept.
There may be no metro area in America with more headquarters of mass-market restaurant chains than Dallas–Fort Worth (though Orlando offers stiff competition). It only makes sense, considering DFW’s low $7.25 minimum wage and dearth of natural or political barriers to suburban development. Chili’s, Cici’s, Which Wich, Wingstop—Big D dining concepts go on and on, their towering signs punctuating the view from North Texas highways while mirrored office buildings just beyond house their executive suites. Before Clay Dover took over as the CEO of Velvet Taco, the company was run by its founder, Randy DeWitt, among the most prolific Dallas restaurateurs.
A former commercial real estate salesman who developed strip centers around Walmarts and other national retailers, DeWitt has arguably passed even the late, legendary Norman Brinker as a restaurant savant. (Brinker brought the world Bennigan’s and Steak and Ale—brands that not only created the casual-dining category and established Dallas’s dominance but also ushered in lasting innovations, such as the salad bar.)
DeWitt, 65 years old with an eye-crinkling smile and a flourishing head of politician hair, first fell in love with restaurants as a bartender in Waco while he was a student at Baylor University. He got his start in Dallas in the nineties with a coffee bar and then a seafood chain called Rockfish, whose expansion was financially backed by Brinker’s company, Brinker International. In 2005, DeWitt came up with the concept for a racy sports bar called Twin Peaks. The now infamous chain, he says, unapologetically, would “do everything better” than breastaurant pioneer Hooters, from its double entendre menu items to the acreage of skin displayed by its all-female waitstaff to the not-so-subtle innuendo in the brand name.
By 2013, Bloomberg described Twin Peaks as the fastest-growing chain in America, and DeWitt was an abundantly wealthy man. He moved a few years ago from exurban Frisco to exclusive Highland Park, where he rebuilt a home to include underground parking, a turret, and various Spanish-inspired architectural details that match those of the glittering Highland Park Village shopping plaza a few steps away.
As his empire took shape, DeWitt determined that his strengths lay in spinning up new restaurant concepts and getting them started, not in operating vast chains. So he built his company, Front Burner Restaurants, as a kind of incubator aimed at selling its creations once they proved viable. At the Ranch at Las Colinas, a Texas-themed restaurant he’d opened in Irving in 2008, he noticed the line cooks were experimenting with tacos at the end of each week, combining unexpected ingredients and feeding the staff. DeWitt began looking forward to tasting their latest creations: a rotisserie chicken taco one night, a shrimp-and-grits taco the next.
Light bulb. He’d seen plenty of new and old taquerias that focused on traditional street tacos or Tex-Mex flavors. But what if he could build a restaurant around the idea of the “liberated taco”? He originally planned to call the chain Taco Libre, but when that name turned out to have been taken by a caterer in California, he settled on Velvet Taco—“implying this is luxury and refined and something more upscale,” he says now. On the menu: a fried-oyster taco (since discontinued), a chicken tikka taco (still the chain’s best-seller), and a smashburger taco that one-ups Taco Bell’s deconstructed cheeseburger by reconstructing it.
For the logo, DeWitt chose a design that evoked a royal medallion. Or perhaps both the name and image slyly evoke a part of the female anatomy that Twin Peaks hadn’t. He has a hard time denying that. “We like playful names,” he says with a shrug, before insisting that any innuendo is accidental.
Clay Dover, boyish at 52, has the ambiguous logo embroidered into nearly every piece of clothing he owns, including shirts he wears out for date nights with his wife. He joined Velvet Taco in 2017, when it operated just four locations—in Dallas, Fort Worth, Houston, and Chicago. DeWitt had just sold a majority stake to a private equity group called L. Catterton that’s based in Greenwich, Connecticut, and affiliated with the family of Bernard Arnault, the French luxury kingpin who runs the LVMH conglomerate and regularly trades places with Elon Musk and Jeff Bezos as the world’s wealthiest person.
Before his seven years at Raising Cane’s, Dover led a Dallas restaurant group that owned a passel of once successful chains that had lost their edge—Norm Brinker creations Bennigan’s and Steak and Ale, along with steakhouse rivals Bonanza and Ponderosa. He’d met DeWitt, and they’d talked about working together (though not at Twin Peaks—“My wife would kill me,” Dover says), so he’d watched the early growth of Velvet Taco with great interest. The idea was fresh. It reflected a changing Dallas—and a changing country. The restaurant kept its purple neon lights on until four in the morning, to serve revelers in need of taco therapy before calling it a night. Dover spent a full day and night watching the scene at the Fort Worth location before he agreed to join. “It’s a rockin’ place,” he concluded.
Private equity investors tend to come in two flavors: the ones that strip a company for parts and sell them off and the ones that help a promising brand grow to the next stage before selling it to an industry giant or taking it public. Catterton is the latter, and in the five years that it was the majority owner of Velvet Taco, it expanded the chain from 4 locations to 31—before selling it in late 2021 to another private equity company, Leonard Green & Partners—the same $70 billion fund that took Shake Shack public in 2015.
Velvet’s headquarters occupies 10,000 square feet on the second floor of a building overlooking the Dallas North Tollway. There Dover oversees a staff of several dozen who work on everything from marketing campaigns to real estate development. The business end of a taco brand that aims to conquer the world looks more like a 2010s-era tech startup than your typical taqueria. In the Velvet office, a Ping-Pong table stands amid a row of cubicles near a mural of Marie Antoinette sensually eating a slice of the brand’s signature red velvet cake.
When Dover joined Velvet, he was the sole corporate-level employee; everyone else worked at one of the restaurants. Rather than tinkering with the menu, he took his first year to “understand the brand and what it means to consumers”—which involved developing a kind of handbook of catchy slogans meant to encapsulate the culture and principles of the workplace and the food the company hoped to offer. Out went “temple of the liberated taco,” for instance, and in came “tacos without borders,” a more sensitive phrasing that avoided the suggestion that the taco’s Mexican heritage was somehow holding it back.
Today the corporate team’s priorities are more tangible, including how to maintain quality standards at Velvet’s first airport outpost at Houston Hobby. Self-service touchscreen-order kiosks are another priority, but where to place them in a restaurant is a big debate. It’s one thing to figure out where they’ll get the most use, but will cost savings on labor come with trade-offs? How will average order size change? Will diners be more or less likely to explore the menu?
Perhaps most important, there’s the matter of where to expand. Dover plans for eight more locations in 2024, and then a growth acceleration in 2025. In September, Velvet opened its first restaurant in Florida—in Fort Lauderdale. Arizona is next. At some point they’ll likely expand to Southern California, home to the headquarters of both Chipotle and Taco Bell, along with a million tiny taco stands that measure up just fine against their Texas counterparts.
A team from Velvet that included DeWitt recently spent several days scouting SoCal locations and testing tacos from local chains. One restaurant served “almost exactly the same taco” as Velvet’s popular chicken tikka, DeWitt says with a nervy grin. “We know they were inspired by Velvet Taco. But what are you going to do? I came away reassured that if and when we go to that market—” he stops himself. “I shouldn’t say ‘if.’ When we go to that market, we are going to be very successful.”
On a busy weeknight near the southern end of the hypergentrified South Congress shopping district, in Austin, a steady stream of families and teenagers and a single pair of old South Austin hippie types fill the tables of an architecturally ambitious Torchy’s location designed to evoke a fifties roadside attraction. With a ridged metal roof and a series of bright red X-shaped support structures lining the front, the restaurant functions as something like a flagship location for Torchy’s—its most distinctive building, on Austin’s most iconic avenue. Runners scurry about delivering trays of tacos with names such as the Democrat (brisket, avocado, and onions on a corn tortilla), the Republican (jalapeño-cheddar sausage and pico on flour), the Tipsy Chick, and the Trailer Park, along with beers and ranch waters.
If Velvet Taco is the consummate Dallas chain—from its flashy branding to its corporate lineage—Torchy’s is as Austin as it gets. Rypka’s original Torchy’s trailer anchored a gravel lot just a few blocks from today’s flagship, on a then-scruffy stretch of South First Street across from a ramshackle botanica.
Rypka grew up in the Washington, D.C., suburbs amid the eighties punk scene—an only child of divorce whose dad, a celebrated photojournalist, was living on another continent. He picked up drugs and alcohol by age eight, developed a crack habit by fourteen, and spent two years in and out of rehab before getting clean at seventeen. Less than a year into community college, where he’d hoped to train to become a drug and alcohol counselor, Rypka woke up one night with a bolt of inspiration to drop out and become a chef.
By the time he finished culinary school a couple of years later, he knew all too well how rampant substance abuse was in professional kitchens, so he sought a straitlaced job with a company that ran in-house dining halls for large corporations. He started at the World Bank, in D.C., before working at Enron, in Houston (“I literally served the last supper there,” he says), and then at Dell, where he fell in love with Austin and decided to stay. Then an opportunity arose to repurpose a friend’s old barbecue trailer.
In 2006 food trucks were still a novel concept, but Rypka envisioned a path from those humble beginnings to a proper restaurant or even a small chain. He just needed the kind of bold flavors that make a lasting impression. From his World Bank days, where he’d run a food court with stations representing various global regions, he’d developed a wide palette of preparations to experiment with. And when he took a tour of Texas taco joints to assess the competition—in San Antonio, in the Rio Grande Valley, in Houston and Dallas and the east side of Austin—he saw his opportunity. “They were all good, but they were kind of in the same genre,” he says. “They weren’t doing anything to sort of flip it on its head.”
Authenticity wasn’t what he was after; he was a suburban East Coast white guy with a creative streak, so he built a menu accordingly. “Not everybody in the world uses serrano peppers the same way they use them in Central America,” he says, “so you can take ingredients like that and do fun things with them. Our playground is kind of limitless when it comes to food.” Each month Torchy’s offers a different limited-time special. Its first was the Trailer Park, which put hunks of fried chicken in the starring role, alongside pico de gallo and green chiles. Ordering it “trashy” style meant dousing it in queso, turning it into a celebration of gluttony that would make Guy Fieri proud. It was a home run that soon joined the regular menu.
The early years of Torchy’s coincided with the peak of Austin’s capitalizing on its “weird” image. The city hadn’t fully succumbed to the forces of Big Tech, and it still represented a kind of laid-back lifestyle mecca, even if the old-timers were already fearing a corporate takeover. Torchy’s fit right in, with graffiti-inspired bubble letters in the logo and a little red devil mascot flanked by the words “Damn Good.” Austin was a party town, and this was indulgent party food. With taco names like the since-discontinued Dirty Sanchez (a reference to . . . well, you can look it up), it also flirted with the bounds of decency (or gleefully trampled right over them).
After the taco trailer took off, Rypka opened a brick-and-mortar shop down the street, and then another location, and another, and by 2010 the chain had expanded to Dallas. Torchy’s hadn’t just drafted on Austin’s vibe; it had become something of an Austin icon itself, popular enough that even then-president Obama stopped at the South First restaurant on his way downtown from the airport before attending an event in 2016. The company had just opened its first location outside Texas, in Denver. The world awaited.
Rypka, who shaves his head and road trips in a lowrider Volkswagen bus, tells his story in a hexagonal sitting room that juts off the back of his three-story home built into the side of a steep slope above Lake Austin. In the past decade plus, the start-up boom that accompanied Austin’s explosive growth transcended tech and began to turn out trendy new consumer brands. Some of these have blown up into international icons—Kendra Scott, Tecovas, Yeti—but most of the restaurant chains born in the capital—including another beloved taco shop, Tacodeli—have remained local or regional cult phenomena.
In the far more populous Dallas–Fort Worth area, by contrast, where new chain eateries can draw from a large pool of back-office talent with deep industry experience, growing quickly by running a proven playbook is more readily achievable, even if the results don’t always inspire a passionate following.
As Torchy’s began to expand beyond Texas and exceeded forty restaurants, it needed money to fund its next phase. General Atlantic, a New York–based private equity group, bought “a significant minority stake” in 2017—and three years later added to its stake with a $400 million second investment. Among the first moves when GA came on board was to bring in the professionals—big-time executives with big-time experience who could turn Rypka’s promising little project into a global giant.
Rypka stepped aside, while G. J. Hart, who had most recently served as the CEO of California Pizza Kitchen, took over. Hart had made his name in the industry overseeing the expansion of Texas Roadhouse from $63 million to more than $1 billion in annual revenue. (Texas Roadhouse, alas, is not a Texas brand; it’s based in Louisville, Kentucky.) During Hart’s four years in charge, the Torchy’s restaurant count shot up from 45 to 96, even though the COVID-19 pandemic decimated the office lunch rush and dine-in traffic in general.
Meanwhile, Rypka, who had been eager for a break from the business, grew frustrated by what he regarded as the new management’s unforced errors. Some of the new expansion cities, he felt, were questionable choices. “They’d pick markets where Roadhouse did well,” he says. Shreveport, Louisiana. Wichita, Kansas. “But we’re not at all the same customer as Roadhouse—which is a pretty blue-collar, red-state type of deal. I mean, I’m not afraid to say that we’re a f—ing liberal brand. You know what I mean?”
The corporate playbook that might make sense when Torchy’s has hundreds of locations didn’t work for a brand that was still relatively unknown outside Texas and Colorado, Rypka reasoned. Bloomberg reported in early 2021 that the chain was exploring an initial public offering that would value it at $1 billion in its stock market debut. But by the end of that year, the IPO had failed to materialize, some of the new locations were underperforming, and the staff at headquarters had ballooned to nearly two hundred. Hart stepped down.
Tired of what he terms “farting around at the lake,” Rypka returned as CEO with a newfound energy and focus. The company needed to get scrappy and entrepreneurial again, and that was his comfort zone. “I always do better when things are a little bit on fire,” he says. He laid off 65 employees at headquarters, closed three restaurants (including the two in Wichita), and started upgrading some ingredients— making fresh tortillas in the restaurants, for example. Now, from a one-story, metal-sided headquarters building in East Austin, he’s back to fanning out across the country, this time aiming to expand to cities such as Atlanta, Chicago, Nashville—and his old haunt, D.C.
It’s hard not to notice that the founders of both Torchy’s and Velvet Taco are non-Hispanic white men. So are the industry-veteran CEOs each company hired. So was the founder of Taco Bell. And the founders of two long-established, Texas-based Taco Bell copycats: Abilene-born Taco Bueno and Fort Worth’s Taco Casa. And the founder of Irving-based Fuzzy’s Taco Shop, a fast-growing franchise that’s aimed at a lower-priced tier of the market than Torchy’s and Velvet. Add Chipotle and California-based Del Taco to the list, for that matter, and on down through the ranks of Big Taco giants and aspirants.
Even the founder of San Antonio–born Taco Cabana fit the Anglo profile—and if there’s one large city in Texas that ought to be the birthplace of a Latino-founded taco giant, it’s San Antonio. Taco Palenque, which began in Laredo and has started to spread north into other parts of Texas, is an exception [see sidebar], but so far, it’s still a regional play. (Its founder, Juan Francisco Ochoa Sr., also started California-based El Pollo Loco.)
The taco has become as much an American staple as pizza, so it’s not surprising that its mass-market brands reflect corporate America’s boardrooms more than the culture that gave rise to the food in the first place. As Texas Monthly’s taco editor, José R. Ralat, puts it, “I’m not going to say that so-and-so shouldn’t open a business because it might represent cultural appropriation. But it’s worth noting that a popular food is always going to attract the type of entrepreneurs who already have the wealth or connections to gain access to investor meetings or consultants. And who is that? Not an immigrant.”
Ralat notes that Taco Cabana might be the one chain that historically “got it right”—by which he means emphasizing fresh ingredients, at least at first. Some of its locations still do an excellent job, he maintains, such as the one near where he lives, in the Oak Cliff section of Dallas. But the chain’s history is a cautionary tale, as it eventually prioritized growth over maintaining its standards. It became a publicly traded company, beholden to shareholders above all. Then it was acquired by a large New York–based restaurant group, then spun off into another outfit, the Dallas-based Fiesta Restaurant Group. Over the past several years, Taco Cabana’s sales plunged 20 percent, and the chain closed 23 restaurants. Now it’s poised to grow again, but with a new risk factor.
Taco Cabana was purchased in 2021 by a company called Yadav Enterprises, a Northern California–based operator of hundreds of franchise locations of Denny’s, Jack in the Box, TGI Fridays, and a few other brands. Franchising is a risky business model but a common one in the fast-food industry. It can enable rapid expansion because the franchisees—independent operators who buy the rights to open locations—take on the financial burden of building out new markets. But no matter how stringent a chain makes the process and guidelines for its franchisees, it inevitably loses some control over quality and branding.
Franchising tends to work best with the simplest operations, such as Taco Bell—or more recently, Fuzzy’s, where a whopping 98 percent of its more than one hundred locations are franchises. Anil Yadav, the owner of Taco Cabana’s new parent company, announced that he hoped to expand the chain to one thousand locations all over the country—naturally, by franchising.
Both Velvet Taco’s Clay Dover and Torchy’s founder Mike Rypka say they understand the hard realities of the franchise model and vow to keep their chains growing at a more measured pace, with the companies owning every location they open—much as Shake Shack and Chipotle have done. “We’re going to keep it real tight and ‘core’ because we want to maintain the control,” Dover explains. “The details, the quality of the ingredients, the prep that goes into things ahead of time—it’s hard to go, ‘Hey, we’re just going to whip out fifty of these.’ ”
As Torchy’s and Velvet continue their national expansions, they will bump up against other challengers. Ohio-based Condado, for instance, has locations in several Midwest and Southeast states, with a creative-tacos concept that sits roughly at the culinary midpoint between those of Torchy’s and Velvet, with Korean gochujang sauce and Thai chiles mixed in among more traditional Mexican American flavors. Florida-based Capital Taco has begun selling franchises to operators in other states eager to serve its self-described “Tex-Mex” menu that oddly includes a cheesesteak taco and something called the South Beach Hot Chicken.
At some point, the word “taco” can become a questionable description of the items on these menus. Velvet, for instance, serves a chicken-and-waffle taco that involves fried chicken wrapped in, you guessed it, a waffle, topped with maple syrup; it makes Taco Bell’s Doritos Cheesy Gordita Crunch taco look like a Oaxacan street-food classic. “The tortilla is just the vessel,” Dover told me one afternoon over a tableful of his tacos. “You can do anything you want”—including, apparently, replacing the tortilla.
In any case, the caliber of investors and number of dollars that have backed Torchy’s and Velvet make it obvious to anyone in the restaurant industry that they’re onto something big. “Tacos Are Poised to Take Over Fast Casual,” the trade publication Restaurant Business declared last year. Can Torchy’s or Velvet ever equal Taco Bell’s 8,000 stores? Not a chance, say the leaders of both companies. The menus are simply too complicated to work in that many locations, because lower-traffic spots just wouldn’t be able to turn a profit—whereas Chipotle and Taco Bell can because they require far fewer ingredients and employees. But 1,000 Torchy’s restaurants, or 1,500? “That’s the fully mature version, yeah,” Rypka says.
Early in a restaurant chain’s growth, the executives will choose expansion locations based largely on gut instinct and what’s available. But at a certain point, companies begin to rely on real estate consultants who weigh a complicated matrix of factors. A Taco Cabana might make sense in a Walmart parking lot, for instance, whereas a Torchy’s or Velvet works better in the shadow of a Target. They look at satellite images to understand whether an area’s crowds coincide with a chain’s top selling hours. They look at cellular data to profile demographics that match a chain’s strong suits. At Velvet Taco, a concentration of Indian Americans is a positive indicator—perhaps explaining the popularity of the chicken tikka taco, Dover suggests.
When all of those factors come together, sometimes the result is a Torchy’s and a Velvet sharing the same parking lot. In Lubbock, in a shopping center one short block from the campus of Texas Tech University, the two direct competitors sit not one hundred yards apart, with nothing but a Potbelly Sandwich Shop between them. In North Dallas, Torchy’s and Velvet occupy kitty-corner strip malls at the intersection of Preston Road and Forest Lane. The future of Big Taco might not be Torchy’s or Velvet, but both.
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The Battle of Big Taco
With their anything-goes approach to ingredients—and deep-pocketed investors—Torchy's Tacos and Velvet Taco have ambitious plans to expand nationally.
Something stops Clay Dover cold as he strolls behind the restaurant’s counter. The CEO of Velvet Taco has been all smiles and high fives since he entered the chain’s location in the Grandscape shopping center, amid the suburban sprawl north of Dallas. But now, staring at a few chicken strips in a bin under a heat lamp, he cuts off his friendly patter midsentence and pulls out one of the little brown hunks. He turns it over in his hand, tears it apart, takes a bite, and throws the rest in the trash with a faint trace of a pucker on his face. He’s not going to call anyone out on the spot, but he’s clearly not pleased.
Dover happens to be one of the world’s leading experts on chicken strips. As a former executive with Raising Cane’s, a Plano-based restaurant chain whose entire menu revolves around chicken strips, he knows instantly whether they’ve been made with tenderloins, a narrow cut found on the underside of the breast—“It’s the filet of chicken,” he says—or from an oversized breast that’s been sliced. He can detect whether a strip is crispy on the outside and moist on the inside or has devolved into a bumpy slab of rubber.
Today the strips in question were too small and too bready, suggesting that the crew had been serving customers the better pieces out of a batch and leaving the remains too long under the heater. The chicken didn’t pull apart with the telltale ease of a fresh tender. “Thirty-five percent of the protein in our tacos has chicken tenders in it,” he explains. “So if it’s not hot and juicy on the inside, if it’s not perfect—if you screw up the chicken, you’re done.”
Velvet Taco, which launched in Dallas thirteen years ago and now runs 46 locations in seven states, numbers among a handful of chains with the potential to redefine what a fast-food taco looks and tastes like. Sixty-plus years after Taco Bell turned a regional staple into a cheesy drive-through treat, there has yet to emerge a serious challenger with national reach, besides Chipotle, where tacos are a menu afterthought. But Velvet faces stiff competition for that prize position, and nowhere more than at home in Texas.
A few days after Dover’s Grandscape chicken-strip discovery and 220 miles south, Mike Rypka pulls on a fashionable knit blazer over his black T-shirt and heads into a conference room at the headquarters of Torchy’s Tacos, in East Austin. It’s headshot day at the chain Rypka founded in an Austin food trailer, in 2006, and which now operates 127 locations in fourteen states. “Sometimes I have to look professional,” he mutters, before stepping in front of the camera and transforming instantly from a 48-year-old tattooed dude into a corporate executive with thousands of employees.
Torchy’s started as the kind of lovably quirky local outfit whose devoted followers treat it like an extension of their personalities. But as the chain conquered city after city, it began to mirror the experience of a beloved local band that signs with a major label and lands a radio hit only to see its fans cry “sellout.” Rypka at one point stepped aside to make room for a seasoned CEO, but then he stepped back in to lead a changed company—one that’s poised to become a household name in every part of the country.
In phrasing that many taqueros might take umbrage at, Velvet’s and Torchy’s offerings have been described as “elevated” takes on the taco. What that means exactly differs quite a bit between the two chains, but each offers creative combinations of ingredients and an irreverent brand identity that trades on hedonism. Both have taken large investments—hundreds of millions of dollars—from coastal private-equity firms aiming to grow them into enormous publicly traded companies.
Mexican restaurants are on a tear in the U.S., recording some $50 billion in sales in 2022 and growing by more than 9 percent annually, far outpacing the overall economy, according to food-service consultancy Technomic. Meanwhile, Latinos have grown into the second-largest ethnic group in the country, accounting for roughly 20 percent of the population (and double that in Texas, where they constitute the largest ethnic group). As the U.S. absorbs the effects of changing demographics, opportunities for multiple national taco chains will only increase.
To be sure, other players are scrambling to claim a piece of that emerging mega industry—call it Big Taco—but Velvet and Torchy’s share an important advantage in being headquartered in Dallas and Austin, two of the best places anywhere for building food brands. “Both companies are expected to grow much faster than their competitive set,” says David Henkes, a senior principal with Technomic. It’s not surprising that the future of the taco business is being invented in Texas, but the reason has less to do with the state’s Mexican heritage and 1,200-mile international border and more to do with its proclivity for shrewd business.
Turning tacos into cash has been a Texas tradition since the late nineteenth century. Though tortillas emerged as far back as 10,000 BC, it wasn’t until the eighteenth century, according to the prevailing theory, that a stuffed tortilla became a “taco”—a word that Mexican silver miners also used to describe the little explosive paper-and-gunpowder wraps that they stuck in rock walls. When a group of women who came to be known as the Chili Queens of San Antonio started selling food from pushcarts and colorful stalls in the city’s plazas in or near the 1880s, they ushered in a blending of Mexican and American flavors that grew into Tex-Mex cuisine. Among the dishes that took off as a result—chili con carne, enchiladas, tamales—the taco was the most convenient.
It took a Californian, though, to build the first big brand around the taco. Into a crisp-fried tortilla, Taco Bell founder Glen Bell essentially stuffed a deconstructed cheeseburger—ground beef, iceberg lettuce, and shredded cheese. It was 1962. McDonald’s had revolutionized restaurants just a few years earlier with a quick-service concept that Bell adopted for his chain. By 1978, Taco Bell had nearly one thousand locations—including stores throughout Texas—thanks to an aggressive franchising model also borrowed from McDonald’s. With Mexican food still considered somewhat exotic in much of the United States, Taco Bell didn’t face as much competition as its burger brethren. But after it helped usher tacos into the mainstream, the differences between its food and that of mom-and-pop taquerias suggested an enormous opportunity to build something fresher and more authentic.
Enter Felix Stehling, the owner of a bar called the Crystal Pistol, who opened the first Taco Cabana in a decommissioned Dairy Queen in San Antonio in 1978. While Taco Bell emphasized assembly-line speed and precooked ingredients, Taco Cabana offered house-made tortillas, sizzling fajita plates, and a salsa bar. Taco Cabana’s success prompted a Minnesota entrepreneur to copy its formula almost exactly, in a Houston-based chain called Two Pesos. The resulting trademark lawsuit went all the way to the U.S. Supreme Court, in 1992. Taco Cabana prevailed and eventually bought Two Pesos. But after Stehling handed the CEO reins to a former Fuddruckers executive, the emphasis on fresh ingredients began to slip, and ultimately, so did sales. The chain, which had at one point expanded to seven states, has 149 locations today, all but six of them in Texas.
As Taco Cabana’s fortunes waned, a new entrant called Chipotle was rising in Colorado with a message about ethically sourced ingredients and an investment from McDonald’s. Chipotle was the first Taco Bell challenger to take a serious bite out of the market. By the time it went public in 2006, the chain had nearly five hundred locations in 21 states. Today it has more than three thousand, compared with Taco Bell’s eight thousand, and hauled in about $10 billion in 2023. By emphasizing the quality and freshness of its food, Chipotle popularized the fast-casual dining concept and ignited an industry revolution, an upscaling of fast food without sacrificing the “fast.” Workers chopped onions and lettuce by hand every day. Customers could see raw chicken being grilled on a flattop in the back of the kitchen. Some Chipotle items—such as carnitas and barbacoa—are prepared in a central kitchen and show up in big plastic bags, but none of it arrives frozen.
Amid the stampede of restaurant concepts that then attempted to re-create the Chipotle phenomenon in countless other formats in the first two decades of this century—burgers, grain bowls, pizzas, salads, sandwiches—Shake Shack stood out. Not only did the chain started by New York fine-dining impresario Danny Meyer create a better burger—a melty pile of guilty pleasures packaged in a spongy potato roll—but it charged two or three times as much as McDonald’s for a meal. While McDonald’s and Chipotle report some $3 million in annual sales per location, Shake Shack pulls in $4 million or more.
Shake Shack also showed how an aggressive private-equity investment could grow a restaurant brand as if it were a tech firm. Leonard Green & Partners, based in Los Angeles, had funded the expansion of other companies, such as the Container Store, based in the Dallas suburb of Coppell. It invested in Shake Shack in 2012, when the company operated only a handful of restaurants, and took it public less than three years later, with 63 locations. By then the goal for investors had shifted from finding the next Chipotle to finding the next Shake Shack—and it did not go unnoticed that in the taco space, there were fewer large competitors than in burgers.
Taco Bell delivered lower annual sales per location—about $1.6 million—than burger chains. And as much as Chipotle had changed the game, its menu emphasized burritos, not tacos. Meanwhile tacos were becoming a national obsession, with tiny trailers turning out Mexican-style street tacos, Netflix commissioning taco shows, and one storied magazine even hiring a dedicated taco editor (ahem, Texas Monthly; ahem, the James Beard Award–winning José R. Ralat).
The door was open for a new taco giant—if it had a novel concept.
There may be no metro area in America with more headquarters of mass-market restaurant chains than Dallas–Fort Worth (though Orlando offers stiff competition). It only makes sense, considering DFW’s low $7.25 minimum wage and dearth of natural or political barriers to suburban development. Chili’s, Cici’s, Which Wich, Wingstop—Big D dining concepts go on and on, their towering signs punctuating the view from North Texas highways while mirrored office buildings just beyond house their executive suites. Before Clay Dover took over as the CEO of Velvet Taco, the company was run by its founder, Randy DeWitt, among the most prolific Dallas restaurateurs.
A former commercial real estate salesman who developed strip centers around Walmarts and other national retailers, DeWitt has arguably passed even the late, legendary Norman Brinker as a restaurant savant. (Brinker brought the world Bennigan’s and Steak and Ale—brands that not only created the casual-dining category and established Dallas’s dominance but also ushered in lasting innovations, such as the salad bar.)
DeWitt, 65 years old with an eye-crinkling smile and a flourishing head of politician hair, first fell in love with restaurants as a bartender in Waco while he was a student at Baylor University. He got his start in Dallas in the nineties with a coffee bar and then a seafood chain called Rockfish, whose expansion was financially backed by Brinker’s company, Brinker International. In 2005, DeWitt came up with the concept for a racy sports bar called Twin Peaks. The now infamous chain, he says, unapologetically, would “do everything better” than breastaurant pioneer Hooters, from its double entendre menu items to the acreage of skin displayed by its all-female waitstaff to the not-so-subtle innuendo in the brand name.
By 2013, Bloomberg described Twin Peaks as the fastest-growing chain in America, and DeWitt was an abundantly wealthy man. He moved a few years ago from exurban Frisco to exclusive Highland Park, where he rebuilt a home to include underground parking, a turret, and various Spanish-inspired architectural details that match those of the glittering Highland Park Village shopping plaza a few steps away.
As his empire took shape, DeWitt determined that his strengths lay in spinning up new restaurant concepts and getting them started, not in operating vast chains. So he built his company, Front Burner Restaurants, as a kind of incubator aimed at selling its creations once they proved viable. At the Ranch at Las Colinas, a Texas-themed restaurant he’d opened in Irving in 2008, he noticed the line cooks were experimenting with tacos at the end of each week, combining unexpected ingredients and feeding the staff. DeWitt began looking forward to tasting their latest creations: a rotisserie chicken taco one night, a shrimp-and-grits taco the next.
Light bulb. He’d seen plenty of new and old taquerias that focused on traditional street tacos or Tex-Mex flavors. But what if he could build a restaurant around the idea of the “liberated taco”? He originally planned to call the chain Taco Libre, but when that name turned out to have been taken by a caterer in California, he settled on Velvet Taco—“implying this is luxury and refined and something more upscale,” he says now. On the menu: a fried-oyster taco (since discontinued), a chicken tikka taco (still the chain’s best-seller), and a smashburger taco that one-ups Taco Bell’s deconstructed cheeseburger by reconstructing it.
For the logo, DeWitt chose a design that evoked a royal medallion. Or perhaps both the name and image slyly evoke a part of the female anatomy that Twin Peaks hadn’t. He has a hard time denying that. “We like playful names,” he says with a shrug, before insisting that any innuendo is accidental.
Clay Dover, boyish at 52, has the ambiguous logo embroidered into nearly every piece of clothing he owns, including shirts he wears out for date nights with his wife. He joined Velvet Taco in 2017, when it operated just four locations—in Dallas, Fort Worth, Houston, and Chicago. DeWitt had just sold a majority stake to a private equity group called L. Catterton that’s based in Greenwich, Connecticut, and affiliated with the family of Bernard Arnault, the French luxury kingpin who runs the LVMH conglomerate and regularly trades places with Elon Musk and Jeff Bezos as the world’s wealthiest person.
Before his seven years at Raising Cane’s, Dover led a Dallas restaurant group that owned a passel of once successful chains that had lost their edge—Norm Brinker creations Bennigan’s and Steak and Ale, along with steakhouse rivals Bonanza and Ponderosa. He’d met DeWitt, and they’d talked about working together (though not at Twin Peaks—“My wife would kill me,” Dover says), so he’d watched the early growth of Velvet Taco with great interest. The idea was fresh. It reflected a changing Dallas—and a changing country. The restaurant kept its purple neon lights on until four in the morning, to serve revelers in need of taco therapy before calling it a night. Dover spent a full day and night watching the scene at the Fort Worth location before he agreed to join. “It’s a rockin’ place,” he concluded.
Private equity investors tend to come in two flavors: the ones that strip a company for parts and sell them off and the ones that help a promising brand grow to the next stage before selling it to an industry giant or taking it public. Catterton is the latter, and in the five years that it was the majority owner of Velvet Taco, it expanded the chain from 4 locations to 31—before selling it in late 2021 to another private equity company, Leonard Green & Partners—the same $70 billion fund that took Shake Shack public in 2015.
Velvet’s headquarters occupies 10,000 square feet on the second floor of a building overlooking the Dallas North Tollway. There Dover oversees a staff of several dozen who work on everything from marketing campaigns to real estate development. The business end of a taco brand that aims to conquer the world looks more like a 2010s-era tech startup than your typical taqueria. In the Velvet office, a Ping-Pong table stands amid a row of cubicles near a mural of Marie Antoinette sensually eating a slice of the brand’s signature red velvet cake.
When Dover joined Velvet, he was the sole corporate-level employee; everyone else worked at one of the restaurants. Rather than tinkering with the menu, he took his first year to “understand the brand and what it means to consumers”—which involved developing a kind of handbook of catchy slogans meant to encapsulate the culture and principles of the workplace and the food the company hoped to offer. Out went “temple of the liberated taco,” for instance, and in came “tacos without borders,” a more sensitive phrasing that avoided the suggestion that the taco’s Mexican heritage was somehow holding it back.
Today the corporate team’s priorities are more tangible, including how to maintain quality standards at Velvet’s first airport outpost at Houston Hobby. Self-service touchscreen-order kiosks are another priority, but where to place them in a restaurant is a big debate. It’s one thing to figure out where they’ll get the most use, but will cost savings on labor come with trade-offs? How will average order size change? Will diners be more or less likely to explore the menu?
Perhaps most important, there’s the matter of where to expand. Dover plans for eight more locations in 2024, and then a growth acceleration in 2025. In September, Velvet opened its first restaurant in Florida—in Fort Lauderdale. Arizona is next. At some point they’ll likely expand to Southern California, home to the headquarters of both Chipotle and Taco Bell, along with a million tiny taco stands that measure up just fine against their Texas counterparts.
A team from Velvet that included DeWitt recently spent several days scouting SoCal locations and testing tacos from local chains. One restaurant served “almost exactly the same taco” as Velvet’s popular chicken tikka, DeWitt says with a nervy grin. “We know they were inspired by Velvet Taco. But what are you going to do? I came away reassured that if and when we go to that market—” he stops himself. “I shouldn’t say ‘if.’ When we go to that market, we are going to be very successful.”
On a busy weeknight near the southern end of the hypergentrified South Congress shopping district, in Austin, a steady stream of families and teenagers and a single pair of old South Austin hippie types fill the tables of an architecturally ambitious Torchy’s location designed to evoke a fifties roadside attraction. With a ridged metal roof and a series of bright red X-shaped support structures lining the front, the restaurant functions as something like a flagship location for Torchy’s—its most distinctive building, on Austin’s most iconic avenue. Runners scurry about delivering trays of tacos with names such as the Democrat (brisket, avocado, and onions on a corn tortilla), the Republican (jalapeño-cheddar sausage and pico on flour), the Tipsy Chick, and the Trailer Park, along with beers and ranch waters.
If Velvet Taco is the consummate Dallas chain—from its flashy branding to its corporate lineage—Torchy’s is as Austin as it gets. Rypka’s original Torchy’s trailer anchored a gravel lot just a few blocks from today’s flagship, on a then-scruffy stretch of South First Street across from a ramshackle botanica.
Rypka grew up in the Washington, D.C., suburbs amid the eighties punk scene—an only child of divorce whose dad, a celebrated photojournalist, was living on another continent. He picked up drugs and alcohol by age eight, developed a crack habit by fourteen, and spent two years in and out of rehab before getting clean at seventeen. Less than a year into community college, where he’d hoped to train to become a drug and alcohol counselor, Rypka woke up one night with a bolt of inspiration to drop out and become a chef.
By the time he finished culinary school a couple of years later, he knew all too well how rampant substance abuse was in professional kitchens, so he sought a straitlaced job with a company that ran in-house dining halls for large corporations. He started at the World Bank, in D.C., before working at Enron, in Houston (“I literally served the last supper there,” he says), and then at Dell, where he fell in love with Austin and decided to stay. Then an opportunity arose to repurpose a friend’s old barbecue trailer.
In 2006 food trucks were still a novel concept, but Rypka envisioned a path from those humble beginnings to a proper restaurant or even a small chain. He just needed the kind of bold flavors that make a lasting impression. From his World Bank days, where he’d run a food court with stations representing various global regions, he’d developed a wide palette of preparations to experiment with. And when he took a tour of Texas taco joints to assess the competition—in San Antonio, in the Rio Grande Valley, in Houston and Dallas and the east side of Austin—he saw his opportunity. “They were all good, but they were kind of in the same genre,” he says. “They weren’t doing anything to sort of flip it on its head.”
Authenticity wasn’t what he was after; he was a suburban East Coast white guy with a creative streak, so he built a menu accordingly. “Not everybody in the world uses serrano peppers the same way they use them in Central America,” he says, “so you can take ingredients like that and do fun things with them. Our playground is kind of limitless when it comes to food.” Each month Torchy’s offers a different limited-time special. Its first was the Trailer Park, which put hunks of fried chicken in the starring role, alongside pico de gallo and green chiles. Ordering it “trashy” style meant dousing it in queso, turning it into a celebration of gluttony that would make Guy Fieri proud. It was a home run that soon joined the regular menu.
The early years of Torchy’s coincided with the peak of Austin’s capitalizing on its “weird” image. The city hadn’t fully succumbed to the forces of Big Tech, and it still represented a kind of laid-back lifestyle mecca, even if the old-timers were already fearing a corporate takeover. Torchy’s fit right in, with graffiti-inspired bubble letters in the logo and a little red devil mascot flanked by the words “Damn Good.” Austin was a party town, and this was indulgent party food. With taco names like the since-discontinued Dirty Sanchez (a reference to . . . well, you can look it up), it also flirted with the bounds of decency (or gleefully trampled right over them).
After the taco trailer took off, Rypka opened a brick-and-mortar shop down the street, and then another location, and another, and by 2010 the chain had expanded to Dallas. Torchy’s hadn’t just drafted on Austin’s vibe; it had become something of an Austin icon itself, popular enough that even then-president Obama stopped at the South First restaurant on his way downtown from the airport before attending an event in 2016. The company had just opened its first location outside Texas, in Denver. The world awaited.
Rypka, who shaves his head and road trips in a lowrider Volkswagen bus, tells his story in a hexagonal sitting room that juts off the back of his three-story home built into the side of a steep slope above Lake Austin. In the past decade plus, the start-up boom that accompanied Austin’s explosive growth transcended tech and began to turn out trendy new consumer brands. Some of these have blown up into international icons—Kendra Scott, Tecovas, Yeti—but most of the restaurant chains born in the capital—including another beloved taco shop, Tacodeli—have remained local or regional cult phenomena.
In the far more populous Dallas–Fort Worth area, by contrast, where new chain eateries can draw from a large pool of back-office talent with deep industry experience, growing quickly by running a proven playbook is more readily achievable, even if the results don’t always inspire a passionate following.
As Torchy’s began to expand beyond Texas and exceeded forty restaurants, it needed money to fund its next phase. General Atlantic, a New York–based private equity group, bought “a significant minority stake” in 2017—and three years later added to its stake with a $400 million second investment. Among the first moves when GA came on board was to bring in the professionals—big-time executives with big-time experience who could turn Rypka’s promising little project into a global giant.
Rypka stepped aside, while G. J. Hart, who had most recently served as the CEO of California Pizza Kitchen, took over. Hart had made his name in the industry overseeing the expansion of Texas Roadhouse from $63 million to more than $1 billion in annual revenue. (Texas Roadhouse, alas, is not a Texas brand; it’s based in Louisville, Kentucky.) During Hart’s four years in charge, the Torchy’s restaurant count shot up from 45 to 96, even though the COVID-19 pandemic decimated the office lunch rush and dine-in traffic in general.
Meanwhile, Rypka, who had been eager for a break from the business, grew frustrated by what he regarded as the new management’s unforced errors. Some of the new expansion cities, he felt, were questionable choices. “They’d pick markets where Roadhouse did well,” he says. Shreveport, Louisiana. Wichita, Kansas. “But we’re not at all the same customer as Roadhouse—which is a pretty blue-collar, red-state type of deal. I mean, I’m not afraid to say that we’re a f—ing liberal brand. You know what I mean?”
The corporate playbook that might make sense when Torchy’s has hundreds of locations didn’t work for a brand that was still relatively unknown outside Texas and Colorado, Rypka reasoned. Bloomberg reported in early 2021 that the chain was exploring an initial public offering that would value it at $1 billion in its stock market debut. But by the end of that year, the IPO had failed to materialize, some of the new locations were underperforming, and the staff at headquarters had ballooned to nearly two hundred. Hart stepped down.
Tired of what he terms “farting around at the lake,” Rypka returned as CEO with a newfound energy and focus. The company needed to get scrappy and entrepreneurial again, and that was his comfort zone. “I always do better when things are a little bit on fire,” he says. He laid off 65 employees at headquarters, closed three restaurants (including the two in Wichita), and started upgrading some ingredients— making fresh tortillas in the restaurants, for example. Now, from a one-story, metal-sided headquarters building in East Austin, he’s back to fanning out across the country, this time aiming to expand to cities such as Atlanta, Chicago, Nashville—and his old haunt, D.C.
It’s hard not to notice that the founders of both Torchy’s and Velvet Taco are non-Hispanic white men. So are the industry-veteran CEOs each company hired. So was the founder of Taco Bell. And the founders of two long-established, Texas-based Taco Bell copycats: Abilene-born Taco Bueno and Fort Worth’s Taco Casa. And the founder of Irving-based Fuzzy’s Taco Shop, a fast-growing franchise that’s aimed at a lower-priced tier of the market than Torchy’s and Velvet. Add Chipotle and California-based Del Taco to the list, for that matter, and on down through the ranks of Big Taco giants and aspirants.
Even the founder of San Antonio–born Taco Cabana fit the Anglo profile—and if there’s one large city in Texas that ought to be the birthplace of a Latino-founded taco giant, it’s San Antonio. Taco Palenque, which began in Laredo and has started to spread north into other parts of Texas, is an exception [see sidebar], but so far, it’s still a regional play. (Its founder, Juan Francisco Ochoa Sr., also started California-based El Pollo Loco.)
The taco has become as much an American staple as pizza, so it’s not surprising that its mass-market brands reflect corporate America’s boardrooms more than the culture that gave rise to the food in the first place. As Texas Monthly’s taco editor, José R. Ralat, puts it, “I’m not going to say that so-and-so shouldn’t open a business because it might represent cultural appropriation. But it’s worth noting that a popular food is always going to attract the type of entrepreneurs who already have the wealth or connections to gain access to investor meetings or consultants. And who is that? Not an immigrant.”
Ralat notes that Taco Cabana might be the one chain that historically “got it right”—by which he means emphasizing fresh ingredients, at least at first. Some of its locations still do an excellent job, he maintains, such as the one near where he lives, in the Oak Cliff section of Dallas. But the chain’s history is a cautionary tale, as it eventually prioritized growth over maintaining its standards. It became a publicly traded company, beholden to shareholders above all. Then it was acquired by a large New York–based restaurant group, then spun off into another outfit, the Dallas-based Fiesta Restaurant Group. Over the past several years, Taco Cabana’s sales plunged 20 percent, and the chain closed 23 restaurants. Now it’s poised to grow again, but with a new risk factor.
Taco Cabana was purchased in 2021 by a company called Yadav Enterprises, a Northern California–based operator of hundreds of franchise locations of Denny’s, Jack in the Box, TGI Fridays, and a few other brands. Franchising is a risky business model but a common one in the fast-food industry. It can enable rapid expansion because the franchisees—independent operators who buy the rights to open locations—take on the financial burden of building out new markets. But no matter how stringent a chain makes the process and guidelines for its franchisees, it inevitably loses some control over quality and branding.
Franchising tends to work best with the simplest operations, such as Taco Bell—or more recently, Fuzzy’s, where a whopping 98 percent of its more than one hundred locations are franchises. Anil Yadav, the owner of Taco Cabana’s new parent company, announced that he hoped to expand the chain to one thousand locations all over the country—naturally, by franchising.
Both Velvet Taco’s Clay Dover and Torchy’s founder Mike Rypka say they understand the hard realities of the franchise model and vow to keep their chains growing at a more measured pace, with the companies owning every location they open—much as Shake Shack and Chipotle have done. “We’re going to keep it real tight and ‘core’ because we want to maintain the control,” Dover explains. “The details, the quality of the ingredients, the prep that goes into things ahead of time—it’s hard to go, ‘Hey, we’re just going to whip out fifty of these.’ ”
As Torchy’s and Velvet continue their national expansions, they will bump up against other challengers. Ohio-based Condado, for instance, has locations in several Midwest and Southeast states, with a creative-tacos concept that sits roughly at the culinary midpoint between those of Torchy’s and Velvet, with Korean gochujang sauce and Thai chiles mixed in among more traditional Mexican American flavors. Florida-based Capital Taco has begun selling franchises to operators in other states eager to serve its self-described “Tex-Mex” menu that oddly includes a cheesesteak taco and something called the South Beach Hot Chicken.
At some point, the word “taco” can become a questionable description of the items on these menus. Velvet, for instance, serves a chicken-and-waffle taco that involves fried chicken wrapped in, you guessed it, a waffle, topped with maple syrup; it makes Taco Bell’s Doritos Cheesy Gordita Crunch taco look like a Oaxacan street-food classic. “The tortilla is just the vessel,” Dover told me one afternoon over a tableful of his tacos. “You can do anything you want”—including, apparently, replacing the tortilla.
In any case, the caliber of investors and number of dollars that have backed Torchy’s and Velvet make it obvious to anyone in the restaurant industry that they’re onto something big. “Tacos Are Poised to Take Over Fast Casual,” the trade publication Restaurant Business declared last year. Can Torchy’s or Velvet ever equal Taco Bell’s 8,000 stores? Not a chance, say the leaders of both companies. The menus are simply too complicated to work in that many locations, because lower-traffic spots just wouldn’t be able to turn a profit—whereas Chipotle and Taco Bell can because they require far fewer ingredients and employees. But 1,000 Torchy’s restaurants, or 1,500? “That’s the fully mature version, yeah,” Rypka says.
Early in a restaurant chain’s growth, the executives will choose expansion locations based largely on gut instinct and what’s available. But at a certain point, companies begin to rely on real estate consultants who weigh a complicated matrix of factors. A Taco Cabana might make sense in a Walmart parking lot, for instance, whereas a Torchy’s or Velvet works better in the shadow of a Target. They look at satellite images to understand whether an area’s crowds coincide with a chain’s top selling hours. They look at cellular data to profile demographics that match a chain’s strong suits. At Velvet Taco, a concentration of Indian Americans is a positive indicator—perhaps explaining the popularity of the chicken tikka taco, Dover suggests.
When all of those factors come together, sometimes the result is a Torchy’s and a Velvet sharing the same parking lot. In Lubbock, in a shopping center one short block from the campus of Texas Tech University, the two direct competitors sit not one hundred yards apart, with nothing but a Potbelly Sandwich Shop between them. In North Dallas, Torchy’s and Velvet occupy kitty-corner strip malls at the intersection of Preston Road and Forest Lane. The future of Big Taco might not be Torchy’s or Velvet, but both.
2024.04.17 05:11 EclosionK2 Butterflies In Her Stomach
A mandatory meeting was called on the terrace above the gift shop. Despite the sunshine and finely arranged plants, Angel could sense the news would be bad.
The amenities manager Yuma stood on the edge of the roof terrace, once everyone seated themselves, she got right to the point.
“A significant amount of theft has occurred over this week and last. Designer fauna has gone missing from both our gardens and viewing terrariums.” She crossed her arms and let the pause grow apparent.
“Security has confirmed that it could not have been the tourists —the screening methods are too thorough for that. Moreover, there is sufficient evidence that indicates it was someone from gardening.”
Angel bit her lip and observed the shock spread across her coworkers. Senior gardener Osef had drawn a breath and looked ready to defend himself, but Yuma raised a nail-polished hand.
“We’re not interested in excuses. We’re not interested in accusations. The estate wants the property returned as soon as possible. If this does not happen, we will be forced to explore suspensions. Layoffs.”
Without glancing, Angel could sense the jaws around her drop. Osef cleared his throat, still fishing for permission to speak, but the manager focused on the stroll of her pantsuit.
“Whoever’s responsible may come confess to me, or go directly to HR,” She looked up from her shoes to each of the employees. “It goes without saying that the estate does not pay for internal probing or interrogations. It pays for world class gardeners and grounds. If you five so-called professionals can’t keep yourselves in line, then we’ll hire a new batch who can.”
***
The day went long for Angel. Neither she nor any of the gardeners could be seen arguing in front of the hordes of tourists, so they spent the last couple hours finishing what had to be trimmed, speaking only when necessary. It was the shuttle ride home where everything came unbottled.
“Will whoever did it, please just fess up?” Osef whisper-yelled. “Some of us have kids to feed and tuitions to pay. Whatever you think you’ll earn from selling that fauna won’t matter in two months when you’re out of a job.”
Angel did her best to match everyone’s anger at the back of the bus, she too raised her hands animatedly, and also sat on the edge of her seat. When it was her turn to speak, she allowed a tear to roll down her cheek.
“Please, if you can’t admit your fault now —then admit it tomorrow, before it's too late. I’d really like to keep my job. It’s all I have.”
The orchid specialist nodded. “It’s a short term gain at all of our expense.”
The mower expert continually rubbed his temples, as if scouring his memory for the answer. “I can’t believe they’re having us argue it out amongst ourselves. They’re treating us all like … Like it doesn’t matter … ”
There were flare ups and occasional accusations, but in the end it was clear that the arguing wasn’t getting them anywhere.
“Whoever’s done it, would have already admitted.” Osef sighed. “If it’s actually someone here, I trust that person to do the right thing tomorrow. You can’t let us all lose our jobs. How could you do that?”
As the bus reached the lower cities, one by one, the gardeners disembarked in slow defeated walks, looking at each other for any last second confessions. There were none.
The last commuter to remain was Angel, who watched the street lamps activate across the uneven cityscape. It was getting dark.
With the seats to herself, Angel unzipped her overalls and looked into her inner chest pocket. She removed a plastic case containing a skittering butterfly.
It was hard to lie to all of their faces. Excruciating. The shame now constricted her like overgrown morning glory, rooting her into the cheap plastic seat. I musn’t feel bad. I can’t. Who else lives in a five person basement? Who else takes another hour to commute?
If only she knew a ballpark of everyone’s wage. She could maybe payout some kind of dividends. But what if everyone was already making double, or triple what she was?
She looked out the window at the neglected jungle of apartments. The streets are littered with broken solar panels and makeshift residences. The butterflies would carry her away from here.
Her collection of stolen Monarchs, Swallowtails and Skippers was earning her two year’s salary off a collector online. She’d be able to finally move out, rent a flat in the upper cities, get a new set of clothes. Like in the commercials.
When her stop came, Angel thanked the driver and wandered out into the empty station. She went to peruse the transit ads as she always did —to delay arriving home.
The bright screens offered a haunting glow to the station at night, firing light at odd angles and colors due the pervasive graffiti. Angel was trying to find the one that flashed the pantsuit she dreamed of owning, it was part of some fashion catalogue. However, that defaced screen appeared to have been replaced by a new unblemished one. It was an ad for the estate she worked at.
In an extremely high bird’s eye view of the hedge maze, a slogan appeared at the bottom: “Over 15km of maze, you’ll never get out!”
Angel walked up and observed the centre of the maze in the photo. It was an area she had never actually seen in real life. She looked close to see if there was some monument, plaque or any kind of reward for someone who reached the middle —and for a second she thought she spotted two small ponds. But those were just her eyes. Her own reflection.
As she stepped back, she could see her whole head stuck precisely in the middle of the estate labyrinth. Utterly trapped. Hedges all around her.
Then the ad changed and she saw her pantsuit.
submitted by EclosionK2 to stories [link] [comments]
The amenities manager Yuma stood on the edge of the roof terrace, once everyone seated themselves, she got right to the point.
“A significant amount of theft has occurred over this week and last. Designer fauna has gone missing from both our gardens and viewing terrariums.” She crossed her arms and let the pause grow apparent.
“Security has confirmed that it could not have been the tourists —the screening methods are too thorough for that. Moreover, there is sufficient evidence that indicates it was someone from gardening.”
Angel bit her lip and observed the shock spread across her coworkers. Senior gardener Osef had drawn a breath and looked ready to defend himself, but Yuma raised a nail-polished hand.
“We’re not interested in excuses. We’re not interested in accusations. The estate wants the property returned as soon as possible. If this does not happen, we will be forced to explore suspensions. Layoffs.”
Without glancing, Angel could sense the jaws around her drop. Osef cleared his throat, still fishing for permission to speak, but the manager focused on the stroll of her pantsuit.
“Whoever’s responsible may come confess to me, or go directly to HR,” She looked up from her shoes to each of the employees. “It goes without saying that the estate does not pay for internal probing or interrogations. It pays for world class gardeners and grounds. If you five so-called professionals can’t keep yourselves in line, then we’ll hire a new batch who can.”
***
The day went long for Angel. Neither she nor any of the gardeners could be seen arguing in front of the hordes of tourists, so they spent the last couple hours finishing what had to be trimmed, speaking only when necessary. It was the shuttle ride home where everything came unbottled.
“Will whoever did it, please just fess up?” Osef whisper-yelled. “Some of us have kids to feed and tuitions to pay. Whatever you think you’ll earn from selling that fauna won’t matter in two months when you’re out of a job.”
Angel did her best to match everyone’s anger at the back of the bus, she too raised her hands animatedly, and also sat on the edge of her seat. When it was her turn to speak, she allowed a tear to roll down her cheek.
“Please, if you can’t admit your fault now —then admit it tomorrow, before it's too late. I’d really like to keep my job. It’s all I have.”
The orchid specialist nodded. “It’s a short term gain at all of our expense.”
The mower expert continually rubbed his temples, as if scouring his memory for the answer. “I can’t believe they’re having us argue it out amongst ourselves. They’re treating us all like … Like it doesn’t matter … ”
There were flare ups and occasional accusations, but in the end it was clear that the arguing wasn’t getting them anywhere.
“Whoever’s done it, would have already admitted.” Osef sighed. “If it’s actually someone here, I trust that person to do the right thing tomorrow. You can’t let us all lose our jobs. How could you do that?”
As the bus reached the lower cities, one by one, the gardeners disembarked in slow defeated walks, looking at each other for any last second confessions. There were none.
The last commuter to remain was Angel, who watched the street lamps activate across the uneven cityscape. It was getting dark.
With the seats to herself, Angel unzipped her overalls and looked into her inner chest pocket. She removed a plastic case containing a skittering butterfly.
It was hard to lie to all of their faces. Excruciating. The shame now constricted her like overgrown morning glory, rooting her into the cheap plastic seat. I musn’t feel bad. I can’t. Who else lives in a five person basement? Who else takes another hour to commute?
If only she knew a ballpark of everyone’s wage. She could maybe payout some kind of dividends. But what if everyone was already making double, or triple what she was?
She looked out the window at the neglected jungle of apartments. The streets are littered with broken solar panels and makeshift residences. The butterflies would carry her away from here.
Her collection of stolen Monarchs, Swallowtails and Skippers was earning her two year’s salary off a collector online. She’d be able to finally move out, rent a flat in the upper cities, get a new set of clothes. Like in the commercials.
When her stop came, Angel thanked the driver and wandered out into the empty station. She went to peruse the transit ads as she always did —to delay arriving home.
The bright screens offered a haunting glow to the station at night, firing light at odd angles and colors due the pervasive graffiti. Angel was trying to find the one that flashed the pantsuit she dreamed of owning, it was part of some fashion catalogue. However, that defaced screen appeared to have been replaced by a new unblemished one. It was an ad for the estate she worked at.
In an extremely high bird’s eye view of the hedge maze, a slogan appeared at the bottom: “Over 15km of maze, you’ll never get out!”
Angel walked up and observed the centre of the maze in the photo. It was an area she had never actually seen in real life. She looked close to see if there was some monument, plaque or any kind of reward for someone who reached the middle —and for a second she thought she spotted two small ponds. But those were just her eyes. Her own reflection.
As she stepped back, she could see her whole head stuck precisely in the middle of the estate labyrinth. Utterly trapped. Hedges all around her.
Then the ad changed and she saw her pantsuit.
2024.04.17 05:10 EclosionK2 Butterflies In Her Stomach
A mandatory meeting was called on the terrace above the gift shop. Despite the sunshine and finely arranged plants, Angel could sense the news would be bad.
The amenities manager Yuma stood on the edge of the roof terrace, once everyone seated themselves, she got right to the point.
“A significant amount of theft has occurred over this week and last. Designer fauna has gone missing from both our gardens and viewing terrariums.” She crossed her arms and let the pause grow apparent.
“Security has confirmed that it could not have been the tourists —the screening methods are too thorough for that. Moreover, there is sufficient evidence that indicates it was someone from gardening.”
Angel bit her lip and observed the shock spread across her coworkers. Senior gardener Osef had drawn a breath and looked ready to defend himself, but Yuma raised a nail-polished hand.
“We’re not interested in excuses. We’re not interested in accusations. The estate wants the property returned as soon as possible. If this does not happen, we will be forced to explore suspensions. Layoffs.”
Without glancing, Angel could sense the jaws around her drop. Osef cleared his throat, still fishing for permission to speak, but the manager focused on the stroll of her pantsuit.
“Whoever’s responsible may come confess to me, or go directly to HR,” She looked up from her shoes to each of the employees. “It goes without saying that the estate does not pay for internal probing or interrogations. It pays for world class gardeners and grounds. If you five so-called professionals can’t keep yourselves in line, then we’ll hire a new batch who can.”
***
The day went long for Angel. Neither she nor any of the gardeners could be seen arguing in front of the hordes of tourists, so they spent the last couple hours finishing what had to be trimmed, speaking only when necessary. It was the shuttle ride home where everything came unbottled.
“Will whoever did it, please just fess up?” Osef whisper-yelled. “Some of us have kids to feed and tuitions to pay. Whatever you think you’ll earn from selling that fauna won’t matter in two months when you’re out of a job.”
Angel did her best to match everyone’s anger at the back of the bus, she too raised her hands animatedly, and also sat on the edge of her seat. When it was her turn to speak, she allowed a tear to roll down her cheek.
“Please, if you can’t admit your fault now —then admit it tomorrow, before it's too late. I’d really like to keep my job. It’s all I have.”
The orchid specialist nodded. “It’s a short term gain at all of our expense.”
The mower expert continually rubbed his temples, as if scouring his memory for the answer. “I can’t believe they’re having us argue it out amongst ourselves. They’re treating us all like … Like it doesn’t matter … ”
There were flare ups and occasional accusations, but in the end it was clear that the arguing wasn’t getting them anywhere.
“Whoever’s done it, would have already admitted.” Osef sighed. “If it’s actually someone here, I trust that person to do the right thing tomorrow. You can’t let us all lose our jobs. How could you do that?”
As the bus reached the lower cities, one by one, the gardeners disembarked in slow defeated walks, looking at each other for any last second confessions. There were none.
The last commuter to remain was Angel, who watched the street lamps activate across the uneven cityscape. It was getting dark.
With the seats to herself, Angel unzipped her overalls and looked into her inner chest pocket. She removed a plastic case containing a skittering butterfly.
It was hard to lie to all of their faces. Excruciating. The shame now constricted her like overgrown morning glory, rooting her into the cheap plastic seat. I musn’t feel bad. I can’t. Who else lives in a five person basement? Who else takes another hour to commute?
If only she knew a ballpark of everyone’s wage. She could maybe payout some kind of dividends. But what if everyone was already making double, or triple what she was?
She looked out the window at the neglected jungle of apartments. The streets are littered with broken solar panels and makeshift residences. The butterflies would carry her away from here.
Her collection of stolen Monarchs, Swallowtails and Skippers was earning her two year’s salary off a collector online. She’d be able to finally move out, rent a flat in the upper cities, get a new set of clothes. Like in the commercials.
When her stop came, Angel thanked the driver and wandered out into the empty station. She went to peruse the transit ads as she always did —to delay arriving home.
The bright screens offered a haunting glow to the station at night, firing light at odd angles and colors due the pervasive graffiti. Angel was trying to find the one that flashed the pantsuit she dreamed of owning, it was part of some fashion catalogue. However, that defaced screen appeared to have been replaced by a new unblemished one. It was an ad for the estate she worked at.
In an extremely high bird’s eye view of the hedge maze, a slogan appeared at the bottom: “Over 15km of maze, you’ll never get out!”
Angel walked up and observed the centre of the maze in the photo. It was an area she had never actually seen in real life. She looked close to see if there was some monument, plaque or any kind of reward for someone who reached the middle —and for a second she thought she spotted two small ponds. But those were just her eyes. Her own reflection.
As she stepped back, she could see her whole head stuck precisely in the middle of the estate labyrinth. Utterly trapped. Hedges all around her.
Then the ad changed and she saw her pantsuit.
submitted by EclosionK2 to DarkTales [link] [comments]
The amenities manager Yuma stood on the edge of the roof terrace, once everyone seated themselves, she got right to the point.
“A significant amount of theft has occurred over this week and last. Designer fauna has gone missing from both our gardens and viewing terrariums.” She crossed her arms and let the pause grow apparent.
“Security has confirmed that it could not have been the tourists —the screening methods are too thorough for that. Moreover, there is sufficient evidence that indicates it was someone from gardening.”
Angel bit her lip and observed the shock spread across her coworkers. Senior gardener Osef had drawn a breath and looked ready to defend himself, but Yuma raised a nail-polished hand.
“We’re not interested in excuses. We’re not interested in accusations. The estate wants the property returned as soon as possible. If this does not happen, we will be forced to explore suspensions. Layoffs.”
Without glancing, Angel could sense the jaws around her drop. Osef cleared his throat, still fishing for permission to speak, but the manager focused on the stroll of her pantsuit.
“Whoever’s responsible may come confess to me, or go directly to HR,” She looked up from her shoes to each of the employees. “It goes without saying that the estate does not pay for internal probing or interrogations. It pays for world class gardeners and grounds. If you five so-called professionals can’t keep yourselves in line, then we’ll hire a new batch who can.”
***
The day went long for Angel. Neither she nor any of the gardeners could be seen arguing in front of the hordes of tourists, so they spent the last couple hours finishing what had to be trimmed, speaking only when necessary. It was the shuttle ride home where everything came unbottled.
“Will whoever did it, please just fess up?” Osef whisper-yelled. “Some of us have kids to feed and tuitions to pay. Whatever you think you’ll earn from selling that fauna won’t matter in two months when you’re out of a job.”
Angel did her best to match everyone’s anger at the back of the bus, she too raised her hands animatedly, and also sat on the edge of her seat. When it was her turn to speak, she allowed a tear to roll down her cheek.
“Please, if you can’t admit your fault now —then admit it tomorrow, before it's too late. I’d really like to keep my job. It’s all I have.”
The orchid specialist nodded. “It’s a short term gain at all of our expense.”
The mower expert continually rubbed his temples, as if scouring his memory for the answer. “I can’t believe they’re having us argue it out amongst ourselves. They’re treating us all like … Like it doesn’t matter … ”
There were flare ups and occasional accusations, but in the end it was clear that the arguing wasn’t getting them anywhere.
“Whoever’s done it, would have already admitted.” Osef sighed. “If it’s actually someone here, I trust that person to do the right thing tomorrow. You can’t let us all lose our jobs. How could you do that?”
As the bus reached the lower cities, one by one, the gardeners disembarked in slow defeated walks, looking at each other for any last second confessions. There were none.
The last commuter to remain was Angel, who watched the street lamps activate across the uneven cityscape. It was getting dark.
With the seats to herself, Angel unzipped her overalls and looked into her inner chest pocket. She removed a plastic case containing a skittering butterfly.
It was hard to lie to all of their faces. Excruciating. The shame now constricted her like overgrown morning glory, rooting her into the cheap plastic seat. I musn’t feel bad. I can’t. Who else lives in a five person basement? Who else takes another hour to commute?
If only she knew a ballpark of everyone’s wage. She could maybe payout some kind of dividends. But what if everyone was already making double, or triple what she was?
She looked out the window at the neglected jungle of apartments. The streets are littered with broken solar panels and makeshift residences. The butterflies would carry her away from here.
Her collection of stolen Monarchs, Swallowtails and Skippers was earning her two year’s salary off a collector online. She’d be able to finally move out, rent a flat in the upper cities, get a new set of clothes. Like in the commercials.
When her stop came, Angel thanked the driver and wandered out into the empty station. She went to peruse the transit ads as she always did —to delay arriving home.
The bright screens offered a haunting glow to the station at night, firing light at odd angles and colors due the pervasive graffiti. Angel was trying to find the one that flashed the pantsuit she dreamed of owning, it was part of some fashion catalogue. However, that defaced screen appeared to have been replaced by a new unblemished one. It was an ad for the estate she worked at.
In an extremely high bird’s eye view of the hedge maze, a slogan appeared at the bottom: “Over 15km of maze, you’ll never get out!”
Angel walked up and observed the centre of the maze in the photo. It was an area she had never actually seen in real life. She looked close to see if there was some monument, plaque or any kind of reward for someone who reached the middle —and for a second she thought she spotted two small ponds. But those were just her eyes. Her own reflection.
As she stepped back, she could see her whole head stuck precisely in the middle of the estate labyrinth. Utterly trapped. Hedges all around her.
Then the ad changed and she saw her pantsuit.
2024.04.17 05:08 EclosionK2 Butterflies In Her Stomach
A mandatory meeting was called on the terrace above the gift shop. Despite the sunshine and finely arranged plants, Angel could sense the news would be bad.
The amenities manager Yuma stood on the edge of the roof terrace, once everyone seated themselves, she got right to the point.
“A significant amount of theft has occurred over this week and last. Designer fauna has gone missing from both our gardens and viewing terrariums.” She crossed her arms and let the pause grow apparent.
“Security has confirmed that it could not have been the tourists —the screening methods are too thorough for that. Moreover, there is sufficient evidence that indicates it was someone from gardening.”
Angel bit her lip and observed the shock spread across her coworkers. Senior gardener Osef had drawn a breath and looked ready to defend himself, but Yuma raised a nail-polished hand.
“We’re not interested in excuses. We’re not interested in accusations. The estate wants the property returned as soon as possible. If this does not happen, we will be forced to explore suspensions. Layoffs.”
Without glancing, Angel could sense the jaws around her drop. Osef cleared his throat, still fishing for permission to speak, but the manager focused on the stroll of her pantsuit.
“Whoever’s responsible may come confess to me, or go directly to HR,” She looked up from her shoes to each of the employees. “It goes without saying that the estate does not pay for internal probing or interrogations. It pays for world class gardeners and grounds. If you five so-called professionals can’t keep yourselves in line, then we’ll hire a new batch who can.”
***
The day went long for Angel. Neither she nor any of the gardeners could be seen arguing in front of the hordes of tourists, so they spent the last couple hours finishing what had to be trimmed, speaking only when necessary. It was the shuttle ride home where everything came unbottled.
“Will whoever did it, please just fess up?” Osef whisper-yelled. “Some of us have kids to feed and tuitions to pay. Whatever you think you’ll earn from selling that fauna won’t matter in two months when you’re out of a job.”
Angel did her best to match everyone’s anger at the back of the bus, she too raised her hands animatedly, and also sat on the edge of her seat. When it was her turn to speak, she allowed a tear to roll down her cheek.
“Please, if you can’t admit your fault now —then admit it tomorrow, before it's too late. I’d really like to keep my job. It’s all I have.”
The orchid specialist nodded. “It’s a short term gain at all of our expense.”
The mower expert continually rubbed his temples, as if scouring his memory for the answer. “I can’t believe they’re having us argue it out amongst ourselves. They’re treating us all like … Like it doesn’t matter … ”
There were flare ups and occasional accusations, but in the end it was clear that the arguing wasn’t getting them anywhere.
“Whoever’s done it, would have already admitted.” Osef sighed. “If it’s actually someone here, I trust that person to do the right thing tomorrow. You can’t let us all lose our jobs. How could you do that?”
As the bus reached the lower cities, one by one, the gardeners disembarked in slow defeated walks, looking at each other for any last second confessions. There were none.
The last commuter to remain was Angel, who watched the street lamps activate across the uneven cityscape. It was getting dark.
With the seats to herself, Angel unzipped her overalls and looked into her inner chest pocket. She removed a plastic case containing a skittering butterfly.
It was hard to lie to all of their faces. Excruciating. The shame now constricted her like overgrown morning glory, rooting her into the cheap plastic seat. I musn’t feel bad. I can’t. Who else lives in a five person basement? Who else takes another hour to commute?
If only she knew a ballpark of everyone’s wage. She could maybe payout some kind of dividends. But what if everyone was already making double, or triple what she was?
She looked out the window at the neglected jungle of apartments. The streets are littered with broken solar panels and makeshift residences. The butterflies would carry her away from here.
Her collection of stolen Monarchs, Swallowtails and Skippers was earning her two year’s salary off a collector online. She’d be able to finally move out, rent a flat in the upper cities, get a new set of clothes. Like in the commercials.
When her stop came, Angel thanked the driver and wandered out into the empty station. She went to peruse the transit ads as she always did —to delay arriving home.
The bright screens offered a haunting glow to the station at night, firing light at odd angles and colors due the pervasive graffiti. Angel was trying to find the one that flashed the pantsuit she dreamed of owning, it was part of some fashion catalogue. However, that defaced screen appeared to have been replaced by a new unblemished one. It was an ad for the estate she worked at.
In an extremely high bird’s eye view of the hedge maze, a slogan appeared at the bottom: “Over 15km of maze, you’ll never get out!”
Angel walked up and observed the centre of the maze in the photo. It was an area she had never actually seen in real life. She looked close to see if there was some monument, plaque or any kind of reward for someone who reached the middle —and for a second she thought she spotted two small ponds. But those were just her eyes. Her own reflection.
As she stepped back, she could see her whole head stuck precisely in the middle of the estate labyrinth. Utterly trapped. Hedges all around her.
Then the ad changed and she saw her pantsuit.
submitted by EclosionK2 to libraryofshadows [link] [comments]
The amenities manager Yuma stood on the edge of the roof terrace, once everyone seated themselves, she got right to the point.
“A significant amount of theft has occurred over this week and last. Designer fauna has gone missing from both our gardens and viewing terrariums.” She crossed her arms and let the pause grow apparent.
“Security has confirmed that it could not have been the tourists —the screening methods are too thorough for that. Moreover, there is sufficient evidence that indicates it was someone from gardening.”
Angel bit her lip and observed the shock spread across her coworkers. Senior gardener Osef had drawn a breath and looked ready to defend himself, but Yuma raised a nail-polished hand.
“We’re not interested in excuses. We’re not interested in accusations. The estate wants the property returned as soon as possible. If this does not happen, we will be forced to explore suspensions. Layoffs.”
Without glancing, Angel could sense the jaws around her drop. Osef cleared his throat, still fishing for permission to speak, but the manager focused on the stroll of her pantsuit.
“Whoever’s responsible may come confess to me, or go directly to HR,” She looked up from her shoes to each of the employees. “It goes without saying that the estate does not pay for internal probing or interrogations. It pays for world class gardeners and grounds. If you five so-called professionals can’t keep yourselves in line, then we’ll hire a new batch who can.”
***
The day went long for Angel. Neither she nor any of the gardeners could be seen arguing in front of the hordes of tourists, so they spent the last couple hours finishing what had to be trimmed, speaking only when necessary. It was the shuttle ride home where everything came unbottled.
“Will whoever did it, please just fess up?” Osef whisper-yelled. “Some of us have kids to feed and tuitions to pay. Whatever you think you’ll earn from selling that fauna won’t matter in two months when you’re out of a job.”
Angel did her best to match everyone’s anger at the back of the bus, she too raised her hands animatedly, and also sat on the edge of her seat. When it was her turn to speak, she allowed a tear to roll down her cheek.
“Please, if you can’t admit your fault now —then admit it tomorrow, before it's too late. I’d really like to keep my job. It’s all I have.”
The orchid specialist nodded. “It’s a short term gain at all of our expense.”
The mower expert continually rubbed his temples, as if scouring his memory for the answer. “I can’t believe they’re having us argue it out amongst ourselves. They’re treating us all like … Like it doesn’t matter … ”
There were flare ups and occasional accusations, but in the end it was clear that the arguing wasn’t getting them anywhere.
“Whoever’s done it, would have already admitted.” Osef sighed. “If it’s actually someone here, I trust that person to do the right thing tomorrow. You can’t let us all lose our jobs. How could you do that?”
As the bus reached the lower cities, one by one, the gardeners disembarked in slow defeated walks, looking at each other for any last second confessions. There were none.
The last commuter to remain was Angel, who watched the street lamps activate across the uneven cityscape. It was getting dark.
With the seats to herself, Angel unzipped her overalls and looked into her inner chest pocket. She removed a plastic case containing a skittering butterfly.
It was hard to lie to all of their faces. Excruciating. The shame now constricted her like overgrown morning glory, rooting her into the cheap plastic seat. I musn’t feel bad. I can’t. Who else lives in a five person basement? Who else takes another hour to commute?
If only she knew a ballpark of everyone’s wage. She could maybe payout some kind of dividends. But what if everyone was already making double, or triple what she was?
She looked out the window at the neglected jungle of apartments. The streets are littered with broken solar panels and makeshift residences. The butterflies would carry her away from here.
Her collection of stolen Monarchs, Swallowtails and Skippers was earning her two year’s salary off a collector online. She’d be able to finally move out, rent a flat in the upper cities, get a new set of clothes. Like in the commercials.
When her stop came, Angel thanked the driver and wandered out into the empty station. She went to peruse the transit ads as she always did —to delay arriving home.
The bright screens offered a haunting glow to the station at night, firing light at odd angles and colors due the pervasive graffiti. Angel was trying to find the one that flashed the pantsuit she dreamed of owning, it was part of some fashion catalogue. However, that defaced screen appeared to have been replaced by a new unblemished one. It was an ad for the estate she worked at.
In an extremely high bird’s eye view of the hedge maze, a slogan appeared at the bottom: “Over 15km of maze, you’ll never get out!”
Angel walked up and observed the centre of the maze in the photo. It was an area she had never actually seen in real life. She looked close to see if there was some monument, plaque or any kind of reward for someone who reached the middle —and for a second she thought she spotted two small ponds. But those were just her eyes. Her own reflection.
As she stepped back, she could see her whole head stuck precisely in the middle of the estate labyrinth. Utterly trapped. Hedges all around her.
Then the ad changed and she saw her pantsuit.
2024.04.17 05:06 EclosionK2 Butterflies In Her Stomach
A mandatory meeting was called on the terrace above the gift shop. Despite the sunshine and finely arranged plants, Angel could sense the news would be bad.
The amenities manager Yuma stood on the edge of the roof terrace, once everyone seated themselves, she got right to the point.
“A significant amount of theft has occurred over this week and last. Designer fauna has gone missing from both our gardens and viewing terrariums.” She crossed her arms and let the pause grow apparent.
“Security has confirmed that it could not have been the tourists —the screening methods are too thorough for that. Moreover, there is sufficient evidence that indicates it was someone from gardening.”
Angel bit her lip and observed the shock spread across her coworkers. Senior gardener Osef had drawn a breath and looked ready to defend himself, but Yuma raised a nail-polished hand.
“We’re not interested in excuses. We’re not interested in accusations. The estate wants the property returned as soon as possible. If this does not happen, we will be forced to explore suspensions. Layoffs.”
Without glancing, Angel could sense the jaws around her drop. Osef cleared his throat, still fishing for permission to speak, but the manager focused on the stroll of her pantsuit.
“Whoever’s responsible may come confess to me, or go directly to HR,” She looked up from her shoes to each of the employees. “It goes without saying that the estate does not pay for internal probing or interrogations. It pays for world class gardeners and grounds. If you five so-called professionals can’t keep yourselves in line, then we’ll hire a new batch who can.”
***
The day went long for Angel. Neither she nor any of the gardeners could be seen arguing in front of the hordes of tourists, so they spent the last couple hours finishing what had to be trimmed, speaking only when necessary. It was the shuttle ride home where everything came unbottled.
“Will whoever did it, please just fess up?” Osef whisper-yelled. “Some of us have kids to feed and tuitions to pay. Whatever you think you’ll earn from selling that fauna won’t matter in two months when you’re out of a job.”
Angel did her best to match everyone’s anger at the back of the bus, she too raised her hands animatedly, and also sat on the edge of her seat. When it was her turn to speak, she allowed a tear to roll down her cheek.
“Please, if you can’t admit your fault now —then admit it tomorrow, before it's too late. I’d really like to keep my job. It’s all I have.”
The orchid specialist nodded. “It’s a short term gain at all of our expense.”
The mower expert continually rubbed his temples, as if scouring his memory for the answer. “I can’t believe they’re having us argue it out amongst ourselves. They’re treating us all like … Like it doesn’t matter … ”
There were flare ups and occasional accusations, but in the end it was clear that the arguing wasn’t getting them anywhere.
“Whoever’s done it, would have already admitted.” Osef sighed. “If it’s actually someone here, I trust that person to do the right thing tomorrow. You can’t let us all lose our jobs. How could you do that?”
As the bus reached the lower cities, one by one, the gardeners disembarked in slow defeated walks, looking at each other for any last second confessions. There were none.
The last commuter to remain was Angel, who watched the street lamps activate across the uneven cityscape. It was getting dark.
With the seats to herself, Angel unzipped her overalls and looked into her inner chest pocket. She removed a plastic case containing a skittering butterfly.
It was hard to lie to all of their faces. Excruciating. The shame now constricted her like overgrown morning glory, rooting her into the cheap plastic seat. I musn’t feel bad. I can’t. Who else lives in a five person basement? Who else takes another hour to commute?
If only she knew a ballpark of everyone’s wage. She could maybe payout some kind of dividends. But what if everyone was already making double, or triple what she was?
She looked out the window at the neglected jungle of apartments. The streets are littered with broken solar panels and makeshift residences. The butterflies would carry her away from here.
Her collection of stolen Monarchs, Swallowtails and Skippers was earning her two year’s salary off a collector online. She’d be able to finally move out, rent a flat in the upper cities, get a new set of clothes. Like in the commercials.
When her stop came, Angel thanked the driver and wandered out into the empty station. She went to peruse the transit ads as she always did —to delay arriving home.
The bright screens offered a haunting glow to the station at night, firing light at odd angles and colors due the pervasive graffiti. Angel was trying to find the one that flashed the pantsuit she dreamed of owning, it was part of some fashion catalogue. However, that defaced screen appeared to have been replaced by a new unblemished one. It was an ad for the estate she worked at.
In an extremely high bird’s eye view of the hedge maze, a slogan appeared at the bottom: “Over 15km of maze, you’ll never get out!”
Angel walked up and observed the centre of the maze in the photo. It was an area she had never actually seen in real life. She looked close to see if there was some monument, plaque or any kind of reward for someone who reached the middle —and for a second she thought she spotted two small ponds. But those were just her eyes. Her own reflection.
As she stepped back, she could see her whole head stuck precisely in the middle of the estate labyrinth. Utterly trapped. Hedges all around her.
Then the ad changed and she saw her pantsuit.
submitted by EclosionK2 to shortscifistories [link] [comments]
The amenities manager Yuma stood on the edge of the roof terrace, once everyone seated themselves, she got right to the point.
“A significant amount of theft has occurred over this week and last. Designer fauna has gone missing from both our gardens and viewing terrariums.” She crossed her arms and let the pause grow apparent.
“Security has confirmed that it could not have been the tourists —the screening methods are too thorough for that. Moreover, there is sufficient evidence that indicates it was someone from gardening.”
Angel bit her lip and observed the shock spread across her coworkers. Senior gardener Osef had drawn a breath and looked ready to defend himself, but Yuma raised a nail-polished hand.
“We’re not interested in excuses. We’re not interested in accusations. The estate wants the property returned as soon as possible. If this does not happen, we will be forced to explore suspensions. Layoffs.”
Without glancing, Angel could sense the jaws around her drop. Osef cleared his throat, still fishing for permission to speak, but the manager focused on the stroll of her pantsuit.
“Whoever’s responsible may come confess to me, or go directly to HR,” She looked up from her shoes to each of the employees. “It goes without saying that the estate does not pay for internal probing or interrogations. It pays for world class gardeners and grounds. If you five so-called professionals can’t keep yourselves in line, then we’ll hire a new batch who can.”
***
The day went long for Angel. Neither she nor any of the gardeners could be seen arguing in front of the hordes of tourists, so they spent the last couple hours finishing what had to be trimmed, speaking only when necessary. It was the shuttle ride home where everything came unbottled.
“Will whoever did it, please just fess up?” Osef whisper-yelled. “Some of us have kids to feed and tuitions to pay. Whatever you think you’ll earn from selling that fauna won’t matter in two months when you’re out of a job.”
Angel did her best to match everyone’s anger at the back of the bus, she too raised her hands animatedly, and also sat on the edge of her seat. When it was her turn to speak, she allowed a tear to roll down her cheek.
“Please, if you can’t admit your fault now —then admit it tomorrow, before it's too late. I’d really like to keep my job. It’s all I have.”
The orchid specialist nodded. “It’s a short term gain at all of our expense.”
The mower expert continually rubbed his temples, as if scouring his memory for the answer. “I can’t believe they’re having us argue it out amongst ourselves. They’re treating us all like … Like it doesn’t matter … ”
There were flare ups and occasional accusations, but in the end it was clear that the arguing wasn’t getting them anywhere.
“Whoever’s done it, would have already admitted.” Osef sighed. “If it’s actually someone here, I trust that person to do the right thing tomorrow. You can’t let us all lose our jobs. How could you do that?”
As the bus reached the lower cities, one by one, the gardeners disembarked in slow defeated walks, looking at each other for any last second confessions. There were none.
The last commuter to remain was Angel, who watched the street lamps activate across the uneven cityscape. It was getting dark.
With the seats to herself, Angel unzipped her overalls and looked into her inner chest pocket. She removed a plastic case containing a skittering butterfly.
It was hard to lie to all of their faces. Excruciating. The shame now constricted her like overgrown morning glory, rooting her into the cheap plastic seat. I musn’t feel bad. I can’t. Who else lives in a five person basement? Who else takes another hour to commute?
If only she knew a ballpark of everyone’s wage. She could maybe payout some kind of dividends. But what if everyone was already making double, or triple what she was?
She looked out the window at the neglected jungle of apartments. The streets are littered with broken solar panels and makeshift residences. The butterflies would carry her away from here.
Her collection of stolen Monarchs, Swallowtails and Skippers was earning her two year’s salary off a collector online. She’d be able to finally move out, rent a flat in the upper cities, get a new set of clothes. Like in the commercials.
When her stop came, Angel thanked the driver and wandered out into the empty station. She went to peruse the transit ads as she always did —to delay arriving home.
The bright screens offered a haunting glow to the station at night, firing light at odd angles and colors due the pervasive graffiti. Angel was trying to find the one that flashed the pantsuit she dreamed of owning, it was part of some fashion catalogue. However, that defaced screen appeared to have been replaced by a new unblemished one. It was an ad for the estate she worked at.
In an extremely high bird’s eye view of the hedge maze, a slogan appeared at the bottom: “Over 15km of maze, you’ll never get out!”
Angel walked up and observed the centre of the maze in the photo. It was an area she had never actually seen in real life. She looked close to see if there was some monument, plaque or any kind of reward for someone who reached the middle —and for a second she thought she spotted two small ponds. But those were just her eyes. Her own reflection.
As she stepped back, she could see her whole head stuck precisely in the middle of the estate labyrinth. Utterly trapped. Hedges all around her.
Then the ad changed and she saw her pantsuit.
2024.04.17 05:03 EclosionK2 Butterflies In Her Stomach
A mandatory meeting was called on the terrace above the gift shop. Despite the sunshine and finely arranged plants, Angel could sense the news would be bad.
The amenities manager Yuma stood on the edge of the roof terrace, once everyone seated themselves, she got right to the point.
“A significant amount of theft has occurred over this week and last. Designer fauna has gone missing from both our gardens and viewing terrariums.” She crossed her arms and let the pause grow apparent.
“Security has confirmed that it could not have been the tourists —the screening methods are too thorough for that. Moreover, there is sufficient evidence that indicates it was someone from gardening.”
Angel bit her lip and observed the shock spread across her coworkers. Senior gardener Osef had drawn a breath and looked ready to defend himself, but Yuma raised a nail-polished hand.
“We’re not interested in excuses. We’re not interested in accusations. The estate wants the property returned as soon as possible. If this does not happen, we will be forced to explore suspensions. Layoffs.”
Without glancing, Angel could sense the jaws around her drop. Osef cleared his throat, still fishing for permission to speak, but the manager focused on the stroll of her pantsuit.
“Whoever’s responsible may come confess to me, or go directly to HR,” She looked up from her shoes to each of the employees. “It goes without saying that the estate does not pay for internal probing or interrogations. It pays for world class gardeners and grounds. If you five so-called professionals can’t keep yourselves in line, then we’ll hire a new batch who can.”
***
The day went long for Angel. Neither she nor any of the gardeners could be seen arguing in front of the hordes of tourists, so they spent the last couple hours finishing what had to be trimmed, speaking only when necessary. It was the shuttle ride home where everything came unbottled.
“Will whoever did it, please just fess up?” Osef whisper-yelled. “Some of us have kids to feed and tuitions to pay. Whatever you think you’ll earn from selling that fauna won’t matter in two months when you’re out of a job.”
Angel did her best to match everyone’s anger at the back of the bus, she too raised her hands animatedly, and also sat on the edge of her seat. When it was her turn to speak, she allowed a tear to roll down her cheek.
“Please, if you can’t admit your fault now —then admit it tomorrow, before it's too late. I’d really like to keep my job. It’s all I have.”
The orchid specialist nodded. “It’s a short term gain at all of our expense.”
The mower expert continually rubbed his temples, as if scouring his memory for the answer. “I can’t believe they’re having us argue it out amongst ourselves. They’re treating us all like … Like it doesn’t matter … ”
There were flare ups and occasional accusations, but in the end it was clear that the arguing wasn’t getting them anywhere.
“Whoever’s done it, would have already admitted.” Osef sighed. “If it’s actually someone here, I trust that person to do the right thing tomorrow. You can’t let us all lose our jobs. How could you do that?”
As the bus reached the lower cities, one by one, the gardeners disembarked in slow defeated walks, looking at each other for any last second confessions. There were none.
The last commuter to remain was Angel, who watched the street lamps activate across the uneven cityscape. It was getting dark.
With the seats to herself, Angel unzipped her overalls and looked into her inner chest pocket. She removed a plastic case containing a skittering butterfly.
It was hard to lie to all of their faces. Excruciating. The shame now constricted her like overgrown morning glory, rooting her into the cheap plastic seat. I musn’t feel bad. I can’t. Who else lives in a five person basement? Who else takes another hour to commute?
If only she knew a ballpark of everyone’s wage. She could maybe payout some kind of dividends. But what if everyone was already making double, or triple what she was?
She looked out the window at the neglected jungle of apartments. The streets are littered with broken solar panels and makeshift residences. The butterflies would carry her away from here.
Her collection of stolen Monarchs, Swallowtails and Skippers was earning her two year’s salary off a collector online. She’d be able to finally move out, rent a flat in the upper cities, get a new set of clothes. Like in the commercials.
When her stop came, Angel thanked the driver and wandered out into the empty station. She went to peruse the transit ads as she always did —to delay arriving home.
The bright screens offered a haunting glow to the station at night, firing light at odd angles and colors due the pervasive graffiti. Angel was trying to find the one that flashed the pantsuit she dreamed of owning, it was part of some fashion catalogue. However, that defaced screen appeared to have been replaced by a new unblemished one. It was an ad for the estate she worked at.
In an extremely high bird’s eye view of the hedge maze, a slogan appeared at the bottom: “Over 15km of maze, you’ll never get out!”
Angel walked up and observed the centre of the maze in the photo. It was an area she had never actually seen in real life. She looked close to see if there was some monument, plaque or any kind of reward for someone who reached the middle —and for a second she thought she spotted two small ponds. But those were just her eyes. Her own reflection.
As she stepped back, she could see her whole head stuck precisely in the middle of the estate labyrinth. Utterly trapped. Hedges all around her.
Then the ad changed and she saw her pantsuit.
submitted by EclosionK2 to Odd_directions [link] [comments]
The amenities manager Yuma stood on the edge of the roof terrace, once everyone seated themselves, she got right to the point.
“A significant amount of theft has occurred over this week and last. Designer fauna has gone missing from both our gardens and viewing terrariums.” She crossed her arms and let the pause grow apparent.
“Security has confirmed that it could not have been the tourists —the screening methods are too thorough for that. Moreover, there is sufficient evidence that indicates it was someone from gardening.”
Angel bit her lip and observed the shock spread across her coworkers. Senior gardener Osef had drawn a breath and looked ready to defend himself, but Yuma raised a nail-polished hand.
“We’re not interested in excuses. We’re not interested in accusations. The estate wants the property returned as soon as possible. If this does not happen, we will be forced to explore suspensions. Layoffs.”
Without glancing, Angel could sense the jaws around her drop. Osef cleared his throat, still fishing for permission to speak, but the manager focused on the stroll of her pantsuit.
“Whoever’s responsible may come confess to me, or go directly to HR,” She looked up from her shoes to each of the employees. “It goes without saying that the estate does not pay for internal probing or interrogations. It pays for world class gardeners and grounds. If you five so-called professionals can’t keep yourselves in line, then we’ll hire a new batch who can.”
***
The day went long for Angel. Neither she nor any of the gardeners could be seen arguing in front of the hordes of tourists, so they spent the last couple hours finishing what had to be trimmed, speaking only when necessary. It was the shuttle ride home where everything came unbottled.
“Will whoever did it, please just fess up?” Osef whisper-yelled. “Some of us have kids to feed and tuitions to pay. Whatever you think you’ll earn from selling that fauna won’t matter in two months when you’re out of a job.”
Angel did her best to match everyone’s anger at the back of the bus, she too raised her hands animatedly, and also sat on the edge of her seat. When it was her turn to speak, she allowed a tear to roll down her cheek.
“Please, if you can’t admit your fault now —then admit it tomorrow, before it's too late. I’d really like to keep my job. It’s all I have.”
The orchid specialist nodded. “It’s a short term gain at all of our expense.”
The mower expert continually rubbed his temples, as if scouring his memory for the answer. “I can’t believe they’re having us argue it out amongst ourselves. They’re treating us all like … Like it doesn’t matter … ”
There were flare ups and occasional accusations, but in the end it was clear that the arguing wasn’t getting them anywhere.
“Whoever’s done it, would have already admitted.” Osef sighed. “If it’s actually someone here, I trust that person to do the right thing tomorrow. You can’t let us all lose our jobs. How could you do that?”
As the bus reached the lower cities, one by one, the gardeners disembarked in slow defeated walks, looking at each other for any last second confessions. There were none.
The last commuter to remain was Angel, who watched the street lamps activate across the uneven cityscape. It was getting dark.
With the seats to herself, Angel unzipped her overalls and looked into her inner chest pocket. She removed a plastic case containing a skittering butterfly.
It was hard to lie to all of their faces. Excruciating. The shame now constricted her like overgrown morning glory, rooting her into the cheap plastic seat. I musn’t feel bad. I can’t. Who else lives in a five person basement? Who else takes another hour to commute?
If only she knew a ballpark of everyone’s wage. She could maybe payout some kind of dividends. But what if everyone was already making double, or triple what she was?
She looked out the window at the neglected jungle of apartments. The streets are littered with broken solar panels and makeshift residences. The butterflies would carry her away from here.
Her collection of stolen Monarchs, Swallowtails and Skippers was earning her two year’s salary off a collector online. She’d be able to finally move out, rent a flat in the upper cities, get a new set of clothes. Like in the commercials.
When her stop came, Angel thanked the driver and wandered out into the empty station. She went to peruse the transit ads as she always did —to delay arriving home.
The bright screens offered a haunting glow to the station at night, firing light at odd angles and colors due the pervasive graffiti. Angel was trying to find the one that flashed the pantsuit she dreamed of owning, it was part of some fashion catalogue. However, that defaced screen appeared to have been replaced by a new unblemished one. It was an ad for the estate she worked at.
In an extremely high bird’s eye view of the hedge maze, a slogan appeared at the bottom: “Over 15km of maze, you’ll never get out!”
Angel walked up and observed the centre of the maze in the photo. It was an area she had never actually seen in real life. She looked close to see if there was some monument, plaque or any kind of reward for someone who reached the middle —and for a second she thought she spotted two small ponds. But those were just her eyes. Her own reflection.
As she stepped back, she could see her whole head stuck precisely in the middle of the estate labyrinth. Utterly trapped. Hedges all around her.
Then the ad changed and she saw her pantsuit.
2024.04.13 10:52 Rzeal14 Mass Promotion, or How the Education System is (Unwittingly) Screwing Over the Filipino Youth
 | submitted by Rzeal14 to Philippines [link] [comments] From the Balita FB Page post last Wednesday Over the past week, a now-deleted Facebook post went viral where a teacher felt exasperated for having to constantly adjust the grades of their students so that they will not fail the class. Which made people ask 'wtf?' and question the need for such a move. They call it "mass promotion." People unfamiliar with it think it's part of the 'woke culture' gripping the world. The ongoing boomer narrative is that somehow teachers' abilities to discipline students have been shackled by having to 'baby' the students due to Tulfo and 'overzealous' children's rights policies, leaving this new generation full of 'softies' who are less disciplines and thus less competent than the previous generation (lol). But as always, the truth is far more insidious than that. Way back in 2012, when the K to 12 curriculum was conceived, the planners knew that adding two more years to basic education was about to cause the biggest disruption to the education system since World War 2. So, there were various 'solutions' offered to ease in the transition, such as letting colleges offer Senior High School classes (to prevent the potential loss of revenue of no incoming freshmen in the first two years of implementation while the government keep up with building new high schools and increasing capacity in existing ones), among others. But perhaps the most important concern of all is this: the possibility of decreasing enrollment as the poorest families may not be able to shoulder the burden of another two years for that pesky high school diploma. So, the higher-ups devised a plan to address this: make schools and teachers work harder to maintain or even increase its enrollment and graduates, adapting the "No Child Left Behind" slogan in the US. Basically, schools and teachers would be receiving bonuses for maintaining passing rates and tying school funding directly to enrollment. Negatives like lots of repeaters and dropouts would mean reduced bonuses, and falling enrollments would mean a cut in school funding. You would think that this would encourage teachers and school officials to 'teach harder' and 'care for the students' more, as the program definitely intended. But, just like the cobra story in colonial India (just google it), it created a situation where the schools simply artificially inflated their stats, passing students despite not mastering skills, which was further exacerbated by the infamous 'distance learning' during the pandemic. The result? The normalization of a system which turns schools into diploma mills, cranking out graduates which dilute what little value is left of a high school diploma. We see seemingly low-income jobs requiring higher and higher qualifications because of this, and more importantly, we will most probably lose our precious BPO and other service sector jobs in a decade due to more and more countries learning to speak English (one of our competitive advantages in the world market). So, with all that, what's the solution? I'm not an education expert, heck, I'm barely in the education sector. But I can offer a solution: LET THE TEACHERS TEACH. Simple as that. The whole problem started by having teachers 'perform miracles' while 'making do' with the same resources, requiring more and more out the already overburdened and undercompensated education professionals. So, if restrictions to the number of students passed or failed would be lifted, it might reinforce (reintroduce?) merit as basis of performance. At the end of the day, the system must learn once again that education means having people learn stuff they would need to survive in our world today, instead of merely a rite of passage, something that everyone must go through whether they understood the whys of it or not. Maybe then our diplomas might actually mean something. Note: I adapted this from an earlier post of mine Tl;dr - the education system forces schools to maintain a facade of high enrollment and graduation which in turn transformed the system into a giant diploma mill. allowing teachers to fail students again might counterintuitively solve the problem. |
2024.04.12 22:06 SourceMedium6031 Daily News Report: 04/06/2024 - 04/12/2024
Date: 04/12/2024
Reading time: 2 minutes, 402 words🏛️ Politics & Government
BREAKING: President Zurabishvili to Pardon Lazare Grigoriadis
President Salome Zurabishvili said she will pardon Lazare Grigoriadis. She said she has not signed the relevant order yet, but she has made her decision.CivilGe, Lazare Grigoriadis Sentenced to Nine Years in Prison
Freedom House: Georgia on its Way to Becoming Semi-Consolidated Authoritarian Regime
The Nations in Transit 2024 report assesses the status of democratic governance in 29 post-communist nations across Europe and Eurasia. Georgia’s score remains unchanged – 3.04 from the last year, however, the same report notes that “the autocratizing hybrids like Hungary, Serbia, and to a lesser extent Georgia are on their way to becoming Semi-Consolidated Authoritarian Regimes based on the report methodology.CivilGe
Georgian PM says Gov’t’s “main task” to maintain, further strengthen ties with Germany
Georgian PM Irakli Kobakhidze said his Government’s “main task” was to maintain and further strengthen cooperation between the two countries. He and his Government delegation had “remarkable” meetings in Berlin during the day with German Chancellor Olaf Scholz.AgendaGe
International Reactions to Reintroduction of Draft Law on Foreign Agents
Georgian Dream has announced the reintroduction of the draft law on foreign agents. The law was withdrawn last year after massive rallies against the bill. The European Union must clarify to the Georgian government that by adopting the “Russian law” the Georgian dream is deliberately shutting the doors to the country’s European future.CivilGe
CoE Report Says Freedom of Assembly Violations Topped New Violations in Georgia in 2023
Most of the new violations in 2023 in Georgia concerned violations of the applicant’s right to freedom of assembly. Report: In 2023, the Committee of Ministers received 15 new cases against Georgia from the ECHR for monitoring its implementation, five more cases than in previous year.CivilGe
NGO’s: “Georgian Dream” is trying to change the western course of the country
30 non-governmental organizations evaluate statements made by Georgian Dream leaders. They say they are against the will of the Georgian people and the Constitution of Georgia. “Georgian Dream is already spreading similar messages openly,” civil sector says.GeorgiaToday
Olaf Scholz on draft law on foreign influence: EU doesn’t have similar legislation
The European Union does not have such legislation, – German Chancellor Olaf Scholz. “So many countries have adopted the same or similar law” at the joint briefing with Prime Minister of Georgia Irakli Kobakhidze.GeorgiaToday
Date: 04/11/2024
Reading time: 2 minutes, 539 words🏛️ Politics & Government
Freedom House: Georgia embarked on the path of semi-consolidated authoritarianism
Georgian democracy index of Georgia is 3.04 points (out of 7), and in terms of percentages – 34%, and it is behind Armenia, Hungary, Serbia, Moldova, Ukraine, Bosnia-Herzegovina, Kosovo and Ukraine. Georgia belongs to countries with hybrid regimes leading to autocratization, in which, besides it, there are also – Hungary and Serbia.GeorgiaToday
Defending Their Right to Be Europeans – Georgians Protest Re-Introduction of Foreign Agents Bill
A peaceful “Freedom March” was carried out in Tbilisi, starting at the capital’s First Republic Square, moving along Rustaveli Avenue, and ending in front of the country's parliament building. Participants of the march were protesting the violation of the promise made by the ruling Georgian Dream party a year ago and the re-initiation of the “Russian Law”GeorgiaToday
EU Ambassador: Foreign Agents Law Would Make Positive EC Assessment ‘ Very Difficult’
The EU Ambassador to Georgia Paweł Herczyński said “time is running short” and Georgia should implement all nine steps defined by the European Commission. The Ambassador also commented on the re-tabled Foreign Agents Bill, saying “simply this law is not okay”CivilGe, EU Political and Security Committee Visits Georgia, EU delegation shares its concerns with Gov’t regarding “Russian Law”, EU delegation shares its concerns with Gov’t regarding “Russian Law”
US FARA vs. Georgian Foreign Agents Law: Three Major Differences
Ted Jonas: Georgian Dream's proposed law on Foreign Agents is not an American law. He argues that Georgian law is fundamentally different from American law, closer to Russian law, and in at least one important respect, even harsher than Russian law. FARA's origin as an anti-Nazi, anti-Bolshevik law is not just history, he says.CivilGe
Coalition of 12 CSOs Assess Implementation of EU’s Nine Conditions
Civil society organizations present interim report “Status Meter” which assesses the Government’s progress in implementing the nine conditions set for Georgia by the European Commission. CSOs say Government has not taken any “serious steps” in the past five months to meet the 9 conditions. The remaining seven steps, according to the CSOs are still unfulfilled.CivilGe
President of Georgia Establishes NBG Board Selection Commission
The President of Georgia Salome Zurabishvili established the Selection Commission for the members of the National Bank of Georgia (NBG) Board and held its first working meeting on April 10. The Commission agreed on the procedure for the selection of candidates, the evaluation criteria and the work schedule.CivilGe
🎭 Culture
Georgian Parliament Speaker discusses bilateral cooperation with Kazakhstan’s Mäjilis Chair
Georgian Parliament Speaker Shalva Papuashvili met with Kazakhstan's Parliament Speaker Erlan Qoşanov. The sides discussed bilateral cooperation in various sectors, including politics, trade, economy, agriculture, transport, tourism, culture, and culture. They highlighted the importance of collaboration to leverage potential of the Middle Corridor.AgendaGe
Date: 04/10/2024
Reading time: 2 minutes, 541 words🏛️ Politics & Government
Georgian PM discusses European integration with EU Political and Security Committee
Georgian PM Irakli Kobakhidze met with delegation of the Political and Security Committee of the Council of the EU. The sides highlighted the “historic decision” of the European Council to grant the EU membership candidate status to Georgia last year, which took relations to “a completely new, strategic level”AgendaGe, EU Political and Security Committee Visits Georgia, Zurabishvili: When it comes to choice between Europe and Russia, President can’t be neutral!, Georgia represented at 70th meeting of UNWTO Commission for Europe
Political Spectrum on the Possibility of Further U.S. Sanctions
Georgia re-introduction of the Russian-style Foreign Agents Law by the ruling Georgian Dream majority has provoked sharp criticism from Georgia’s partners. This criticism from the international community, in its turn prompted reactions from across the political spectrum. U.S. State Department spokesman Matthew Miller said that right now the State Department is “making clear that we are concerned with this draft legislation” and hinted at the possibility of countermeasures.CivilGe, U.S. Ambassador Reiterates “Serious Concern” about Foreign Agents’ Law, Rejects Similarity with FARA, U.S. State Department Says New Legislation “Moving Georgia Away from Europe”, UN expresses its profound concern with re-introduction of ‘Russian Law’
Bundestag’s Foreign Affairs Committee Chair: Foreign Agents Law “Incompatible” with EU Membership
Michael Roth, a member of the Social Democratic Party of Germany, reacted to the reintroduction of the Russian-style Foreign Agents Law in his social media post. Roth stressed that an independent and critical civil society is a must, “a condition” for a country to join the EU.CivilGe
Auštrevičius: I congratulate the citizens of Georgia who defend their right to be Europeans
The Freedom March started at Republic Square and ended at the Parliament of Georgia with the slogan: “Yes to Europe! No to the Russian law!” MEP Petras Auštrevičius congratulates the citizens of Georgia who defend their right to be Europeans.GeorgiaToday
British Embassy: We support citizens of Georgia in building a strong, free and sovereign country
The British Embassy in Georgia honored those who fought for Georgia’s independence, sovereignty and prosperity 35 years ago. They support the citizens of Georgia in building a strong, free and sovereign country.GeorgiaToday
Date: 04/08/2024
Reading time: 3 minutes, 661 words🏛️ Politics & Government
More than 400 CSOs Denounce Foreign Agents Bill
Georgian civil society organizations (CSOs) issued a joint statement “categorically opposing” the ruling party bill on foreign agents. The organizations emphasize that curbing their work “will leave children and women victims of violence, people with disabilities, scientists, workers and youth vulnerable” The NGOs call on the Government to withdraw the law from the parliamentary discussions.CivilGe
PM Announces Large Tax Debt Relief Ahead of Elections
All debts incurred before January 1, 2021, including penalty taxes, will be fully written off. The decision comes in the context of the parliamentary elections slated for October 2024.CivilGe
Galt and Taggart: This year, Georgia to receive 4.5 billion dollars from tourism
This year Georgia will receive 4.5 billion dollars in income from tourism. Galt and Taggart stated that in 2024, tourism revenues equaled 879 million USD, which is an annual increase of 10.6%.GeorgiaToday
Court Concludes Proceedings for Grigoriadis’ Case, Verdict Pending
Judge Zviad Sharadze retired for deliberation and announced the verdict expected in “reasonable time” Lazare Grigoriadis, 23, was arrested in connection with the March 7-9 protests for allegedly throwing Molotov cocktails at police and setting fire to a police car. His family and supporters gathered at the Parliament of Georgia and the Tbilisi City Court.CivilGe
Ministers Reflect Batu Kutelia (DMoD 2006-2008)
Batu Kutelia was the Deputy Minister of Defense of Georgia from December 2006 to December 2008. Kutelia is currently a Senior Fellow at the Foreign Policy Research Institute (FPRI) Kutelia served as the Ambassador of Georgia in Washington, D.C., and Deputy Secretary of the National Security Council of Georgia until September 2013.CivilGe
Activists Hold Rally Against Foreign Agents Bill
The bill on foreign agents has been re-introduced in Georgia's Parliament. The bill was passed last year, but the title has been changed to 'Organization Pursuing the Interests of a Foreign Power'CivilGe, PM Defends Foreign Agents Bill, Lashes Out at CSOs, Independent Media Denounces Reintroduced Foreign Agents Bill, “Russian law” passes the bureau, discussion to continue in the legal committee, President to veto draft law “On transparency of foreign influence”, Gakharia’s party prepares amendments to the Law on Grants, Bill “On transparency of foreign influence” to be submitted to Parliament today, President to veto draft law “On transparency of foreign influence”, President to veto draft law “On transparency of foreign influence”
President Zurabishvili Meets Western Ambassadors to Discuss Law on Foreign Agents
President of Georgia Salome Zurabishvili held a meeting with representatives of the diplomatic corps to discuss the reintroduction of the so-called “foreign agents” law by the ruling party. The meeting was attended by the Ambassadors of the EU member states, the US and the UK.CivilGe
New international airport to be built in Tbilisi
A new international airport will be built in Tbilisi, Vaziani, Georgia. Prime Minister Irakli Kobakhidze: New airport allows to increase the number of passengers to 19 million, with the prospect of further expansion.GeorgiaToday
Date: 04/07/2024
Reading time: 0 minutes, 65 words🏛️ Politics & Government
CSOs Make Statement Reminding GD Leaders of their Past Work with International Organizations
Georgian civil society organizations issued a statement today calling on the leaders of “Georgian Dream” “to explain to the Georgian people whether they were instructed to act in favor of the interests of a foreign state” The authors recall that the representatives of the party, which re-introduced the “Russian Law”, have had extensive experience working in organizations funded by the USA and the European Union.CivilGe
Date: 04/06/2024
Reading time: 0 minutes, 59 words🏛️ Politics & Government
US Helsinki Commission: “Foreign Agent” Legislation – Self-Sabotage of Georgia’s EU Candidacy
The U.S. Helsinki Commission issued a statement on April 5 on the re-introduction of the law on “foreign agents” by the ruling Georgian Dream party. The statement calls the reintroduction of the bill “a deliberate attack on Georgia’s fragile democracy, self-sabotage of its European candidacy, and a blatant rejection of the Georgian people’�s overwhelming and hard won Euro-Atlantic choice.CivilGe
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2024.04.12 20:48 TheOddNews Tomb of the Djinn Master - ReadOnline.Blog
This incident took place in a unit of the 7th Corps in Diyarbakır in 2008. Like every other son of the motherland, I was very excited about going to the army. In my civilian life, I used to go to seasonal jobs in tourism regions during the summer months and worked as a bartender in hotels.
My family and friends who had done their military service warned me not to choose a profession. They said that if you chose a profession, you would be deployed early from boot camp and you would have a high chance of being sent to the east. But it didn’t really matter to me. The west and the east are homelands. As a matter of fact, I wanted to go to the mountains with a gun in my hand.
The day came and thanks to my friends, they organized a military party in the neighborhood. We had fun all night long, we danced the halay. My friends fired shots in the air and a convoy of cars with horns honking non-stop blocked the streets of the neighborhood. They drove me home with slogans like “The greatest soldier is our soldier”. The next day I had a bus at 12 o’clock at night. My mother was in tears. After chatting throughout the night, we fell asleep and time passed quickly. It was time to leave.
Yes, my friends did not leave me alone again. We arrived at the bus station with a convoy of 10 cars, but my mother was crying as usual. After saying goodbye to everyone, I got on the bus. I am not a person who shows my emotions easily, so I let myself go after the bus left.
It took about 6 hours to reach Çanakkale. The bus went all the way to the center to avoid early surrender, but I didn’t get off there. After a bit of sightseeing and hanging out at the internet café with 3 friends I met on the bus, we surrendered to our unit. The army post was nothing like I had imagined. We were searched as we entered, they even took the needle and thread sets we had put in our bags in case we were dismantled.
After waiting for about 5 hours in a place called the “Casino”, where there was nothing but a TV and chairs, we gathered in the kitchen area for dinner. After receiving the “Sit-Stay” punishments from the higher ranks, we joined a long queue for dinner.
There is a different logic in the military, when the senior officer says “be quiet”, one of the 300 people must speak. As a result, the whole company does “Sit-Shake” until their knees give out. The funny part is that the punishments never work, there is always someone who does what they are told not to do.
After dinner, we sat in the casino for a while and then we were called to bed roll at 20.30. The amount of “Sit-Shuffle” we did during this time was incalculable. That’s when I realized that these 460 days would not end easily. Even though it was 12:00 a.m., we were still in the casino waiting to be given a bed. I guess they had forgotten or were deliberately keeping us waiting.
Just as we were going out, a non-commissioned officer on duty came and called the sergeant and scolded, “Why don’t you put these soldiers to bed?” Within 15 minutes we got our beds. However, since my bed was on the bed under the two-storey bunk bed, when I lay down, I felt as if I had reached back 20 or 30 years before me. I fell asleep after reading the depressing messages of the previous circuits engraved on the bunk bed.
Military service was really hard. At 5 a.m. I woke up jumping up and down with a big noise. The upper circuits were banging on the bunks and lockers with iron bars in their hands, shouting “Barracks, get up!”. That day we were assigned our camouflages. In the following days, the grueling training began.
There were 300 of us going to the bathroom, 20 by 20, and we were given 5 minutes to undress and get dressed. In the first bathroom I went to, I was 20th in the first group and unfortunately the shower faucet was broken. After 2 weeks, they started to separate the colleagues. Most of them ended up in the east. Those who were selected would go to their master units at the end of a month with an oath ceremony. We would continue this torment for another month and a half.
At one point, I thought of enrolling in a vocational program, maybe I would be more comfortable in the master’s unit. But after what I went through here, I didn’t want to go to the east anymore, so I gave up. As the time came and went, it was announced that we would also be joining the master’s unit. I was assigned to Şanlıurfa Gendarmerie Group Command under Diyarbakır 7th Corps. In our company, the number of people going to the east was so small that you could count them on one hand.
I was one of them and I was feeling very unlucky. I was on a 7-day deployment and the days passed very fast. In mid-May, I boarded a plane from the airport to surrender to the master unit. After a 1 hour and 50 minute journey, I arrived in Diyarbakır and surrendered to the master unit.
I met three friends who were in my unit. This was the helicopter squadron. A senior officer who was 10 days away from the end of his military service said, “Grandchildren, let me introduce you to the headquarters” and mentioned that there were more officers than soldiers here. The job of us soldiers was to do daily tasks, errands and guard duty at the headquarters. He asked us, “Do you have a profession?” I answered, “I am a bartender.”
He said that after a while they would select the new recruits who had a profession. The outdoor pool will open in mid-June, and they might hire a bartender there. When the commander asked, he said you would feel comfortable if you joined. He said that the pool was currently under renovation and that they were going to hire soldiers to move it. He said they probably took you with them, you’ll see then. As they said, we gathered for roll call after lunch.
The company sergeant separated 7-8 of the newly arrived soldiers to work on the pool renovation. When we went to the pool, I saw a more beautiful view than I expected. The pool was very big and there was a swimming area and a service area. At the back was a large kitchen. Obviously the food here was made with fast food products. There was also alcohol available. Depending on their rank, soldiers and their families could enjoy themselves here for a nominal fee.
At the entrance there was an area for registration and lockers, and a little further on there were about 20 lockers. The length of the pool was about 50 meters and the first part was one meter and 50 centimeters. As it progressed, the depth increased. The end of the pool was 3 meters deep. It had been renovated this year because there was a water leak last summer. In the pool, a worker with a chisel was breaking the concrete with great noise.
We were putting small pieces of concrete in buckets and giving them to our friends upstairs. We endured this hardship for a few days. The work was very heavy and we were completing our work until the evening. It was not yet time for weapons to be issued, so we did not have to worry about guard duty. However, as we know, since military service is very common in the military, the higher ranks would flood our barracks with fire hoses every evening.
Our barracks were located on the top floor of the 6-story headquarters building. There was no way to drain the ankle-deep water in our barracks. The water had to be discharged from the lowest floor of the 6-story building, from the building entrance. Almost every evening, we would draw water for about 1.5 hours with check passes in our hands. The upper circuits did the water pumping as they pleased. Even though it was clean, we had to deal with the rookies in the places where the water was pumped for a while.
After a while, our weapons were assigned to us and we started to write down our shifts. The seniors usually went to 8, 10 and 12 o’clock shifts in the evening and didn’t do any other shifts. This situation drew my attention. When the watch list arrived, I was shocked. Day shifts were assigned for 3 hours each: 8-11, 12-15 and 18-21. Night shifts were organized as 2 hours each: 23-01, 02-04 and 06-08. I didn’t know how I was going to sleep and how I was going to rest. Our superiors told us that we should rest during the watch.
The watch towers were about 5 meters high. The climate of the region was muggy. When you climbed the tower, you could see nothing in front of you but yellow grass that grew up to a meter tall. Some senior soldiers claimed that strange beings roamed among these grasses during night watches. I thought they were saying this to scare us, until that night.
I came from the 12 o’clock shift, it was a fill-empty shift. I went to bed at 02:30. They were going to wake me up at 03:30 for the 4-6 watch. I lay in my bed to sleep for an hour without even taking off my camouflage. When they came to wake me up, I couldn’t open my eyes. I don’t know how much longer I could endure this pace.
The teams that went on guard duty were always my platoons. I went up to the guard tower, half awake, half asleep. I realized it was at least 15 minutes before this watch started. When I looked back, I saw a shadow coming from the direction of the military. A soldier was coming and I stopped him by warning him. I asked him the password and when he answered correctly, I welcomed him.
I had never seen him before, I asked him who he was and why he had come. He introduced himself, his name was Mehmet Gök, he was from Ankara. He said it was normal that I hadn’t seen him, that he was a night worker in the boiler room and slept in the barracks during the day. When I asked him if it was forbidden to come to the tower, he said, “Forget about that, I’m here to warn you,” and started to tell me the story.
He told me that before the 7th Corps was established here, there was a village nearby. A hüddam lived in this village. When I asked, “What is hüddam?” he said that it was a science that was practiced by using spells to put the djinns into service and continued. At first this huddam was doing good things and winning the love of the villagers, but after a while the djinns got the upper hand and took the huddam under their control.
The khuddam was causing a lot of harm to the people, declaring himself the village lord and saying that the djinns would haunt those who opposed him. He was confiscating the property of the villagers. Finally, when he coveted the beautiful daughters of the villagers, the villagers, not wanting to dishonor themselves, killed him. Of course, it was not easy to kill him and some of the villagers perished along with the village as it burned to the ground, displacing the remaining villagers.
The man’s body was dumped in a pit in the area where we are now. There was no marker, no gravestone. Later, this base was established in that area. It is claimed that sometimes the dead huddam would appear to some soldiers and some of them would lose their minds when they saw him.
While the soldier, Mehmet Gök, was talking, I was looking at the field in front of us, which was covered with yellow grass. About 100 meters away, I noticed some movement in the grass. I wondered if it was a dog or an animal. I pointed my gun and gave my full attention. Out of the grass, a human-like figure, but almost twice the size of an average human, stood up.
I turned to Mehmet and was about to ask, “Do you see what I see?” when I looked up and Mehmet had disappeared. When I turned my head to the field, what I saw had disappeared too. I put down my gun and tried to come to my senses. I poured water over my head and thought that I might be hallucinating because I was tired.
I looked at the grassy area again, the grass was moving again. It couldn’t be an animal, it was moving back and forth very fast. I called out loudly, “Who is there?” Something started coming through the grass in my direction. As the grass moved towards me, a cold wind hit me in the face. I pointed my gun and fired a few shots. As soon as I fired, the grass stopped moving.
Obviously the duty officer panicked when he heard the gunshot. An announcement came over the radio, but I was frozen and couldn’t respond. Soon the watch commanders and the rapid response squad arrived. The commander asked, “What’s going on here?” and I started to explain.
“Sir, something was moving back and forth in the grass. Then at some point it stood up, it was very tall and its eyes were glowing in the dark, but I couldn’t see it because of its speed. Then it started coming towards me. First I warned him but he didn’t stop. So I shot him,” I said.
The commander looked at me sarcastically and said, “So you saw a ghost and shot it. Describe the place, let’s see.” With the same response squad in the front and us in the back, we crossed the wall and entered the grassy area. The grass was up to my waist, the soldiers’ hands on their triggers, we proceeded carefully. After about 50 meters, we came to the place we had been following.
When we looked, there was nothing. I felt like I was going crazy. The commander was looking at me in a bad way. He called the duty sergeant and asked him to bring the duty roster. After examining the schedule, he shouted at the sergeant, “If a rookie soldier has been on guard duty this long, he will shoot us, let alone imaginary things. When is this kid going to sleep and rest? There is no more no guard duty for the higher ranks. Everyone will do it from now on,” and he did as he said.
The next day, all the seniors were on guard duty. Everybody was looking at me with hateful eyes. I was sure of what I had seen, that it really existed, but no one believed me. The first thing I did the next day was to look for a soldier named Mehmet Gök in the barracks. When I asked the ward officer which bed he was in, he said, “I don’t know anyone like that.”
But how could I? He told me that he was a night watchman in the boiler room and slept during the day. I ran to the boiler room. There was a soldier who was in my unit, he had arrived before me because he was a career soldier. I asked him, “Do you know Mehmet Gök here?” He said he didn’t. When I said, “He must have been late, Mustafa is looking here,” that soldier from our circuit said, “I don’t know that person, brother.”
I think I was really tired and I decided not to investigate any further. I only had 24 shifts that night. When I went on guard duty, I had a feeling of fear and I was constantly observing the surroundings with suspicion. A 2-hour shift felt like 10 hours, but thankfully it passed. Shortly afterwards, some of our lower circuits came in on leave, including the cook and the lifeguard.
One day I worked in the pool. In fact, we learned that the renovation of the pool had been completed. The commander made explanations and chose the lifeguard and one of the vocational workers. A dishwasher from one of my circuits and one of the short-termers was going to do the pool entry registration and locker locker monitoring. Then it was the waiter and bartender’s turn. When the commander asked, I raised my hand.
Since no one else raised their hands, two of us were chosen for this job. Two specialist sergeants would be in charge of us. One of them would stand at the cash register and help our commanders. They told us our duties. The pool would open at 90:00 and the ranks and their families would use it. Since there was a big pine tree next to the pool, the pine needles would be removed from the water surface every morning. During the day, we would be responsible for the preparation of food such as hamburgers, pizzas and fries.
Actually, there was no job that required bartending knowledge. Beer, raki and wine would be served as alcohol. Cold soft drinks would be served without alcohol. The pool would close at 17:00 in the evening. The notes would be placed around the pool and tables for dinner would be set up in the empty spaces. The menu would include fish and kebab dishes along with alcohol. At 10:00 p.m. the casino would close and rest.
The best part of serving in the pool was being exempt from muster and guard duty. We would go to the headquarters building to sleep before going to bed. The first few days were spent in preparations: Cleaning, filling the cupboards, organizing glasses, cutlery and cutlery. A few days later the pool was opened. It was a lot of fun working here and we quickly adapted. We felt like we were at work instead of in the army.
We got on very well with the team, but it was not surprising that we were not well liked at headquarters and were even envied by our own platoons. We all complained about the same thing: there was a small gym, sauna and hammam in a separate building adjacent to the pool. The back door to the kitchen gave access to this area, but it was closed for use. We only used part of the gym as storage and we had the keys.
In our free time we hung out in the gym and made calls on cell phones we had smuggled in. The gym had become a multifunctional place for us. But there was something strange. Every now and then, when we entered the gym, we would see the water that we had stacked on top of each other scattered all over the place. This surprised us in a place where there were no cats or dogs or anything like that.
Fortunately, we didn’t have any other problems other than that. We made a decision as a team that from now on we would sleep in the gym and sauna area. We arrived at the gym after a busy evening and it was our first night. My friends had made their beds in the gym, but they didn’t all fit.
I said, “I’ll sleep later” and I made my bed in the part where the sauna and the gym meet. There was only the door to the sauna between them. The gym had a big window. It was covered with frosted and patterned glass. The light from a nearby street lamp hit the window, casting a dim glow inside.
Everyone lay down on their beds and we turned off the light. After chatting for a while from where we were lying, we quietened down to go to sleep. There was complete silence inside, but we were all woken up by the creaking of the sauna door. After I heard the sound of the door closing, I immediately opened the door and called out to my friends, “Don’t close the door!”
They replied, “We didn’t do it.” Suddenly it was pitch black inside because the street light outside had gone out. Even though we tried not to show it, everyone inside was holding their breath nervously. The sauna door creaked shut again and I reflexively got up and held the door. There was really no one moving the door.
Then suddenly something started banging against the walls. A friend of mine tried to turn on the light but it wouldn’t come on. We were all scared because we didn’t understand what was happening. Just then the street light came on again and there was some light inside. We were shocked by what we saw.
There were Coke bottles and juices strewn everywhere. Everyone turned to each other and said, “Tell me if you are joking.” I wanted to get out of here as soon as possible out of fear. I went to the door and tried to open it, but it wouldn’t open. As I continued to force the door, the other friends ran backwards and started shouting.
They were all looking at the windows. I turned my head towards the windows and saw the scene. Something was moving rapidly left and right in front of the frosted glass. My heart started to ache with fear, I reached under the safe to get my phone and then I decided I had to go inside. Everything happened suddenly as the door slammed.
I turned the light of my phone towards the door and there stood Mehmet Gök, a soldier on horseback. Mehmet said we shouldn’t stay here. “This place has been empty for 9 months,” he said, “so they took it over. I wanted to talk to him, but my voice was silent. When he moved to open the door to the hall, it opened.
My friends told me that someone was inside, but no one dared to look. Suddenly there were footsteps in the wood. After a while the sounds stopped. There was no one in the area in front of the window. The lamp came on and it lit up inside. With slow steps I took a defensive position and poked my head inside. When I poked my head inside, Mehmet was not there.
With a sudden move I opened the door and we ran out to catch up with my friends. The door closed behind us with a loud bang. The lights were flashing. After two minutes of running, we arrived at the headquarters. Those who saw us were looking at us with astonished eyes. All of our faces were white, our eyes were dilated and we were having difficulty breathing. Our fellow soldiers who were working as paramedics rushed to help us.
When we told them what had happened, some of the soldiers were scared, others didn’t believe us and made fun of us.
There was a soldier from the upper ranks, a prayerful man, called Hafiz, who believed what we told him. He advised us and told us that djinns made wet and empty places their home. “You entered their domain thinking to sleep there,” he said. “Fortunately, you were saved from a greater calamity. Be thankful to Allah,” he said. “Tomorrow, when you go on bazaar leave at the weekend, go to the address I will tell you. There is a friend of Allah there and he will help you, God willing.” With these words, he comforted us a little bit.
As the pool was closed at the weekend, we could go to the bazaar as a team. We all went to the place the Hafiz had sent us and knocked on the door. A young boy in a turban and robe opened the door. After being invited inside, he showed us a thin corridor. We went forward and entered the room he showed us.
There were 7 or 8 other young men in the room reading the Qur’an. After a while, the young man who had let us in came back to us and said, “Hodja is waiting for you, come in.” We followed the young man up the stairs. We entered the room where the Hodja was. The Hodja was a man of about sixty years old, with a fair face and a gray hair. We wanted to kiss his hand, but he wouldn’t let us.
“Welcome children, sit down properly,” he said. “You wanted to see me, I am listening to you,” he said, paying attention. I asked my friends for permission and started talking. I told him everything, including the soldier named Mehmet Gök. After he listened to everything that happened, he started talking.
“Look, friends, djinns are beings whose existence is fixed by verse. The Creator has said that I created humans and djinns to worship me. Just like us, there are Muslims, Christians and non-believers. Our eyes cannot see them because they are in a different dimension. But just as we cannot see them in this world, they will not be able to see us in the Hereafter.
Indeed, the Creator is the most just and has created human beings as the most superior beings. Some djinns do not show themselves and harm people. Spells are used to control djinns, but this is not the right thing to do as all kinds of magic are sinful. The incident described by the soldier named Mehmet is true, the incidents you mentioned happened in that region a long time ago.
Local and old people like me know about it. The aforementioned hüddam did wrong things and was a victim of his ego. Now I will write amulets for each of you, these amulets will protect you and keep them away from you. As for the issue of the pool, the body of the khuddam needs to be transported. For this, you need to convince your commanders to take it there,” said the hodja.
After the hodja wrote our amulets, we put them on. When we got to the unit, we went up to the barracks and talked about how to convince our commanders. While we were talking about what we should do, I lay down on the bed next to me, put my hands behind my back and got lost in thought. Under the top bunk, I was examining the writings of the soldiers as souvenirs. After going through a few of them, I noticed something interesting.
This was Mehmet Gök’s writing: “78/1 organization, Şafak 162.” I exclaimed in astonishment, and when my friends asked what it was, I showed them the writing. It must have been written 10 years ago, but the Mehmet Gök I was talking to was a young man. We immediately found a friend who was a printer and asked for help. We dug out the files of the 78/1 organization and found Mehmet Gök’s file.
We froze when we saw the photo on the ID card, it was that boy. His military service was supposed to have ended long ago, his file contained his training documents for working in the boiler room and a report. He had been punished for leaving his post, and I was once again devastated by what he wrote in his defense.
In his defense that day, he wrote that while he was on tower watch, he saw black shadows moving across the field. Among the documents, he also wrote that he had received psychological support for a while. Finally, we got his death certificate. While on guard duty, he put his gun under his chin and pulled the trigger. This shocked me and I collapsed. When I opened my eyes, I was taken to the infirmary.
On Monday, before the shift started, 10 of us got together and told the company commander what had happened to us. Maybe it wouldn’t have been effective if I had gone alone, but when we told him that 10 of us had experienced the same thing, the commander took it seriously. When we told him what Hodja had said, he said, “OK, bring him, there’s nothing to lose by trying.”
The commander arranged a vehicle and sent us to Hodja’s house. Hodja said, “I’m coming back with some supplies,” and a short time later we quickly arrived at the unit. The commander was waiting for us in the garden, we exchanged greetings, then the commander said, “Let’s go to the place where the incident happened,” and we went to the gymnasium.
The hodja recited something at the door and entered with the Besmela. We were watching him from the door, and after reciting something again, he prayed two rak’ahs and said he was going to get some sleep. The commander had a look on his face as if he didn’t believe what the hodja was doing. After praying, he half-closed the door, lay down on the floor and fell asleep.
After half an hour he woke up and went outside. The commander told the soldiers that we needed picks and shovels and sent them out. Five minutes later our picks and shovels arrived. “There is a garden on the side of this building, we are going there,” the commander said. Although it was his first time here, the hodja gave off an air as if he knew the place.
After taking a good look around, Hodja took a few more steps and put his walking stick on the ground. “You will dig here,” he said. We started digging, we were about a meter and a half away when human bones started to come out. This time the commander ordered them to bring a body bag. ,
After carefully removing all the bones from the grave and stuffing them in a bag, Hodja and the commander left the unit to go to a cemetery. After that day, we never experienced anything unusual. After the unpleasant events, all our fellow soldiers embraced us and I had completed my 460 days of homeland service, where we had accumulated beautiful memories. I had received my license. Finally. May God never let anyone experience such things.
More: Scary Stories
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My family and friends who had done their military service warned me not to choose a profession. They said that if you chose a profession, you would be deployed early from boot camp and you would have a high chance of being sent to the east. But it didn’t really matter to me. The west and the east are homelands. As a matter of fact, I wanted to go to the mountains with a gun in my hand.
The day came and thanks to my friends, they organized a military party in the neighborhood. We had fun all night long, we danced the halay. My friends fired shots in the air and a convoy of cars with horns honking non-stop blocked the streets of the neighborhood. They drove me home with slogans like “The greatest soldier is our soldier”. The next day I had a bus at 12 o’clock at night. My mother was in tears. After chatting throughout the night, we fell asleep and time passed quickly. It was time to leave.
Yes, my friends did not leave me alone again. We arrived at the bus station with a convoy of 10 cars, but my mother was crying as usual. After saying goodbye to everyone, I got on the bus. I am not a person who shows my emotions easily, so I let myself go after the bus left.
It took about 6 hours to reach Çanakkale. The bus went all the way to the center to avoid early surrender, but I didn’t get off there. After a bit of sightseeing and hanging out at the internet café with 3 friends I met on the bus, we surrendered to our unit. The army post was nothing like I had imagined. We were searched as we entered, they even took the needle and thread sets we had put in our bags in case we were dismantled.
After waiting for about 5 hours in a place called the “Casino”, where there was nothing but a TV and chairs, we gathered in the kitchen area for dinner. After receiving the “Sit-Stay” punishments from the higher ranks, we joined a long queue for dinner.
There is a different logic in the military, when the senior officer says “be quiet”, one of the 300 people must speak. As a result, the whole company does “Sit-Shake” until their knees give out. The funny part is that the punishments never work, there is always someone who does what they are told not to do.
After dinner, we sat in the casino for a while and then we were called to bed roll at 20.30. The amount of “Sit-Shuffle” we did during this time was incalculable. That’s when I realized that these 460 days would not end easily. Even though it was 12:00 a.m., we were still in the casino waiting to be given a bed. I guess they had forgotten or were deliberately keeping us waiting.
Just as we were going out, a non-commissioned officer on duty came and called the sergeant and scolded, “Why don’t you put these soldiers to bed?” Within 15 minutes we got our beds. However, since my bed was on the bed under the two-storey bunk bed, when I lay down, I felt as if I had reached back 20 or 30 years before me. I fell asleep after reading the depressing messages of the previous circuits engraved on the bunk bed.
Military service was really hard. At 5 a.m. I woke up jumping up and down with a big noise. The upper circuits were banging on the bunks and lockers with iron bars in their hands, shouting “Barracks, get up!”. That day we were assigned our camouflages. In the following days, the grueling training began.
There were 300 of us going to the bathroom, 20 by 20, and we were given 5 minutes to undress and get dressed. In the first bathroom I went to, I was 20th in the first group and unfortunately the shower faucet was broken. After 2 weeks, they started to separate the colleagues. Most of them ended up in the east. Those who were selected would go to their master units at the end of a month with an oath ceremony. We would continue this torment for another month and a half.
At one point, I thought of enrolling in a vocational program, maybe I would be more comfortable in the master’s unit. But after what I went through here, I didn’t want to go to the east anymore, so I gave up. As the time came and went, it was announced that we would also be joining the master’s unit. I was assigned to Şanlıurfa Gendarmerie Group Command under Diyarbakır 7th Corps. In our company, the number of people going to the east was so small that you could count them on one hand.
I was one of them and I was feeling very unlucky. I was on a 7-day deployment and the days passed very fast. In mid-May, I boarded a plane from the airport to surrender to the master unit. After a 1 hour and 50 minute journey, I arrived in Diyarbakır and surrendered to the master unit.
I met three friends who were in my unit. This was the helicopter squadron. A senior officer who was 10 days away from the end of his military service said, “Grandchildren, let me introduce you to the headquarters” and mentioned that there were more officers than soldiers here. The job of us soldiers was to do daily tasks, errands and guard duty at the headquarters. He asked us, “Do you have a profession?” I answered, “I am a bartender.”
He said that after a while they would select the new recruits who had a profession. The outdoor pool will open in mid-June, and they might hire a bartender there. When the commander asked, he said you would feel comfortable if you joined. He said that the pool was currently under renovation and that they were going to hire soldiers to move it. He said they probably took you with them, you’ll see then. As they said, we gathered for roll call after lunch.
The company sergeant separated 7-8 of the newly arrived soldiers to work on the pool renovation. When we went to the pool, I saw a more beautiful view than I expected. The pool was very big and there was a swimming area and a service area. At the back was a large kitchen. Obviously the food here was made with fast food products. There was also alcohol available. Depending on their rank, soldiers and their families could enjoy themselves here for a nominal fee.
At the entrance there was an area for registration and lockers, and a little further on there were about 20 lockers. The length of the pool was about 50 meters and the first part was one meter and 50 centimeters. As it progressed, the depth increased. The end of the pool was 3 meters deep. It had been renovated this year because there was a water leak last summer. In the pool, a worker with a chisel was breaking the concrete with great noise.
We were putting small pieces of concrete in buckets and giving them to our friends upstairs. We endured this hardship for a few days. The work was very heavy and we were completing our work until the evening. It was not yet time for weapons to be issued, so we did not have to worry about guard duty. However, as we know, since military service is very common in the military, the higher ranks would flood our barracks with fire hoses every evening.
Our barracks were located on the top floor of the 6-story headquarters building. There was no way to drain the ankle-deep water in our barracks. The water had to be discharged from the lowest floor of the 6-story building, from the building entrance. Almost every evening, we would draw water for about 1.5 hours with check passes in our hands. The upper circuits did the water pumping as they pleased. Even though it was clean, we had to deal with the rookies in the places where the water was pumped for a while.
After a while, our weapons were assigned to us and we started to write down our shifts. The seniors usually went to 8, 10 and 12 o’clock shifts in the evening and didn’t do any other shifts. This situation drew my attention. When the watch list arrived, I was shocked. Day shifts were assigned for 3 hours each: 8-11, 12-15 and 18-21. Night shifts were organized as 2 hours each: 23-01, 02-04 and 06-08. I didn’t know how I was going to sleep and how I was going to rest. Our superiors told us that we should rest during the watch.
The watch towers were about 5 meters high. The climate of the region was muggy. When you climbed the tower, you could see nothing in front of you but yellow grass that grew up to a meter tall. Some senior soldiers claimed that strange beings roamed among these grasses during night watches. I thought they were saying this to scare us, until that night.
I came from the 12 o’clock shift, it was a fill-empty shift. I went to bed at 02:30. They were going to wake me up at 03:30 for the 4-6 watch. I lay in my bed to sleep for an hour without even taking off my camouflage. When they came to wake me up, I couldn’t open my eyes. I don’t know how much longer I could endure this pace.
The teams that went on guard duty were always my platoons. I went up to the guard tower, half awake, half asleep. I realized it was at least 15 minutes before this watch started. When I looked back, I saw a shadow coming from the direction of the military. A soldier was coming and I stopped him by warning him. I asked him the password and when he answered correctly, I welcomed him.
I had never seen him before, I asked him who he was and why he had come. He introduced himself, his name was Mehmet Gök, he was from Ankara. He said it was normal that I hadn’t seen him, that he was a night worker in the boiler room and slept in the barracks during the day. When I asked him if it was forbidden to come to the tower, he said, “Forget about that, I’m here to warn you,” and started to tell me the story.
He told me that before the 7th Corps was established here, there was a village nearby. A hüddam lived in this village. When I asked, “What is hüddam?” he said that it was a science that was practiced by using spells to put the djinns into service and continued. At first this huddam was doing good things and winning the love of the villagers, but after a while the djinns got the upper hand and took the huddam under their control.
The khuddam was causing a lot of harm to the people, declaring himself the village lord and saying that the djinns would haunt those who opposed him. He was confiscating the property of the villagers. Finally, when he coveted the beautiful daughters of the villagers, the villagers, not wanting to dishonor themselves, killed him. Of course, it was not easy to kill him and some of the villagers perished along with the village as it burned to the ground, displacing the remaining villagers.
The man’s body was dumped in a pit in the area where we are now. There was no marker, no gravestone. Later, this base was established in that area. It is claimed that sometimes the dead huddam would appear to some soldiers and some of them would lose their minds when they saw him.
While the soldier, Mehmet Gök, was talking, I was looking at the field in front of us, which was covered with yellow grass. About 100 meters away, I noticed some movement in the grass. I wondered if it was a dog or an animal. I pointed my gun and gave my full attention. Out of the grass, a human-like figure, but almost twice the size of an average human, stood up.
I turned to Mehmet and was about to ask, “Do you see what I see?” when I looked up and Mehmet had disappeared. When I turned my head to the field, what I saw had disappeared too. I put down my gun and tried to come to my senses. I poured water over my head and thought that I might be hallucinating because I was tired.
I looked at the grassy area again, the grass was moving again. It couldn’t be an animal, it was moving back and forth very fast. I called out loudly, “Who is there?” Something started coming through the grass in my direction. As the grass moved towards me, a cold wind hit me in the face. I pointed my gun and fired a few shots. As soon as I fired, the grass stopped moving.
Obviously the duty officer panicked when he heard the gunshot. An announcement came over the radio, but I was frozen and couldn’t respond. Soon the watch commanders and the rapid response squad arrived. The commander asked, “What’s going on here?” and I started to explain.
“Sir, something was moving back and forth in the grass. Then at some point it stood up, it was very tall and its eyes were glowing in the dark, but I couldn’t see it because of its speed. Then it started coming towards me. First I warned him but he didn’t stop. So I shot him,” I said.
The commander looked at me sarcastically and said, “So you saw a ghost and shot it. Describe the place, let’s see.” With the same response squad in the front and us in the back, we crossed the wall and entered the grassy area. The grass was up to my waist, the soldiers’ hands on their triggers, we proceeded carefully. After about 50 meters, we came to the place we had been following.
When we looked, there was nothing. I felt like I was going crazy. The commander was looking at me in a bad way. He called the duty sergeant and asked him to bring the duty roster. After examining the schedule, he shouted at the sergeant, “If a rookie soldier has been on guard duty this long, he will shoot us, let alone imaginary things. When is this kid going to sleep and rest? There is no more no guard duty for the higher ranks. Everyone will do it from now on,” and he did as he said.
The next day, all the seniors were on guard duty. Everybody was looking at me with hateful eyes. I was sure of what I had seen, that it really existed, but no one believed me. The first thing I did the next day was to look for a soldier named Mehmet Gök in the barracks. When I asked the ward officer which bed he was in, he said, “I don’t know anyone like that.”
But how could I? He told me that he was a night watchman in the boiler room and slept during the day. I ran to the boiler room. There was a soldier who was in my unit, he had arrived before me because he was a career soldier. I asked him, “Do you know Mehmet Gök here?” He said he didn’t. When I said, “He must have been late, Mustafa is looking here,” that soldier from our circuit said, “I don’t know that person, brother.”
I think I was really tired and I decided not to investigate any further. I only had 24 shifts that night. When I went on guard duty, I had a feeling of fear and I was constantly observing the surroundings with suspicion. A 2-hour shift felt like 10 hours, but thankfully it passed. Shortly afterwards, some of our lower circuits came in on leave, including the cook and the lifeguard.
One day I worked in the pool. In fact, we learned that the renovation of the pool had been completed. The commander made explanations and chose the lifeguard and one of the vocational workers. A dishwasher from one of my circuits and one of the short-termers was going to do the pool entry registration and locker locker monitoring. Then it was the waiter and bartender’s turn. When the commander asked, I raised my hand.
Since no one else raised their hands, two of us were chosen for this job. Two specialist sergeants would be in charge of us. One of them would stand at the cash register and help our commanders. They told us our duties. The pool would open at 90:00 and the ranks and their families would use it. Since there was a big pine tree next to the pool, the pine needles would be removed from the water surface every morning. During the day, we would be responsible for the preparation of food such as hamburgers, pizzas and fries.
Actually, there was no job that required bartending knowledge. Beer, raki and wine would be served as alcohol. Cold soft drinks would be served without alcohol. The pool would close at 17:00 in the evening. The notes would be placed around the pool and tables for dinner would be set up in the empty spaces. The menu would include fish and kebab dishes along with alcohol. At 10:00 p.m. the casino would close and rest.
The best part of serving in the pool was being exempt from muster and guard duty. We would go to the headquarters building to sleep before going to bed. The first few days were spent in preparations: Cleaning, filling the cupboards, organizing glasses, cutlery and cutlery. A few days later the pool was opened. It was a lot of fun working here and we quickly adapted. We felt like we were at work instead of in the army.
We got on very well with the team, but it was not surprising that we were not well liked at headquarters and were even envied by our own platoons. We all complained about the same thing: there was a small gym, sauna and hammam in a separate building adjacent to the pool. The back door to the kitchen gave access to this area, but it was closed for use. We only used part of the gym as storage and we had the keys.
In our free time we hung out in the gym and made calls on cell phones we had smuggled in. The gym had become a multifunctional place for us. But there was something strange. Every now and then, when we entered the gym, we would see the water that we had stacked on top of each other scattered all over the place. This surprised us in a place where there were no cats or dogs or anything like that.
Fortunately, we didn’t have any other problems other than that. We made a decision as a team that from now on we would sleep in the gym and sauna area. We arrived at the gym after a busy evening and it was our first night. My friends had made their beds in the gym, but they didn’t all fit.
I said, “I’ll sleep later” and I made my bed in the part where the sauna and the gym meet. There was only the door to the sauna between them. The gym had a big window. It was covered with frosted and patterned glass. The light from a nearby street lamp hit the window, casting a dim glow inside.
Everyone lay down on their beds and we turned off the light. After chatting for a while from where we were lying, we quietened down to go to sleep. There was complete silence inside, but we were all woken up by the creaking of the sauna door. After I heard the sound of the door closing, I immediately opened the door and called out to my friends, “Don’t close the door!”
They replied, “We didn’t do it.” Suddenly it was pitch black inside because the street light outside had gone out. Even though we tried not to show it, everyone inside was holding their breath nervously. The sauna door creaked shut again and I reflexively got up and held the door. There was really no one moving the door.
Then suddenly something started banging against the walls. A friend of mine tried to turn on the light but it wouldn’t come on. We were all scared because we didn’t understand what was happening. Just then the street light came on again and there was some light inside. We were shocked by what we saw.
There were Coke bottles and juices strewn everywhere. Everyone turned to each other and said, “Tell me if you are joking.” I wanted to get out of here as soon as possible out of fear. I went to the door and tried to open it, but it wouldn’t open. As I continued to force the door, the other friends ran backwards and started shouting.
They were all looking at the windows. I turned my head towards the windows and saw the scene. Something was moving rapidly left and right in front of the frosted glass. My heart started to ache with fear, I reached under the safe to get my phone and then I decided I had to go inside. Everything happened suddenly as the door slammed.
I turned the light of my phone towards the door and there stood Mehmet Gök, a soldier on horseback. Mehmet said we shouldn’t stay here. “This place has been empty for 9 months,” he said, “so they took it over. I wanted to talk to him, but my voice was silent. When he moved to open the door to the hall, it opened.
My friends told me that someone was inside, but no one dared to look. Suddenly there were footsteps in the wood. After a while the sounds stopped. There was no one in the area in front of the window. The lamp came on and it lit up inside. With slow steps I took a defensive position and poked my head inside. When I poked my head inside, Mehmet was not there.
With a sudden move I opened the door and we ran out to catch up with my friends. The door closed behind us with a loud bang. The lights were flashing. After two minutes of running, we arrived at the headquarters. Those who saw us were looking at us with astonished eyes. All of our faces were white, our eyes were dilated and we were having difficulty breathing. Our fellow soldiers who were working as paramedics rushed to help us.
When we told them what had happened, some of the soldiers were scared, others didn’t believe us and made fun of us.
There was a soldier from the upper ranks, a prayerful man, called Hafiz, who believed what we told him. He advised us and told us that djinns made wet and empty places their home. “You entered their domain thinking to sleep there,” he said. “Fortunately, you were saved from a greater calamity. Be thankful to Allah,” he said. “Tomorrow, when you go on bazaar leave at the weekend, go to the address I will tell you. There is a friend of Allah there and he will help you, God willing.” With these words, he comforted us a little bit.
As the pool was closed at the weekend, we could go to the bazaar as a team. We all went to the place the Hafiz had sent us and knocked on the door. A young boy in a turban and robe opened the door. After being invited inside, he showed us a thin corridor. We went forward and entered the room he showed us.
There were 7 or 8 other young men in the room reading the Qur’an. After a while, the young man who had let us in came back to us and said, “Hodja is waiting for you, come in.” We followed the young man up the stairs. We entered the room where the Hodja was. The Hodja was a man of about sixty years old, with a fair face and a gray hair. We wanted to kiss his hand, but he wouldn’t let us.
“Welcome children, sit down properly,” he said. “You wanted to see me, I am listening to you,” he said, paying attention. I asked my friends for permission and started talking. I told him everything, including the soldier named Mehmet Gök. After he listened to everything that happened, he started talking.
“Look, friends, djinns are beings whose existence is fixed by verse. The Creator has said that I created humans and djinns to worship me. Just like us, there are Muslims, Christians and non-believers. Our eyes cannot see them because they are in a different dimension. But just as we cannot see them in this world, they will not be able to see us in the Hereafter.
Indeed, the Creator is the most just and has created human beings as the most superior beings. Some djinns do not show themselves and harm people. Spells are used to control djinns, but this is not the right thing to do as all kinds of magic are sinful. The incident described by the soldier named Mehmet is true, the incidents you mentioned happened in that region a long time ago.
Local and old people like me know about it. The aforementioned hüddam did wrong things and was a victim of his ego. Now I will write amulets for each of you, these amulets will protect you and keep them away from you. As for the issue of the pool, the body of the khuddam needs to be transported. For this, you need to convince your commanders to take it there,” said the hodja.
After the hodja wrote our amulets, we put them on. When we got to the unit, we went up to the barracks and talked about how to convince our commanders. While we were talking about what we should do, I lay down on the bed next to me, put my hands behind my back and got lost in thought. Under the top bunk, I was examining the writings of the soldiers as souvenirs. After going through a few of them, I noticed something interesting.
This was Mehmet Gök’s writing: “78/1 organization, Şafak 162.” I exclaimed in astonishment, and when my friends asked what it was, I showed them the writing. It must have been written 10 years ago, but the Mehmet Gök I was talking to was a young man. We immediately found a friend who was a printer and asked for help. We dug out the files of the 78/1 organization and found Mehmet Gök’s file.
We froze when we saw the photo on the ID card, it was that boy. His military service was supposed to have ended long ago, his file contained his training documents for working in the boiler room and a report. He had been punished for leaving his post, and I was once again devastated by what he wrote in his defense.
In his defense that day, he wrote that while he was on tower watch, he saw black shadows moving across the field. Among the documents, he also wrote that he had received psychological support for a while. Finally, we got his death certificate. While on guard duty, he put his gun under his chin and pulled the trigger. This shocked me and I collapsed. When I opened my eyes, I was taken to the infirmary.
On Monday, before the shift started, 10 of us got together and told the company commander what had happened to us. Maybe it wouldn’t have been effective if I had gone alone, but when we told him that 10 of us had experienced the same thing, the commander took it seriously. When we told him what Hodja had said, he said, “OK, bring him, there’s nothing to lose by trying.”
The commander arranged a vehicle and sent us to Hodja’s house. Hodja said, “I’m coming back with some supplies,” and a short time later we quickly arrived at the unit. The commander was waiting for us in the garden, we exchanged greetings, then the commander said, “Let’s go to the place where the incident happened,” and we went to the gymnasium.
The hodja recited something at the door and entered with the Besmela. We were watching him from the door, and after reciting something again, he prayed two rak’ahs and said he was going to get some sleep. The commander had a look on his face as if he didn’t believe what the hodja was doing. After praying, he half-closed the door, lay down on the floor and fell asleep.
After half an hour he woke up and went outside. The commander told the soldiers that we needed picks and shovels and sent them out. Five minutes later our picks and shovels arrived. “There is a garden on the side of this building, we are going there,” the commander said. Although it was his first time here, the hodja gave off an air as if he knew the place.
After taking a good look around, Hodja took a few more steps and put his walking stick on the ground. “You will dig here,” he said. We started digging, we were about a meter and a half away when human bones started to come out. This time the commander ordered them to bring a body bag. ,
After carefully removing all the bones from the grave and stuffing them in a bag, Hodja and the commander left the unit to go to a cemetery. After that day, we never experienced anything unusual. After the unpleasant events, all our fellow soldiers embraced us and I had completed my 460 days of homeland service, where we had accumulated beautiful memories. I had received my license. Finally. May God never let anyone experience such things.
More: Scary Stories
2024.04.09 21:55 Kind_Butterscotch913 Name my Non-profit
Hello everyone,
I'm reaching out because I have a vision for a non-profit organization aimed at providing vital mental health services for the elderly. This includes therapy, social work, group sessions, and more. Additionally, we plan to combat loneliness among seniors by offering volunteer companionship, whether through visits, reading sessions, or other personalized support.
As a social worker in an assisted living facility, I've witnessed firsthand the pressing need for such an organization. I firmly believe that by coming together, we can make a significant difference in the lives of our elderly population.
I'm seeking your creative input to help us find the perfect name, slogan, and tagline for this initiative. Your recommendations and suggestions would be immensely valuable in shaping this endeavor.
Thank you in advance for your contributions and support.
Best regards,
submitted by Kind_Butterscotch913 to nonprofit [link] [comments]
I'm reaching out because I have a vision for a non-profit organization aimed at providing vital mental health services for the elderly. This includes therapy, social work, group sessions, and more. Additionally, we plan to combat loneliness among seniors by offering volunteer companionship, whether through visits, reading sessions, or other personalized support.
As a social worker in an assisted living facility, I've witnessed firsthand the pressing need for such an organization. I firmly believe that by coming together, we can make a significant difference in the lives of our elderly population.
I'm seeking your creative input to help us find the perfect name, slogan, and tagline for this initiative. Your recommendations and suggestions would be immensely valuable in shaping this endeavor.
Thank you in advance for your contributions and support.
Best regards,
2024.04.06 10:42 Cahootie Why AIK and its fan clubs are encouraging supporters to not come to today's derby
Last week's season premiere saw AIK fans showcase a tifo criticizing the development of modern football, aimed at VAR, UEFA, FIFA and big investors. This comes off the back of a long debate on whether the Swedish league should implement VAR. A majority of supporters have been against its implementation, and due to Sweden's 51% rule (where club members must control 51% of the votes) the clubs have also been against VAR, with it being an official policy of AIK since the 2020 annual meeting made the initial decision.
There is one exception however. During the latest annual meeting of the Stockholm Football Federation in February, the three major Stockholm teams all submitted motions that would make the federation work to keep VAR out. Brommapojkarna, known for having one of the world's best academies but little senior success and following, decided to go against the other major Stockholm clubs and criticize these motions. All three motions failed (meaning that the federation wouldn't be a against VAR, but not that it would be in favor of VAR), and in the aftermath a Brommapojkarna board member told a journalist that such a question hadn't been raised during the club's annual meetings since their fans are "obedient" and "follow the board."
This was said jokingly with a laugh, but it was not well received by fans of the other clubs. A few days later seven different AIK supporter groups published a statement calling for a boycott of the first game of the season against Brommapojkarna, an away derby that is happening tonight. This clearly had an effect, and as of yesterday a total of 182 tickets had been sold to the away section (for context, the next derby sold almost 34k tickets in 24 hours), which is a tremendous disappointment for Brommapojkarna who, in anticipation of a big crowd, had even rented a bigger stadium than their usual home ground.
Fast forward to today. Just a few hours ago AIK finally revealed the away kit for the season. The tweet mentions explicit support for the boycott, and along with it came an official article titled "Football is not always best experienced on-site" [edit: They have now posted an English version of the article], an explanation of why AIK supports the boycott and works against VAR, as well as a nod to the club's usual slogan of "Football is best experienced on-site." The photos were taken at Dick Turpin, an iconic bar for AIK supporters, and behind the players are a number of AIK supporters as a nod to how their support at that bar is just as valid today. Furthermore, a full page ad was taken out in a newspaper, and multiple bars around town have been booked by supporter groups.
Swedish fans value the importance that club members hold in their respective clubs, and it has created an atmosphere that is world class and clubs that play an important role in their respective communities. Other supporter groups have taken notice, with some calling for further boycotts in the future, but we will see how this all plays out.
submitted by Cahootie to soccer [link] [comments]
There is one exception however. During the latest annual meeting of the Stockholm Football Federation in February, the three major Stockholm teams all submitted motions that would make the federation work to keep VAR out. Brommapojkarna, known for having one of the world's best academies but little senior success and following, decided to go against the other major Stockholm clubs and criticize these motions. All three motions failed (meaning that the federation wouldn't be a against VAR, but not that it would be in favor of VAR), and in the aftermath a Brommapojkarna board member told a journalist that such a question hadn't been raised during the club's annual meetings since their fans are "obedient" and "follow the board."
This was said jokingly with a laugh, but it was not well received by fans of the other clubs. A few days later seven different AIK supporter groups published a statement calling for a boycott of the first game of the season against Brommapojkarna, an away derby that is happening tonight. This clearly had an effect, and as of yesterday a total of 182 tickets had been sold to the away section (for context, the next derby sold almost 34k tickets in 24 hours), which is a tremendous disappointment for Brommapojkarna who, in anticipation of a big crowd, had even rented a bigger stadium than their usual home ground.
Fast forward to today. Just a few hours ago AIK finally revealed the away kit for the season. The tweet mentions explicit support for the boycott, and along with it came an official article titled "Football is not always best experienced on-site" [edit: They have now posted an English version of the article], an explanation of why AIK supports the boycott and works against VAR, as well as a nod to the club's usual slogan of "Football is best experienced on-site." The photos were taken at Dick Turpin, an iconic bar for AIK supporters, and behind the players are a number of AIK supporters as a nod to how their support at that bar is just as valid today. Furthermore, a full page ad was taken out in a newspaper, and multiple bars around town have been booked by supporter groups.
Swedish fans value the importance that club members hold in their respective clubs, and it has created an atmosphere that is world class and clubs that play an important role in their respective communities. Other supporter groups have taken notice, with some calling for further boycotts in the future, but we will see how this all plays out.
2024.04.02 21:47 thinkingstranger April 1, 2024
https://heathercoxrichardson.substack.com/p/april-1-2024
On Tuesday, March 26, Judge Juan Merchan, who is presiding over Trump’s election interference case, put Trump under a gag order to stop his attacks on court staff, prosecutors, jurors, and witnesses. On Wednesday, Trump renewed his attacks on the judge and the judge’s daughter. On Thursday, U.S. District Judge Reggie Walton took the unusual step of talking publicly about what threats of violence meant to the rule of law. Walton, who was appointed to the federal bench by President George W. Bush, told Kaitlan Collins of CNN that threats, especially threats to a judge’s family, undermine the ability of judges to carry out their duties.
“I think it’s important in order to preserve our democracy that we maintain the rule of law,” Walton said. “And the rule of law can only be maintained if we have independent judicial officers who are able to do their job and ensure that the laws are, in fact, enforced and that the laws are applied equally to everybody who appears in our courthouse.”
On Friday, former president Trump shared on social media a video of a truck with a decal showing President Joe Biden tied up and seemingly in the bed of the truck, in a position suggesting he was being kidnapped.
A threat of violence has always been part of Trump’s political performance. In 2016 he urged rallygoers to “knock the crap out of” protesters, and they did. They also turned on people who weren’t protesters. Political scientists Ayal Feinberg, Regina Branton, and Valerie Martinez-Ebers studied the effects of Trump’s 2016 campaign rhetoric against marginalized Americans and found that counties where Trump held rallies had a significant increase in hate incidents in the month after that rally.
Trump’s stoking of violence became an embrace when he declared there were “very fine people, on both sides,” after protesters stood up against racists, antisemites, white nationalists, Ku Klux Klan members, neo-Nazis, and other alt-right groups when they met in August 2017 in Charlottesville, Virginia, where they shouted Nazi slogans and left 19 people injured and one protester, Heather Heyer, dead.
In October 2020, Trump refused to denounce the far-right Proud Boys organization, instead telling its members to “stand back and stand by.” The Proud Boys turned out for the attack on the U.S. Capitol on January 6, 2021, where they helped to lead those rioters fired up by Trump’s speech at The Ellipse, where he told them: “You'll never take back our country with weakness. You have to show strength and you have to be strong. We have come to demand that Congress do the right thing…. And we fight. We fight like hell. And if you don't fight like hell, you're not going to have a country anymore.”
Trump’s appeals to violence have gotten even more overt since the events of January 6.
And yet, on Meet the Press yesterday, Kristen Welker seemed to suggest that there is a general problem in U.S. politics when she described Trump’s attacks on Judge Merchan as “a reminder that we are covering this election against the backdrop of a deeply divided nation.”
But are the American people deeply divided? Or have Trump and his MAGA supporters driven the Republican Party off the rails?
One of the major issues of the 2024 election—perhaps THE major issue—is reproductive rights. But Americans are not really divided on that issue: on Friday, a new Axios-Ipsos poll found that 81% of Americans agree that “abortion issues should be managed between a woman and her doctor, not the government.” That number includes 65% of Republicans, as well as 82% of Independents and 97% of Democrats. The idea that abortion should be between a woman and her doctor was the language of the Supreme Court’s 1973 Roe v. Wade decision, overturned in 2022 with the help of the three extremist justices appointed by Trump.
Last week, the Congressional Management Foundation, which works with Congress to make it more efficient and accountable, released its study of the state of Congress in 2023. It found that senior congressional staffers overwhelmingly think that Congress is not functioning “as a democratic legislature should.” Eighty percent of them think it is not “an effective forum for debate on questions of public concern.”
But there is a significant difference in the parties’ perception of what’s wrong. While 61% of Republican staffers are satisfied that Congress members and staff feel safe doing their jobs, only 21% of Democratic staffers agree, and Democratic staffers are significantly more likely to fear for their and others’ safety. Women and longer-tenured staffers are more likely to be questioning whether to stay in Congress due to safety concerns. Eighty-four percent of Democratic staffers think that agreed-upon rules and codes of conduct for senators and representatives are not sufficient to “hold them accountable for their words and deeds,” while only 44% of Republicans say the same.
Republicans themselves seem split about the direction of their party. Republican staffers were far more likely than Democrats to be “questioning whether I should stay in Congress due to heated rhetoric from my party”: 59% to 16%. “The way the House is ‘functioning,’ is frustrating many members,” wrote one House Republican deputy chief of staff. “We have to placate [certain] members and in my nearly ten years of working here I have never felt more like we’re on the wrong track.”
One Republican Senate communications director blamed extremist political rhetoric for the dysfunction. “[W]ith the nation being in a self-sort mode, it is easy to never hear a dissenting opinion in many areas of the country. People in DC, who work in the Capitol, generally have a collegiate approach to each other. The American people don’t get to see that—at all. From the outside it appears to be a Royal Rumble and bloodsport. It’s reflected in the [way] people, regular citizens, now view one another.”
A Republican House staff director wrote that Congress is “a representative body and a reflection of the people writ large. When they demand something different of their leaders, their leaders will respond (or they will elect different leaders).”
Burgess Everett and Olivia Beavers of Politico reported yesterday that nearly 20 Republican lawmakers and aides have told them they would like Trump to calm down his rhetoric. They appear to think such violent commentary is unpopular and that it will hurt those running in downballot races if they have to answer for it.
It seems unlikely Trump will willingly temper his comments, since threatening violence seems to be all he has left to combat the legal cases bearing down on him. Over the course of Easter morning, he posted more than 70 times on social media, attacking his opponents and declaring himself to be “The Chosen One.”
Tonight, Trump posted a $175 million appeals bond in the New York civil fraud case. He was unable to secure a bond for the full amount of the judgment, but an appeals court lowered the amount. Posting the bond will let him appeal the judge’s decision. If he wins on appeal, he will avoid paying the judgment. If he loses, the bond is designed to guarantee that Trump will pay the entire amount the judge determined he owes to the people of New York: more than $454 million.
Trump and his campaign are short of cash, and there were glimmers last week that the public launch of his media network would produce significant money if he could only hold off judgments until he could sell the stock—six months, according to the current agreement—or use his shares as collateral for a bond. The company’s public launch raised the stock value by billions of dollars.
But this morning the company released its 2023 financial information, showing revenues of $4.1 million last year and a net loss of $58.2 million. The stock plunged about 20%, wiping out about $1 billion of the money that Trump had, on paper anyway, made. The company said it has not made any changes to the provision prohibiting early sales or using shares as collateral.
Tonight, Judge Merchan expanded the previous gag order on Trump to stop attacks on the judge’s family members. Trump has a right “to speak to the American voters freely and to defend himself publicly,” but “[i]t is no longer just a mere possibility or a reasonable likelihood that there exists a threat to the integrity of the judicial proceedings,” Merchan wrote. “The threat is very real.”
—
Notes:
https://www.cnn.com/2024/03/29/politics/federal-judge-donald-trump-rebuke/index.html
https://www.vox.com/2016/3/11/11202540/trump-violent
Ayal Feinberg, Regina Branton, and Valerie Martinez-Ebers, “The Trump Effect: How 2016 Campaign Rallies Explain Spikes in Hate,” February 3, 2022, Cambridge University Press, at: https://www.cambridge.org/core/journals/ps-political-science-and-politics/article/trump-effect-how-2016-campaign-rallies-explain-spikes-in-hate/5665F542B16FC275D2761CE5ACB90A70
https://www.ipsos.com/en-us/most-americans-support-access-medication-abortion
https://www.congressfoundation.org/storage/documents/CMF_Pubs/cmf_state_of_the_congress_2024.pdf
https://www.politico.com/news/2024/03/31/trump-gop-jan-6-00149037
https://www.washingtonpost.com/politics/2024/03/30/congressional-staffers-survey/
https://www.law360.com/newyork-vs-trump-tracker
https://www.forbes.com/sites/dereksaul/2024/04/01/donald-trumps-net-worth-sinks-1-billion-as-truth-social-linked-stock-tanks/
https://www.nytimes.com/2024/04/01/business/trump-media-stock.html
https://apnews.com/article/donald-trump-civil-fraud-trial-feb0593a5bbd3837edc0db195554eda1
https://www.nytimes.com/2024/04/01/nyregion/trump-gag-order-juan-merchan.html
https://talkingpointsmemo.com/morning-memo/the-easter-madness-of-donald-j-trump
https://www.documentcloud.org/documents/24528568-2024-04-01-dec-and-order-re-clarification-of-order-restricting-extrajudicial-statements
https://www.npr.org/2021/02/10/966396848/read-trumps-jan-6-speech-a-key-part-of-impeachment-trial
Twitter (X):
atrupastatus/1774438323118895494
joshtpm/status/1774826728390558033
submitted by thinkingstranger to HeatherCoxRichardson [link] [comments]
On Tuesday, March 26, Judge Juan Merchan, who is presiding over Trump’s election interference case, put Trump under a gag order to stop his attacks on court staff, prosecutors, jurors, and witnesses. On Wednesday, Trump renewed his attacks on the judge and the judge’s daughter. On Thursday, U.S. District Judge Reggie Walton took the unusual step of talking publicly about what threats of violence meant to the rule of law. Walton, who was appointed to the federal bench by President George W. Bush, told Kaitlan Collins of CNN that threats, especially threats to a judge’s family, undermine the ability of judges to carry out their duties.
“I think it’s important in order to preserve our democracy that we maintain the rule of law,” Walton said. “And the rule of law can only be maintained if we have independent judicial officers who are able to do their job and ensure that the laws are, in fact, enforced and that the laws are applied equally to everybody who appears in our courthouse.”
On Friday, former president Trump shared on social media a video of a truck with a decal showing President Joe Biden tied up and seemingly in the bed of the truck, in a position suggesting he was being kidnapped.
A threat of violence has always been part of Trump’s political performance. In 2016 he urged rallygoers to “knock the crap out of” protesters, and they did. They also turned on people who weren’t protesters. Political scientists Ayal Feinberg, Regina Branton, and Valerie Martinez-Ebers studied the effects of Trump’s 2016 campaign rhetoric against marginalized Americans and found that counties where Trump held rallies had a significant increase in hate incidents in the month after that rally.
Trump’s stoking of violence became an embrace when he declared there were “very fine people, on both sides,” after protesters stood up against racists, antisemites, white nationalists, Ku Klux Klan members, neo-Nazis, and other alt-right groups when they met in August 2017 in Charlottesville, Virginia, where they shouted Nazi slogans and left 19 people injured and one protester, Heather Heyer, dead.
In October 2020, Trump refused to denounce the far-right Proud Boys organization, instead telling its members to “stand back and stand by.” The Proud Boys turned out for the attack on the U.S. Capitol on January 6, 2021, where they helped to lead those rioters fired up by Trump’s speech at The Ellipse, where he told them: “You'll never take back our country with weakness. You have to show strength and you have to be strong. We have come to demand that Congress do the right thing…. And we fight. We fight like hell. And if you don't fight like hell, you're not going to have a country anymore.”
Trump’s appeals to violence have gotten even more overt since the events of January 6.
And yet, on Meet the Press yesterday, Kristen Welker seemed to suggest that there is a general problem in U.S. politics when she described Trump’s attacks on Judge Merchan as “a reminder that we are covering this election against the backdrop of a deeply divided nation.”
But are the American people deeply divided? Or have Trump and his MAGA supporters driven the Republican Party off the rails?
One of the major issues of the 2024 election—perhaps THE major issue—is reproductive rights. But Americans are not really divided on that issue: on Friday, a new Axios-Ipsos poll found that 81% of Americans agree that “abortion issues should be managed between a woman and her doctor, not the government.” That number includes 65% of Republicans, as well as 82% of Independents and 97% of Democrats. The idea that abortion should be between a woman and her doctor was the language of the Supreme Court’s 1973 Roe v. Wade decision, overturned in 2022 with the help of the three extremist justices appointed by Trump.
Last week, the Congressional Management Foundation, which works with Congress to make it more efficient and accountable, released its study of the state of Congress in 2023. It found that senior congressional staffers overwhelmingly think that Congress is not functioning “as a democratic legislature should.” Eighty percent of them think it is not “an effective forum for debate on questions of public concern.”
But there is a significant difference in the parties’ perception of what’s wrong. While 61% of Republican staffers are satisfied that Congress members and staff feel safe doing their jobs, only 21% of Democratic staffers agree, and Democratic staffers are significantly more likely to fear for their and others’ safety. Women and longer-tenured staffers are more likely to be questioning whether to stay in Congress due to safety concerns. Eighty-four percent of Democratic staffers think that agreed-upon rules and codes of conduct for senators and representatives are not sufficient to “hold them accountable for their words and deeds,” while only 44% of Republicans say the same.
Republicans themselves seem split about the direction of their party. Republican staffers were far more likely than Democrats to be “questioning whether I should stay in Congress due to heated rhetoric from my party”: 59% to 16%. “The way the House is ‘functioning,’ is frustrating many members,” wrote one House Republican deputy chief of staff. “We have to placate [certain] members and in my nearly ten years of working here I have never felt more like we’re on the wrong track.”
One Republican Senate communications director blamed extremist political rhetoric for the dysfunction. “[W]ith the nation being in a self-sort mode, it is easy to never hear a dissenting opinion in many areas of the country. People in DC, who work in the Capitol, generally have a collegiate approach to each other. The American people don’t get to see that—at all. From the outside it appears to be a Royal Rumble and bloodsport. It’s reflected in the [way] people, regular citizens, now view one another.”
A Republican House staff director wrote that Congress is “a representative body and a reflection of the people writ large. When they demand something different of their leaders, their leaders will respond (or they will elect different leaders).”
Burgess Everett and Olivia Beavers of Politico reported yesterday that nearly 20 Republican lawmakers and aides have told them they would like Trump to calm down his rhetoric. They appear to think such violent commentary is unpopular and that it will hurt those running in downballot races if they have to answer for it.
It seems unlikely Trump will willingly temper his comments, since threatening violence seems to be all he has left to combat the legal cases bearing down on him. Over the course of Easter morning, he posted more than 70 times on social media, attacking his opponents and declaring himself to be “The Chosen One.”
Tonight, Trump posted a $175 million appeals bond in the New York civil fraud case. He was unable to secure a bond for the full amount of the judgment, but an appeals court lowered the amount. Posting the bond will let him appeal the judge’s decision. If he wins on appeal, he will avoid paying the judgment. If he loses, the bond is designed to guarantee that Trump will pay the entire amount the judge determined he owes to the people of New York: more than $454 million.
Trump and his campaign are short of cash, and there were glimmers last week that the public launch of his media network would produce significant money if he could only hold off judgments until he could sell the stock—six months, according to the current agreement—or use his shares as collateral for a bond. The company’s public launch raised the stock value by billions of dollars.
But this morning the company released its 2023 financial information, showing revenues of $4.1 million last year and a net loss of $58.2 million. The stock plunged about 20%, wiping out about $1 billion of the money that Trump had, on paper anyway, made. The company said it has not made any changes to the provision prohibiting early sales or using shares as collateral.
Tonight, Judge Merchan expanded the previous gag order on Trump to stop attacks on the judge’s family members. Trump has a right “to speak to the American voters freely and to defend himself publicly,” but “[i]t is no longer just a mere possibility or a reasonable likelihood that there exists a threat to the integrity of the judicial proceedings,” Merchan wrote. “The threat is very real.”
—
Notes:
https://www.cnn.com/2024/03/29/politics/federal-judge-donald-trump-rebuke/index.html
https://www.vox.com/2016/3/11/11202540/trump-violent
Ayal Feinberg, Regina Branton, and Valerie Martinez-Ebers, “The Trump Effect: How 2016 Campaign Rallies Explain Spikes in Hate,” February 3, 2022, Cambridge University Press, at: https://www.cambridge.org/core/journals/ps-political-science-and-politics/article/trump-effect-how-2016-campaign-rallies-explain-spikes-in-hate/5665F542B16FC275D2761CE5ACB90A70
https://www.ipsos.com/en-us/most-americans-support-access-medication-abortion
https://www.congressfoundation.org/storage/documents/CMF_Pubs/cmf_state_of_the_congress_2024.pdf
https://www.politico.com/news/2024/03/31/trump-gop-jan-6-00149037
https://www.washingtonpost.com/politics/2024/03/30/congressional-staffers-survey/
https://www.law360.com/newyork-vs-trump-tracker
https://www.forbes.com/sites/dereksaul/2024/04/01/donald-trumps-net-worth-sinks-1-billion-as-truth-social-linked-stock-tanks/
https://www.nytimes.com/2024/04/01/business/trump-media-stock.html
https://apnews.com/article/donald-trump-civil-fraud-trial-feb0593a5bbd3837edc0db195554eda1
https://www.nytimes.com/2024/04/01/nyregion/trump-gag-order-juan-merchan.html
https://talkingpointsmemo.com/morning-memo/the-easter-madness-of-donald-j-trump
https://www.documentcloud.org/documents/24528568-2024-04-01-dec-and-order-re-clarification-of-order-restricting-extrajudicial-statements
https://www.npr.org/2021/02/10/966396848/read-trumps-jan-6-speech-a-key-part-of-impeachment-trial
Twitter (X):
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2024.03.23 19:30 HorrorJunkie123 I Got a Job at Long John Silver's. There's a Reason That No One Eats Here.
I know it sounds bad. I mean, who wants to be employed at a freaking Long John Silver’s of all places? Not this guy, that’s for sure. But, after a lengthy prison stint that led to moving back home with my parents at the age of thirty, I was desperate for anything that would come my way. That’s something they don’t teach you before you commit a serious crime - nobody, and I mean nobody, wants to hire an ex-con.
I wasn’t exactly doing myself any favors with the sleeves of tattoos snaking up and down my arms and the mean-mug constantly stamped across my face, but hey, everyone needs money. I was more than willing to do the work. The problem was, no one would hire me. No company, no matter how large or how small, wanted anything to do with me. I was the proverbial scum on the boot of society. Little did I know, my luck was about to change.
I barely even noticed it when I shuffled past. The Long John Silver’s, that is. It had always been there - just a poorly lit husk of a building that no mortal creature dared enter. Honestly, I didn’t know if it was open half the time. The place was a ghost town. Something seemed different about it that day, though. I scanned the decrepit building, searching for anything out of the ordinary. My eyes lit up when I realized what it was.
A yellow, peeling “We’re Hiring” sign was barely clinging to one of the dingy windows.
Immediately, alarm bells were blaring in my head. Yeah, I needed a job, but did I really need one that badly? I pulled out my wallet and watched a small cloud of dust billow into the frigid air as I opened it. Yes. The answer was yes. I did need a job that badly. I scoffed as I made my way to the door.
Mason, what are you getting yourself into…
The sorry excuse for an eating establishment looked just as shitty on the inside as it did on the outside. I wasn’t sure whether to be appalled or impressed. I feel like you really have to try to get a restaurant to look that gloomy. If “melancholy” was what the owners were going for, they hit the nail on the head.
I tentatively called out as I crossed the desolate lobby and approached the counter. Nobody was manning the register. A brief thought crossed my mind. The place looked too run-down for cameras. I could probably take off with the till with relative ease… No. Chances were, they didn’t have any money in there anyway. It wasn’t worth the risk.
“H-hello? Mr. Silver? Anyone here? I’m looking for a job!” I shouted, my voice carrying through the empty building.
I was met with silence. I decided to wait around for another minute or so, and if no one came to greet me, I’d call it quits. I glanced awkwardly at the fading menu. I couldn’t find a single item that looked even remotely appetizing.
I was suddenly snatched from my reverie by a noise. Were those… rubber boots? I waited in anxious trepidation as the sound grew closer and closer. Was this the end of the line? Was I about to be abducted by the ghost of Long John Silver? I was just about to hightail it out of there, when a loud, hearty voice boomed from behind me.
“Aaaarg! Who dares enter this here eatery? Dine at yer own risk!”
I spun back toward the counter. I was definitely not prepared for the sight that greeted me.
The man was exactly how I’d pictured him. He was a burly guy - probably around 6’3” with the boots on, if I had to guess. Long, thick auburn hair protruded from beneath a bright yellow plastic rain hat. An unkempt, scraggly beard rested atop a matching yellow raincoat, and he sported an eyepatch over his left eye. I couldn’t imagine a more cliche fisherman if I tried.
“Uh, are you Long John?”
“What does it look like? Of course I am! I’m Long John Silver!” the man bellowed, wearing a smug grin on his face.
I stared at him blankly. This had to be a joke. “Wait, you’re serious?”
“No, I’m not serious! I just work here. My name is Greg,” he said, dropping the phony accent.
“Oh. Do they always make you wear that?”
“What, this old thing?” he asked, gesturing to his outfit. I nodded.
“Nah, I just put it on for funsies. Wait… What the hell are you doing here? No one in their right mind actually eats this slop.”
“Oh yeah, right. I saw that you guys were hiring,” I said, slightly stunned by his statement.
“Shoot, I forgot I put that up. Yeah, we’re hiring. I’m the manager. When can you do an interview?”
“Um, whenever’s good for you, I guess.”
“Whenever, huh? How about now? I ain’t got jack shit goin’ on.”
Really? I couldn’t tell.
“Uh, yeah, sure. I’ve got my resume, if you wanna take a look at it,” I replied, handing him a crumpled piece of paper from my back pocket.
“Yeah, lemme take a gander!”
I waited with baited breath for the question that I knew would come. It always did. And, like clockwork, there it was.
“Um, what am I looking at here? According to this, you have a ten year gap in employment. You’re an ex-con, aren’t you?”
I sighed, glancing down at the floor. This is how every interview went. The employer would find out I’d been to prison, and they’d drop me faster than a hot coal in the middle of July. No point in lying. He’d find out one way or another.
“Yeah, I am. I’ve turned a new leaf, though, I swear! I just need a chance. I promise I’ll do well here, Mr. Greg, please, I-”
The fake fisherman held up a hand, saving me any extra groveling. “I don’t care if you’ve been to the big house. Come, take a seat. We’ll start your interview,” he said, leading me to the nearest table.
I was beaming as I slid out a dust-coated chair. I’d never gotten that far before. Most employers would have kicked me to the curb already. I had a good feeling about this.
“First question,” Greg began, resting his elbows on the grimy tabletop, “What have you heard about Long John Silver’s? Any of the lore, how shitty the food is, how run-down the place looks, anything at all.”
“Uh, nothing, really. People say the food is ass, but I’ve never met anyone who’s actually eaten here before.”
“Well, that’s because no one has eaten here before. Aside from the occasional health inspector, that is. Sometimes we get elderly folks who wander in here thinking it’s a Pickadilly or a Golden Corral, but nobody really buys food here.”
My brows furrowed. That was such a strange thing to tell me right off the bat. This dude must have been off his rocker. The cosplay wasn’t really helping his case.
“Can I ask why no one eats here? I mean, I can’t imagine the food is that hard to stomach.”
Greg shuddered. “Oh, believe me, if you’d tasted it, you’d be singing a different tune. But it’s not the food that scares people away. Isn’t it obvious?”
I narrowed my eyes on him. “No, not at all.”
“This place is a front, for fuck’s sake! We don’t have any paying customers, the dining area looks like no one’s stepped foot in it for half a century, and our slogan is ‘Fish Yeah.’ I couldn’t come up with a lazier catch phrase if I tried. I don't get how no one has caught on yet. Corporate’s not exactly doing the best job at trying to hide it, if you ask me.”
I pondered for a moment. He did have a point. “Fish Yeah” is a pretty trash slogan, and I did feel a bit creeped out even stepping foot into the lobby. Come to think of it, they really weren’t doing that much to throw people off their trail.
“Okay, I’m kinda scared to ask, but what exactly is this a front for?”
Greg locked eyes with me, his jovial demeanor melting away. “You really wanna know?”
“Uh, yeah. That’s kinda why I asked.”
He sighed, tugging on his beard. “Well, alright. Follow me. It’ll be easier if I show ya. But fair warning, you’re about to see some fucked up shit.”
“I’ve seen a guy get his head bashed into a concrete wall so hard that his brains were gushing out from his skull. I think I’ll be okay.”
“That’s the spirit! Right this way,” Greg said, his boots squeaking against the grungy tile as we walked.
He led me past the kitchen and to a door that said “Break Room” in faded blue letters. He pushed it open. It creaked loudly on its hinges, echoing through the darkness. Greg then flipped a lightswitch, illuminating a set of concrete steps. He turned to me and glanced down to meet my gaze. “You sure you wanna do this?”
“Sure as I’ll ever be. After you,” I said, extending a hand toward the stairs.
Greg began clomping down the steps, clutching the handrail for dear life. I didn’t blame him. He was a big dude, not to mention the fact that a long tumble down solid concrete steps would probably hurt like shit.
I followed Greg for what felt like a millenia. The temperature began to plummet the further down we went. We must have descended at least four stories before we reached a door, but it was impossible to tell. I probably should have been more worried about what was down there, but in all honesty, I couldn’t think of anything besides how much that climb back to the surface was going to suck.
Suddenly, Greg stopped in his tracks. I nearly tripped over my own feet trying not to slam into him.
“Hey, what gives? I nearly barreled over you.”
“Ha. You? Run over me? Good one. If you haven’t noticed, I’m built like a brick wall. But, to answer your question, we’re here.”
Greg could see that I was puzzled. Yes, there was a door sitting before us, but we hadn’t reached the bottom.
“Yeah, this ain’t as deep it goes. You don’t wanna know what’s down there,” he said, a chill rippling through his body.
No Gregory, actually, I do want to know what’s down there. Being all ominous and shit. Who wouldn’t be curious after that?
“Okay, I’ll take your word for it. What’s in there, then?” I asked, pointing to the solid gray door that loomed ahead.
“You’re about to find out. Before we go in, you know to keep your mouth shut, right? Nobody likes a whistleblower.”
“I ain’t no snitch. You don’t make it out of prison alive by being a rat.”
“That’s what I like to hear. Brace yourself. We got some weird crap in here.”
I nodded. Greg stooped down, holding his eye open for a retina scanner I hadn’t previously noticed. A green light flashed, and I heard the locks disengage.
“Woah. That is so fucking cool,” I muttered, following Greg through the entryway. Nothing could have prepared me for what I saw.
Greg led me down a wide hallway. Overhead lights bathed the corridor in a sickly yellow glow. As we continued to walk, holding cells began to appear to our sides. Thick glass separated us from the… things within. Once the first one came into view, Greg held up a hand, motioning for me to stop. I diligently obliged.
“Before you say anything, yeah, I know. This is some wild fucking shit. “This,” he said, gesturing to the expanse of cells before us, “Is the real reason LJS was established.”
I gulped. Holding cells? Great. I’d just managed to leave prison, and I’d already managed to find my way back to another one. Just my luck.
“Soooo, who are you guys keeping here?”
“Who? No, no, no. You mean what. These things aren’t human. Take Kratos here for example. He’d eat you alive without giving it a second thought.”
I peered through the glass of the cell before us. The exhibit was expansive. It appeared to be modeled after a marshland. Trees dotted the enclosure, and the ground was damp, coated in a thick layer of peat with various shrubs emerging from within. I squinted. It was difficult to see with the poor lighting, but after a moment, I finally understood what I was looking at.
A massive, scaled creature slithered toward me. It was dark as night, and its yellow, reptilian eyes were staring daggers into me as it moved. That gaze. It was… enthralling. A soft, soothing voice began to emanate from somewhere close by. Normally, that would me freak me the fuck out, but in that moment, it didn’t. It was calming, almost. That captivating timbre drifted to my ears like a fluffy, unassuming cloud. I was completely entranced.
Massson. Come closer. There’s sssomething I want to tell you.
I absent-mindedly obeyed, my legs willing me forward of their own volition. I nearly had my nose pressed against the glass when suddenly, I felt a stinging pain coursing through my cheek. I turned to Greg, who had a devilish grin plastered across his face.
“What the fuck, man! Did you just slap me? What the hell was that for?!”
“You wouldn’t respond. I didn’t have a choice. You let Kratos get into your head. Make direct eye contact, and you’ll be putty in the palm of his… Well, he doesn’t have hands, but you catch my drift.”
I glanced back at the serpent and nearly leapt out of my skin. Kratos was gargantuan. I hadn’t noticed while under his spell, but the reptile had to have been at least forty feet long from what I could see. Hell, it could have been even bigger than that for all I knew. The only thing I was absolutely certain of, was that it gave me the creeps.
“Yeah… my bad. Let’s get on with the tour,” I said, shuddering at the thought of becoming snake food.
“You got it. Make sure to keep up.”
He didn’t have to tell me twice. I was stuck to Greg’s side like gum under a middle school desk after that. I averted my gaze as we continued our walk. I could feel Kratos’s piercing stare boring into my temple the entire time we passed. And I couldn’t be sure, but as we left, I could have sworn that I heard a soft voice whisper I’ll get you next time.
“That’s one freaky snake,” I said, trotting to catch up with Greg.
“You got that right. And you know what the really terrifying part is?”
I shook my head, unsure if I wanted to know the answer.
“That thing’s not done growing.”
My jaw fell to the floor. “Wait a minute. So you’re telling me, that massive fucking snake is a baby??”
“Yep. Kratos will probably outgrow his enclosure eventually. Honestly, though, there’s a helluva lot more fucked up shit in here than a giant reptile. We got things trapped within these walls that’ll do much worse than just swallow you whole.”
“Worse than a massive snake with hypnosis? What could possibly be creepier than that?”
Greg turned to me and smirked, coming to a stop before another exhibit. His devious smile made my skin crawl. “I’m glad you asked. This,” he said, gesturing to the enclosure, “Is one of the most evil things we’ve got on display. Her name is Alice.”
I peered through the glass, kicking myself for asking such a stupid question. I immediately recoiled at the sight of its occupant.
Again, this thing was massive. It was humanoid, standing at around fifteen feet tall with antlers extending toward the ceiling. I could see it clearly amid its blizzard-like environment thanks to the fact that its emaciated body was pressed up against the glass. Yellow, glowing eyes illuminated its facial features. It stared down at me hungrily, smiling wide, and showcasing rows of sharp, jagged teeth. It ran a clawed finger down the glass separating us, creating an ear-piercing squeak. Though I knew logically that there was no way it could reach me, I couldn’t help feeling like a mouse about to be devoured by a cobra.
“Wh-what the fuck is that thing?” I stammered, grabbing onto Greg’s raincoat like a terrified child.
“Alice here is a wendigo. We don’t know exactly what happened to her, but speculation is that she had to eat her dead buddy to survive a snowstorm around thirty years ago. And this is the result.”
“Wow. Okay, lesson learned. My lips are sealed for the rest of the tour.”
“Good. Just a little further, and we’ll be at the control room. Got some people to introduce you to.”
I glanced back at the monstrosity as I timidly trailed Greg. My blood instantly turned to ice. Alice was waving at me.
Fuck, fuck, FUCK. That thing is creepy as shit. Note to self: Do NOT get on Alice’s bad side.
Eventually, we reached the end of the hall. There were three doors - one to each side, and another up ahead. Greg sauntered up to the door directly in front of us and again stooped to have his eyeball scanned. Once he was accepted, he turned back to me.
“Get ready. You’re about to meet the crew. They’re a… strange bunch.”
“Cool beans. Let’s go.”
Greg swung the door open, and we entered the control room. All things considered, it didn’t seem like a bad work environment. Two men, one younger and the other middle-aged, were huddled around a water cooler in the left corner. They wore yellow T-shirts and jeans with “Long John Silver’s” emblazoned on them in blocky blue letters. Intricate control boards composed the right wall. Each was labeled with the name of a cryptid. A long, metal table sat opposite them, where a woman around my age sporting a lab coat sat, dissecting what appeared to be the corpse of a goblin.
“Hey everyone! Gather ‘round! Got someone I want you all to meet!” The team curiously obliged, lining up before us.
“This is Mason. He just wandered in here lookin’ for a job. Might be inclined to give it to him, too, once we make it through the interview. Mason, this is Lloyd. He’s one of our keepers,” Greg said, starting with a young, clean-shaven man to my right. He looked fresh out of college. Still bright-eyed and bushy-tailed. Lloyd offered me a smile and a weak wave. I returned the gesture.
“This old guy right here is Ahmad. He’s our senior keeper.”
“Damn, Greg. I’m only forty-two. You’re not getting any younger yourself. Anyway, nice to meet ya kid,” Ahmad replied, extending a hand to me. The dude was jacked. His biceps were bigger than my head - so needless to say, I was a bit intimidated. Despite that, he radiated a warm, inviting aura. I grasped his outstretched palm and immediately regretted it. Every bone in my hand was reduced to dust.
“And here we have Alanna. She’s our resident vet of sorts. She conducts research and keeps the entities in good health.
Alanna waved anxiously at me, only briefly meeting my gaze. She was a looker. Gorgeous blue eyes, straight white teeth, the works.
Hubba hubba. I wouldn’t mind taking her home to Mom.
Suddenly, a short brunette girl burst through the door. Her hair was disheveled, and she looked panicked.
“We have a code red! One of the entities has escaped.”
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I wasn’t exactly doing myself any favors with the sleeves of tattoos snaking up and down my arms and the mean-mug constantly stamped across my face, but hey, everyone needs money. I was more than willing to do the work. The problem was, no one would hire me. No company, no matter how large or how small, wanted anything to do with me. I was the proverbial scum on the boot of society. Little did I know, my luck was about to change.
I barely even noticed it when I shuffled past. The Long John Silver’s, that is. It had always been there - just a poorly lit husk of a building that no mortal creature dared enter. Honestly, I didn’t know if it was open half the time. The place was a ghost town. Something seemed different about it that day, though. I scanned the decrepit building, searching for anything out of the ordinary. My eyes lit up when I realized what it was.
A yellow, peeling “We’re Hiring” sign was barely clinging to one of the dingy windows.
Immediately, alarm bells were blaring in my head. Yeah, I needed a job, but did I really need one that badly? I pulled out my wallet and watched a small cloud of dust billow into the frigid air as I opened it. Yes. The answer was yes. I did need a job that badly. I scoffed as I made my way to the door.
Mason, what are you getting yourself into…
The sorry excuse for an eating establishment looked just as shitty on the inside as it did on the outside. I wasn’t sure whether to be appalled or impressed. I feel like you really have to try to get a restaurant to look that gloomy. If “melancholy” was what the owners were going for, they hit the nail on the head.
I tentatively called out as I crossed the desolate lobby and approached the counter. Nobody was manning the register. A brief thought crossed my mind. The place looked too run-down for cameras. I could probably take off with the till with relative ease… No. Chances were, they didn’t have any money in there anyway. It wasn’t worth the risk.
“H-hello? Mr. Silver? Anyone here? I’m looking for a job!” I shouted, my voice carrying through the empty building.
I was met with silence. I decided to wait around for another minute or so, and if no one came to greet me, I’d call it quits. I glanced awkwardly at the fading menu. I couldn’t find a single item that looked even remotely appetizing.
I was suddenly snatched from my reverie by a noise. Were those… rubber boots? I waited in anxious trepidation as the sound grew closer and closer. Was this the end of the line? Was I about to be abducted by the ghost of Long John Silver? I was just about to hightail it out of there, when a loud, hearty voice boomed from behind me.
“Aaaarg! Who dares enter this here eatery? Dine at yer own risk!”
I spun back toward the counter. I was definitely not prepared for the sight that greeted me.
The man was exactly how I’d pictured him. He was a burly guy - probably around 6’3” with the boots on, if I had to guess. Long, thick auburn hair protruded from beneath a bright yellow plastic rain hat. An unkempt, scraggly beard rested atop a matching yellow raincoat, and he sported an eyepatch over his left eye. I couldn’t imagine a more cliche fisherman if I tried.
“Uh, are you Long John?”
“What does it look like? Of course I am! I’m Long John Silver!” the man bellowed, wearing a smug grin on his face.
I stared at him blankly. This had to be a joke. “Wait, you’re serious?”
“No, I’m not serious! I just work here. My name is Greg,” he said, dropping the phony accent.
“Oh. Do they always make you wear that?”
“What, this old thing?” he asked, gesturing to his outfit. I nodded.
“Nah, I just put it on for funsies. Wait… What the hell are you doing here? No one in their right mind actually eats this slop.”
“Oh yeah, right. I saw that you guys were hiring,” I said, slightly stunned by his statement.
“Shoot, I forgot I put that up. Yeah, we’re hiring. I’m the manager. When can you do an interview?”
“Um, whenever’s good for you, I guess.”
“Whenever, huh? How about now? I ain’t got jack shit goin’ on.”
Really? I couldn’t tell.
“Uh, yeah, sure. I’ve got my resume, if you wanna take a look at it,” I replied, handing him a crumpled piece of paper from my back pocket.
“Yeah, lemme take a gander!”
I waited with baited breath for the question that I knew would come. It always did. And, like clockwork, there it was.
“Um, what am I looking at here? According to this, you have a ten year gap in employment. You’re an ex-con, aren’t you?”
I sighed, glancing down at the floor. This is how every interview went. The employer would find out I’d been to prison, and they’d drop me faster than a hot coal in the middle of July. No point in lying. He’d find out one way or another.
“Yeah, I am. I’ve turned a new leaf, though, I swear! I just need a chance. I promise I’ll do well here, Mr. Greg, please, I-”
The fake fisherman held up a hand, saving me any extra groveling. “I don’t care if you’ve been to the big house. Come, take a seat. We’ll start your interview,” he said, leading me to the nearest table.
I was beaming as I slid out a dust-coated chair. I’d never gotten that far before. Most employers would have kicked me to the curb already. I had a good feeling about this.
“First question,” Greg began, resting his elbows on the grimy tabletop, “What have you heard about Long John Silver’s? Any of the lore, how shitty the food is, how run-down the place looks, anything at all.”
“Uh, nothing, really. People say the food is ass, but I’ve never met anyone who’s actually eaten here before.”
“Well, that’s because no one has eaten here before. Aside from the occasional health inspector, that is. Sometimes we get elderly folks who wander in here thinking it’s a Pickadilly or a Golden Corral, but nobody really buys food here.”
My brows furrowed. That was such a strange thing to tell me right off the bat. This dude must have been off his rocker. The cosplay wasn’t really helping his case.
“Can I ask why no one eats here? I mean, I can’t imagine the food is that hard to stomach.”
Greg shuddered. “Oh, believe me, if you’d tasted it, you’d be singing a different tune. But it’s not the food that scares people away. Isn’t it obvious?”
I narrowed my eyes on him. “No, not at all.”
“This place is a front, for fuck’s sake! We don’t have any paying customers, the dining area looks like no one’s stepped foot in it for half a century, and our slogan is ‘Fish Yeah.’ I couldn’t come up with a lazier catch phrase if I tried. I don't get how no one has caught on yet. Corporate’s not exactly doing the best job at trying to hide it, if you ask me.”
I pondered for a moment. He did have a point. “Fish Yeah” is a pretty trash slogan, and I did feel a bit creeped out even stepping foot into the lobby. Come to think of it, they really weren’t doing that much to throw people off their trail.
“Okay, I’m kinda scared to ask, but what exactly is this a front for?”
Greg locked eyes with me, his jovial demeanor melting away. “You really wanna know?”
“Uh, yeah. That’s kinda why I asked.”
He sighed, tugging on his beard. “Well, alright. Follow me. It’ll be easier if I show ya. But fair warning, you’re about to see some fucked up shit.”
“I’ve seen a guy get his head bashed into a concrete wall so hard that his brains were gushing out from his skull. I think I’ll be okay.”
“That’s the spirit! Right this way,” Greg said, his boots squeaking against the grungy tile as we walked.
He led me past the kitchen and to a door that said “Break Room” in faded blue letters. He pushed it open. It creaked loudly on its hinges, echoing through the darkness. Greg then flipped a lightswitch, illuminating a set of concrete steps. He turned to me and glanced down to meet my gaze. “You sure you wanna do this?”
“Sure as I’ll ever be. After you,” I said, extending a hand toward the stairs.
Greg began clomping down the steps, clutching the handrail for dear life. I didn’t blame him. He was a big dude, not to mention the fact that a long tumble down solid concrete steps would probably hurt like shit.
I followed Greg for what felt like a millenia. The temperature began to plummet the further down we went. We must have descended at least four stories before we reached a door, but it was impossible to tell. I probably should have been more worried about what was down there, but in all honesty, I couldn’t think of anything besides how much that climb back to the surface was going to suck.
Suddenly, Greg stopped in his tracks. I nearly tripped over my own feet trying not to slam into him.
“Hey, what gives? I nearly barreled over you.”
“Ha. You? Run over me? Good one. If you haven’t noticed, I’m built like a brick wall. But, to answer your question, we’re here.”
Greg could see that I was puzzled. Yes, there was a door sitting before us, but we hadn’t reached the bottom.
“Yeah, this ain’t as deep it goes. You don’t wanna know what’s down there,” he said, a chill rippling through his body.
No Gregory, actually, I do want to know what’s down there. Being all ominous and shit. Who wouldn’t be curious after that?
“Okay, I’ll take your word for it. What’s in there, then?” I asked, pointing to the solid gray door that loomed ahead.
“You’re about to find out. Before we go in, you know to keep your mouth shut, right? Nobody likes a whistleblower.”
“I ain’t no snitch. You don’t make it out of prison alive by being a rat.”
“That’s what I like to hear. Brace yourself. We got some weird crap in here.”
I nodded. Greg stooped down, holding his eye open for a retina scanner I hadn’t previously noticed. A green light flashed, and I heard the locks disengage.
“Woah. That is so fucking cool,” I muttered, following Greg through the entryway. Nothing could have prepared me for what I saw.
Greg led me down a wide hallway. Overhead lights bathed the corridor in a sickly yellow glow. As we continued to walk, holding cells began to appear to our sides. Thick glass separated us from the… things within. Once the first one came into view, Greg held up a hand, motioning for me to stop. I diligently obliged.
“Before you say anything, yeah, I know. This is some wild fucking shit. “This,” he said, gesturing to the expanse of cells before us, “Is the real reason LJS was established.”
I gulped. Holding cells? Great. I’d just managed to leave prison, and I’d already managed to find my way back to another one. Just my luck.
“Soooo, who are you guys keeping here?”
“Who? No, no, no. You mean what. These things aren’t human. Take Kratos here for example. He’d eat you alive without giving it a second thought.”
I peered through the glass of the cell before us. The exhibit was expansive. It appeared to be modeled after a marshland. Trees dotted the enclosure, and the ground was damp, coated in a thick layer of peat with various shrubs emerging from within. I squinted. It was difficult to see with the poor lighting, but after a moment, I finally understood what I was looking at.
A massive, scaled creature slithered toward me. It was dark as night, and its yellow, reptilian eyes were staring daggers into me as it moved. That gaze. It was… enthralling. A soft, soothing voice began to emanate from somewhere close by. Normally, that would me freak me the fuck out, but in that moment, it didn’t. It was calming, almost. That captivating timbre drifted to my ears like a fluffy, unassuming cloud. I was completely entranced.
Massson. Come closer. There’s sssomething I want to tell you.
I absent-mindedly obeyed, my legs willing me forward of their own volition. I nearly had my nose pressed against the glass when suddenly, I felt a stinging pain coursing through my cheek. I turned to Greg, who had a devilish grin plastered across his face.
“What the fuck, man! Did you just slap me? What the hell was that for?!”
“You wouldn’t respond. I didn’t have a choice. You let Kratos get into your head. Make direct eye contact, and you’ll be putty in the palm of his… Well, he doesn’t have hands, but you catch my drift.”
I glanced back at the serpent and nearly leapt out of my skin. Kratos was gargantuan. I hadn’t noticed while under his spell, but the reptile had to have been at least forty feet long from what I could see. Hell, it could have been even bigger than that for all I knew. The only thing I was absolutely certain of, was that it gave me the creeps.
“Yeah… my bad. Let’s get on with the tour,” I said, shuddering at the thought of becoming snake food.
“You got it. Make sure to keep up.”
He didn’t have to tell me twice. I was stuck to Greg’s side like gum under a middle school desk after that. I averted my gaze as we continued our walk. I could feel Kratos’s piercing stare boring into my temple the entire time we passed. And I couldn’t be sure, but as we left, I could have sworn that I heard a soft voice whisper I’ll get you next time.
“That’s one freaky snake,” I said, trotting to catch up with Greg.
“You got that right. And you know what the really terrifying part is?”
I shook my head, unsure if I wanted to know the answer.
“That thing’s not done growing.”
My jaw fell to the floor. “Wait a minute. So you’re telling me, that massive fucking snake is a baby??”
“Yep. Kratos will probably outgrow his enclosure eventually. Honestly, though, there’s a helluva lot more fucked up shit in here than a giant reptile. We got things trapped within these walls that’ll do much worse than just swallow you whole.”
“Worse than a massive snake with hypnosis? What could possibly be creepier than that?”
Greg turned to me and smirked, coming to a stop before another exhibit. His devious smile made my skin crawl. “I’m glad you asked. This,” he said, gesturing to the enclosure, “Is one of the most evil things we’ve got on display. Her name is Alice.”
I peered through the glass, kicking myself for asking such a stupid question. I immediately recoiled at the sight of its occupant.
Again, this thing was massive. It was humanoid, standing at around fifteen feet tall with antlers extending toward the ceiling. I could see it clearly amid its blizzard-like environment thanks to the fact that its emaciated body was pressed up against the glass. Yellow, glowing eyes illuminated its facial features. It stared down at me hungrily, smiling wide, and showcasing rows of sharp, jagged teeth. It ran a clawed finger down the glass separating us, creating an ear-piercing squeak. Though I knew logically that there was no way it could reach me, I couldn’t help feeling like a mouse about to be devoured by a cobra.
“Wh-what the fuck is that thing?” I stammered, grabbing onto Greg’s raincoat like a terrified child.
“Alice here is a wendigo. We don’t know exactly what happened to her, but speculation is that she had to eat her dead buddy to survive a snowstorm around thirty years ago. And this is the result.”
“Wow. Okay, lesson learned. My lips are sealed for the rest of the tour.”
“Good. Just a little further, and we’ll be at the control room. Got some people to introduce you to.”
I glanced back at the monstrosity as I timidly trailed Greg. My blood instantly turned to ice. Alice was waving at me.
Fuck, fuck, FUCK. That thing is creepy as shit. Note to self: Do NOT get on Alice’s bad side.
Eventually, we reached the end of the hall. There were three doors - one to each side, and another up ahead. Greg sauntered up to the door directly in front of us and again stooped to have his eyeball scanned. Once he was accepted, he turned back to me.
“Get ready. You’re about to meet the crew. They’re a… strange bunch.”
“Cool beans. Let’s go.”
Greg swung the door open, and we entered the control room. All things considered, it didn’t seem like a bad work environment. Two men, one younger and the other middle-aged, were huddled around a water cooler in the left corner. They wore yellow T-shirts and jeans with “Long John Silver’s” emblazoned on them in blocky blue letters. Intricate control boards composed the right wall. Each was labeled with the name of a cryptid. A long, metal table sat opposite them, where a woman around my age sporting a lab coat sat, dissecting what appeared to be the corpse of a goblin.
“Hey everyone! Gather ‘round! Got someone I want you all to meet!” The team curiously obliged, lining up before us.
“This is Mason. He just wandered in here lookin’ for a job. Might be inclined to give it to him, too, once we make it through the interview. Mason, this is Lloyd. He’s one of our keepers,” Greg said, starting with a young, clean-shaven man to my right. He looked fresh out of college. Still bright-eyed and bushy-tailed. Lloyd offered me a smile and a weak wave. I returned the gesture.
“This old guy right here is Ahmad. He’s our senior keeper.”
“Damn, Greg. I’m only forty-two. You’re not getting any younger yourself. Anyway, nice to meet ya kid,” Ahmad replied, extending a hand to me. The dude was jacked. His biceps were bigger than my head - so needless to say, I was a bit intimidated. Despite that, he radiated a warm, inviting aura. I grasped his outstretched palm and immediately regretted it. Every bone in my hand was reduced to dust.
“And here we have Alanna. She’s our resident vet of sorts. She conducts research and keeps the entities in good health.
Alanna waved anxiously at me, only briefly meeting my gaze. She was a looker. Gorgeous blue eyes, straight white teeth, the works.
Hubba hubba. I wouldn’t mind taking her home to Mom.
Suddenly, a short brunette girl burst through the door. Her hair was disheveled, and she looked panicked.
“We have a code red! One of the entities has escaped.”
NS Post
2024.03.23 19:28 HorrorJunkie123 I Got a Job at Long John Silver's. There's a Reason That No One Eats Here.
I know it sounds bad. I mean, who wants to be employed at a freaking Long John Silver’s of all places? Not this guy, that’s for sure. But, after a lengthy prison stint that led to moving back home with my parents at the age of thirty, I was desperate for anything that would come my way. That’s something they don’t teach you before you commit a serious crime - nobody, and I mean nobody, wants to hire an ex-con.
I wasn’t exactly doing myself any favors with the sleeves of tattoos snaking up and down my arms and the mean-mug constantly stamped across my face, but hey, everyone needs money. I was more than willing to do the work. The problem was, no one would hire me. No company, no matter how large or how small, wanted anything to do with me. I was the proverbial scum on the boot of society. Little did I know, my luck was about to change.
I barely even noticed it when I shuffled past. The Long John Silver’s, that is. It had always been there - just a poorly lit husk of a building that no mortal creature dared enter. Honestly, I didn’t know if it was open half the time. The place was a ghost town. Something seemed different about it that day, though. I scanned the decrepit building, searching for anything out of the ordinary. My eyes lit up when I realized what it was.
A yellow, peeling “We’re Hiring” sign was barely clinging to one of the dingy windows.
Immediately, alarm bells were blaring in my head. Yeah, I needed a job, but did I really need one that badly? I pulled out my wallet and watched a small cloud of dust billow into the frigid air as I opened it. Yes. The answer was yes. I did need a job that badly. I scoffed as I made my way to the door.
Mason, what are you getting yourself into…
The sorry excuse for an eating establishment looked just as shitty on the inside as it did on the outside. I wasn’t sure whether to be appalled or impressed. I feel like you really have to try to get a restaurant to look that gloomy. If “melancholy” was what the owners were going for, they hit the nail on the head.
I tentatively called out as I crossed the desolate lobby and approached the counter. Nobody was manning the register. A brief thought crossed my mind. The place looked too run-down for cameras. I could probably take off with the till with relative ease… No. Chances were, they didn’t have any money in there anyway. It wasn’t worth the risk.
“H-hello? Mr. Silver? Anyone here? I’m looking for a job!” I shouted, my voice carrying through the empty building.
I was met with silence. I decided to wait around for another minute or so, and if no one came to greet me, I’d call it quits. I glanced awkwardly at the fading menu. I couldn’t find a single item that looked even remotely appetizing.
I was suddenly snatched from my reverie by a noise. Were those… rubber boots? I waited in anxious trepidation as the sound grew closer and closer. Was this the end of the line? Was I about to be abducted by the ghost of Long John Silver? I was just about to hightail it out of there, when a loud, hearty voice boomed from behind me.
“Aaaarg! Who dares enter this here eatery? Dine at yer own risk!”
I spun back toward the counter. I was definitely not prepared for the sight that greeted me.
The man was exactly how I’d pictured him. He was a burly guy - probably around 6’3” with the boots on, if I had to guess. Long, thick auburn hair protruded from beneath a bright yellow plastic rain hat. An unkempt, scraggly beard rested atop a matching yellow raincoat, and he sported an eyepatch over his left eye. I couldn’t imagine a more cliche fisherman if I tried.
“Uh, are you Long John?”
“What does it look like? Of course I am! I’m Long John Silver!” the man bellowed, wearing a smug grin on his face.
I stared at him blankly. This had to be a joke. “Wait, you’re serious?”
“No, I’m not serious! I just work here. My name is Greg,” he said, dropping the phony accent.
“Oh. Do they always make you wear that?”
“What, this old thing?” he asked, gesturing to his outfit. I nodded.
“Nah, I just put it on for funsies. Wait… What the hell are you doing here? No one in their right mind actually eats this slop.”
“Oh yeah, right. I saw that you guys were hiring,” I said, slightly stunned by his statement.
“Shoot, I forgot I put that up. Yeah, we’re hiring. I’m the manager. When can you do an interview?”
“Um, whenever’s good for you, I guess.”
“Whenever, huh? How about now? I ain’t got jack shit goin’ on.”
Really? I couldn’t tell.
“Uh, yeah, sure. I’ve got my resume, if you wanna take a look at it,” I replied, handing him a crumpled piece of paper from my back pocket.
“Yeah, lemme take a gander!”
I waited with baited breath for the question that I knew would come. It always did. And, like clockwork, there it was.
“Um, what am I looking at here? According to this, you have a ten year gap in employment. You’re an ex-con, aren’t you?”
I sighed, glancing down at the floor. This is how every interview went. The employer would find out I’d been to prison, and they’d drop me faster than a hot coal in the middle of July. No point in lying. He’d find out one way or another.
“Yeah, I am. I’ve turned a new leaf, though, I swear! I just need a chance. I promise I’ll do well here, Mr. Greg, please, I-”
The fake fisherman held up a hand, saving me any extra groveling. “I don’t care if you’ve been to the big house. Come, take a seat. We’ll start your interview,” he said, leading me to the nearest table.
I was beaming as I slid out a dust-coated chair. I’d never gotten that far before. Most employers would have kicked me to the curb already. I had a good feeling about this.
“First question,” Greg began, resting his elbows on the grimy tabletop, “What have you heard about Long John Silver’s? Any of the lore, how shitty the food is, how run-down the place looks, anything at all.”
“Uh, nothing, really. People say the food is ass, but I’ve never met anyone who’s actually eaten here before.”
“Well, that’s because no one has eaten here before. Aside from the occasional health inspector, that is. Sometimes we get elderly folks who wander in here thinking it’s a Pickadilly or a Golden Corral, but nobody really buys food here.”
My brows furrowed. That was such a strange thing to tell me right off the bat. This dude must have been off his rocker. The cosplay wasn’t really helping his case.
“Can I ask why no one eats here? I mean, I can’t imagine the food is that hard to stomach.”
Greg shuddered. “Oh, believe me, if you’d tasted it, you’d be singing a different tune. But it’s not the food that scares people away. Isn’t it obvious?”
I narrowed my eyes on him. “No, not at all.”
“This place is a front, for fuck’s sake! We don’t have any paying customers, the dining area looks like no one’s stepped foot in it for half a century, and our slogan is ‘Fish Yeah.’ I couldn’t come up with a lazier catch phrase if I tried. I don't get how no one has caught on yet. Corporate’s not exactly doing the best job at trying to hide it, if you ask me.”
I pondered for a moment. He did have a point. “Fish Yeah” is a pretty trash slogan, and I did feel a bit creeped out even stepping foot into the lobby. Come to think of it, they really weren’t doing that much to throw people off their trail.
“Okay, I’m kinda scared to ask, but what exactly is this a front for?”
Greg locked eyes with me, his jovial demeanor melting away. “You really wanna know?”
“Uh, yeah. That’s kinda why I asked.”
He sighed, tugging on his beard. “Well, alright. Follow me. It’ll be easier if I show ya. But fair warning, you’re about to see some fucked up shit.”
“I’ve seen a guy get his head bashed into a concrete wall so hard that his brains were gushing out from his skull. I think I’ll be okay.”
“That’s the spirit! Right this way,” Greg said, his boots squeaking against the grungy tile as we walked.
He led me past the kitchen and to a door that said “Break Room” in faded blue letters. He pushed it open. It creaked loudly on its hinges, echoing through the darkness. Greg then flipped a lightswitch, illuminating a set of concrete steps. He turned to me and glanced down to meet my gaze. “You sure you wanna do this?”
“Sure as I’ll ever be. After you,” I said, extending a hand toward the stairs.
Greg began clomping down the steps, clutching the handrail for dear life. I didn’t blame him. He was a big dude, not to mention the fact that a long tumble down solid concrete steps would probably hurt like shit.
I followed Greg for what felt like a millenia. The temperature began to plummet the further down we went. We must have descended at least four stories before we reached a door, but it was impossible to tell. I probably should have been more worried about what was down there, but in all honesty, I couldn’t think of anything besides how much that climb back to the surface was going to suck.
Suddenly, Greg stopped in his tracks. I nearly tripped over my own feet trying not to slam into him.
“Hey, what gives? I nearly barreled over you.”
“Ha. You? Run over me? Good one. If you haven’t noticed, I’m built like a brick wall. But, to answer your question, we’re here.”
Greg could see that I was puzzled. Yes, there was a door sitting before us, but we hadn’t reached the bottom.
“Yeah, this ain’t as deep it goes. You don’t wanna know what’s down there,” he said, a chill rippling through his body.
No Gregory, actually, I do want to know what’s down there. Being all ominous and shit. Who wouldn’t be curious after that?
“Okay, I’ll take your word for it. What’s in there, then?” I asked, pointing to the solid gray door that loomed ahead.
“You’re about to find out. Before we go in, you know to keep your mouth shut, right? Nobody likes a whistleblower.”
“I ain’t no snitch. You don’t make it out of prison alive by being a rat.”
“That’s what I like to hear. Brace yourself. We got some weird crap in here.”
I nodded. Greg stooped down, holding his eye open for a retina scanner I hadn’t previously noticed. A green light flashed, and I heard the locks disengage.
“Woah. That is so fucking cool,” I muttered, following Greg through the entryway. Nothing could have prepared me for what I saw.
Greg led me down a wide hallway. Overhead lights bathed the corridor in a sickly yellow glow. As we continued to walk, holding cells began to appear to our sides. Thick glass separated us from the… things within. Once the first one came into view, Greg held up a hand, motioning for me to stop. I diligently obliged.
“Before you say anything, yeah, I know. This is some wild fucking shit. “This,” he said, gesturing to the expanse of cells before us, “Is the real reason LJS was established.”
I gulped. Holding cells? Great. I’d just managed to leave prison, and I’d already managed to find my way back to another one. Just my luck.
“Soooo, who are you guys keeping here?”
“Who? No, no, no. You mean what. These things aren’t human. Take Kratos here for example. He’d eat you alive without giving it a second thought.”
I peered through the glass of the cell before us. The exhibit was expansive. It appeared to be modeled after a marshland. Trees dotted the enclosure, and the ground was damp, coated in a thick layer of peat with various shrubs emerging from within. I squinted. It was difficult to see with the poor lighting, but after a moment, I finally understood what I was looking at.
A massive, scaled creature slithered toward me. It was dark as night, and its yellow, reptilian eyes were staring daggers into me as it moved. That gaze. It was… enthralling. A soft, soothing voice began to emanate from somewhere close by. Normally, that would me freak me the fuck out, but in that moment, it didn’t. It was calming, almost. That captivating timbre drifted to my ears like a fluffy, unassuming cloud. I was completely entranced.
Massson. Come closer. There’s sssomething I want to tell you.
I absent-mindedly obeyed, my legs willing me forward of their own volition. I nearly had my nose pressed against the glass when suddenly, I felt a stinging pain coursing through my cheek. I turned to Greg, who had a devilish grin plastered across his face.
“What the fuck, man! Did you just slap me? What the hell was that for?!”
“You wouldn’t respond. I didn’t have a choice. You let Kratos get into your head. Make direct eye contact, and you’ll be putty in the palm of his… Well, he doesn’t have hands, but you catch my drift.”
I glanced back at the serpent and nearly leapt out of my skin. Kratos was gargantuan. I hadn’t noticed while under his spell, but the reptile had to have been at least forty feet long from what I could see. Hell, it could have been even bigger than that for all I knew. The only thing I was absolutely certain of, was that it gave me the creeps.
“Yeah… my bad. Let’s get on with the tour,” I said, shuddering at the thought of becoming snake food.
“You got it. Make sure to keep up.”
He didn’t have to tell me twice. I was stuck to Greg’s side like gum under a middle school desk after that. I averted my gaze as we continued our walk. I could feel Kratos’s piercing stare boring into my temple the entire time we passed. And I couldn’t be sure, but as we left, I could have sworn that I heard a soft voice whisper I’ll get you next time.
“That’s one freaky snake,” I said, trotting to catch up with Greg.
“You got that right. And you know what the really terrifying part is?”
I shook my head, unsure if I wanted to know the answer.
“That thing’s not done growing.”
My jaw fell to the floor. “Wait a minute. So you’re telling me, that massive fucking snake is a baby??”
“Yep. Kratos will probably outgrow his enclosure eventually. Honestly, though, there’s a helluva lot more fucked up shit in here than a giant reptile. We got things trapped within these walls that’ll do much worse than just swallow you whole.”
“Worse than a massive snake with hypnosis? What could possibly be creepier than that?”
Greg turned to me and smirked, coming to a stop before another exhibit. His devious smile made my skin crawl. “I’m glad you asked. This,” he said, gesturing to the enclosure, “Is one of the most evil things we’ve got on display. Her name is Alice.”
I peered through the glass, kicking myself for asking such a stupid question. I immediately recoiled at the sight of its occupant.
Again, this thing was massive. It was humanoid, standing at around fifteen feet tall with antlers extending toward the ceiling. I could see it clearly amid its blizzard-like environment thanks to the fact that its emaciated body was pressed up against the glass. Yellow, glowing eyes illuminated its facial features. It stared down at me hungrily, smiling wide, and showcasing rows of sharp, jagged teeth. It ran a clawed finger down the glass separating us, creating an ear-piercing squeak. Though I knew logically that there was no way it could reach me, I couldn’t help feeling like a mouse about to be devoured by a cobra.
“Wh-what the fuck is that thing?” I stammered, grabbing onto Greg’s raincoat like a terrified child.
“Alice here is a wendigo. We don’t know exactly what happened to her, but speculation is that she had to eat her dead buddy to survive a snowstorm around thirty years ago. And this is the result.”
“Wow. Okay, lesson learned. My lips are sealed for the rest of the tour.”
“Good. Just a little further, and we’ll be at the control room. Got some people to introduce you to.”
I glanced back at the monstrosity as I timidly trailed Greg. My blood instantly turned to ice. Alice was waving at me.
Fuck, fuck, FUCK. That thing is creepy as shit. Note to self: Do NOT get on Alice’s bad side.
Eventually, we reached the end of the hall. There were three doors - one to each side, and another up ahead. Greg sauntered up to the door directly in front of us and again stooped to have his eyeball scanned. Once he was accepted, he turned back to me.
“Get ready. You’re about to meet the crew. They’re a… strange bunch.”
“Cool beans. Let’s go.”
Greg swung the door open, and we entered the control room. All things considered, it didn’t seem like a bad work environment. Two men, one younger and the other middle-aged, were huddled around a water cooler in the left corner. They wore yellow T-shirts and jeans with “Long John Silver’s” emblazoned on them in blocky blue letters. Intricate control boards composed the right wall. Each was labeled with the name of a cryptid. A long, metal table sat opposite them, where a woman around my age sporting a lab coat sat, dissecting what appeared to be the corpse of a goblin.
“Hey everyone! Gather ‘round! Got someone I want you all to meet!” The team curiously obliged, lining up before us.
“This is Mason. He just wandered in here lookin’ for a job. Might be inclined to give it to him, too, once we make it through the interview. Mason, this is Lloyd. He’s one of our keepers,” Greg said, starting with a young, clean-shaven man to my right. He looked fresh out of college. Still bright-eyed and bushy-tailed. Lloyd offered me a smile and a weak wave. I returned the gesture.
“This old guy right here is Ahmad. He’s our senior keeper.”
“Damn, Greg. I’m only forty-two. You’re not getting any younger yourself. Anyway, nice to meet ya kid,” Ahmad replied, extending a hand to me. The dude was jacked. His biceps were bigger than my head - so needless to say, I was a bit intimidated. Despite that, he radiated a warm, inviting aura. I grasped his outstretched palm and immediately regretted it. Every bone in my hand was reduced to dust.
“And here we have Alanna. She’s our resident vet of sorts. She conducts research and keeps the entities in good health.
Alanna waved anxiously at me, only briefly meeting my gaze. She was a looker. Gorgeous blue eyes, straight white teeth, the works.
Hubba hubba. I wouldn’t mind taking her home to Mom.
Suddenly, a short brunette girl burst through the door. Her hair was disheveled, and she looked panicked.
“We have a code red! One of the entities has escaped."
Part 2
Part 3
Final
submitted by HorrorJunkie123 to nosleep [link] [comments]
I know it sounds bad. I mean, who wants to be employed at a freaking Long John Silver’s of all places? Not this guy, that’s for sure. But, after a lengthy prison stint that led to moving back home with my parents at the age of thirty, I was desperate for anything that would come my way. That’s something they don’t teach you before you commit a serious crime - nobody, and I mean nobody, wants to hire an ex-con.
I wasn’t exactly doing myself any favors with the sleeves of tattoos snaking up and down my arms and the mean-mug constantly stamped across my face, but hey, everyone needs money. I was more than willing to do the work. The problem was, no one would hire me. No company, no matter how large or how small, wanted anything to do with me. I was the proverbial scum on the boot of society. Little did I know, my luck was about to change.
I barely even noticed it when I shuffled past. The Long John Silver’s, that is. It had always been there - just a poorly lit husk of a building that no mortal creature dared enter. Honestly, I didn’t know if it was open half the time. The place was a ghost town. Something seemed different about it that day, though. I scanned the decrepit building, searching for anything out of the ordinary. My eyes lit up when I realized what it was.
A yellow, peeling “We’re Hiring” sign was barely clinging to one of the dingy windows.
Immediately, alarm bells were blaring in my head. Yeah, I needed a job, but did I really need one that badly? I pulled out my wallet and watched a small cloud of dust billow into the frigid air as I opened it. Yes. The answer was yes. I did need a job that badly. I scoffed as I made my way to the door.
Mason, what are you getting yourself into…
The sorry excuse for an eating establishment looked just as shitty on the inside as it did on the outside. I wasn’t sure whether to be appalled or impressed. I feel like you really have to try to get a restaurant to look that gloomy. If “melancholy” was what the owners were going for, they hit the nail on the head.
I tentatively called out as I crossed the desolate lobby and approached the counter. Nobody was manning the register. A brief thought crossed my mind. The place looked too run-down for cameras. I could probably take off with the till with relative ease… No. Chances were, they didn’t have any money in there anyway. It wasn’t worth the risk.
“H-hello? Mr. Silver? Anyone here? I’m looking for a job!” I shouted, my voice carrying through the empty building.
I was met with silence. I decided to wait around for another minute or so, and if no one came to greet me, I’d call it quits. I glanced awkwardly at the fading menu. I couldn’t find a single item that looked even remotely appetizing.
I was suddenly snatched from my reverie by a noise. Were those… rubber boots? I waited in anxious trepidation as the sound grew closer and closer. Was this the end of the line? Was I about to be abducted by the ghost of Long John Silver? I was just about to hightail it out of there, when a loud, hearty voice boomed from behind me.
“Aaaarg! Who dares enter this here eatery? Dine at yer own risk!”
I spun back toward the counter. I was definitely not prepared for the sight that greeted me.
The man was exactly how I’d pictured him. He was a burly guy - probably around 6’3” with the boots on, if I had to guess. Long, thick auburn hair protruded from beneath a bright yellow plastic rain hat. An unkempt, scraggly beard rested atop a matching yellow raincoat, and he sported an eyepatch over his left eye. I couldn’t imagine a more cliche fisherman if I tried.
“Uh, are you Long John?”
“What does it look like? Of course I am! I’m Long John Silver!” the man bellowed, wearing a smug grin on his face.
I stared at him blankly. This had to be a joke. “Wait, you’re serious?”
“No, I’m not serious! I just work here. My name is Greg,” he said, dropping the phony accent.
“Oh. Do they always make you wear that?”
“What, this old thing?” he asked, gesturing to his outfit. I nodded.
“Nah, I just put it on for funsies. Wait… What the hell are you doing here? No one in their right mind actually eats this slop.”
“Oh yeah, right. I saw that you guys were hiring,” I said, slightly stunned by his statement.
“Shoot, I forgot I put that up. Yeah, we’re hiring. I’m the manager. When can you do an interview?”
“Um, whenever’s good for you, I guess.”
“Whenever, huh? How about now? I ain’t got jack shit goin’ on.”
Really? I couldn’t tell.
“Uh, yeah, sure. I’ve got my resume, if you wanna take a look at it,” I replied, handing him a crumpled piece of paper from my back pocket.
“Yeah, lemme take a gander!”
I waited with baited breath for the question that I knew would come. It always did. And, like clockwork, there it was.
“Um, what am I looking at here? According to this, you have a ten year gap in employment. You’re an ex-con, aren’t you?”
I sighed, glancing down at the floor. This is how every interview went. The employer would find out I’d been to prison, and they’d drop me faster than a hot coal in the middle of July. No point in lying. He’d find out one way or another.
“Yeah, I am. I’ve turned a new leaf, though, I swear! I just need a chance. I promise I’ll do well here, Mr. Greg, please, I-”
The fake fisherman held up a hand, saving me any extra groveling. “I don’t care if you’ve been to the big house. Come, take a seat. We’ll start your interview,” he said, leading me to the nearest table.
I was beaming as I slid out a dust-coated chair. I’d never gotten that far before. Most employers would have kicked me to the curb already. I had a good feeling about this.
“First question,” Greg began, resting his elbows on the grimy tabletop, “What have you heard about Long John Silver’s? Any of the lore, how shitty the food is, how run-down the place looks, anything at all.”
“Uh, nothing, really. People say the food is ass, but I’ve never met anyone who’s actually eaten here before.”
“Well, that’s because no one has eaten here before. Aside from the occasional health inspector, that is. Sometimes we get elderly folks who wander in here thinking it’s a Pickadilly or a Golden Corral, but nobody really buys food here.”
My brows furrowed. That was such a strange thing to tell me right off the bat. This dude must have been off his rocker. The cosplay wasn’t really helping his case.
“Can I ask why no one eats here? I mean, I can’t imagine the food is that hard to stomach.”
Greg shuddered. “Oh, believe me, if you’d tasted it, you’d be singing a different tune. But it’s not the food that scares people away. Isn’t it obvious?”
I narrowed my eyes on him. “No, not at all.”
“This place is a front, for fuck’s sake! We don’t have any paying customers, the dining area looks like no one’s stepped foot in it for half a century, and our slogan is ‘Fish Yeah.’ I couldn’t come up with a lazier catch phrase if I tried. I don't get how no one has caught on yet. Corporate’s not exactly doing the best job at trying to hide it, if you ask me.”
I pondered for a moment. He did have a point. “Fish Yeah” is a pretty trash slogan, and I did feel a bit creeped out even stepping foot into the lobby. Come to think of it, they really weren’t doing that much to throw people off their trail.
“Okay, I’m kinda scared to ask, but what exactly is this a front for?”
Greg locked eyes with me, his jovial demeanor melting away. “You really wanna know?”
“Uh, yeah. That’s kinda why I asked.”
He sighed, tugging on his beard. “Well, alright. Follow me. It’ll be easier if I show ya. But fair warning, you’re about to see some fucked up shit.”
“I’ve seen a guy get his head bashed into a concrete wall so hard that his brains were gushing out from his skull. I think I’ll be okay.”
“That’s the spirit! Right this way,” Greg said, his boots squeaking against the grungy tile as we walked.
He led me past the kitchen and to a door that said “Break Room” in faded blue letters. He pushed it open. It creaked loudly on its hinges, echoing through the darkness. Greg then flipped a lightswitch, illuminating a set of concrete steps. He turned to me and glanced down to meet my gaze. “You sure you wanna do this?”
“Sure as I’ll ever be. After you,” I said, extending a hand toward the stairs.
Greg began clomping down the steps, clutching the handrail for dear life. I didn’t blame him. He was a big dude, not to mention the fact that a long tumble down solid concrete steps would probably hurt like shit.
I followed Greg for what felt like a millenia. The temperature began to plummet the further down we went. We must have descended at least four stories before we reached a door, but it was impossible to tell. I probably should have been more worried about what was down there, but in all honesty, I couldn’t think of anything besides how much that climb back to the surface was going to suck.
Suddenly, Greg stopped in his tracks. I nearly tripped over my own feet trying not to slam into him.
“Hey, what gives? I nearly barreled over you.”
“Ha. You? Run over me? Good one. If you haven’t noticed, I’m built like a brick wall. But, to answer your question, we’re here.”
Greg could see that I was puzzled. Yes, there was a door sitting before us, but we hadn’t reached the bottom.
“Yeah, this ain’t as deep it goes. You don’t wanna know what’s down there,” he said, a chill rippling through his body.
No Gregory, actually, I do want to know what’s down there. Being all ominous and shit. Who wouldn’t be curious after that?
“Okay, I’ll take your word for it. What’s in there, then?” I asked, pointing to the solid gray door that loomed ahead.
“You’re about to find out. Before we go in, you know to keep your mouth shut, right? Nobody likes a whistleblower.”
“I ain’t no snitch. You don’t make it out of prison alive by being a rat.”
“That’s what I like to hear. Brace yourself. We got some weird crap in here.”
I nodded. Greg stooped down, holding his eye open for a retina scanner I hadn’t previously noticed. A green light flashed, and I heard the locks disengage.
“Woah. That is so fucking cool,” I muttered, following Greg through the entryway. Nothing could have prepared me for what I saw.
Greg led me down a wide hallway. Overhead lights bathed the corridor in a sickly yellow glow. As we continued to walk, holding cells began to appear to our sides. Thick glass separated us from the… things within. Once the first one came into view, Greg held up a hand, motioning for me to stop. I diligently obliged.
“Before you say anything, yeah, I know. This is some wild fucking shit. “This,” he said, gesturing to the expanse of cells before us, “Is the real reason LJS was established.”
I gulped. Holding cells? Great. I’d just managed to leave prison, and I’d already managed to find my way back to another one. Just my luck.
“Soooo, who are you guys keeping here?”
“Who? No, no, no. You mean what. These things aren’t human. Take Kratos here for example. He’d eat you alive without giving it a second thought.”
I peered through the glass of the cell before us. The exhibit was expansive. It appeared to be modeled after a marshland. Trees dotted the enclosure, and the ground was damp, coated in a thick layer of peat with various shrubs emerging from within. I squinted. It was difficult to see with the poor lighting, but after a moment, I finally understood what I was looking at.
A massive, scaled creature slithered toward me. It was dark as night, and its yellow, reptilian eyes were staring daggers into me as it moved. That gaze. It was… enthralling. A soft, soothing voice began to emanate from somewhere close by. Normally, that would me freak me the fuck out, but in that moment, it didn’t. It was calming, almost. That captivating timbre drifted to my ears like a fluffy, unassuming cloud. I was completely entranced.
Massson. Come closer. There’s sssomething I want to tell you.
I absent-mindedly obeyed, my legs willing me forward of their own volition. I nearly had my nose pressed against the glass when suddenly, I felt a stinging pain coursing through my cheek. I turned to Greg, who had a devilish grin plastered across his face.
“What the fuck, man! Did you just slap me? What the hell was that for?!”
“You wouldn’t respond. I didn’t have a choice. You let Kratos get into your head. Make direct eye contact, and you’ll be putty in the palm of his… Well, he doesn’t have hands, but you catch my drift.”
I glanced back at the serpent and nearly leapt out of my skin. Kratos was gargantuan. I hadn’t noticed while under his spell, but the reptile had to have been at least forty feet long from what I could see. Hell, it could have been even bigger than that for all I knew. The only thing I was absolutely certain of, was that it gave me the creeps.
“Yeah… my bad. Let’s get on with the tour,” I said, shuddering at the thought of becoming snake food.
“You got it. Make sure to keep up.”
He didn’t have to tell me twice. I was stuck to Greg’s side like gum under a middle school desk after that. I averted my gaze as we continued our walk. I could feel Kratos’s piercing stare boring into my temple the entire time we passed. And I couldn’t be sure, but as we left, I could have sworn that I heard a soft voice whisper I’ll get you next time.
“That’s one freaky snake,” I said, trotting to catch up with Greg.
“You got that right. And you know what the really terrifying part is?”
I shook my head, unsure if I wanted to know the answer.
“That thing’s not done growing.”
My jaw fell to the floor. “Wait a minute. So you’re telling me, that massive fucking snake is a baby??”
“Yep. Kratos will probably outgrow his enclosure eventually. Honestly, though, there’s a helluva lot more fucked up shit in here than a giant reptile. We got things trapped within these walls that’ll do much worse than just swallow you whole.”
“Worse than a massive snake with hypnosis? What could possibly be creepier than that?”
Greg turned to me and smirked, coming to a stop before another exhibit. His devious smile made my skin crawl. “I’m glad you asked. This,” he said, gesturing to the enclosure, “Is one of the most evil things we’ve got on display. Her name is Alice.”
I peered through the glass, kicking myself for asking such a stupid question. I immediately recoiled at the sight of its occupant.
Again, this thing was massive. It was humanoid, standing at around fifteen feet tall with antlers extending toward the ceiling. I could see it clearly amid its blizzard-like environment thanks to the fact that its emaciated body was pressed up against the glass. Yellow, glowing eyes illuminated its facial features. It stared down at me hungrily, smiling wide, and showcasing rows of sharp, jagged teeth. It ran a clawed finger down the glass separating us, creating an ear-piercing squeak. Though I knew logically that there was no way it could reach me, I couldn’t help feeling like a mouse about to be devoured by a cobra.
“Wh-what the fuck is that thing?” I stammered, grabbing onto Greg’s raincoat like a terrified child.
“Alice here is a wendigo. We don’t know exactly what happened to her, but speculation is that she had to eat her dead buddy to survive a snowstorm around thirty years ago. And this is the result.”
“Wow. Okay, lesson learned. My lips are sealed for the rest of the tour.”
“Good. Just a little further, and we’ll be at the control room. Got some people to introduce you to.”
I glanced back at the monstrosity as I timidly trailed Greg. My blood instantly turned to ice. Alice was waving at me.
Fuck, fuck, FUCK. That thing is creepy as shit. Note to self: Do NOT get on Alice’s bad side.
Eventually, we reached the end of the hall. There were three doors - one to each side, and another up ahead. Greg sauntered up to the door directly in front of us and again stooped to have his eyeball scanned. Once he was accepted, he turned back to me.
“Get ready. You’re about to meet the crew. They’re a… strange bunch.”
“Cool beans. Let’s go.”
Greg swung the door open, and we entered the control room. All things considered, it didn’t seem like a bad work environment. Two men, one younger and the other middle-aged, were huddled around a water cooler in the left corner. They wore yellow T-shirts and jeans with “Long John Silver’s” emblazoned on them in blocky blue letters. Intricate control boards composed the right wall. Each was labeled with the name of a cryptid. A long, metal table sat opposite them, where a woman around my age sporting a lab coat sat, dissecting what appeared to be the corpse of a goblin.
“Hey everyone! Gather ‘round! Got someone I want you all to meet!” The team curiously obliged, lining up before us.
“This is Mason. He just wandered in here lookin’ for a job. Might be inclined to give it to him, too, once we make it through the interview. Mason, this is Lloyd. He’s one of our keepers,” Greg said, starting with a young, clean-shaven man to my right. He looked fresh out of college. Still bright-eyed and bushy-tailed. Lloyd offered me a smile and a weak wave. I returned the gesture.
“This old guy right here is Ahmad. He’s our senior keeper.”
“Damn, Greg. I’m only forty-two. You’re not getting any younger yourself. Anyway, nice to meet ya kid,” Ahmad replied, extending a hand to me. The dude was jacked. His biceps were bigger than my head - so needless to say, I was a bit intimidated. Despite that, he radiated a warm, inviting aura. I grasped his outstretched palm and immediately regretted it. Every bone in my hand was reduced to dust.
“And here we have Alanna. She’s our resident vet of sorts. She conducts research and keeps the entities in good health.
Alanna waved anxiously at me, only briefly meeting my gaze. She was a looker. Gorgeous blue eyes, straight white teeth, the works.
Hubba hubba. I wouldn’t mind taking her home to Mom.
Suddenly, a short brunette girl burst through the door. Her hair was disheveled, and she looked panicked.
“We have a code red! One of the entities has escaped."
Part 2
Part 3
Final
2024.03.22 19:11 Budget-Song2618 Trump poised for billions as stock market deal passes. Trump could net $3bn after investors approve Truth Social to go public.
https://www.bbc.co.uk/news/business-68609007
submitted by Budget-Song2618 to WayOfTheBern [link] [comments]
Donald Trump appears to be scrambling for funds to pay a $464m (£365m) fraud fine. Could the stock market ride to his rescue?https://www.theguardian.com/us-news/2024/ma21/trump-truth-social
Trump Media, which runs the social media platform Truth Social, is poised to become a publicly listed company, after a majority of shareholders of Digital World Acquisition Corp voted on Friday to acquire it.
Mr Trump is due to have a stake of at least 58% in the merged company, worth roughly $3bn at Digital World's current share prices.
It's an astonishing potential windfall for Mr Trump in exchange for a business whose own auditor warned last year it was at risk of failure.
Never mind the many red flags associated with the deal, including unresolved lawsuits from former business partners. There's also an $18m settlement that Digital World agreed to pay last year to resolve fraud charges over how the merger plan came together.
Shares in Digital World rose on Friday ahead of the approval, to more than $45 apiece, before later sliding to below $40.
Backers of Digital World - the vast majority of whom are individual investors instead of Wall Street firms, many apparently Trump loyalists - seem undaunted.
"This is just the start," Chad Nedohin, a deal supporter, said on his show DWAC Live on the video platform Rumble after the approval was announced. "There's no reason to freak out."
Digital World, or DWAC (pronounced D-whack), is what is known as a SPAC, or a shell business created expressly to buy another firm and take it public.
The company will now be renamed Trump Media & Technology Group and could start trading on the Nasdaq stock exchange under the ticker DJT as soon as next week.
The deal is unlikely to immediately resolve Mr Trump's most pressing financial issues, such as his New York fraud penalty.
The former president is barred from selling his shares for at least six months - though the new company could grant him an exemption.
Mr Trump could also try to get a loan, backed by the value of the shares. But in this case, analysts said a bank would probably lend him significantly less than the shares are worth on paper, given the potential risks of the business.
That hasn't stopped some of his supporters hoping their backing will help.
Mr Nedohin, who identifies himself on his website as a Canadian "worship leader" and goes by Captain DWAC on Truth Social, declined to be interviewed.
But on his show this week he urged investors to approve the deal, speculating it could help the former president in his legal battles.
"If the merger is complete Friday at 10am and Trump all of a sudden has 120 million shares of DJT that's worth three, four, five $10bn, who knows? He could easily leverage that to get a loan**," he said.
He added: "This is putting your money where your mouth is for free speech, to save your country, potentially losing it all."
The risk that Digital World shareholders will lose money on their investment is significant, according to analysts.
Share prices are down from the highs they reached after plans to purchase Trump Media were announced in 2021.
But they still imply that Trump Media has a value of more than $5bn, which is a lot given it brought in just $3.3m in revenue in the first nine months of last year and lost nearly $50m.
The merger will provide an influx of more than $200m in cash to Trump Media, which it could use for growth and expansion.
But for now Truth Social, which launched to the general public in 2022, branding itself as an alternative to major social media platforms like Twitter and Facebook, remains small**.
It claims about 8.9 million sign-ups and in regulatory filings Trump Media warns prospective investors that it does not track metrics like user growth or engagement that could give them a sense of its operations. And it says it has little intention of doing so.
Outside firms estimate Truth Social received about five million visits in February. By comparison, Elon Musk's X, formerly Twitter, and recently valued by one investor at about $14bn, received more than 100 million.
Analysts said Digital World was a prime example of a "meme stock", in which the share price is divorced from a company's fundamentals - and near-destined to fall, eventually.
"With Trump Media, I expect that it will collapse but whether it's going to occur a week from now or two years from now and how rapidly ... those things are really difficult to predict," said University of Florida finance professor Jay Ritter, who tracks public listings.
Marco Iachini, senior vice-president of research at Vanda Securities, said individual investors piled into Digital World stock after the Trump deal was announced, and again in January, after he won the Iowa primary.
Ahead of the vote this week, he said there had been less activity, a sign that professional firms might be the ones driving the trading.
Whatever is motivating buyers, Mr Trump, whose main contributions to Trump Media have been his name and posts on the platform, appears poised to be the top beneficiary.
"It's an enormous transfer of value from [investors]... to Trump, which stands to be extremely lucrative for him," says Michael Ohlrogge, a law professor at New York University who has studied listings of companies such as Trump Media.
How does Trump stand to make $3bn from Truth Social being listed on the market?✂✂
The company – which has only raised $5m since 2021 – benefits from meme stock status, valued not for revenue but for clicks
Trump could net $3bn after investors approve Truth Social to go public
Why is Trump’s stake worth so much if Truth Social has made so little?✂✂
Digital World is a meme stock, the term for an equity that is boosted by amateur investors on online forums via internet memes (an image, video or piece of text that is copied and passed around, often re-emerging with slight alterations).
The most famous example of meme stock-boosting is GameStop, a US video game retailer that, although it appeared to be trending downwards in terms of its business prospects, suddenly attained a valuation of more than $22bn at the peak of a buying frenzy in 2021 – but is now worth just over $4bn.
In one meme example on the Digital World page on Reddit, a photograph of Trump pointing is emblazoned with the slogan “He’s Right! Get More DWAC [Digital World Acquisition Corp]!” Another shows a bald eagle carrying the US flag in its talons with the letters DWAC above it.
Does Trump need the money?
Trump has $400m in cash plus properties and other investments, but he needs to find nearly half a billion dollars by Monday. A New York judge has formally ordered him to pay $454m following a civil fraud case that determined he manipulated the value of his properties to obtain advantageous loan and insurance rates. And this week his lawyers said it was “a practical impossibility” for him to obtain the bond he needs to guarantee the payment, after 30 surety companies turned him down.
2024.03.20 06:13 MujeTeHaakh The mystery of Moi-e-Muqqadas theft Rising Kashmir
Published at December 27, 2015 12:19 AM 0Comment(s)10003views
The stolen relic was recovered but the culprits never identified
📷
Over 50 years have passed since Kashmir witnessed one of the most tumultuous public agitations in its history following the theft of the holy relic of Prophet Muhammad (SAW). Rising Kashmir Political Editor, Faisul Yaseen delves into the circumstances surrounding the momentous episode which has been shrouded in mystery for the past five decades.
Even 52 years after the theft of Moi-e-Muqqadas, a relic believed to be a strand from the beard of Prophet Muhammad (SAW), the mystery of who stole it and how it was recovered after the Moi-e-Muqqadas agitation of 1963-64 remains.
The Moi-e-Muqqadas was stolen 52 years ago on December 27, 1963.
Before its theft, the relic was last displayed at a private exposition on the evening of December 26, 1963, and put back in its place by the senior Nishan Dez, Abdur Rahim Bandey.
Bandey had displayed the Moi-e-Muqqadas to public for the last time on December 20, 1963, the Friday following the Me’raj-e-Aalam.
Senior National Conference leader, Mustafa Kamal said who had stolen the Moi-e-Muqqadas, from whom it had been recovered, and who had really identified its authenticity remained a high-kept secret in Kashmir.
“People who should have known do not know,” said Kamal, the uncle of former chief minister Omar Abdullah.
However, Kamal said there was no need of an investigation into the issue on why it had not been found, who had conducted the theft and from whom the Moi-e-Muqqadas had been recovered.
The senior NC leader said the Moi-e-Muqqadas is kept in a locked wooden box, which has two keys, one lying with the caretaker (Muntazim) and one with someone else.
Kamal said an investigation on who were involved was not in anybody’s interests.
The theft of the Moi-e-Muqqadas had brought entire Kashmir out on streets and the Moi-e-Muqqadas agitation, which was led by Mirwaiz Moulvi Muhammad Farooq, the former General Secretary of National Conference Maulana Muhammad Sayeed Masoodi, former Hurriyat Conference (M) Chairman Moulvi Abbas Ansari and the three-time chief minister Farooq Abdullah, ended only after the relic was recovered on January 4, 1964.
The agitating leaders formed the Moi-e-Muqqadas Baizeyaab Action Committee or the Sacred Relic Action Committee and Mirwaiz Farooq was the President of the Committee.
Later, Mirwaiz Farooq floated his own socio-politico-religious outfit and named it Awami Action Committee after the Moi-e-Muqqadas Baizeyaab Action Committee.
Mirwaiz Farooq’s son and the incumbent Mirwaiz Moulvi Umar Farooq said who had stolen the Moi-e-Muqqadas and how it had been brought back continued to remain a mystery even today.
The Mirwaiz, who is also the Chairman of the All Parties Hurriyat Conference (M), said with the Moi-e-Muqqadas agitation, people had besides expressing their religious undertones also expressed their political aspirations.
“In Kashmir, whatever the protest is about, it finally culminates into a political movement with people expressing their political aspirations,” he said.
The Mirwaiz, who was once described by the TIME Magazine as Kashmir’s last and greatest hope, said that though 52 years had passed since the Moi-e-Muqqadas had been stolen, people had not forgotten about it.
“The event like July 13, 1931 incident has remained a game changer in Kashmir history,” he said.
The Mirwaiz said the incident was a deliberate attempt to instigate people but added that calling for an investigation into the incident now won’t make much sense.
“People should know who were involved but then there are so many things that have happened over the years like the massacres and other human rights violations,” Mirwaiz said. “That way, the government has to investigate everything since 1947.”
The Moi-e-Muqqadas agitation is considered to be the biggest ever Kashmir has seen with some terming the protests even bigger than the Million Men March of 2010.
When the Moi-e-Muqqadas was brought back, Mirwaiz Umar’s father Mirwaiz Farooq was asked to identify it.
“He (Mirwaiz Farooq) said I had not seen it, and so I cannot authenticate whether it is the Moi-e-Muqqadas or not,” Mirwaiz Umar said.
Syed Mirak Shah Kashani and Sheikh Muhammad Abdullah, who at that time was in prison, along with some Moi-e-Muqqadas Baizeyaab Action Committee members, later authenticated its validity.
During those days, the general feeling among the masses and Sheikh Abdullah’s supporters was that it was a plan of Bakhshi Rashid, the brother of former Prime Minister Bakshi Ghulam Muhammad to pressurize New Delhi for reinstating Bakshi Ghulam Muhammad as the PM.
Earlier, Bakshi was asked to resign as the Prime Minister under the Kamaraj Plan following which Khwaja Shams-ud-Din took over as the Prime Minister.
It was during Shams-ud-Din’s tenure that the Moi-e-Muqqadas was stolen.
He remained the Prime Minister of Kashmir between October 12, 1963 and February 29, 1964.
During the Moi-e-Muqqadas agitation, thousands of people would come from far-flung areas of Kashmir to Srinagar, hold rallies and protests.
The protestors burnt Regal and Amresh cinemas, which were introduced in Kashmir by Bakshis.
Amresh cinema is the present Regal Cinema and the present Bata Shop building at Regal was the Regal Cinema building.
After the Moi-e-Muqqadas was recovered, the official government statement was that it had not been stolen but displaced by two government employees.
B N Mullick, the former Intelligence Bureau chief, who was close to the former Indian Prime Minister Jawaharlal Nehru, in his book ‘My Years With Nehru – Kashmir’ has written two chapters, ‘The Holy Relic Disappears’ and ‘The Holy Relic Comes Back’.
In the book, Mullick tries to find out how it had disappeared and how it was found back after elaborate investigations.
However, he does not reveal who had stolen the Moi-e-Muqqadas and from whom had it been recovered and why the culprits had not been punished.
In fact, his book illustrates how the intelligence agencies protected the identities of the people who had stolen it.
On page 141 of his book, Mullick writes, “If the Moi-e-Muqqadas came back, whether the culprit was punished or not mattered little.”
Popular Kashmiri leader and All Parties Hurriyat Conference (G) Chairman, Syed Ali Geelani said, “Kashmir is a slave nation and oppressors carry out such mischief.”
He said it was these people who had stolen the Moi-e-Muqqadas, brought it back and authenticated it.
Geelani said such things are always high kept secrets and this was the reason why even five decades after the incident, people did not know who had stolen it, from whom had it been recovered, and who had brought it back from them.
Historian Ghulam Hassan Munshi termed the theft of the Moi-e-Muqqadas as a conspiracy of the then State government and Government of India.
“Not only who had stolen it but also who really identified it remains a mystery,” he said.
Munshi blamed Sheikh Muhammad Abdullah for maintaining criminal silence over the issue saying after his release, he never tried to find out who had stolen the Moi-e-Muqqadas.
“It was a criminal conspiracy, a big criminal conspiracy,” Munshi said.
Like Munshi, Kashmir’s noted historian Fida Muhammad Hasnain also blamed the government for the theft of Moi-e-Muqqadas.
“Pandit Jawaharlal Nehru was involved and B N Mullick, who was the incharge of intelligence, and close to Nehru carried the investigations,” Hasnain said. “According to the official statement, Moi-e-Muqqadas was recovered from the house of some Abdul Rashid.”
Hasnain said Nehru had later suffered because of this theft.
“Hafiz Jalandari in Muzaffarabad read a poem to Sheikh Muhammad Abdullah in which he said, the one who stole it, died because of it,” Hasnain said referring to Nehru.
Hasnain said Nehru’s agents including Mullick were involved in the theft.
“May be Nehru had to remove some one from the State government,” he said.
The government at that time ordered investigation into the issue and framed an investigation team under DIG Sheikh Ghulam Qadir.
The then SSP Srinagar, Syed Wali Shah was one of the members of the investigation team.
Both Qadir and Shah have died.
However, the investigation into the case never came up in the court where Ali Muhammad Watali was the then Prosecuting Officer.
According to accounts of many survivors, the government, IB officers and police led by the notorious Ghulam Qadir Ganderbali had tried to cook up a case against the pro-freedom or the pro-Pakistan elements in Kashmir, which is also revealed in Mullick’s book.
“The investigating officers were trying to frame a case like the Kashmir Conspiracy Case against the pro-freedom leaders and pro-Pakistan leaders of that time,” said a retired senior police officer wishing anonymity. “The investigating officers were also trying to frame Sheikh Muhammad Abdullah and Mirza Afzal Beg, who, luckily for them, at that time, were in jail.”
During the Moi-e-Muqqadas agitation, the two most popular slogans where ‘Moi-e-Muqqadas Ko Bahaal Karo’ (Bring back Moi-e-Muqqadas) and ‘Asli Mulzim Pesh Karo’ (Present the real culprits).
While the Moi-e-Muqqadas was brought back, the real culprits have not been presented before the people even 52 years after the theft of the relic.
The author can be mailed at faisul@risingkashmir.com
Rising Kashmir is reproducing the article which appeared in our December 27, 2013 edition after 50 years of the theft of Moi-e-Muqqadas.
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The stolen relic was recovered but the culprits never identified
📷
Over 50 years have passed since Kashmir witnessed one of the most tumultuous public agitations in its history following the theft of the holy relic of Prophet Muhammad (SAW). Rising Kashmir Political Editor, Faisul Yaseen delves into the circumstances surrounding the momentous episode which has been shrouded in mystery for the past five decades.
Even 52 years after the theft of Moi-e-Muqqadas, a relic believed to be a strand from the beard of Prophet Muhammad (SAW), the mystery of who stole it and how it was recovered after the Moi-e-Muqqadas agitation of 1963-64 remains.
The Moi-e-Muqqadas was stolen 52 years ago on December 27, 1963.
Before its theft, the relic was last displayed at a private exposition on the evening of December 26, 1963, and put back in its place by the senior Nishan Dez, Abdur Rahim Bandey.
Bandey had displayed the Moi-e-Muqqadas to public for the last time on December 20, 1963, the Friday following the Me’raj-e-Aalam.
Senior National Conference leader, Mustafa Kamal said who had stolen the Moi-e-Muqqadas, from whom it had been recovered, and who had really identified its authenticity remained a high-kept secret in Kashmir.
“People who should have known do not know,” said Kamal, the uncle of former chief minister Omar Abdullah.
However, Kamal said there was no need of an investigation into the issue on why it had not been found, who had conducted the theft and from whom the Moi-e-Muqqadas had been recovered.
The senior NC leader said the Moi-e-Muqqadas is kept in a locked wooden box, which has two keys, one lying with the caretaker (Muntazim) and one with someone else.
Kamal said an investigation on who were involved was not in anybody’s interests.
The theft of the Moi-e-Muqqadas had brought entire Kashmir out on streets and the Moi-e-Muqqadas agitation, which was led by Mirwaiz Moulvi Muhammad Farooq, the former General Secretary of National Conference Maulana Muhammad Sayeed Masoodi, former Hurriyat Conference (M) Chairman Moulvi Abbas Ansari and the three-time chief minister Farooq Abdullah, ended only after the relic was recovered on January 4, 1964.
The agitating leaders formed the Moi-e-Muqqadas Baizeyaab Action Committee or the Sacred Relic Action Committee and Mirwaiz Farooq was the President of the Committee.
Later, Mirwaiz Farooq floated his own socio-politico-religious outfit and named it Awami Action Committee after the Moi-e-Muqqadas Baizeyaab Action Committee.
Mirwaiz Farooq’s son and the incumbent Mirwaiz Moulvi Umar Farooq said who had stolen the Moi-e-Muqqadas and how it had been brought back continued to remain a mystery even today.
The Mirwaiz, who is also the Chairman of the All Parties Hurriyat Conference (M), said with the Moi-e-Muqqadas agitation, people had besides expressing their religious undertones also expressed their political aspirations.
“In Kashmir, whatever the protest is about, it finally culminates into a political movement with people expressing their political aspirations,” he said.
The Mirwaiz, who was once described by the TIME Magazine as Kashmir’s last and greatest hope, said that though 52 years had passed since the Moi-e-Muqqadas had been stolen, people had not forgotten about it.
“The event like July 13, 1931 incident has remained a game changer in Kashmir history,” he said.
The Mirwaiz said the incident was a deliberate attempt to instigate people but added that calling for an investigation into the incident now won’t make much sense.
“People should know who were involved but then there are so many things that have happened over the years like the massacres and other human rights violations,” Mirwaiz said. “That way, the government has to investigate everything since 1947.”
The Moi-e-Muqqadas agitation is considered to be the biggest ever Kashmir has seen with some terming the protests even bigger than the Million Men March of 2010.
When the Moi-e-Muqqadas was brought back, Mirwaiz Umar’s father Mirwaiz Farooq was asked to identify it.
“He (Mirwaiz Farooq) said I had not seen it, and so I cannot authenticate whether it is the Moi-e-Muqqadas or not,” Mirwaiz Umar said.
Syed Mirak Shah Kashani and Sheikh Muhammad Abdullah, who at that time was in prison, along with some Moi-e-Muqqadas Baizeyaab Action Committee members, later authenticated its validity.
During those days, the general feeling among the masses and Sheikh Abdullah’s supporters was that it was a plan of Bakhshi Rashid, the brother of former Prime Minister Bakshi Ghulam Muhammad to pressurize New Delhi for reinstating Bakshi Ghulam Muhammad as the PM.
Earlier, Bakshi was asked to resign as the Prime Minister under the Kamaraj Plan following which Khwaja Shams-ud-Din took over as the Prime Minister.
It was during Shams-ud-Din’s tenure that the Moi-e-Muqqadas was stolen.
He remained the Prime Minister of Kashmir between October 12, 1963 and February 29, 1964.
During the Moi-e-Muqqadas agitation, thousands of people would come from far-flung areas of Kashmir to Srinagar, hold rallies and protests.
The protestors burnt Regal and Amresh cinemas, which were introduced in Kashmir by Bakshis.
Amresh cinema is the present Regal Cinema and the present Bata Shop building at Regal was the Regal Cinema building.
After the Moi-e-Muqqadas was recovered, the official government statement was that it had not been stolen but displaced by two government employees.
B N Mullick, the former Intelligence Bureau chief, who was close to the former Indian Prime Minister Jawaharlal Nehru, in his book ‘My Years With Nehru – Kashmir’ has written two chapters, ‘The Holy Relic Disappears’ and ‘The Holy Relic Comes Back’.
In the book, Mullick tries to find out how it had disappeared and how it was found back after elaborate investigations.
However, he does not reveal who had stolen the Moi-e-Muqqadas and from whom had it been recovered and why the culprits had not been punished.
In fact, his book illustrates how the intelligence agencies protected the identities of the people who had stolen it.
On page 141 of his book, Mullick writes, “If the Moi-e-Muqqadas came back, whether the culprit was punished or not mattered little.”
Popular Kashmiri leader and All Parties Hurriyat Conference (G) Chairman, Syed Ali Geelani said, “Kashmir is a slave nation and oppressors carry out such mischief.”
He said it was these people who had stolen the Moi-e-Muqqadas, brought it back and authenticated it.
Geelani said such things are always high kept secrets and this was the reason why even five decades after the incident, people did not know who had stolen it, from whom had it been recovered, and who had brought it back from them.
Historian Ghulam Hassan Munshi termed the theft of the Moi-e-Muqqadas as a conspiracy of the then State government and Government of India.
“Not only who had stolen it but also who really identified it remains a mystery,” he said.
Munshi blamed Sheikh Muhammad Abdullah for maintaining criminal silence over the issue saying after his release, he never tried to find out who had stolen the Moi-e-Muqqadas.
“It was a criminal conspiracy, a big criminal conspiracy,” Munshi said.
Like Munshi, Kashmir’s noted historian Fida Muhammad Hasnain also blamed the government for the theft of Moi-e-Muqqadas.
“Pandit Jawaharlal Nehru was involved and B N Mullick, who was the incharge of intelligence, and close to Nehru carried the investigations,” Hasnain said. “According to the official statement, Moi-e-Muqqadas was recovered from the house of some Abdul Rashid.”
Hasnain said Nehru had later suffered because of this theft.
“Hafiz Jalandari in Muzaffarabad read a poem to Sheikh Muhammad Abdullah in which he said, the one who stole it, died because of it,” Hasnain said referring to Nehru.
Hasnain said Nehru’s agents including Mullick were involved in the theft.
“May be Nehru had to remove some one from the State government,” he said.
The government at that time ordered investigation into the issue and framed an investigation team under DIG Sheikh Ghulam Qadir.
The then SSP Srinagar, Syed Wali Shah was one of the members of the investigation team.
Both Qadir and Shah have died.
However, the investigation into the case never came up in the court where Ali Muhammad Watali was the then Prosecuting Officer.
According to accounts of many survivors, the government, IB officers and police led by the notorious Ghulam Qadir Ganderbali had tried to cook up a case against the pro-freedom or the pro-Pakistan elements in Kashmir, which is also revealed in Mullick’s book.
“The investigating officers were trying to frame a case like the Kashmir Conspiracy Case against the pro-freedom leaders and pro-Pakistan leaders of that time,” said a retired senior police officer wishing anonymity. “The investigating officers were also trying to frame Sheikh Muhammad Abdullah and Mirza Afzal Beg, who, luckily for them, at that time, were in jail.”
During the Moi-e-Muqqadas agitation, the two most popular slogans where ‘Moi-e-Muqqadas Ko Bahaal Karo’ (Bring back Moi-e-Muqqadas) and ‘Asli Mulzim Pesh Karo’ (Present the real culprits).
While the Moi-e-Muqqadas was brought back, the real culprits have not been presented before the people even 52 years after the theft of the relic.
The author can be mailed at faisul@risingkashmir.com
Rising Kashmir is reproducing the article which appeared in our December 27, 2013 edition after 50 years of the theft of Moi-e-Muqqadas.
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— Homeworks in Subjects: • EsP • Filipino • English • MAPEH (Music, Arts, Physical Education, Health) • Biology • Earth Science • Literature • Economics • Entrepreneurship • Accounting • Marketing • Research • Ethics • Understanding the Self • Philosophy • Retorika • Panitikan
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📷DISCLAMER:📷 This is not intended to encourage students to be lazy, but rather to lend a hand to those who are struggling academically.