Welcome to BOOK READERS HEAVEN! Books, Reviews, Short Stories, Authors, Publicity, a little poetry, music to complement...and other stuff including politics, about life... "Books, Cats: Life is Sweet..."
You don't need to view videos if you already have met BORG on Star Trek. LOL... I enjoyed the one where Picard was...assimilated... and, of course, escaped! We will escape this madness... We will NOT be Assimilated!
BORG WannaBe I Must Assimilate!
But...
I Must Assimilate All Male White Supremacists...
Wait... I Must Assimilate!
But... All Male White Supremacists - Rich Ones...
I Must Assimilate All riches and Gold Heck with People
Wait, Wait, I need Servants...
I Must Assimilate beautiful blond girls like my daughter in early life
Wait, Wait, Nobody is as beautiful as MY Daughter... Let's See
I Must Assimilate Other Rich Dictators...
Then I Will be King of the World...
Wait, Wait, I Need Christian Nationalists to fight for me... I Must Assimilate...
But I really hate people unless they bow down to my kingship and let's face it, when these violent thugs start killing women...
Wait, Wait, We've already lied about that woman, so forget about her I Must Assimilate
BUT, I Don't want to be Accountable... So Somebody Has to be my Fixer... I really miss my first fixer as I was campaigning Too bad he realized he'd been being screwed for years...
BUT, I MUST Assimilate! Just give me all the ground, air, and earth rights to Greenland!
I MUST ASSIMILATE! Wait, Wait, Why are all those people on the streets marching?
Assimilate Them!
Whattayamean it's legal for them to protest?! Off with Their Heads! I must assimilate and nothing will stop me
Not my morality or my mind either They keep repeating I Must Assimilate!
But, But, who is going to serve me if all are assimilated?
AI What the H is AI?
Computers? Never Touch Them-Don't Like Them-Points Truth to Me Assimilate all computers
Wait, What do you mean you need to destroy everything? Your system has begun allowing mistakes? I'm saying one thing, the computer does something else? BAN ALL COMPUTERS BAN ALL COMPUTER CREATORS BAN ALL STAFF I MUST HAVE COMPLETE CONTROL I MUST ASSIMILATE
wAIT, WA... WHAT ARE YOU d i MUST WRITE TO MAG I must lie to my peo Why can't I type hate, abus Who are you, you female bit
People are Speaking Out!
We Must!
May God Guide Our Thoughts, Truth, and Love
Gabby
A final note: All this came from a PTSD nightmare which took me back on the job... I woke agitated, and thought of adding to my ED Memoir... But I stopped and started thinking... What had caused this dream?
Listen especially to the last video by an angry retired pastor who fights to remain calm... I had not listened to this video until I had finished everything above it. The pastor talked about people complaining about what he's been saying and yet, how calm he always seemed...That's what I found myself doing this morning I didn't immediately think it was about me... Whether or not it was my own mind (which, by the way, God has assimilated) but I ran through what had happened yesterday... It is what is happening under this president that has incited so much fear and anxiety... He must be turned off, just like I'm turning off my computer and going back to sleep a few more hours... God's With Us! YOU, Yes, I Mean You!
“We’ve already issued a Missing Persons bulletin to the media,” the chief said. “I asked the state to do a Silver Alert, but—” “Anybody can get a Silver Alert, even on the mainland,” Fay Alex sniffed. “Isn’t there a premium version for people like us? A Platinum Alert, something like that?” “Silver is the highest priority, Mrs. Riptoad. However, it’s only for seniors who go missing in vehicles.” Crosby had learned the hard way never to use the term “elderly” when speaking with the Palm Beach citizenry. “Since Mrs. Fitzsimmons wasn’t driving the other night, the best they can do is a Missing Persons bulletin.” Fay Alex said, “You didn’t give out her real age to the media, did you? There’s no call for that. And which picture of her did you post?” “We’re required to list the age provided by her family. One of her sons sent us a photo from a family gathering on Christmas Day.” “A morning picture? Oh, dear God.” Fay Alex groaned; noon was the absolute earliest that Kiki Pew allowed herself to be seen by civilians. When the police chief inquired if Mrs. Fitzsimmons was known to use psychoactive drugs, Fay Alex threatened to have him sacked. “How can you even ask such a vicious question?” she cried. “A pill was found among your friend’s belongings, next to the fish pond. Actually, part of a pill. Our expert says it was bitten in half.”
Mauricio looked as if he’d rather be in the front row at a German opera. He told Angie that one of his mowing crew had spotted the giant snake in the tree that afternoon. “It hasn’t moved an inch since then,” he said. “We’re hoping the damn thing is dead,” Teabull added anxiously. “Oh, it’s the opposite of dead,” Angie informed him. “It’s digesting.”
The trunk of the ancient banyan presented a dense maze of vertical roots. Angie wasn’t wearing the right shoes for such a slippery climb. “I’ll need an extension ladder,” she told Mauricio, “and a pistol.” From Teabull: “Absolutely no gunfire at this event!” “Well, we’re looking at about eighteen feet of violent non-cooperation,” Angie explained. “The recommended approach is a bullet in the brain.” “Hell, no! You’ll have to do it another way.” “Then you will have to find another wrangler.” The band had started playing—Cuban music, a well-meaning tribute to the Buena Vista Social Club. Soon the guests would be twirling drunkenly all over the grounds. Teabull wore the face of a climber trapped on a melting ledge. “Five thousand cash,” he whispered to Angie. “But we’re running out of time.” Angie put a hand on Mauricio’s shoulder and said, “Sir, would you happen to have a machete?”
— The Burmese python is one of the world’s largest constrictors, reaching documented lengths of more than twenty feet. Popular among amateur collectors, the snakes were imported to the United States legally from Southeast Asia for decades. But because a hungry baby python can grow into an eight-foot eating machine within a year, owners often found themselves having second thoughts. Consequently, scores of the pet snakes were set free. Only in southern Florida did the species take hold, the hot climate and abundance of prey being ideal for python reproduction. A relatively isolated population exploded to a full-blown invasion during the early 1990s, after Hurricane Andrew destroyed a reptile breeding facility on the edge of the Everglades. The storm liberated fresh, fertile multitudes, and today the Burmese is one of the state’s most prolific and disruptive invasive species. An adult female can lay as many as ninety eggs, which she will encircle and guard from predators. Like all constrictors, pythons encoil their prey, squeezing the breath out of it. By disengaging their jaws, the snakes are able to swallow animals of much larger girth, which are typically consumed head-first. In this way the furtive intruders have decimated native Everglades wildlife, including marsh rabbits, raccoons, otters, opossums, and full-grown deer. Adult Burmese pythons will even drown and devour alligators. To the chagrin of suburban Floridians, pythons will leave the wetlands to travel long distances. Frequently they are discovered prowling residential neighborhoods, the signal clue being a sharp dip in the cat population. To stem the onslaught, authorities have recruited both lay hunters and experienced reptile handlers by offering hourly wages and bounty payments that escalate per foot of snake. While the frenetic capture videos are wildly popular on YouTube, the removal program has so far proven to be biologically inconsequential. Although hundreds of pythons have been caught and removed, biologists believe that many thousands more are still on the loose, mating insatiably. Despite their startling size, individual specimens aren’t easy to find. Their skin is lightly hued, with chocolate-brown patches creating puzzle-board patterns similar to that of a giraffe. Even the beefiest of pythons can be astonishingly well camouflaged in the wild, and experts cite their “low detectability” as a primary challenge for hunters.
“Where the hell did it come from?” Tripp Teabull grumbled about the one in the tree. “And why did it show up here, of all places?” “Sir, you’ve got a pond full of slow, dumb fish. However, that”—Angie cocked her trigger finger at the exceptional lump in the python—“is something else.” Mauricio and a co-worker arrived with a ladder that unfolded to twenty feet. With Angie’s assistance they notched one end into a cabled tangle of banyan branches directly beneath the quarry, which remained motionless. “You think there’s more of those fuckers around here?” Mauricio asked. Angie said this was the first one she’d ever heard of on the island. “What do you suppose she ate?” The groundskeeper exchanged a tense glance with Teabull. “How do you know it’s a she?” he asked Angie. “The biggest ones always are.” “Then maybe she didn’t eat anything,” Teabull cut in. “Maybe she’s just pregnant.” Angie chuckled. “Sir, that’s not a baby bump.”
Scientists in the Everglades have implanted transmitters in captured pythons and released them to help locate “breeding aggregations,” groups of randy males that communally cavort with a lone large female. That telemetry tracking has led to the interruption of many amorous assemblies, but so far, it has failed to stop the epochal march of the species. Although many pythons were found dead one winter after a rare hard freeze, the hardy survivors rebounded and—thanks to natural selection—produced new generations able to withstand colder temperatures. Nonetheless, Palm Beach County, which on some January nights experiences temperatures in the thirties, was believed to be safely north of the invaders’ comfort zone.
“We should fill in that damn koi pond,” Teabull said, “if that’s the big attraction.” Angie asked him if any domestic animals were allowed to roam the grounds of Lipid House. Teabull said absolutely not. Mauricio spoke up. “We got a few iguanas. Everybody’s got iguanas.” “Have any neighbors complained that their pets have gone missing? Like maybe a Rottweiler,” Angie said, “or a miniature pony.” “That’s not funny,” Teabull snapped. “Sir, I’m serious.” Angie’s habit of saying “sir” was the result of a childhood rule imposed by her father, whose own father had been a career Marine. She said, “These snakes feed only on live prey. Are you sure no animals have disappeared in the neighborhood?” Teabull shot another uneasy look at Mauricio before saying, “I’ll ask around.”
Angie turned to the groundskeeper. “All right, let’s see that blade of yours.” Because of their gluttonous threat to Florida’s shaky ecological balance, all captured pythons are supposed to be euthanized. A gunshot is the most humane way, but another state-approved method is decapitation by machete. The one that Mauricio loaned to Angie Armstrong was practically new. Teabull said, “One more thing, Ms. Armstrong. Could you please move that thing off-site before you kill it?” “Sir, I’m loving your sense of humor.”
“There are nine hundred guests here tonight!” “Okay, we’ll do it your way,” Angie said. “But I’ll need four of your strongest security guys to help me wrestle it out of the tree. My experience is that large men are often terrified of snakes, so please find me a crew that isn’t. FYI, their tuxedos are going to get trashed big-time. A python that size shits like a fire hose.” As he eyed the immense silent presence up in the banyan, Teabull reconsidered his position. Trying to take the beast alive would turn into a spectacle. The wrangler was right—an inconspicuous removal would be possible only if the snake was limp and unresisting. In other words: dead. Teabull sought assurances from Angie that the act could be carried out quietly, and with a minimum of gore. She said, “I’ll try not to bloody your landscaping.”
Her tone rankled the caretaker, whose priority was to prevent guests from learning of the reptile’s presence on the property. The fallout would be devastating. Hosting parties, weddings and fundraising galas such as the White Ibis and “Stars for SARS” was a lucrative industry in Palm Beach. Competition among mansions had always been intense, but it had turned cutthroat after the social drought inflicted by Covid-19. This was supposed to be the season of the big rebound. Owners of old island estates were counting on event revenue to offset their overhead—parabolic property taxes, criminally priced hurricane insurance and six-figure landscaping fees. Half the fucking pool boys drove Audis. Sponsors of charity balls were seldom fazed to learn that the one-night rental fee for Lipid House was a quarter of a million dollars, not including custom catering.
However, rumors of goliath pythons could wipe out a season’s worth of bookings. The five grand that Teabull had offered the female wildlife wrangler was a bargain; the trust that owned the estate had been prepared to pay ten. Still, the machete and all its messy possibilities made Teabull nervous. In particular he was fretting about that dowager-sized lump in the snake. “So, you’ll be cutting off its head,” he pressed Angie Armstrong, “and that’s all, correct? No further chopping.” “Sir, I’m not fixing cutlets. I’m neutralizing an invasive.”
Angie hated to kill anything, but the magnificent python had signed its own warrant.
Dead or alive, it would be delivered to wildlife officers. The next stop was a biologist’s dissection table. Angie expected to collect no bounty for the specimen because Palm Beach was outside the state’s hunt-for-pay zone. “We’ve moved your vehicle to our rear gate,” Teabull informed her, “to expedite the departure phase. Is there anything else you need?” “A backhoe would be swell,” Angie said. Teabull hoped she was joking. “I’ll leave you to your work,” he said, receding into the cover of the topiary.
“Wait—what about my money?” “Your fee will be in the console of your vehicle, Ms. Armstrong.” “Just call it a pickup truck, sir. That’s what it is.” But Teabull had already slipped out of earshot. Mauricio steadied the ladder while Angie climbed. The machete was sharp. It worked fine.
~~~
Mea Culpa to me, first... I saw the author's name and thought I had read him before and enjoyed it... I was wrong... Mea Culpa to me and you, you will be subjected to a satire that includes much about the rich and famous that live or visit that "White House of the South..." Where you will be subjected to meeting the group of cult members:
...the POTUS Pussies, a group of Palm Beach women who proclaimed brassy loyalty to the new, crude-spoken commander-in-chief. For media purposes they had to tone down their name or risk being snubbed by the island’s PG-rated social sheet, so in public they referred to themselves as the Potussies. Often they were invited to dine at Casa Bellicosa, the Winter White House, while the President was in residence. He always made a point of waving from the buffet line or pastry table. During the pandemic lockdown, he even Zoom-bombed the women during one of their cocktail-hour teleconferences. News of Kiki Pew’s disappearance at the IBS gala swept through the Potussies faster than a blast sales alert from Saks. The group’s co-founder—Fay Alex Riptoad, of the compost and iron ore Riptoads—immediately dialed the private cell phone of the police chief...
Yes, this book is a satire and is especially well done. So well done, that the satire actually reads as the reality of those four years--at least to those, like me, who knew that what was written...was...true... as it related to the sycophants and their love of powerful people... Because, after all, when they are introduced, you will learn not only the name of the individual, but you will be told that they are of the family of...such and such--whatever big corporation(s) their family is. or maybe both. if the husband and wife merged to create an even bigger, richer, set of people who are above all the rest of us--dontcha know... And, frankly, if you don't use a double last name you would never be invited to these events...No, I really don't write satire, but I do a good job with sarcasm, when warranted...
Also, these rich and famous have nothing better to do than celebrate all the charitable events they can on behalf of any disease that you can think of...and then spend, spend, spend, drink, drink, drink, maybe do some drugs...you get the idea...Seriously if there was research for the elimination of hammertoes, hey, maybe I'd even attend...NOT...
And so it was during one of these fabulous events that one of the potussies disappeared. She liked to use Kiki Pew as her social name, which of course, was changed to Kikey when the president got involved... Now that, slight of name was quite a fancy play on words since Hitler had already been brought into the picture during that first 2016 administration, even though it has been brought much more to the front these days!
The one bright spot is a young woman who wants to be called Angie... She's rough and tough, after being in jail for placing the hand of a man where it could be bitten off at one point in her life... He and his prosthetic hand now calls Angie every night at 6PM to tell her just how much he hates her, ending with threats...and more... This latter delightful character will continue throughout the book, or at least until he's... gone... Which reminds me, actually I did like the climax brought about by a retired governor...and his pets...
Angie loves animals of all kinds and has become an individual who takes care of pests, although mice or rats is a little too small a job unless it is an emergency... Well, Angie has handled quite a number of pythons since they had found their way into Palm Beach and she knows exactly what she is going to find inside of the huge snake that she was forced to kill at the event where Kiki disappeared... Of course, just the title and the snake on the cover surely has given you that idea, right?
But she took it away, froze it, and planned on getting it to be examined ASAP... Except that, first, she had a breakin at her home which got her wondering... And, then, when somebody got into her rented storage place and took only that snake... Well, she knew for sure... In fact, back at the half-million dollar rented mansion, somebody had actually seen Kiki disappear... And now the head honcho knew what had to happen. They could not afford for anybody to know that not only had Kiki disappeared... but knowing How...was just not going to happen!
Now up until this point, other than a few references to the women who excitedly pant over the president, it was kinda a humorous murder mystery. Quite Unusual, even...
But, you see, in order to keep this confidential, power would be needed to control the media... Really, did they think that the rich and famous cared whether a business went bankrupt--any publicity is always good publicity, even if it is bad...for somebody else... And, so, the potpussies wanted to hold an event at the winter white house, where they always lunched when meeting, thinking that the president knew them as true supporters and as individuals...LOL Yeah, Kikey was to be celebrated...
And that's when the twist of the book moves into the presidential family events... Let me just say that, if satire is supposed to be based on some basis of truth, this writer sure chose the wrong spouse to spotlight, at least in my opinion... But, hey, sex sells books, they say... No matter whether the chosen subject has actually been involved in events provided... Throwing in lots of gratuitous vulgarity made it even better, right?
Ok, there were some bright spots with Angie and other "regular" people in the book... Perhaps it is the devastating actions being wrought on America right now by that same president, however he got back in office after two impeachments, becoming a felon...and so much more... Nah... for me, reality colliding with satirical fiction is beyond my willingness to praise... And even the potpussies got upset when the individual security guards for each of the women for whom it had been provided "because of their fear that, like Kiki, they would also disappear, thoroughly enjoyed their status of being accompanied by private guards... And... these women, when the guards were pulled back, thought nothing of a few threats of blackmail to ensure they could keep those guards at their sides... Yeah, dontcha just love the rich and famous... egotistical, selfish, glamorous, and drinking their way through all charitable events where millions pass hands, held for every disease known...
Why the fxxx couldn’t they play Pearl Jam?
A final note from me. One of my bosses used to tell me I didn't have a sense of humor--I never laughed at his jokes... I don't... I don't have a sense of humor where somebody makes fun of somebody else just to get a laugh... At that time, Polack jokes were often shared... Nope! Not my kind of humor... The first time I watched Archie Bunker, I hated it. But, you know, satire does have its place in literature. After awhile, I started to realize what that television show was trying to do...and I "got" it thereafter...
So, what I'm saying is that if you enjoy humor within satire, then this book is well written and sometimes funny in a strange sort of way. But I really resent that the Office of our President can easily be used--quite easily in fact--to laugh at and make fun of... Me, I need to respect somebody in positions of authority over me. If that is not possible, then I need to act to replace that individual... America deserves to have a man leading America that works to represent ALL of us living in the United States... When a man stops aid to children in need, fires veterans, works to prevent regulations for protection of our world, takes away public education...and I could keep on going... then this man needs to be not laughed at in satire, but simply to be removed from office... So, you decide, if making fun of the rich and famous works for you, go for it... Many others enjoy this author's words...
Looking for humor is not something I do...finding humor in small things, like sharing tidbits about my niece's children is what makes me smile and laugh... I happen to like that about myself...
See also https://irresponsiblereader.com/2016/07/20/trumped-by-peter-davidson/
It has been politically correct to be politically correct for many years now, and it seems that the trend is even intensifying. A slip of the tongue, an off-the-cuff comment, or a heart-felt posting on social media might rain a firestorm of criticism down upon a person and might even get them fired from their job. A person who always tries to be politically correct must choose their words and actions carefully, so they don’t offend someone or hurt someone’s fragile feelings. There used to be a saying that kids in school repeated if someone said something mean or nasty to them— “Sticks and stones may break my bones, but words will never hurt me.” Whatever happened to that simple philosophy? This book is about going Beyond Politically Correct—about saying what you mean and meaning what you say. The book contains over 100 situations that people face in real life along with the type of response a person might give if trying to be politically correct. Then, what a person would say if they had the guts to go Beyond Politically Correct and say what they really believe, to be Brutally Honest, is shown for the same situation. This book is about relationships, advice, wisdom, and philosophies to live by, sprinkled with a good dose of humor, satire, and irreverence—and it’s a little risque, so be prepared. ~~~From Amazon~~~
When I was asked to review this book, I immediately indicated if it was about Trump, I would not read it...I really didn't get an answer so reluctantly accepted it... Today, I went to Amazon to pull the book up and typed in Trumped! and got several, none of which was the book I wanted. Apparently other writers have used this title to draw attention to their books as well. Supposedly this has nothing to do with Trump, but I had to laugh when, in doing a search for the author, the above video came up first...Seems Pete Davidson is out there talking about Trump and his actions...
When I started reading this book, after seeing what it was, I closed it and went on to another book. Last night I finished it. First, I have said before, I do not appreciate most humor and satire. In this case, even more so. In this book, considering what being Politically Correct (PC) is all about in various social situations, the author had presented no real argument for or against, but merely uses it to elicit reaction... And to do so, the author uses gratuitous, what might be called "gutter language." Apparently, in his world, everybody uses common four-letter words on a routine basis, and, if they are not PC, they would be using it in response to most daily situations... Wrong!
Sure, all of us do it... In today's world we are faced with situations where, if we shared our true feelings, then we would not be PC... The thing about this book is that the situations presented are so diverse and created more for satire and humor, that the potential truth of some of the situations is lost. Or, they represent such obviously "selfish" responses, that they are too honest to be funny...
Author, Author... As a youth, David always had a paperback in his pocket and read every chance that he got--fun books like Zane Grey westerns and Sherlock Holmes mysteries. David believed that writing a book was a high calling and when he was nineteen, he got the idea that some day he would become a writer. David tried everything: writing short stories, magazine articles, songs, poems, and even a novel. He collected what probably would have been a Guinness World Record number of rejection slips and letters, if he had kept track of them all. Finally, after trying for several years, a major publisher offered to publish a book of Davids. It was a dream come true. Publication of the book was followed by radio interviews and book signings. The crowning glory of his book signing tour was at a bookstore in his home town. It was wonderful to have old friends and former teachers stop by for an autographed copy of the book. Many of them said such memorable things.
The readeris presented with a particular situation; for instance, an author who has made it has been invited to a book signing in his home town. The PC version--which is probably something like I would say truthfully--as a former classmate, "David, I'm so excited for you and I'm eager to read your book; I'll bet it's great!" OR another classmate goes beyond PC and would like to have said, if honest, "I wanted to get an autographed copy of your book because when you die, it might be worth something."
Imagine, if you would, that when I've received the hundreds of signed copies from writers that have taken the time to sign their book, thought my response would be "Oh good, when he/she dies, I'll be able to make money on this because it's signed..." How sad to have even thought of this scenario.
Most of the situations provided for individuals in marriage, family etc.--some made me gag... like
Helping Auntie...Harold's auntie old and feeble and unable to do the physical tasks that are necessary around her house and yard. She is also a spinster who never married and never had any children. Did I happen to mention that she is also very, very rich? Auntie appreciates very much Harold's mowing the lawn, shoveling the snow, getting the oil changed in her car, and taking care of numerous tasks around the house.
Yes, I am this Auntie! And the PC version is supposedly "Auntie, I love spending my weekends helping you with errands around the house. That's what family is for, after all. Now is there anything else that I can help you with before it gets dark and I have to go home to bed?"
OR, I am supposed to believe that my nephew would be "brutally honest" if he admitted that he was doing it only for money and that she should be sure to name him in her will..."
You know, if I were really a rich aunt and was asking for help, I would be paying that individual for their help and not expecting them to work, contingent upon my death. Such a situation should be considered in sympathy not made to be ridiculed...
At the same time situations within the business world indeed had validity but creating satire to show what should be said, even if not PC, has caused many individuals to take a lot of crap, being afraid to speak up for themselves. Of course, I'm one of those individuals that did go beyond being politically correct...and was...quietly eliminated... What does that say, I wonder?
There are few smiles to be had from the supposed humor in this book. If you are the type that enjoys satire and this style of humor, hey, go for it, but not with my recommendation. Just like our presidential candidate, you too can dare to go beyond being politically correct... Duh...is that satire or sarcasm I just used...sometimes I get them mixed up...Oh well...after all I just read TRUMPED!
If you want peace, work for justice."--Pope Paul VI
Weaver cursed. "Tell me again why President Barry didn't veto this? Oh, that's right, because we were being 'sued' by the ACLU--Barry's good friends giving him something to hang his hat on. Damn it." The Deputy Director for Intelligence, Patrick Cochran, shook his head. "A veto may not have worked, sir." Weaver glared. "And why not?" "Because, Director," DDO Grant answered, "even if we vetoed it, it would go to the General Assembly. You know what they'd say. It's the same reason they passed the Resolution equating Zionism with racism, 242."
Charles Weaver, the Director of Central Intelligence, was a big man. As a former Navy SEAL, that had come in handy. At the moment, he looked incredulously at his Deputy Director of Operations. "The bastards are doing what, exactly?"
DDO David Grant sighed. "They're mobilizing troops. We're seeing movements of a few hundred people in the Sudan, as well as Russia and China. North Korea doesn't seem to want to move just yet, although you can bet they'll be at it next."
...Weaver rolled his eyes. "For God's sake, why are we being held hostage by petty dictators who like to play dress up? How many people in that assembly room would like to see real human rights, coming soon to a theater near you?"
Cochran sighed. "Less than half. Maybe. In Africa, Kenya, South Africa, Egypt on occasion. In the Middle East, Turkey, Iraq, Yemen, the United Arab Emirates. The others? Consider, sharia is still popular with some of them."
"Remind me to have some of the Saudi royal family assassinated," Weaver muttered to himself.
DDO David Grant made a note. "In any event, what do we want to do?"
Cochran shrugged. "I don't see what we can do. Unless you want to nuke Turtle Bay, then I'd say we're in a stalemate. We can't move, but they can. And it's not like President Barry is going to do anything against the UN."
Weaver ran a hand over his scalp as if through hair. "What are the chances the Vatican will hold out?
DDO Grant looked down and sighed. "They're mainly priests and nuns, and only a hundred or so Swiss Guards. I wouldn't give you two changes for their survival. They have mostly nonlethal weapons, a few lethal ones, but that's it. As for the attacking forces...If North Korea decides to send as many as the French can airlift, the enemy could easily escalate to the ten-thousand mark. Thankfully, these guys have no force projection, or it'd move faster.
Weaver nodded, mostly to himself. "True. North Korea can have a million-man army, but it isn't worth a damn if they can't move it anywhere. Korea and China have worthless navies, and their armies can't really go anywhere without one."
Grant pulled out the projections and handed out copies. "Unfortunately, this is the Vatican. Tanks and bombers and navies aren't required; all they'd need are a lot of guys with guns who are having a bad day. They don't even need assault rifles; just bring in handguns, you're covered, game over. Throw in a few shotguns if you want heavy artillery."
Weaver grimaced. "War on the cheap."
A Pius Stand:
A Global Thriller
By Declan
This final book, for me, was a life-altering experience... I am old enough to have lived through the time that prayer was removed from school. I didn't understand it then, as a child who remembered the early school openings with a prayer and the Pledge of Allegiance... When I started to work, we were required to sign a "loyalty oath" which was later eliminated...Then, of course, separation of church and state took effect and my job at that time was involved in scheduling and use of State facilities for activities. I was constantly making decisions about if and how an event could be scheduled on campus. Many of them bothered me...a lot...to say yes to one and no to another based upon religion...
When a child is raised in a Christian home environment, it is hard to understand how it became bad to be a Christian...For surely, that was the only reason for these changes... ??? Since then, I have seen the U.S. go into war after war on behalf of a nation, who no longer considered God as part of it, it seemed... Anybody who reads my blog knows that I abhor war...and any form of violence... I also hate prejudice of any kind, for any reason... So, no, I'm not a Catholic, nor do I feel that every religion is wrong if it is not mine... Don't ask me how I came to believe as I do--I don't know how or why...
Until I read Declan Finn's A Pius Stand... I would never have supported going to war...again...
Now I would join the army... I could, you know, answer phones and keep the evil people from harassing His Holiness, at least...LOL
"You failed us," the Sudanese ambassador barked. "You let the Pope escape!" "Indeed," the rep from North Korea added. "Our Glorious Leader is--" "A schizophrenic moron!" Ioseph Andrevich Mikhailov barked, not even turning around. "You ingrates have tried to turn my successes into failures since I began. You will either allow me to run this operation, or you'll all pay." He turned to face them. ..."When the Vatican first repulsed us, they did it with a show of pyrotechnics. A shootout in the Vatican, on the Spanish Steps, even in Da Vinci airport. Then, after 'slaughtering' a whole team of French commandos, they tracked down and broke the Pope out of jail." ...The Korean glared, unafraid of the Russian mercenary. "Yes, you allowed them to take the Pope right out from under you--" "Yes, I did," Ioseph barked..."Now the Vatican looks like it can take on a fully-armed force. Instead of merely 'arresting' the Pope, we have to invade, and arrest everyone for 'harboring a fugitive'..." ~~~
Seriously, Would you defend a church? Would you defend the right to worship? Often I have felt that there is now prejudice against Christians. Yes, there are historical reasons for that, I agree. But I also believe that those actions were born out of a desire for power or money by those who were inherently evil.
But I believe even more that there are more good people that those who are evil. We just have never learned to speak out in a way that would ensure action...At some point, Love is not enough, Prayer is not enough... War is required...
This man has been accused, arrested, put on trial... The United States has refused to get involved... Now that's almost unbelievable since past presidents have placed our soldiers directly into the front lines... But, there is no other way to say it, President Barry has proved to be a wimp, a man with no principles, who allows personal hate to affect his professional decisions. Other presidents have moved America into war... This time, NO from the White House...
Who needed him anyway? While Sean Ryan seems to be the main character--you might call him the General leading the events--he certainly does not play the main role in this last book, except that he put together the total defense plan for...the Vatican...
Everyone was going to die in the first "legally" sanctioned case of mass murder.
After all, when the United Nations had already declared the Catholic Church an outlaw entity guilt of war crimes--against women, Islam, gays, pick your poison--and had declared all their properties forfeit, any action in support of that was going to be legal in the eyes of the "International community."
While everybody within the Vatican, including the Pope, were thinking about what should or could be done, Sean was already beginning his planning...
"Don't forget power," Kovach told her. "No annoying Pope to say 'bad Sudan, no genocide for you.' No more 'bad Korea, feed your population.' Or telling the Chinese 'look up a civil right every few years, you godless pricks.' Or going after US politicians like Nancy Pelosi, who claims Catholicism, but practices demonology, if what she says is any indication?" ...Indeed," came a soft voice from a corner of the room. No one had seen him enter, but Father Francis Williams stood off to the side of the door. "The priest seemed small and unimposing, even more than Kovach, since Fr. Williams was shorter. His silver hair made him look older than he was, even though he wasn't out of his thirties yet. All that hid the fact that he was a former Special Forces soldier... "Hey, Frank," Goldberg said. "You're not with XO or the Pope?" ...You must realize that my input would be useless to Bishop O'Brien and His Holiness... McGrail cocked her head. "Och? And what did it all boil down to?" Fr. Frank flashed a quick grin. "You have to know when to hold 'em. Know when to walk away, and when to run." Goldberg laughed. "You're running, right?" Fr. Frank spread his hands, as though it were up to anyone but him, and he wouldn't know what happened even if they decided. "Really? That's your best answer?" "What else can I say?" he said softly. "We have no army. If we send out a call for assistance, would that help our cause if people arrived, or hurt us? If no one came, would that support our cause? Honestly? We haven't called for a crusade in over 1000 years. We haven't had a warlord-Pope in centuries. We keep the peace. We're always for the peace. Always. And what would peace entail here? Surrender? Holding the line? Retreat? I can't imagine. Can you?" Kovach leaned back in the chair. "Oh, I can imagine what surrender looks like."
~~~
The Pope looked out at them as though gazing at something in the distance. "I am not certain. Matthew 10:23 states that when you are persecuted in one place, flee to another...I still have trouble believing they're coming to kill us. Can they honestly think they can go through with it?" He sighed. "But then again, why not? What's going to stop them? Us?
"Yes. Us."
~~~
And when the Pope finally got around to openly ask the question of who could stop them from coming, Sean Ryan was right there to say, "Yes. Us." And the rest, as they say, is history...
The majority of the final book has to be the single, best, holy war, that was ever fought! The Pope declared that the only overriding goal would be to prevent as much bloodshed as possible. Sean's answer was to use rubber bullets, and all the training in martial arts that had been ongoing, plus a lot of the tricks of his trades... It's fun to read, hilarious to watch and visualize the action, fake or not... Just imagine being in a fight and stopping to think, "How can I do this without killing the guy?!!!" (Wouldn't that be a wonderful thought to hold?!)
But most of all, the cast of characters will absolutely blow your mind! Well, maybe not, none of them surprised me, but I loved the reaction of those reps from countries who were sending thousands of troops and how even the troops going into battle were picked. It may be a fantasy war but it was absolutely fantastic in exciting thrills, surprises, and good ole fashion "fun stuff." This thriller trilogy gets away with satire just because it's soooooo good!
Loved It!
GABixlerReviews
And guess who "got the girl?"
Declan Finn lives in a part of New York City unreachable by bus or subway. Who's Who has no record of him, his family, or his education. He has been trained in hand to hand combat and weapons at the most elite schools in Long Island, and figured out nine ways to kill with a pen when he was only fifteen. He escaped a free man from Fordham University's PhD program, and has been on the run ever since. There was a brief incident where he was branded a terrorist, but only a court order can unseal those records, and really, why would you want to know? He is currently hard at work on a vampire novel called "Honor At Stake." His political ramblings can be found at the-american-journal.com, while his rantings on writing can be found at apiusman.blogspot.com
The Unscratchables:A New Breed of Crime Novel By Cornelius Kane Scribner ISBN: 9781416596417 259 Pages
On the back cover of The Unscratchables by Cornelius Kane , the book is declared a “hard-bitten crime story and a sharp-fanged satire,” but I must say that my most enjoyable feelings while reading the book was a fun comedy. The satire is there, sure, but many readers that enjoy the unusual will be carefully reading every word, to enjoy how the author has wonderfully translated the human world into “animal-speak”! Sometimes I smiled, sometimes I grinned, and sometimes I even laughed as characters were described:
Pompey was a giant Neapolitan Mastiff with undershot teeth, a slobber problem, and a clouded left eye where he’d run into a stick.
I was armed with a Fido & Wesson; Lap had a small carton of full-cream milk.
Scenes were developed:
I tried to ease into the spirit but all I could think about was that someone might see me [sitting beside a cat]...all sorts of dogs were crammed in...Celebrities: Brad Pitbull, Mutt Damon, Benji Affleck...
It all started when two ‘weilers were found near Slinky Joe’s Sardine Cannery. They had been cut up pretty bad. Barnabus’s droopy basset jowls smirked as he told Crusher that his autopsy showed that the Rottweilers were killed by a cat!
Max McNash (Crusher to his friends), a bull terrier Detective in the slaughter unit in San Bernardo and Siamese Cassius Lap of the FBI (Feline Bureau of Investigation) from Kathattan are teamed when the killer is identified as a feral cat.
As murders continue, Max has little to go on. A security guard is the next killed and then a man who worked at Chumps, where pet food is made! There seemingly was no relationship between any of those who had been killed. Little by little however, Cassius was developing a theory, one that might reach into the police department itself and even higher! And even though Max hated to admit it, he was slowly growing to admire and respect Lap, even if he did use trigger commands like “Stay” and “Good” to get Max’s support.
For no matter who was dying, somebody was responsible for how the cat had been changed into this “killing machine!”
This book is great! A fun read for animal lovers especially. For those that enjoy satire of governmental plots—it’s in there! But...wait until you read why the cat killed all the dogs!
Seriously, The Unscratchables by Cornelius Kane is a great mystery and I love great mysteries...but this “new breed” of cops starring Max and Cassius is, hopefully, the beginning of a new series. I’m wondering if the author can keep his wordplay up for more books! What say you, Mr. Kane?
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