Previously…on glibertarians.com….
“Does either of you want to explain why you decided to say you had a bomb on an airplane?”
A TSA inspector had Sugarfree and I in a small room. It had a single table and a couple chairs with a small light fixture in the center of the ceiling. He sat there with an unopened bag of donuts on the table.
“I don’t recall saying anything…” I answered. “…other than a request for counsel as it is my right guaranteed under the Constitution.”
“I said I had a bomb” Sugarfree answered.
“Shut up!” I shouted. “You’re going to get us into more trouble.”
“It was true. I brought the plane down. I warned you.” Sugarfree continued.
“What is the reason you travelled to Washington?” The inspector asked again.
“I told you, we are newlyweds on our way to the Earth Capital.” Sugarfree said, again. In all fairness to him, most of his answers seemed to confuse the TSA Inspector.
“You guys have been here a while.” The inspector seemed to take a different tack. “You want a donut?” He broke the seal on the bag of Drake’s Cakes donuts.
“I believe I requested counsel.” I answered.
“I went Keto years ago, I can’t eat that.” Sugarfree answered.
“You sure?” The inspector asked again.
“Oh hell.” I grabbed one with both hands, being handcuffed, and began eating the semi-stale powdered donut. “I am still not answering anything until my counsel arrives.”
“You sure you don’t want one?” The inspector asked Sugarfree again. “Drakes Cakes are really good.”
Sugarfree shook his head.
“Cmon. You want a donut. You’re really hungry. You’re going to eat one and tell me where that bomb is.”
Sugarfree shook his head again.
“GODDAMNIT!” The inspector grabbed a donut and shoved Sugarfree onto the floor, stuffing the donut into Sugarfree’s mouth. “I SAID YOU WANTED A GODDAMN DONUT.”
“What is wrong with you? That is abuse of power. There is no reason to do that.” I said.
“YOU WANT ANOTHER DONUT?” The inspector asked me.
“Fuck off slaver!”
Sugarfree rose slowly from the floor. His eyes were bloodshot with pupils dilated and a burst capillary under his left eyelid made him appear to be crying blood. His hands were noticeably shaking, his breathing seemed to increase rapidly. “I….told….you….” his quivering words stammered out like a meth addict.
“I….went…..KEETTTOOOOOOO”
He screeched loud enough the inspector covered his ears. I tried but couldn’t because of the handcuffs.
“AAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHH” Sugarfree kept shouting as he snapped the chain on the handcuffs. “AAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHH” Sugarfree picked up the stainless steel table and threw it at the inspector.
“Stop that!!” The inspector tried shouting over Sugarfree’s bloody screech. He pulled his weapon and emptied the magazine at Sugarfree.
_____
…thankfully this isn’t that kind of story.
“You’re going to have to explain how we got out of there.” Sugarfree said while we were walking through the Mall. “I kind of blacked out there.”
“You tweaked out. I’m not so sure I want to get into that right now.” I replied.
“Why am I so hungry?” Sugarfree asked.
“I’ll tell you what, once we find STEVE SMITH I’ll buy you a steak?” I answered.
“Elk? I can totally go for elk…” Sugarfree made a yummy sound. “Where’s STEVE anyways?”
“The White House is this way, I assume he’s in that crowd somewhere. Nothing is on the twatter about a Sasquatch being shot by SS.”
“The SS?” Sugarfree was puzzled. “The Schutzstaffel?”
“No the Secret Serv–yes the Schutzstaffel.” I stopped. “Is that STEVE?”
Sugarfree looked onto the crowd of people in black masks gathering at the White House gates. He fixated on a single seven foot tall figure in the crowd. His back was turned to us and was wearing a black hood and mask like everyone else. “Is that ANTIFA?” He asked.
“1-2-3-fo, racist Trump has got to go. 5-6-7-8 we want someone new to hate”
“What are they chanting?” I asked. We began to work our way through the crowd. They had a distinct smell of urine and spray paint; and those fucking idiots kept stepping on my shoes.
“1-2-3-fo, racist Trump has got to go. 5-6-7-8 we want someone new to hate”
The gates to the White House opened, revealing a limosine behind them.
“He’s going to rape Trump in the limo.” Sugarfree said. “This should be good.”
“1-2-3-fo, racist Trump has got to go. 5-6-7-8 we want someone new to hate”
“That’s not the President’s Motorcade.” I said. I turned and looked at Sugarfree. He emptied a glass bottle onto a convenient white girl with dreadlocks.
“What are you doing you creep?” The white girl asked.
“Do you have Styrofoam peanuts?” Sugarfree asked her.
“Actually I do, comrade.” She pulled out a handful from her coat.
“1-2-3-fo, racist Trump has got to go. 5-6-7-8 we want someone new to hate”
The car began to slowly creep out from the open gates. The crowd began to gather around the car.
“They won’t run over the crowd…” I said. I looked and Sugarfree had stuffed the Styrofoam peanuts into the bottle. “Too many people are watching.”
“1-2-3-fo, racist Trump has got to go. 5-6-7-8 we want someone new to hate”
STEVE SMITH GET ORANJ MAN!
The lone figure towering over the crowd began forcing his way through the crowd and jumped on the car. Suddenly my phone began vibrating.
“Oh no, he’s confusing Trump with Trump Jr.”
Sugarfree was shaking the bottle to dissolve the peanuts. I smelled gasoline. My phone vibrated again…
“He took a photo of STEVE…we need to get him out of here.” Sugarfree somehow found an oily rag. My phone vibrated again…
and again…
and again…
”The voice of reason chimes in. Do these people do anything beside sit on twatter?” I asked. Then it vibrated once more…
”STEVE SMITH has a twatter!?”
“Do you have a light?” Sugarfree asked. I handed him my Zippo and tried to squeeze my way through the crowd.
“STEVE! You’ve been made! Get out of here.” I shouted.
STEVE SMITH GET ORANJ MAN. STEVE SMITH TAKE BACK $1.5MILLION PAPER LOSS FROM ORANJ MAN.
”Thanks for the light.” Sugarfree handed me back my Zippo. He had a lit Molotov cocktail. “How long do we let this cook?”
ORANJ MAN NO RUN FROM STEVE SMITH. STEVE SMITH GET ORANJ MAN GOOD
“Aye-ya-yie!” Sugarfree tossed the Molotov cocktail at the crumpled limousine. Flames erupted and spread across the car and into the crowd.
”The Nazis are here! Run!” The crowd began to disperse and panic. A clusterfuck of hapless retards in black masks crawling over each other. I grabbed Sugarfree by the collar and moved with the crowd.
”Do you see Steve?” I asked. Sugarfree pointed at a tall figure sprinting through the crowd.
And like that, he was gone.
Washington was on lockdown and none of the restaurants seemed to be open. Sugarfree didn’t seem to mind, he had a pigeon spinning on a makeshift spit over a small fire in a park. He seemed to have spooked the homeless. Thankfully, I found a gas station open.
Tecate Titanium. Its like regular Tecate, only they don’t water it down. Its a thirst quenching, 7.5%abv Pilsner that has a needless bite of booze, which was what I wanted. Previously found only in Mexico, it is now available stateside…in tall cans.
”You want a breast?” Sugarfree asked?
“I’ll take a wing. Well done.” Tecate Titanium: 2.5/5
There is a meme going around depicting Monopoly, the classic Parker Brother’s game from the 1930s, if the board was designed in a manner to suit Kamala Harris. I found it funny, but I also thought it was missing a couple spaces for taxes and began thought experiments on some of the other candidates and how Monopoly would look for them. Warren for example would be nothing but spaces for Income Tax and Luxury Tax. Sanders would alternate between tax spaces, communal housing, players wouldn’t be able to purchase any of the properties, nor would they be able to land on Boardwalk and Park place as they are both Dachas, nobody gets to be the racecar, and of course Sanders himself is the banker and only pays in black bread. Wiliamson would be a bunch of pot dispensaries, yoga studios, hipster eateries, the railroads are electric and the pieces are all different colored crystals. Booker has the distinction of simultaneously having or not having a version of Monopoly with his name as being racist.
Nowadays it is thought of as part of urban blight in some circles, but in others it has become an art 
Now high voltage troubleshooting is similar to troubleshooting any circuit. You start at the affected point, test for voltage to phase to phase, phase to ground, phase to neutral, and neutral to ground. Each test has an “normal” reading, the actual reading provides a clue to the problem. The hart part is accessing the circuit since its suspended on poles or underground. Thankfully the circuit is big and easy to see, especially if it is overhead.
The massive recloser in Ohio worked as designed, it closed three times and locked open. This caused a voltage drop on that circuit, and every other circuit it was back feeding. Affecting distribution in the most densely populated part of North America, on a warm summer afternoon. That had to suck.
Mexican. Unfortunately, that tended to leave us devoid of hot sauce and left the adults in a precarious position. Due to my grandmother’s allergy to chillies (it closes her airway) if anybody wanted a hot taco at a family gathering it could only come in the form of hot sauce added after the fact.
First thing first: About the socks. I bought a couple pairs of these in response to Michael Malice’s book and his delightful podcast (Promo Code: Welcome30). They are indeed nice. I am not going to say these socks will change your life when you buy them. If a pair of socks changes your life, chances are pretty good you are homeless or your life otherwise sucks. So grab a pair of these socks, and if they change your life, please consider reevaluating the choices you made to get to this point.
A way to think of this book, is a comparison he makes on his interview with 
have tried Beyond products before, due to weird religious rules that I still follow and really don’t care what others here think of that regard. I also considered investing when they went public but instead thought a robotics ETF was a better long term investment (
My overall opinion is it works well as a hamburger patty. A feature of hamburgers are the toppings you put on it, as such it works in combination with everything on it. Other Beyond products I find have the texture right, but don’t quite taste like chicken. This made perfect sense to me, as it is processed legumes and not chicken. About an hour or two later, I was hungry again. The sausage is slightly better and all of these products are expensive; Carl’s Jr. charged $2 extra for it. But then again, economies of scale will likely drop the price down in the next few years, and it will only come down to personal preference whether or not people will want to eat meat. For now, I will take that over waxing poetic over a show better described as “