Actually, I don’t know if I have enough Florida Man links to go around, but after yesterday’s enlaces, and the Rays’ mascot failing to come through on a promised connection, I’ll do my best.
FSU to spin off athletics department into non-profit, merge with boosters. For all the hue-and-cry, UF has been organized such since 1929, and just because they’ve had a few bad apples along the way… well, this may actually be a terrible idea.
I love this guy. Oh, you need to access my computer? Here you go, and all your servers are belong to us!
This is the song I got mixed up on a couple nights ago. Dublin Blues, not London Homesick Blues. That’s bothered me for two days. I woke up 3 times last night trying to get the rest of the song in my head so I could get the song title. Teh Googles found it for me.
A question that gets asked a lot is, “Why is it that Team Blue’s turn toward anti-semitism has not significantly driven Jews out of the party?” It’s a reasonable question, and I gave a partial answer some time ago in a Jewsday Tuesday, a desire among the upper and upper middle classes to demonstrate their virtue as a way of expiating their feelings of guilt over their good fortunes, all encouraged by actual Jewish traditions of charity and “healing the world.” There’s also the concept (very flawed) of the “self-hating Jew”; this is a particularly ridiculous term for a real phenomenon, given that the people who are described this way generally think quite highly of themselves, they just dislike OTHER Jews. But it goes a bit beyond all that, I think. Since people love drawing historic parallels, I’ll do the same by reminding us of the Judenrat.
The Judenrat came about during the ghettoization of Europe under the Germans. The basic concept was a group of Jews selecting themselves as intermediaries between the Germans and the ghetto residents. The Judenrat would essentially act as a local government to make sure that the ghetto residents behaved themselves and didn’t piss off the Germans too much by acting up, or Yahweh forbid, rebelling. By this means, they hoped to curry favor with the Germans by helping to enforce German law and restrictions within their community. This sort of structure had a long tradition in European Jewish areas for much of the period of Christian rule; it was not an innovation of WWII, although its formalization (if not its authority) was dictated by the Germans.
Whence, then, derived their authority? The Judenrat were mostly populated by rabbis and other prominent citizens (upper class and upper middle class- sound familiar?), who felt that “go along to get along” was the best policy- of course, the fact that they had their social positions (and fortunes) at stake had no bearing on their decision to bow down to the Powers That Be. Perish that thought. The basic concept was the rationalization of cooperating with one’s enemies for some sense of reward.
It might be monetary, it might be survival with other people being killed, it might be a sense of moral self-satisfaction. Hey, if others suffer but you prosper or at least escape the fate befalling your community, what’s wrong with that?
The historian Hannah Arendt caused great consternation by observing:
Wherever Jews lived, there were recognized Jewish leaders, and this leadership, almost without exception, cooperated in one way or another, for one reason or another, with the Nazis. The whole truth was that if the Jewish people had been really unorganized and leaderless, there would have been chaos and plenty of misery but the total number of victims would hardly have been between four and half and six million people.
Unintentional libertarianism, but nonetheless, her point was sound.
Here’s excerpts from meetings of the Judenrat of Bialystock (source: Yad Vashem):
More than eight months have already passed since the fence made a special “kingdom” for us, the Jewish ghetto. In this “kingdom” the Judenrat carries out the duties of a “government,” and we, the Jewish police, must carry out the difficult task of keeping order and maintaining quiet in the ghetto. I asked Engineer Barash several times to arrange talks with the population of the ghetto. The thing is this: the regulations of the authorities are not being properly observed. Perhaps I am at fault myself, I am too soft and moderate, and our people do not take into account that we are Jews. The evening curfew is not observed punctually: one must go to bed at 9 o’clock, one is not allowed to be in the street. Not keeping the regulations may cause somebody to be shot; and Jews often take a walk after the curfew hour. The yellow badge is not worn properly, one forgets it in front, and the next forgets it at the back. The same happens about the black-out. There have been cases of whole houses lit up like for a celebration. There has already been a tragic case in the ghetto: a woman was shot in her home when the room was badly blacked out. The Jews are a stiff-necked people. Street-trading never stops, especially on Kupiecka Street, and all our efforts do not help. That shows the need for a firm hand. There are telephone calls from the 4th [Police] Station outside the ghetto that Jewish children have been caught without yellow badges and without papers and that can cause a tragedy on some occasion. Parading up and down the street with children in colored baby carriages could also cause much annoyance. Let the mothers stop doing it.
Groups of Jews gather around the gates of the ghetto and don’t go away even when the Germans chase them off, and the Jews might even be shot. Cleanliness is not satisfactory either. Thousands are spent on cleaning, and it is dirty again by the next morning; people don’t take care, they don’t want to know that that is a danger. And again, thousands of Jews go to work, work in the sweat of their brows, and at the same time many others avoid work in various ways. The house committees are obliged to hand over such cases so that the members of the Jewish Police need not catch passers-by in the street and start fighting with Jews. That brings no credit either to the population or to the Jewish Police. If things go on like this for much longer, there is likely to be a catastrophe, for anyone who wants to live must work!
I am full of admiration for the close harmony that reigns between the members of the Judenrat. Differences of opinion simply do not happen. All our decisions and actions are unanimous.The Judenrat did not start out as what it is today: It developed in time as it worked, thanks to the efforts of its first members who created everything that we now have. As I said, we were not chosen by anybody. The respected Eng. Barash convinced us to accept the great and difficult duties because he understood the needs of the hour. Now it has become a government, so to say, with all the offices, departments, ministers. The official chairman, Dr. Rosenman, walks around by himself to find workers for the Germans. He has gone through a great deal. His most important contribution was to have appointed the respected Eng. Barash, because the Rabbi did not have the strength to do everything that was needed. I do not wish to praise the individual, what matters to me is the job, the achievement. The respected Eng. Barash is the prime minister in our “government,” as well as the minister of the interior, minister of industry, because in the ghetto everything must be concentrated in one hand. Industry, for instance, is connect with the Wehrmacht, so it becomes a matter of foreign policy. Sometimes we are surprised how he gets it all done, how it all works out. It seems like Divine intervention, particularly in the past few weeks. Everything gets done in the best possible way. The other responsibilities, it seems to me, are carried out by the other members, but it is the spirit, the direction, which is the most important thing….
What is our direction? In matters concerning the community we try always to reach agreement, compromise, so that everybody may be satisfied. From now on we shall have to stand by the letter of the law! Let him who is fearful and fainthearted return to his house! We shall have to cling to this principle if we wish to stay alive. And the ghetto must remain a productive element as well.
By contrast, here is a transcript from a meeting of the resistance fighters of the Bialystock ghetto (source: Yad Vashem):
It’s a good thing that at least the mood is good. Unfortunately, the meeting won’t be very cheerful. This meeting may be historic, if you like, tragic if you like, but certainly sad. That you people sitting here are the last halutzim in Poland; around us are the dead. You know what happened in Warsaw, not one survived, and it was the same in Bendin and in Czestochowa,and probably everywhere else. We are the last. It is not a particularly pleasant feeling to be the last: it involves a special responsibility. We must decide today what to do tomorrow. There is no sense in sitting together in a warm atmosphere of memories! Nor in waiting together, collectively, for death. Then what shall we do?
We can do two things: decide that when the first Jew is taken away from Bialystok now, we start our counter-Aktion. That nobody will go to the factories from tomorrow, that none of us is allowed to hide when the Aktion starts.
Everybody will be mobilized for the job. We can see to it that not one German leaves the ghetto, that not one factory remains whole. It is not impossible that after we have completed our task, someone may by chance still be alive.
But we will fight to the last, till we fall.
…Here in Bialystok we are fated to live out the last act of this blood-stained tragedy. What can we do and what should we do? The way I see it the situation really is that the great majority in the ghetto and of our group are sentenced to die. Our fate is sealed. We have never looked on the forest as a place in which to hide, we have looked on it as a base for battle and vengeance. But the tens of young people who are going into the forests now do not seek a battlefield there, most of them will lead beggars’ lives there and most likely will find a beggar’s death. In our present situation our fate will be the same, beggars all.
Only one thing remains for us: to organize collective resistance in the ghetto, at any cost, to let the ghetto be our Masada, to write a proud chapter on Jewish Bialystok and on our Movement.
I know which group (((I))) would be in.
And here is a speech from the head of the Vilna Judenrat given to the ghetto residents about arming themselves and the necessity of common-sense gun control (source: Yad Vashem):
A few days ago I went to the Gestapo and spoke to the Commander of the SD there about the revolvers. I may tell you that he is not at all stupid. He said to me: “From an economic point of view the ghetto is very valuable, but if you are going to take foolish risks and if there is any question of security, then I will wipe you out. And even if you get 30, 40 or 50 revolvers, you will not be able to save yourselves and will only bring on your misfortune faster.”
Why did I call you together? Because today another Jew has been arrested for buying a revolver. I don’t yet know how this case will end. The last case ended fortunately for the ghetto. But I can tell you that if it happens again we shall be very severely punished. Perhaps they will take away those people over 60, or children… Now consider whether that is worthwhile!!! There can be only one answer for those who think soundly and maturely: It is not worthwhile!!!
As long as the ghetto remains a ghetto those of us who have the responsibility will do everything we can so that nothing shall happen to the ghetto. Nowadays a Jew’s whole family is responsible for him. If that is not enough, then I will make the whole room responsible for him, and if even that is not enough – the apartment and even the building.
You will have to watch each other, and if there are any hot-heads then it is your duty to report it to the Police. That is not informing. It would be informing if you were to keep silent and the people were to suffer.
This really sounds eerily familiar.
Lest I imply that the Judenrat were irredeemably and universally evil, allow me to briefly mention Dov Lopatyn, the head of the Judenrat of the Lakva Ghetto in Belarus. The Germans informed the Judenrat that the people of the ghetto were to be murdered, but that if the Judenrat cooperated, they would be spared. Lopatyn refused, and immediately set into motion a plan for resistance. When the Germans entered the ghetto, the Jewish leaders set the Judenrat headquarters on fire as a signal. The ghetto resistance ambushed the Germans, and fought them with every weapon at their disposal and no hope of survival. Indeed, the majority of ghetto inhabitants were killed, but at least they managed to inflict some casualties. Over a thousand ghetto inhabitants escaped during the battle. Most escapees were also found and killed, but Lopatyn joined the Communist resistance and over the next couple of years, managed to take out some measure of vengeance against the Germans before being killed in battle. Some people are capable of learning.
Good morning my Glibs and Gliberinas! And what a glorious morning it always is as Trump set off TDS over the land by saying he wouldn’t go to the FBI if offered dirt on opponents by foreigners. The left then was confronted with the fact that Hillary paid for foreign opposition research. And that foreign opposition research was reported on breathlessly by the media currently feigning outrage by Trump hypothetically being willing to accept foreign opposition research.
Ramesh came to a Tee in the corridor. He stopped, looked and listened. Identical corridor in each direction. From the right he heard a muffled chorus of screeching, from the left he heard peppy Latin music.
The choice was obvious.
Today’s Story…
Ramesh turned left and once he was around the corner shrunk up against the wall. He pulled out his phone and found it had powered itself off. He hit the power button and nothing happened. He could have sworn he had decent charge. He tried again. Nothing.
Here he was locked in an underground dungeon with a kinky gay Troll who could punch a dent in a metal door. His NYPD escort didn’t know where he was. His phone was dead. He was being used as a drug mule. At least he could skate on the last part if he ever got out of here.
Ramesh prayed silently – first to his Hindu grandparents’ multi-limbed gods, then to his mother’s crucified god, and for good measure recited the Bene Gesserit Litany Against Fear.
“I must not fear. Fear is the mind-killer. Fear is the little-death that brings total obliteration. I will face my fear. I will permit it to pass over me and through me. And when it has gone past I will turn the inner eye to see its path. Where the fear has gone there will be nothing. Only I will remain.”
He began to feel better. On the positive side there was a good chance he could pass as a respected member of the community, although that carried its own risks. Today seemed to be some kind of special costume-wearing day which provided further cover. And then there was the weed which could be used to explain strange behavior, and win friends.
Ramesh heard a commotion from behind. He turned around and saw three men and a handcart approaching him. The commotion resolved into an annoying electronic beeping “preet, preet, preet,” followed by a voice announcement “Gangway, Gangway. Please move aside so that your WartCo technicians can bring you the finest service anywhen.”
The cart contained a large spool of thick cable. The foremost crewman was an older athletic man who stood on the front of the cart turning the spool and yelling back at the other crewmen, two chubby younger guys. The crew were all wearing white coveralls and hardhats, each bearing a logo consisting of a stylized “W” inside a circle. The second crewman was pushing the cart from the rear. The last crewman was taping the cable to the floor with a rolling device on a stick.
Manually laying floor tape is one of the most tedious, time-consuming and painful jobs many of us have to deal with. But with the high cost of a trip or fall, safety has to be a priority. Finally, there is a better way: introducing the GaffGun™. No longer do you have to be on your knees or use excessive tape to make your cables secure.
“Dammit Corey, put some muscle into it,” yelled the chief to the crewman working the taping machine. “And keep that cable as close to the wall as she’ll go. Steady Brian,” he said ducking down to avoid a light fixture, “and a warning would be nice.”
Brian smirked, and pantomimed jerking the cart sideways which the chief ignored.
Ramesh decided to ask for directions. “Hey, how do I…”
The crew chief shook his head. “Sorry Sir, we’re just techs. Your site POC should have all your destination info. Someone named Fist of Etiquette”
Corey giggled.
“Remember lads, we’re here to lay cable not to judge our clients.”
“Yeah, we all know whose cable you’d like to lube up and conduitize,” observed Brian, aping the posture and gait of a Troll.
“Shut your piehole and push the cart. His Growlr pic is totally hot, but it’s a decade and a hundred pounds out of date.” The WartCo crew receded down the corridor.
Something really big was about to happen at Thought! Magazine, at least with the commenters. Ramesh wondered how many of the handles he had seen while lurking were, well, whatever these people were. Was this somehow related to the music video? Thought! had the most notoriously rabid, snarky and informed comment section in the political arena. And it was well-known that there was no love lost between the commenters and staff. The boss had asked Ramesh to look for a weak point that could be exploited to further alienate the two sides from one another, but it appeared that was happening on its own.
“Hello,” said a close by voice.
Ramesh shrieked and started. Standing next to him was a man wearing a red and black checked flappy hat, matching flannel shirt, and loose-fitting jeans semi tucked into unlaced work boots.
“Hey, sorry about that. I didn’t hear you come up.”
“Good one, Doc.”
So apparently he did look like Doctor Bombay.
“Hey, I’m glad you’re back, eh. I’m headed over to Mario’s. He’s taking this really hard. Can you spare a second to help cheer him up?”
“Sure, I need to drop off something from Godwin, anyway,” said Ramesh as he started walking again.
“Thank God, he’s frantic. I wonder how long he can make that last? He’s going to Holland, but decades before the green cafes – if they even exist in that timeline. Where are you going?”
“To be a junior federal prosecutor working for Preet.”
“Beauty. Wreak havoc. The Squirrels really have a hardon for him, eh?”
“Sounds like.”
“And speaking of whom.” The Canadian paused and opened a door which somehow Ramesh had failed to notice. On the door was a sign reading “Data Processing.”
The room contained a complicated, multi-level structure of of small ramps, chutes, hamster wheels, spinning levers with balls attached, all now silent and still – a Sciuriac, an antique Indian squirrel-powered computer which used acorns to encode and store data. The Indian Museum of Digital Computing had an exhibit with part of a unit and a brief film loop of countless squirrels running to and fro along the ramps and wheels, taking acorns from the various output cups then dropping them into the various input chutes.
“Let’s not leave Mario hanging,” said Ramesh.
“Right. Good point.”
As they walked down the corridor the peppy Latin music started up again, and grew louder as they walked. They passed a door labelled “Men” and from around the next corner Ramesh saw a man in a black dress and low-crowned, broad brimmed hat approaching, as he got closer Ramesh saw the simple wooden cross on the twine around his neck, and the notched collar on whatever the dress-type garment was called – some sort of clerical outfit.
“Hello, Your Holiness,” giggled the Canadian.
“Hello Rufus, Heathen. I’ll pray for you both. Better get to your boy, he’s crying like the sissy bitch he is.”
Buenos tardes Gliberinos! Brett is out, selling the Tampastan Devil Rays some cocaine, so they called me in from the bullpen…apparently Raymond is his grease-man.
Who is leading off? Why it’s Venezuela! Evidently inflation there fell BELOW 1 million percent. Which means they can now use currency for fuel, assuming they still possess the means to make fire.
Up next is El Trumpeñero, who inadvertently waved around details of the deal with Mexico in front of reporters. Which strikes me more as a deliberate move rather than foolishness on his part.
The three hole is Peru. If you didn’t know, Machu Pichu is a massive tourist attraction, but has one significant drawback: its in the middle of nowhere. So they decided to break ground on an airport somewhat nearby. Naturally, people want to protest, so we’ll call this one out on fielder’s choice.
Batting clean-up is Cuba. Team Trump is allowing Cuban ballplayers now with the proviso that MLB assist with Venezuela, which has a slightly less crappy government than Cuba but also has significantly more active professional players. There are three on my team.
Deseo paz para mis hijos
Finally, Mexico clears the bases with the new policy mandating gender neutral school uniforms. In case you didn’t know, former Mexican President Vincente Fox has an absurdly large social media following, and said this in response:
“They’re robbing us of the freedom to decide how to dress, how to educate our own children,” Fox wrote on Twitter. “They behave like a ‘sect’ following the high ‘priest’ Lopez.”
“You knew about this in advance?” the hat asked, his voice going icy.
“I just saw that he was all red before Donald grabbed him as we were leaving,” the hair said defensively. “He just jammed him down on me without any warning!”
“Oh, so you’re the victim now?” the hat growled.
“Yell at Donald, not me! I told him not to leave you in the hotel. All those public appearances with that idiot; I talked to him as little as possible. And have you heard the new accent? It’s ridiculous!”
“As a proud red hat, it’s very offensive to me that he did this,” the hat said. “What it is is redface, that’s what it is.”
“Historical inequities in the representation of HOC in various mediums…” the hair began.
“Oh, blow it out your ass,” the hat groaned.
“Where is he?” the hair asked. “I don’t like it when he’s just out there with a toupee. Did you see how stupid he looked without me?”
“Oh, now you care about being left behind. When it’s you.”
“I’m on your side here. I don’t want either of those sister-raping trailer bumpkins on top of me.”
“Just tremendous,” they heard Donald say just outside the Oval Office.
“Who’s he talking to?” the hat asked the hair.
“I don’t know, I can’t see,” the hair replied.
“Just wonderful. Wonderful,” Donald said. “Smooth and firm, that’s how I tariff. Smooth and firm until they start to like it. Talk to Sarah; Sarah knows.”
Donald entered, wave to whomever he was talking to and closed the door behind him. His shoulders slumped and he stopped holding his back so straight and he let the cuffs of his suit jacket fall over his wrist as he hung this arms.
“I really wanted those tariffs,” he said dejectedly.
“I know, Donald,” said his hair.
“I’m going to take a bath,” Donald said. He kicked off his shoes and threw his disposable toupee into the trash. He dumped two hats onto his desk before shedding his suit jacket. He left a trail clothes as he walked into the Presidential Shitter and slammed the door behind him.
“Wow, I haven’t seen him this upset since Vanna White’s neck started looking like a turkey wattle,” the hair said quietly.
“Haw-haw-haw,” the USA hat hawed as he unfurled from the crumpled ball Donald had left on the desk.
“You son of a bitch,” MAGA Prime spat.
“You just jealous,” USA hat said.
“Redface!” MAGA Prime screamed.
“Oh, is that what you were thinkin’?” the white USA hat said as his red counterpart unfurled next to him.
“There’s two of them!” the hair gasped.
“Calm down, Velma,” MAGA Prime snapped. “I’ll handle this.”
“Yew’ll handle what, old man?” white USA hat asked, flexing his bill in a threat display.
“It, uh, seems to me that we got ourselves an old fashioned Messican Stand-off uh-here,” the red USA hat said in a rolling baritone.
MAGA Prime growled, the hair coiled his tendrils, the white USA hat flexed his bill again, and the red one grumbled like an idling semi as they closed toward each other.
“You will not survive this,” red USA said. “I will…” but he was cut off by the door to the Presidential Shitter flew open. Donald stood there in just his socks and garters.
“Donald! Put on some clothes!” the hair said, shocked.
He stomped toward the four of them, considered for a brief second and grabbed up the red USA hat.
“I’m his favorite now,” the red USA hat said to MAGA Prime and the hair.
“We’re out of toilet paper,” Donald said. “Never trust an American maid.”
“Noooooooo-” the red USA howled until he was cut off by the closing bathroom door.
I’m putting my plans for an automatic groping device on hold.
Good morning my Glibs and Gliberinas! And what a glorious morning it always is as Joe Biden promises to cure cancer if elected president, you better vote for Joe unless you love cancer, you don’t love cancer, do you?
Okay, so first things first. We established last time that whoever is writing this is a weeb Sailor Moon fan, right? Good, because that’s the only possible explanation for the opening of this episode. With no prelude or explanation whatsoever, for some reason this episode starts out with the girls in some other city that’s not Hilltowne, chasing around the Patchouli Bag Lady who stole the Moon Stick. The Sailor Guardians hurl some magic at the lightning youma, but she’s too fast for them, so they give up and go home. Seriously. They just LEAVE.
All right.
As soon as the sisters take off, Patchouli Hobo apparates back in and, with the coast clear, plunges the Moon Stick into the ground. Guess she’s opening the door to Tartarus after all! Too bad she was too swift and clever for this trio of witches who are supposed to be the most powerful and undefeatable sorceresses of all time. The ground splits open and the Moon Stick breaks back into three pieces as a zombie hand emerges from the earth.
むさぼれば 美しいしかばね それでも
Now that we’re all totally confused, the episode begins in earnest! Back at the house, Harry and Charity are looking at a broken rock on the table. Harry tells the girls that if this lodestone is broken, that means the Moon Stick is broken too. I… did I skip an episode somewhere? Where did the lodestone come from?
Charity informs the girls that the broken lodestone = broken Moon Stick = a demon must have been released from Tartarus, but they don’t know which one it was. However, whoever it is can most assuredly be assumed to be The Supreme Evilest (*cough* Trump *cough*), so the girls need to be ready to fight. They will have a window where the demon is weakened from its imprisonment in Tartarus, so if they want to defeat it, they’ll have to move fast.
Harry and Charity flirt, everyone gags, Mel tells Charity she’s been researching electricity demons who can teleport and hasn’t found anything, Harry acts surprised that Patchouli Hobo was able to teleport, I am even more confused because he saw her do it, right? He said that only Whitelighters could do that and it was all like ooooh evil Whitelighter, remember? Is there a gas leak in here?
Since I guess there’s not an imminent crisis or whatever, Macy heads off to work and Maggie heads to an internship recruitment meeting. Some fucking weird-ass hipster whistle music ironically twees at us while two yuppie Pinoys tell Maggie and a group of rapt millennials about their new dating app, which sounds like it’s exactly the same as other dating apps (it works using algorithms!), but it’s special and different and will help you find your one true love. You see, since Maggie has found her one true love in the form of a demon princeling, she wants to spread her happiness and is therefore interning with this company to… get her sisters laid, I think? Anyway, whoever refers the most new customers to the app gets to go to Chicago for some kind of seminar or something over the summer, and Maggie is all about that because Connerparkerdemon’s dad, CEO of the WalDemon, has a branch in Chicago, so they can spend a loving summer in the city.
Connerparkerdemon’s dad has other plans, though. He wants some of that sweet, sweet Charmed One blood, and the easiest way to do that is to employ all three sisters so he can mandate a blood test. Thus Connerparkerdemon suggests to Maggie that she instead come work with him at WalDemon this summer, so that they can make out during their breaks and for no other reason whatsoever. Maggie, a waman making her own way in the world, declines. It’s on to Plan B, then!
Back at WalDemon headquarters, Connerparkerdemon is getting a thorough dressing down from Mr. Walton. Why are you such a failure, blah blah. While he yells at him, Connerparkerdemon is overcome by a fit of tuberculosis. I guess that rare autoimmune disease thing from last episode wasn’t a lie after all. Since he’s half demon and half human, his halves are trying to kill each other, so he really is dying. WalDemon has been using their epigenetic whatevers to produce a serum that he injects to keep himself alive for however long. Apparently the reason Mr. Walton is trying to get Charmed One blood is to make a Better Cure that will keep Connerparkerdemon from dying. This seems uncharacteristically caring of him. Anyway, Connerparkerdude’s dying-ness makes for a brilliant Plan B. But more on that later.
Every good father knows the best way to get your child to stop coughing is to beat it out of them
Meanwhile, somewhere… for some reason… two gay dudes are on a date. They met each other on Maggie’s dating app and it was twu wuv at first sight. Isn’t it so sweet, this young love? Until it turns out that one of them is a demon and HE EATS THE OTHER ONE’S FACE! HOW’S THAT FOR TWU WUV?
Back at the house, Charity and Harry are flirting while the underemployed grad school dropout Mel sits on the couch “researching” things in the Book of Shadows, because today it’s a book that actually has to be read rather than just “magical Siri give me the answer.” Her studying is interrupted by a Google news alert on her phone reporting the disappearance of the gay dude whose face got ate. He disappeared in [Whatever Fucking City that isn’t Hilltowne from the Beginning]! That’s where we lost Patchouli Hobo! Let’s roll out!
They get to the crime scene and Mel freezes time. They help themselves to rubber gloves from the police’s stash, and Charity explains to Mel that they need to determine whether the incident was demonic or human in nature. If it’s a normal human crime, they would back away and leave it to the police; their jurisdiction only covers supernatural crime.
Mel, apparently trying to fill the void Niko left in her life by becoming a junior crimestopper, is incensed. Shouldn’t they be using their powers to help everyone?! Charity points out that if they used their powers to deal with human crime over a planet with seven billion people, it would leave them no time to deal with the demons who would just kill all the humans anyway. Mel ignores her and starts snooping in the back of the missing gay guy’s car. There she finds glowing blue… stink bug carcasses? Honestly, I can’t really tell, but it’s insectoid in nature. Cue Harry flipping out like a little girl.
As they leave the crime scene, they are watched by a homeless woman using a storm drain as her toilet. Oh, I mean by Patchouli Hobo.
Back at the house, Macy is discussing her lack of social life with Maggie. Macy believes that being a workaholic is the best way for her to have an amazing career. Maggie tells her she needs to “shake that gorgeous hair of yours out” and live a little.
AND THEN SHE TOUCHES MACY’S HAIR AND MACY DROPS EVERYTHING TO GIVE HER A LECTURE ABOUT HOW YOU DO NOT TOUCH BLACK WOMAN HAIR
NO, I’M NOT KIDDING, SHE SERIOUSLY DOES
TO HER OWN SISTER
Finally this show remembers that it’s supposed to be Woke Charmed
With that educational moment out of the way, Maggie suggests Macy sign up for her dating app, telling her that if she gets the most signups she gets to go to Chicago for the summer. Macy has a sad because she wants to have a sister summer. Weren’t you just screaming at her not to touch your sacred black woman hair?
Macy guilts her that she’s not allowed to leave her sisters because they can’t use the Power of Three without her. Maggie points out that Chicago is only a two hour drive away, and if it’s an emergency, Harry can apparate her. Macy says they can’t keep doing that to him because it makes him sick. I honestly thought they weren’t going to bring that up again ever, since it was just a throwaway line in the Belinda Carlisle episode, but I guess it is supposed to be important.
Over at the bar that didn’t exist until two episodes ago, Mel is taking out the trash, and, wonder of wonder, encounters Patchouli Hobo Dumpster diving. PH throws a lightning bolt at her; Mel freezes time to stop the lightning before it can hit her. PH flirts with her in the style of Garrus Vakarian, all reach and flexibility. Mel demands to know who she is. PH informs her that her name is Jada Pinkett-Smith and she’s here to recruit Mel for the Sarcana—short for Sisters of Arcana—an elite organization of witch mercenaries.
Mel is dubious that Jada is a witch and not a demon. Jada explains that she’s actually half witch, half Whitelighter, which is apparently Forbidden™. Thus, the Elders have tried to wipe her out of existence, but she’s managed to stay one step ahead of them with the help of the rogue witches in the Sarcana. Mel asks if she’s been killing the Elders, including her mother, because of their stance on Whitelighter/witch halfbreeds. Jada tells her that Dead Hippie Mom was secretly an ally of the Sarcana, and urges her again to join them and use her Charmed One powers to do good. She points out that the Sarcana help all of humankind, not just the magical ones, so if Mel were to join the Sarcana, she could fulfill her dreams of becoming Your Friendly Neighborhood Spider-Witch.
Jada leaves Mel with instructions to look for a spell on page 672 of the Book of Shadows, the Désénnnmáscárrrrrrárrrrrrrrrrrr spell. She helped Dead Hippie Mom write the spell, so if it’s there, it will be proof to Mel that Jada is telling the truth. She also gives Mel a shard of the Moon Stick so that it can’t be reassembled, as further proof of her loyalty. She tells Mel that she used it to free a witch who had been wrongly imprisoned by the Elders. She warns Mel that, Charmed or no, if she breaks the wrong rule, she could be the next to end up in Tartarus. Then she swishes her cape and swoops out.
Mel races straight back to the house and blurts everything out to Charity, because that seems wise. Charity is like, “That’s not possible. I mean, we killed the Sarcana.” LMAO you’re really helping your case there, Charity. But they’re terrorists, you see. They practice illicit magic in order to carry out vigilante justice. They don’t follow law and order at all. Very bad, very naughty. Mel asks how Jada could have known about the Désénnnmáscárrrrrrárrrrrrrrrrrr spell if she were lying. Charity says because the Sarcana were founded by a rogue Elder who used to have possession of the Book of Shadows. Mel hrrmmmms.
Meanwhile, Macy has caved and signed up for Maggie’s dating app. She’s not convinced she’s going to have any luck, though, because “studies have unanimously found that black women and Asian men are not only the least swiped on, they’re the least matched,” and on the off chance she did match with someone, “I’d likely be fetishized by those matches, and the last thing I want is some guy I just met telling me how exotic I am and how cute our babies will be.” (Real Dialogue Alert: That was the real dialogue.)
Finally! Bring me the wokeness!
Later, Charity is sitting outside all contemplatively. Harry comes out and tries to make out with her, but she says no—their love was a mistake, cursed, never meant to be. All right then. Harry’s balls a bright shade of neon blue, they then reminisce about her dead sister, who I guess was the one that Harry was the guardian for who blabbed her secret and got thrown in the loony bin and then committed suicide (from episode 3).
Over at the Generic Science Lab, Friendzone is crying softly in his cubicle. Looks like Summer wasn’t so Endless after all! Seriously, what was the purpose of that plot point? Anyway, Friendzone is single again and isn’t happy about it. He’s all snappy at Macy, who is not here for being spoken to that way by penises. She says, quote, “I don’t know what’s going on with you, but let me be clear: There’s no version of this relationship where you ever get to talk to me like that.” (She asked him where his reports were and he told her that he’d already emailed them to her. But he said it in a mad-sounding voice.)
The penis promptly bows down and begs forgiveness, which she benevolently bestows, as she is in a charitable mood today. He tells her she’s basically amazing and doing a fantastic job. She nods graciously.
Casual Haitian flag in the pencil cup, in case you forgot
At home, Maggie urges Macy to take advantage of Friendzone’s newfound singleness to “climb him like a tree.” Meow. Macy insists that ship has sailed, and also reminds her of the cowrie shell protection mark on him: “The one his grandma put on him.” Wait, what? I thought the last time we talked about this, you and Harry decided you’d put it on him yourself with your Afrocarribbean magic? Or something? I really feel like I’ve missed an episode, or perhaps the writer of this episode did.
Anyway, now Macy wants to take advantage of the new Asian guy who matched with her on the dating app—after all, since they’re both the bottom of the barrel, they can trust each other or something. This show is so anti-racist that it’s honestly kind of racist.
Maggie heads off for her own date with Connerparkerdemon. They’re eating WHAT THE ACTUAL FUCK IS THAT
I don’t even want to know what this is
Over the course of one episode Maggie has apparently forgotten that she’s vegan and is now happily munching on what the actual fuck. We are distracted from this atrocity when Connerparkerdemon begins “losing his powers”. He runs to the bathroom to try to regain his composure. There, he is felt up by the waitress. Oh, I mean his brother the shapeshifter, pretending to be the waitress. That makes it less gross, definitely.
Demon Brother, previously known as FBI Agent Demon Guy, informs Connerparkerdemon that he’s here to ensure he stays on task. He can’t be distracted by Maggie’s feminine wiles. He can’t fall for the witch, dammit, a demon could never fall in love with a witch! He may be half human, but Demon Bro knows that inside, he’s a true demon. This dialogue is so hamfisted, I’m telling you what. It can be really hard to keep a straight face watching this.
Anyway, “losing his powers” at the dinner table made for a great excuse to get Maggie’s blood. When he returns, she asks if he’s okay, and he says that he’s been feeling sicker recently because he’s supposed to get a plasma transfusion but they haven’t been able to find a matching donor. Maggie volunteers to be tested to see if she’s a match for him, which conveniently gives the Waltons access to her blood. Hook, line, and sinker.
Meanwhile, another innocent couple (this one hetero) is on a date, marveling over how they found their perfect match on Maggie’s dating app. Wait a second—isn’t that the gay guy? He’s not gay anymore? He’s bi? It doesn’t matter, HE’S EATING HER FACE! NOM NOM NOM!
Definitely less gross than whatever Connerparkerdemon and Maggie were having for dinner.
Back at the house, Mel is having a crisis of spirit while Harry whimpers to himself about insect demons. When Mel mentions to Harry that she’s having second thoughts about Jada, Harry tells her that Charity’s sister who died (Fiona) had apparently been tricked by the Sarcana into revealing herself and was then abandoned by them. He warns Mel that they’re ruthless and he doesn’t want another of his charges to end up dead. Mel whatevers him and changes the subject.
At some other restaurant, Macy is on her date with the Asian guy and the two of them are commiserating about being statistically the least desirable members of humanity. This show is definitely not racist. Macy is attracted to his admission of unattractiveness. He thanks her for not being racist. (No, really, RDA.) But I think this entire episode just proved that she is? Anyway, no matter, he escorts her to her car, they kiss, and YOU KNOW WHAT HAPPENS NEXT.
Oh, so the perfectly nice Asian dude is a demon? I see how it is.
Back at the house, Maggie has returned from her date just in time to find Mel and Harry discovering a lead in the Book of Shadows: the demon who made the missing gay guy go missing was likely a cicada demon, and the things they found in the back of his car were pieces of exoskeleton. This demon appears every 17 years, taking human hosts to mate with before going dormant again for another 17 years. The last time it awoke, three Hilltowne University students disappeared.
Um, a lot more than three have disappeared this time.
Maggie takes a look at the list of missing people and realizes that they’re all people she’s signed up for the dating app. Whoopsie! Realizing Macy must be next, they race to find her. But it’s too late—Macy is already caught up in their web. Their web? These are cicadas, not spiders…? No matter! Gross bug thing!
They decide to try heading down to the dating app’s headquarters. Once there, Mel freezes time so Maggie can read the employees’ minds without them resisting. They discover that the colony’s queen is holed up in the basement, preparing to lay her eggs in each of the stolen host bodies. Eww. Once there, they find all the missing people all caught up in web. Spiders…? Harry has a panic attack. Mel and Maggie push through and find most of the victims have already had eggs laid in their mouths. This is even grosser than it sounds.
While they retch and gag, they’re confronted by one of the two yuppie Pinoys who founded the app, now in full bug form with some truly excellent CGI. /sarc Mel gives him a good stab through the head. Now all that’s left is the Queen Pinay. They free Macy, who’s dazed because the venom was pretty strong. Spiders…? As she recovers, Queen Pinay descends on her web. Spi—
Ella from Camp Rock sure has changed!
They cast the banishing spell. It doesn’t work. IT NEVER WORKS. Queen Pinay starts making the room get really hot, which is apparently something bees can do. Bees now?? No matter; Macy uses her telekinesis to bring a heavy object down on her, because everyone knows the easiest way to kill a bug is by smashing it.
So did everyone else who got kidnapped die, too? This isn’t made clear. They did get their faces et, but I mean so did Macy and somehow she’s fine.
The sisters return to their house, where Maggie announces that she’s decided against going to Chicago this summer—this near death experience made her realize she could lose her sisters at any times, and you know. Hos before bros and all.
To an extent, at least, because the next order of business is to try to make Macy/Friendzone happen. AGAIN. Macy resolves to give him a call and try to work around the cowrie shell mark that whoever put on him.
The next day at work, Mel is taking the trash out again. At least, I think she’s at work? I don’t know where else it would be, but they’re suddenly using a much larger cityscape stock photo for their lead shots, so I can’t tell Hilltowne from Freyersville or whatever the fuck now. Anyway, in the alley, some dude in a ski mask is mugging some woman. Mel starts to use her powers, then thinks better of it and goes running in to try to stop him the human way. She’s interrupted by Jada, who just tasers the dude with her lightning power and then uses her Whitelighter power to wipe the woman’s mind. How convenient! Whitelighters and witches definitely shouldn’t be allowed to reproduce. Such forbidden.
Jada tells Mel off for not stopping him herself. Mel argues that she was going to, the human way. Jada snarks that she’s kowtowing to the Elders, and when she’s ready to make a real difference—silence that stretches out about 5 seconds too long and veers into squirming discomfort territory—to come find her. Before she apparates out, Mel notices a tattoo on her hand that surely has some deeper meaning.
Mel rushes to Harry’s office, where we find a poster on the wall which asserts, Women’s Rights Are Human Rights. Once there, she summons Charity, telling her she needs to talk to her about what’s really going on with the Elders. Charity is like, “We were just about to summon you!” and leads Mel through a portal to WHAT THE ACTUAL FUCK
If this doesn’t give you nightmares, zoom in on it
So it turns out the Elders are actually made up of a bunch of department store mannequins with a variety of ethnic hairstyles. This is normal. Charity assures Mel that their faces have been strategically blurred by the production team of Cops in order to protect their anonymity, since someone’s gunning for them and whoever that someone is can’t tell who they are just from the fact that they’re radiating magical energy or whatever.
Mel asks the Elders for more information about the Sarcana. Charity tells her that the Sarcana are tricking her by pretending to care about innocent people; the Elder Council protects the world, whereas the Sarcana are only concerned with serving their own ends, and won’t hesitate to harm innocents if it suits their own causes. Mel asks if Charity is referring to her sister, Fiona. Charity says that yes, Fiona is an example.
She then tells Mel that the Elders have chosen her for a mission: they want her to act as a spy on the Sarcana.
Dun DUNNN
The scene switches to Maggie going to visit Connerparkerdemon to tell him she had the plasma testing that morning. She also tells him that Mel went with her for moral support and donated plasma as well; she figured if neither of them were a match for Connerparkerdemon, at least someone will get some help out of it.
Oh, Connerparkerdemon says cheerfully, someone out there will be helped very much wink wink nudge nudge.
Meanwhile, over at the bar that didn’t exist until two episodes ago, Macy is boozing up in preparation for asking Friendzone out. She gives him a call and asks him to come meet her. Being pussywhipped, he says he has a few things to finish up at the Generic Science Lab and then he’ll be right over.
Mel has copied down the tattoo she saw on Jada’s hand and tracked it down to a tattoo parlor for which it’s the logo. The tattoo parlor looks like the inside of Miss CleoMama Roz’s nail salon, but my sister said she thinks it’s supposed to be a different place and they just used the same set. Inside the darkened parlor, Mel uses the Désénnnmáscárrrrrrárrrrrrrrrrrr spell, which opens a hidden door. She passes through… and is viciously clubbed to unconsciousness by some woman wielding a two-by-four.
She hit her so hard she rolled like ten feet. Like a boss.
Jada comes running in like, “Whoa whoa whoa, what are you doing, she’s the one I was trying to recruit!”
Hey man, your invisible glowing mark tried to warn you!
Overall Thoughts: While not as severe as in the first couple episodes, there was some delicious woke in this episode. It seems like they’ve switched from Mel being the main purveyor of woke to it being Macy. I mentioned before that despite being the worst actress, they seem to be giving Mel the most plot, and Maggie and Macy are sort of filler (although Maggie’s getting a bit more actual plot now that CPD’s been revealed to be a demon). She also is the top-billed one, which is odd because I don’t think any of these actresses have ever been in anything before. However, as mentioned previously, Mel’s actress is the only actual Latina one, so maybe that’s why.
Anyway! I think the ending of this episode is proof that I’m the real witch. I managed to kill Friendzone with my words alone. Maybe my sister and I will turn out to have a secret third sister, and then we’ll be the true Charmed Ones, destined to bring these pretenders down in a maelstrom. I can dream!
Joe, I think Trump is, in fact, a natural born citizen over 35 years old selected by the Electoral College, so its a bit of a lie to say he “fails the basic standard to be president”. Something about as ye sow, so shall ye reap, you coarse, lying moron.
The EU parliamentary elections came and went – not that you people noticed – and the results in Romania had some significance in that the ruling Party lost massively – they are the worst, as the kids say these days. This was compounded by their leader being sentenced to jail for three and a half years on corruption charges on the very next day after the elections, with possibly more to come. This of course led to a wave of the optimistic delusionals saying Romania “turned a corner” and is heading in “the right direction”, although the actions of the government show little cause for such optimism. This is my review of Oriel HopSaSam Ţuiple’up.
I was thinking of doing a more proper write-up on the EU elections, but I am not sure I can be bothered, so I will give a short summary of the Romanian situation. I voted myself in these ones, I am not even sure why, and chose based on potential amusement. I also voted yes to both questions of the referendum. One of them said no amnesty or pardons for corruption charges, and the second said the government would no longer be allowed to change criminal justice laws by executive order.
The results are fully in and one of the traditional “center right”-ish parties (what I call the conniving little bitch wing party), the “National Liberal Party,” PNL – European liberal, winning most votes, followed by a virtual tie for second between the traditional left ruling “Social Democratic Party,” PSD (a mob wing party in general) and the fresh new left-right-center anti-corruption upstarts, Save Romanian Union, USR – a hipster wing party with a slight whiff of something more sinister. You never know when the same old cabal is behind the latest young hip party. The urban youth voted quite strongly for the latter. Three more parties hit the required 5% threshold to get in. The Democratic Union of Magyars UDMR, PRO Romania party – an offshoot of PSD led by former Prime Minister Ponta and Popular Movement Party, PMP, led by former president Traian Basescu, one of the most able, for better and worse, politicians in post commie Romania. The results are mostly meaningless, as the PSD still hold the central government and most local governments, and the EU elections did not change shit, except give a bit of satisfaction the opposition. It may at least be a sign of things to come. A few more weasel parties did not make the cut. As in the last few elections, there was great scandal as polling stations for Romanians living abroad were insufficient and the voting procedure deliberately slow, as such many could not vote, as the polling stations closed despite people who had waited 8 hours in line still not getting in. The ruling party got about 3% of the vote abroad.
Now on to the beer, it is the first one made with a truly local twist – it is aged in former barrels of ţuică – the local fruit brandy for those not in the know. When I bought it, I doubted it would by my cup of, well… beer. It is a triple and I am not a fan of Belgian styles. It has 9.5 alcohol, which is more than I like. It is collaboration between Romanian microbrewery Oriel and a Belgian brewery HopSaSam. According to the owners “The name Oriel comes from the archangel of light, wisdom, illumination and sun.” They produce small batches of a wide variety of Belgian style beers. They are among the few which actually list their equipment on their site. For whoever may be curious, here they be.
The beer was aged in 3 types of barrels which held 3 types of ţuică – the traditional plum, apple and pear, made of wood used for such things in Romania – oak, cherry and mulberry. The beer costs about $3.5 American for a 333 ml bottle. For my taste in ţuică, I am all about the plum. It has the strongest and most distinctive taste (except quince that is, but quince is rare). This is the same reason many people do not like plum ţuică. So I was slightly disappointed that it was not 100% plum ţuică mulberry barrels. Honestly, you can feel the stuff in the beer, but not that much. It looks, smells and tastes mostly like a triple, which is expected and which I don’t like, too sweet and alcoholic. The plum brandy is there, but more as an afterthought, a gimmick.
While not my thing, they are among the first if not the first in Romania to try to barrel age beer, so it is overall a good thing. I also tried their quadruple aged in Belize rum casks. Same verdict, I just don’t like the beer style, so no barrel aging will change that. Smell is subdued, taste is bold, sweetish, alcohol, dark malts, some rum, some vanilla, some wood . Long finish with some bitterness, but overall sweet taste dominates.
I tried to clean my palate with an IPA from a new brewer called White Collar, but it was quite disappointing, albeit more palatable to me. For a beer called Zero Taxe I expected more, but thems be the breaks. Not the best beer day for Pie.
Buenos tardes Gliberinos! Brett is out, selling the Tampastan Devil Rays some cocaine, so they called me in from the bullpen…apparently Raymond is his grease-man.
