Our Heavenly Father eternally speaks The Word, expressing Himself, His Love, His Truth, with this one Word. The love between them: the Holy Spirit. The Father loved us so much that the Word became flesh and dwelt among us, redeeming us, providing salvation, with the Holy Spirit being sent for the forgiveness of sin by way of flooding us with sanctifying grace, making us members of the Body of Christ. The Immaculate Virgin’s Divine Son wants to give us a gift to our Heavenly Father through, with and in Himself.
I’ve had a number of chats with the Bishop about a wide range of topics of late. And just yesterday afternoon, I went to have a chat with my Vicar Forane, the bishop’s rep in these far West counties of the the Western North Carolina Diocese. Lots of good encouragement and lots of good priestly fraternity with both.
The first thing, however, and just to say, that my Vicar Forane did was to present me with a donkey he had gone out of his way to acquire for me in the Holy Land. “Because you’re such an ass,” he said, laughing. Mind you, I had requested just such a donkey. I recall, as well, that is an honor to be a jackass, at least when one’s burden is Christ Jesus Himself. Saint Augustine answered the complaints of one his charges who was feeling particularly inept in this way: “Asinus es, sed Christum portas” (You are a jackass, but you carry Christ). I love that.
I’ve never met the Honorable Mark Meadows or Beverly, but they are now family as far as I’m concerned. I’ve been trying to get something about dad’s wartime years for decades, it all having disappeared in the vicissitudes of life. No one could get anything, not even friends of friends working the archives. But Rep. Meadows and Bev were successful. The first notification, the listing of medals, came in just now. I hope there is more available. Obviously, I don’t know the half of it. My patriotism is confirmed again.
I am overwhelmed. This is all quite the revelation to me. I’d like to write some posts about those medals against the backdrop of the man I knew as dad. But below is just my first overall reaction to my dad, the hero. He didn’t get the Medal of Honor, but on multiple other occasions he almost did with another four medals just below the Medal of Honor a couple of which are exceedingly rare for field officers who are not Generals. He didn’t get a medal for a record number of planes shot down as a fighter-attack pilot, but some of the missions he was given were obviously freakishly important, with the success of some part of the war effort, in no small part, riding on whether he would be successful. He got a Battle-Wounded Purple Heart. And, I only find out now, he was also in the Europe-Africa-Middle East Campaign. I had thought he was all Pacific based. What special mission did they spirit him away to do way outside of his normal theater of operations, and then back again?
Part I: the spirituality of integrity, of being a hero
- On the one hand, my dad wasn’t perfect. I know that. I’ve seen him at his worst. I’m his son. Have any of us seen ourselves at our own worst, admitting that, dealing with it, coming around, being the best because of depending on our Lord, because of knowing we can’t depend on ourselves?
- So, on the other hand, I’ve also seen dad at his best, when he learned, successfully, to depend only on our Lord. He’s always been the hero in my eyes because of victory in his personal life. In that way, he’s my example of integrity. I still remember going to the 1962 Mass with him in the early 1960s: he would smack his heart with his fist at the Confiteor: mea culpa, mea culpa, mea maxima culpa.
Part II: The instruction about my dad, the hero
Top Brass and politicians were often over to my dad’s house, George Byers Jr. There I would be, the little boy naive to the warring ways of the world. More times than I can count, they would take me aside, have me sit down, and have “The Talk” with me. “The Talk” consisted of seriously looking me in the eye and then, when I was paying serious attention, they would instruct me about my dad being a great hero, that there were a lot of things which for a thousand reasons could not be told, but I had to know that my dad was a great, great hero, and that it was an honor for me to be his son.
This one or that would write a book. This one or that would recount war stories. But they would never ask my dad for the same. They already knew his story as these things get around by witnesses who survived to tell the tale. They knew he could never say a word with any non-combatant like me around, little boy that I was.
What I don’t have…
While the generic description of why any medal is what it is is widely available, there is also a story recounted for specific medals given to specific individuals for specific actions, especially ones which are recommended only by the President of these USA. I don’t have the stories. I wish I did…
Some treats for a happy Laudie-dog and a happy Shadow-dog.
Jesus said, “Amen, I say to you, there is no one who has given up house or brothers or sisters or mother or father or children or lands for my sake and for the sake of the gospel who will not receive a hundred times more now in this present age: houses and brothers and sisters and mothers and children and lands, with persecutions, and eternal life in the age to come. (Mark 10:29-30nab)
Meanwhile I look upon dearest Charlene, retired from the State Department and long time helper of Father Gordon and godmother of Max… as my elder sister.
Today, Friday, at 11:00 AM, the central witness, by far the most important witness against McCarrick, proffered testimony to the Debriefer appointed by Pope Francis to take sworn testimony about McCarrick. Mind you, this is still December, before the February Synod.
The testimony of this witness backs up Archbishop Viganò’s testimony.
This central witness’ case is one of the ‘packages’ which I brought across the pond to give Pope Francis. This is part of the result of that trip.
This goes to the heart of the matter. Prayers, please, for a good continuation of the progress being made.
This was a great day for the Church and the world. Truly.
The parishioner who made this Flower for the Immaculate Conception was surprised when I said that that’s a really nice flower. “Huh?” she exclaimed with exasperation. “That’s a ferocious guardian angel like you’re always talking about!”
An instruction meant for just one reader: Counterintel is a kind of on-edge situational awareness. In the midst of exchanges intertwined with distracting complexities there is nothing that’s more of a gift than a gratuitous declaration or out-of-the-blue rather extraordinary demand or question. You can spot it a mile away as most probably a lie or a set up. Dig, dig, dig. It all turns out to be like BS in the snow. It’s own heat reveals it for what it is, just like a polygraph. No need for digging anymore with that which is so out of scope, especially when the examiner has reviewed all sorts of intel and so sees only further lies in the “explanations”:
I have become aware of just such a case that came to me today from about 620.99 miles away as Air America flies, or 452.37 miles as Kryptos befuddles, or, more realistically, 855.39 miles as doubled up non-responsibilities oblige. That person knows who that person is. My only question is: Why?
For the rest of readers, let’s just say this: The best declarations having integrity are to be made in confession. No lying there. After all, God doesn’t lie about His forgiveness of us either. It’s not that a fresh blanket of snow covers over the BS with an absolution (as Luther thought) but rather that the BS is removed altogether, leaving us with the life of God so flooding into us that there is no room for guilt. We are left with purity of heart and agility of soul and the declaration that does not lie, namely, that, left to ourselves we are sinners and if there is anything good with us it is only by God’s grace. If one wants integrity, there it is.
Imagine being in a prison hell-hole with no internet access, at a computer screen at your work in the prison library of incarcerated books and readers, where there is no internet access and no reference at all to that which is religious, no consolation, bleak, dreary, drudgery, depressing, the darkest of existential peripheries.
Imagine that it’s the vigil of Our Lady of Guadalupe. Imagine that it pops into your head to change the monitor background picture from nothing to some other kind of nothing, scrolling through a million secular image thumbnails as tiny as tiny can be, coming across a spectacular graffito image of Our Lady of Guadalupe, then successfully setting it as the monitor background image. You know who that happened to, don’t you?
- Penitent: “I’m not repentant.”
- Vianney: “Are you repentant of not being repentant?”
- Penitent: “Yes.”
- Vianney: “I absolve you from your sins…”
I agree entirely. We are not our fallen feelings and emotions. Our Lord graces us to repent with an act of the will even over against fallen feelings and emotions. Just because we have a cross to carry with temptation and distraction doesn’t mean we can’t at the very same time love God and be great saints!
Main State’s démarche Res ipsa loquitur My disillusioned naïveté. The darkest of existential peripheries laugh at mercy.
Part I: A document came my way from Main State the other day bearing glad tidings. If I surmise correctly, the two trouble-makers I’ve been pursuing through the Inspectors General of Main State and Liberty Crossing Campus have been removed altogether, and a third with a laughable CYA appellative has been assigned to an equally CYA position of busy work. This tells me that our new Secretary of State, Mike Pompeo, has understood and acted in an appropriate manner. Good for him. I rejoice. My patriotism is confirmed and strengthened when I see moves made that help our country. Congrats.
Part II: However, that same document, having unprecedented detail, pushed me to dig out the 1992 letter I received from Main State and take a look at it again also based on other new information, and so with fresh eyes. That letter was occasioned upon my own discovery that someone had entrenched in what looks on the surface to be illegal activities between the USA and Mexico involving the newly developing cartels while using my identity.
Sarcastic digression: I beg the indulgence of any readers who read such things here. I know it’s odd. I know that writing on such things discredits me and makes me look like a fool. I know. But writing is my way of thinking, and I would like to figure out and stop the guy who stole my identity sometime after the mid-late 1970s. He was doing the Fast and Furious thing before it was “a thing”, doing arms transfers in my name to the Sinaloa cartel just when “El Chapo” Guzman was getting his start in extreme violent takeovers that would soon paralyze the Mexican people, police, military, government, politicians, crippling any chance of Mexico having a competing economy (that latter bit being the point for these USA in facilitating pre-Fast-and-Furious activities). Just the Sinaloa cartel alone is responsible for something like 226,000 murders to date: men, women, children, infants, babies, shot, chainsawed, thrown in vats of acid, burned to death, with some of the guns having my name written all over them, some of those bullets blowing people’s heads off their shoulders or cutting them right in half having my name written all over them. These are also the darkest of existential peripheries that no one goes into. I’m trying to do that. I’d like to put a stop to it. I’m so sorry for writing about it, offending delicate ears! Soooo soooorry! // off sarcasm. Actually, the great Jason Chaffetz tried go into these darkest of existential peripheries. He wrote some 250 pages about this in his congressional oversight report, and then resigned from toothless Congress: Jason Chaffetz’ final report.
Anyway: That person who stole my identity to do up arms transfers (who I call my “Shadow”) wound up in a maximum security prison in Mexico in my name. He appealed to me, of all people, someone whom he has shot at with dozens of rifle rounds through the years, to get him out of prison with bribes to be offered preferably by the Mexican Catholic hierarchy, like a Cardinal (this request being repeated ad nauseam). With me saying that there’s zero chance of that – that it’s not good to make the Church a puppet of some murderous cartel – Cardinal Ocampo was forthwith assassinated, pumped full of bullets with the weapons shoved into his chest. No accident there. Not that there’s a connection, but the aftermath investigations by these USA[!] protected the head of the cartel my “Shadow” (as I call him) was helping to arm, with the head of that cartel by all accounts, purposes and reconstructions seeming to be the one responsible for Ocampo’s death. Ocampo, by the way, was an outspoken critic of the cartels.
What I did, instead, you know, with my not yet disillusioned naïveté, was to call our Consulate in El Paso, Texas, in the early Summer of 1992, requesting that this fellow be transferred to a prison in the USA. Maybe that small mercy would help to bring him around. I’ve been going out into the darkest of existential peripheries before being a Missionary of Mercy, before Pope Francis made it “a thing.”
You would think that the Consulate in El Paso would have zero motive for helping this “Shadow.” He deserves what he gets, right? And the U.S. government would have no interest and no bargaining power to get a favor from the Mexican government for a mere criminal element. Why bother? But those at the Consulate – laughing I’m sure – realized the opportunity they had and gave the case over to Main State in Foggy Bottom, which surprised me, as stolen identities happen by the millions (16.7 million in 2017 alone), and, all things being equal, this singular case is not worthy of our very top government officials… right? It’s just one of millions… right?
The letter and the abbreviations:
Instead, at Main State, a two page letter was drafted and sent to me. It was signed by the Consul of the United States of America, you know, the one in charge of Consular Affairs (that’s a lot of consulates around the world) and FPP, which is the Office of Fraud Prevention Programs. That’s an odd set. But when you think of it, Consulates around the world are filled with FBI and CIA who work under all sorts of covers, you know, fraudulent identities. My “Shadow” was supposed to get his own false identity under which to work, but he just stole mine, since he knew at the time that I had all my ducks in a row, having just been overseas. The involvement of FPP isn’t to go after him or any of our agents; the FPP is meant to protect them. Not only did they not have him prosecuted, but they went to get him in his prison in Mexico using my intervention as an excuse, and then set him free on the streets of El Paso. I was also told that they wouldn’t help me stop any of his fraud with my identity documents such as passports and driver licences. They said they wouldn’t help me stop any fraud with any bank accounts. In fact, they insisted that they weren’t going to track him at all, but were instead going to track me on a perpetual program which I would immediately find out was interdepartmental. In fact, when I myself tried to renew my passport not long after, the FBI and Main State together entrenched me further into this perpetual program by giving me a false passport without me asking for it. In other words, a citizen in good standing had to give up his family and life circumstances (me being a priest) so as to favor the guy who stole my identity, my “Shadow.” That’s what FPP does for CA, Consular Affairs.
Back to getting my “Shadow” out of prison:
They did this on their own using my intervention as an excuse, but I was given a contact in Main State who was at the time the Acting Chief for OCS/ARA/CCS. This goes right to the top of the heap in Main State:
- OCS – Office for Overseas Citizens Services (hand in hand with FPP above)
- ARA – Bureau of American Republics Affairs, which became Inter-American [Republics] Affairs, and is now entirely reorganized
- CCS – Office of Counter-Intelligence and Consular Support (INR/CCS). Get that? Counterintel and Consular Support? That also goes hand in hand with FPP and OCS and, in this case, “ARA.” CCS has a Director, a Deputy Director, a Consular Intelligence Coordinator, and… and… someone responsible for Foreign Disclosure and Démarche.
On the démarche thing, US Legal provides a description:
Démarche is a word coined by the diplomatic community. It refers to an oral or written diplomatic statement, containing a demand, offer, protest, threat, or the like issued by one country to another. Démarches often include threat of military consequence. They are usually precursors to hostilities or war or escalating diplomatic initiatives. For example, in September 1996, President Clinton issued a démarche to Iraqi President Saddam Hussein when intelligence reports showed troops massing along the border of Kurd communities.
In other words, in this case, a démarche would be made as to recovery of my “Shadow,” or else.
Upshot: I have a request of the Démarche coordinator, two requests actually. I’ll have to give that person a call sometime soon. Considering the result of Jason Chaffetz’ report, I realize I’m not going to get very far with the “Shadow” thing. But because all this is actually heating up right now in a number of ways, I would like to request a couple of things.
Not the first time. I can’t count the times with various blogs through the years. The note speaks of phishing and generically of “internet security” and it is not said if the blocking was by way of algorithm or by human intervention, meaning that it can be flagged because of ideological perspectives whether directly or by a thusly tweaked algorithm. Whateevveerr…
I do know that there has been quite a precise interest in a recent post on toxic clouds the other day, you know, by certain agencies. Whateevveerr…
I do know that firstly youtube and immediately after google (linex) [always in that order and in that way] have shown quite a precise interest in a certain recent post on the Congressional grilling of their CEO the other day. Whateevveerr…
At the same time, weirdly, I got a “scam call” with an odd menu, which I just ignored until, in like three more seconds, it hung up. What makes that one particular call among zillions of such calls is that my phone was set to total silence for the sake of not being disturbed at Holy Mass. No notifications. No ringing for calls. Nothing. But it rang for that call. Looking for an oral comment? Whateevveerr… Just a bug inside the phone, I’m sure. “He’s cute!” ;-)
Also, weirdly, at the same time, I got a note on privacy setting changes for just one account I haven’t used or even accessed for like seven years (and that I totally forgot about) that I created specifically to comment on a friend’s blog called jihadwatch something like ten years ago. It has an email address that I also used to bait terrorists and terrorist funding organizations at that time, but not since. That was good recreation. I learned a lot about the Qur’an from the perspective of terrorists as well. I used that for my ecclesiastical thriller novel Jackass for the Hour. I know, I have to get back to that. Anyway, with that account, I learned just how it is that I could easily work up relationships with the worst of the worst. And while people might know the exterior details of that, it’s quite another thing to know the why of it all. That takes something else than mere analysis. Anywhere, whenever you get privacy setting changes for just one of many, it seems that it’s a CYA move on a provider’s part for liberality of actions to the contrary which they’ve already taken. Whateevveerr… I’m sure whoever reads all of that will be inspired.
As I say, my life is an open book. Whateevveerr…
After the procession through town we’re back to a more domestic situation with the shrine just behind Holy Redeemer church. The flowers are placed like any basket of natura morte for painters, the ol’ last ditch effort at beauty before all goes the way of all flesh, that is, including us, kind of like a lit candle giving its all. It’s on its way out, trying its best. It might last just a bit longer still planted for flowers, still hanging on a tree for fruit, still unlit for candles, but the defiance of death to demonstrate love stronger than death is most attractive. No use playing politics, thinking we’re saving ourselves. For what? Better to let the beauty and light of Mary’s Son radiate so as to help each other be on our way to heaven with a love stronger than death, a flower for Jesus’ good mom, the Immaculate Conception.
It’s fun to have a good imagination. Let’s play “What if?”
These pictures were taken late afternoon 13 December 2018. Moving relatively quickly. Note, above, how the other surrounding, higher clouds, move away from the darker clouds in a circular fashion, pushed away by the darker clouds below. That‘s an indicator that something serious is amiss. The darker clouds aren’t dropping, but rather moving over the terrain. I’m guessing that the length of this event, from nearer to farther away, just of the darker stuff, is about a mile all told. Give it a couple of miles for the spreading of the upper clouds. Give it more for whatever effect on the ground. Remember, these are moving relatively quickly. I was really fumbling to get my camera in traffic as I didn’t want to just let them fly by. They are roiling and boiling but staying together.
At first glance I thought these were clouds of trillions of starlings. If you’ve ever seen the shows they put on – common in Rome, Italy – you would know what I mean. But these didn’t have the ever changing shapes of starling acrobatics. You’ll notice that there seems to be a more concentrated opaque center of the “clouds” with a weird semi-transparent “net” – if you will – draped over the opaqueness. But, let’s look closer:
The outer “net” is not liquid, like rain, as it defies gravity, and equally surrounds the center both below and above, all around, like roiling boiling fumes, not H20 based, with H20 opaqueness, but more like gasoline fumes that roil and boil and are transparent, providing a more blotchy appearance. What you’re looking at is not the wispiness of H20 clouds, but the the messiness of roiling boiling fumes. Let’s tweak the raw picture a bit to make it darker:
This is just 50 miles as-the-toxic-cloud-flies from Oak Ridge, TN, with all of their testing sites. These were coming from exactly that direction. This defies further description. By the time I got home, just a stone’s throw away, these darker clouds had already raced away.
That’s the entertainment of imagination for the day. I’m sure there’s a name for such meteorological formations for both upper lighter and lower darker clouds, something like “downburst” or some such ill fitted name. There was no down and no burst. All was at a dead calm. I’m sure there’s a reason why the wispiness did not have H20 opaqueness but was transparent and not at all wispy, but rather roiling and boiling. I’m sure there’s a reason why they were flying relatively quickly.
It’s just that I’ve never seen anything like this in clouds since I was born. Anyway, if these were toxic and just a test, there’s no reason to question it. After all, there’s no one important who lives in these remote mountains, right? //off sarcasm
Again, just my fun imagination.
Everything is absolutely always and in every way collected. Turn off your phone, take out the battery and sim-card, and twice as much info is sent to google the second you turn on your phone. You can’t actually turn off your phone. There’s a second battery for emergency purposes. You can always call 911 regardless of no main battery and no sim card and no contract. Your phone always collects your location in extreme detail, such as logging when you are in your car or just stepped outside of your car. That google capitalizes on this is a bit over the top.
Anyway, certainly when your phone is on all speech is instantaneously turned into text and analyzed – for marketing, of course – and this works spectacularly. I mention one thing in a non-phone conversation and it instantaneously shows up in search results and especially in YouTube suggestions. Awesome, but a bit creepy and invasive. One objection I have is the storage on google-servers of privileged conversations.
- Imagine: business deals and insider information. Lots of power and money there.
- Imagine: attorney-client privilege. Lots of power and control there.
- Imagine: doctor-patient privilege. Lots of power and messing around there.
- Imagine: Counselor-client privilege. Lots of power of manipulation there.
- Imagine: NSA, CIA, FBI et other alphabet agencies analogously making stuff available…
- Imagine: Priest-Penitent Seal of Confession privileges…
There should be law regulating possession of a phone anywhere near a Confessional or anywhere near any Sacramental Confession wherever it is, both on the Confessor’s part and on the part of the Penitent. Pockets or purses don’t work. Really. Not.
Getting ready for the 1.6 mile procession through town to Holy Redeemer Catholic Church in Andrews, NC, in honor of Our Lady of Guadalupe.
Even while people were lining up in preparation for the start, some of our Military vets needed a sword ceremony updating for the Knights of Columbus.
We were assisted with blue-lighting by our local police. Thank you! That saved us a number of times in some of the more curvy double-yellow lined back streets.
How could one not dance in such circumstances? It’s said that the image on the Tilma tells the story that even our Lady was dancing a bit.
The above procession started in the evening and ended at night, after which we had Holy Mass and then a feast in the social hall. Really good.
Earlier, we had las mañanitas a la Virgen de Guadalupe starting at 5:00 AM during which I heard Confessions. We had Mass at 6:00 AM as well. A beautiful day.
Oh, and yes, here are those flowers for the Immaculate Conception in our tiny church:
Enter yet another self-proclaimed CIA guy in my life (it seems like a daily affair). He’s urging me to spill my guts on a certain national security issue to – of all people – a certain MI6 guy, whose name is […] [Ooops! That would be an unmasking.] I looked up the MI6 guy some weeks ago by way of his public cover. An unmistakable face you can’t ever forget. It instantly burns itself into one’s front-burner memory.
Just now, YouTube, of course, put in front of me a boring panel discussion of a top-rated Federally funded think-tank physically housed for decades next to the White House. What I found interesting was not the topic, but rather the face of one of the presenters.
For all intents, purposes and plastic surgery reconstructions, the MI6 guy is coincidentally just like the think-tank guy on all levels: same age, same ultra-weird interests, same political persuasion, same moral outlook, same geographic assignments in the world (in this case impossibly difficult), same hair problems, same hair reconstruction fixes, same exact facial features, same plastic surgery failed fixes right through the years and all at the same time [impossible to hide], same neck features[!], same ears, etc., etc., etc., even the same physical gesturing when speaking (just toned down slightly but really hard to hide the subtleties as this belongs to entrenched neuro-behaviors), same type of prolific publishing on the exact same topics, same ol’ same ol’ in the finest detail, with both of them publicly supporting each other’s works and interests (an interesting self-promotion). Goodness gracious! Such coincidences! Oh, there is one difference: one has a contrived accent, the other doesn’t. Regardless of the truth of any lifestyle, any lifestyle accents are really easy (as there is no standard outside of all of them being contrived), and are therefore excellent covers of one’s real accent since, in this politically correct society, no one would question why someone would sound like, you know, like that. Anyway, all “three” of these people would know each other and freely admit that they do.
When I objected to spying on the U.S. through a friendly nation, the original CIA guy didn’t know what to do except to say that he thought it was all legal since I’m just asking a certain question out of interest as a private citizen with answers for all I know based on, you know, kind-of-perhaps-maybe public knowledge. Sorry. You won’t see me going overseas or to D.C. to speak to any such person.
For some years I’ve been harassed by who? I didn’t know. Until now. It sounded like they were after some sort of ransom for someone called […] who doesn’t have an internet footprint at all. Zero. Zilch. Nothing. Not that that necessarily means anything.
Phone calls and phone calls and phone calls. Is this a “protection racket” as in racketeering, as in RICO? Whatever. Not getting anywhere with me, the collection monsters gave it over to their bosses, and this time I was called with a new phone number. I looked up the new number. There’re a zillion complaints about this “kind of a bank”, kind of, from Canada, specializing it seems in nothing much but a kind of it seems to be loan-sharking. You might recall that the Clinton Foundation uses a bank in Canada. If I recall correctly, Canadian banks seem to be out of the reach of American subpoenas. Anyway, whether it’s a scam bank or a real bank is always hard to tell. Is there ever a difference?
I don’t owe anyone anything anywhere, ever. That’s my policy. It goes along with not taking gifts from, you know, special people. I have my reasons.
Finally, one can bait the baiter-scamers. It may go on for many years, but finally things come out. Just speak politely, but with a rather bold voice, bold enough, mind you, to bait them into a response that they did not expect to give. ;-) The results of my baiting the baiters have me recall a certain picture that was sent to me recently:
It this is true, it seems to confirm that my “Shadow” is in fact still using my identity as best he can. If there are crimes being committed, it’s not looking good for my “Shadow.” On the other hand, such nastiness would be great cover for him. By extension, it’s not looking good for Main State and the FBI, who further entrenched me under a certain program that favors my “Shadow” continuing under my identity. I never agreed to that program and have been wanting off ever since it started decades ago.
As soon as I got these steaks on dry ice anonymously in the mail, I put up a note saying that my absolute policy is not to take gifts from intel. I have that policy because it happens, a lot. If something arrives from the ol’ anonymous person, into the trash it goes unless they fess up. In this case, after a grace period, no one has. So, there it goes, into the trash. Here are the pictures starting with them being placed in a trash bag:
And then into the city trash bin:
I’m sure I’ll hear about it just as soon as they are thawed out, saying what a fool I am, that those were from so and so friend of mine. Too bad, that. You had your chance to fess up.
“Procedures only work if you follow them every time.”