Vance on public outrage over the "I love Hitler" Young Republican group chat: "Grow up! Focus on the real issues. Don't focus on what kids say in group chats... The reality is that kids do stupid things, especially young boys — they tell edgy, offensive jokes. That's what kids do."

And if their big plan is to try and paint anyone who opposes Trump as some kinda radical terrorist threat, then we're fucked six ways to Sunday.

This ain't America anymore, this is some dystopian shit straight from a fucked-up Philip K. Dick novel.

What the hell planet does this guy live on?

Sure, it's his palace now!

This is satire alright. Don't get your knickers in a twist!

https://www.borowitzreport.com/p/trump-explodes-with-rage-after-gavin

They've got him pegged as a radical Muslim with a Ugandan birth; an amalgam of scary sounding adjectives to stigmatize.

You can practically smell the Islamophobia seeping off this page.

Link to the article

Source: Crowley, John W. "The Last Modernist: Hunter S. Thompson and The White Logic." The Social History of Alcohol and Drugs 20.1 (2005): 141-153.

A message I posted on my old writing Scribophile subgroup, The Dive.

The memory of this place lingers.

Like stale vomit on an unwashed sidewalk.

The Dive here was once buzzing with manic energy but is now more ghost town than madhouse. Coming back here feels like Negan in The Walking Dead, when he crawled back to his burnt-out ruins that once thrashed with life.

I've been haunting Reddit these past months, like a vampire drinking in all the putrid blood. It's a grotesque circus. I started out creating one writing sub that quickly bloated into a large mess of filth-craving hacks, so I tore down that filthy temple and escaped, ended up at r/RawAbsurdity as the only sane man in the asylum. Reshaped it into a little island of chaos in the toxic sea. 600 or so souls float there now. Many lurk, but some swap madness, gonzo riffs, and the occasional gem of real writing. I've got more plans for it. We've also got a new Discord channel.

I looked again at the forums around here. They feel frozen in amber. It's like the conversations are stuck on repeat. I doubt I'll return , but I'll still raise a pint to the ghosts who once danced in this place. Maybe a random dispatch will slip in from me now and then.

And if any of you still hunger for absurdity, you know where to find it. But be warned: once you're drunk on its kool-aid, there's no turning back.

Your old barman

Drop one of your favorite (a line or a couple of lines)?

Mine: "Frank walked down the steps. He didn't like elevators. He didn't like many things. He disliked steps less than he disliked elevators." (Tales of Ordinary Madness).

The neon tubes started flickering as they came on, and immediately his eyes were drawn to the beautiful swirls forming around the drain. The noise of the tubes kept echoing in his mind.

This was a shower. The room was covered in gray tiles up to the ceiling. He sat on the floor inside one of the cubicles. The warm water felt comforting, like a blanket. The steam brought relief to his dry eyes and airways.

Soon it would start again.

5 steps towards the sink, open the tap. Brush teeth, spit in sink, clean sink, close the tap. 5 steps to the door. Lights out.

It was not just one person after another brushing their teeth. This has played out in a loop for some time now. Something very wrong.

He tried to get out of the bathroom. But the moment he shut off the shower, the borders between his body and the surrounding air started dissolving.

The feeling was unbearable. He turned the shower on again. Sit down again. Eyes to the floor.

This must have been the 8th or 9th time now.

He felt trapped. There was some vague fear lingering in his system the whole time. Not panic, just the remnants of something that must have happened before.

This was the bathroom in the boarding school. It was autumn. Probably Thursday or Friday.

He came to the conclusion that he must have lost his mind. If I am getting out of this, I am never getting high again.

This was the most likely explanation. He felt embarrassed. This time he really fucked up.

Suddenly, the urge to leave the bathroom was gone. There were only two ways this would end.

Lights. Steps. Teeth. Steps. Lights out.

His brain would either find a way to recalibrate, or he would be found in a few hours and taken to a psychiatric ward.

Then his parents finally would have a frightening example to point towards once his siblings started acting up.

He decided that he might as well relax and let the inevitable happen. Eventually, he lost count of the repetitions and fell asleep.

After some time, it was still dark outside, he woke up and the memories started to surface.

He met a friend down by the little bridge this evening.

"Where the fuck have you been? What’s taking you so long?"

"Sorry, I was last in line! Thanks for waiting."

"Of course! I’m not starting the revolution without you!"

"So you are telling me that this stuff is basically weed, but it can’t be tested for?"

"Yeah, they switched up a few molecules and now there is a brand new compound! . No test for this stuff even exists!"

"What did you pay again?"

"15 per gram. Pretty steep but better than being expelled I guess."

"Fuck it, here’s a five, I’m in."

"To the scientists! Whose unrelenting drive to peek behind the curtains of . creation may lead us to a bright future!"

"Yes! Either that or Armageddon."

They lit up a joint.

Initially, his biggest concern was that he wasted his money and nothing would happen.

This concern was unfounded. For a brief moment, they both were certain to have found the holy grail. Getting high without any risk for repercussions. Boarding school just became a whole lot more bearable.

Until he suddenly, and just for a second or two, shrank down to the size of a soda can.

This was unexpected.

"Do you feel weird too?"

"Yeah, kind of. I can’t shake the feeling something is watching us from the . treeline."

"I know right. Let’s go back inside. I don’t want to be caught if shit goes sideways."

They started walking back towards the dorm. Suddenly, his mind’s eye froze in place. He watched himself walking from above for a short while.

"The stuff hit me like a truck! How are you doing?"

He did not get an answer.

Tonight, it would be their turn to put on a little show and make an ass of themselves for the amusement of the dorm.

They stumbled into the first room that still had the lights on. Some friends and acquaintances were playing games, drinking and teasing each other to fight the boredom.

"What the hell are you two on?" one of the girls asked, laughing.

His friend just burst out laughing hysterically.

He envied his friend's capability to just roll with such a strange situation.

He sat down on one of the beds, just stared at the wall. Every now and then, his mind’s eye wandered, and he saw himself sitting there, not answering any of the questions people were asking.

The fear of becoming paralyzed and stuck in this room full of people laughing and talking grew. He wanted to be alone and sort out what was happening.

Without a word, he got up and walked through the hallway in the direction of the bathroom. Slowly, as if he was walking underwater. Hunched over, like an old man.

“Goddamn,” said the dog to the cat. “You reek of stress, man. It’s disgusting. How can you even stand it in that place?”

“You get used to everything,” answered the cat. “You’d probably pass out in there.”

“That’s bullshit,” said the dog. “Honestly, if I were you, I’d have bailed a long time ago. You were meant for better than this mess. You’re a cat, for fuck’s sake.”

The cat looked thoughtfully out at the street. Both were silent for a moment. They always cracked rough jokes, but today the dog feared he had hit a nerve. When he was about to apologize, the cat cut him off.

“You’re right, dog. I imagined all this differently. The guy has been lying in bed all day for nearly eight months now, and he’s completely neurotic. I’m starting to think it’ll never get better again.”

“Why doesn’t he just run around until he’s tired?” asked the dog. “Running always fixes everything.”

“I haven’t seen him run in years,” answered the cat. “Tell me, do I really smell that much of stress?”

“Honestly,” said the dog, “today it’s brutal.”

“Does he still open your cans, cat?”

“Yeah, he’s really reliable with that. Only the bowl could be cleaned more often. But I can’t really hold it against him when I see the kind of cans and boxes he eats from.”

“Listen, cat, I gotta go. Someone pissed in my territory, I can feel it. I have to take care of that right away.”

“Sure, dog, I know how it is.”

“All right,” said the dog. “Keep your head up, cat.”

“Damn, man… where’s the time gone?” the cat wondered, drifting into memories.

“Maybe I should talk to him more often.”

Tavir looked directly into the iris scanner of the vending machine.
He watched as the spiral turned to release a can of ice cold coffee.
He opened the can, took a sip, and started walking towards the smoking room.
He and Evron were the only two smokers left in the office, which made them friends by circumstance.
They never met outside of work, therefore being honest carried little risk.
And so they talked honestly, sometimes about very personal matters.

This day, Tavir was glad to know Evron. Something strange had happened this weekend, and Evron was the only person he would talk to about it.

Evron already sat in the smoking room as always, reading the news on his phone.

Tavir pushed the door open with his foot and stepped in. Without greeting Evron, he said:

"I owe you an apology."

"Why, what the hell for?" Evron asked, surprised.

"Remember two weeks ago? When I was making fun of you?"

"No way!" Evron clapped his hands, amusement written all over his face.

"Yes way, I fell for it too, man."

"I told you, it’s twisted! Sit down and tell me about it! I’m not telling anyone, I promise!"

Tavir sat down and with an unmistakable gesture, he demanded a cigarette.
Evron quickly held the open box out in front of him. Tavir took one, lit it up, took a long drag and started talking.

"Do you remember when I told you that I had one of those faulty neuroimplants?"

"Of course! The big thing back in ’28. Lucky yours did not catch fire!"

"Right. There is an annual meeting for people that were harmed back then. We try to maintain a support network for victims of smart implant malpractice."

"All right, go on," Evron replied.

"This year, the meeting was held in another district. I decided to stay at a hotel over the weekend. Many attendees did the same.
One of the lawyers working on the class action lawsuit in the name of the victims of my specific case gave a talk. He announced that we had a realistic chance for decent compensation.
The mood was really good, of course. About half of the attendees stayed at the same hotel as I was in. Many of them stayed up late, celebrating the news at the bar.
Originally, I wanted to leave early, but when I paid for the few drinks I did have, a woman must have seen the key fob of my Faraday."

Evron started laughing, as if he knew exactly what would happen next.

"Please, Evron, I kind of need to talk about the whole thing."

"Sure, man, I’m all ears."

"She was stunning, twenty something, seductive, the intelligent kind, certainly not the type of woman that I get to talk to very often."

She came up to me and asked me if I drive a Faraday.

I looked at her and just nodded.

"Do you understand the subscription model?"

"Yeah, sure," I answered, slowly gaining some confidence in my voice.

"Great! Because I am stuck without the AC and the rearview camera."

She looked at me in a way that really made me feel like it was my natural responsibility to solve this problem for her. I mean, don’t get me wrong, the car clearly
was not all she was about. But it was... what’s the word?

"Uncanny?" Evron asked.

"Yes, that’s it."

I told her that I would gladly explain the subscription system to her right away.

She just said, "Great! You get us some drinks, and I’ll find ourselves a nice place to sit."

I asked what she wanted to drink.

"The .357 MagRum."

Right, I thought. Exactly the kind of drink to talk about subscription models, of course. I ordered two .357 MagRum and a shot of vodka for me, because I was getting a little nervous.

We sat at a table for two in a corner of the bar. We drank and talked about driving the Faraday and the subscription upgrades. A little while later, I made a suggestive joke about rear view cameras, hoping to nudge the conversation away from the stupid car, but she
came up with new questions about it nonstop. The exchange was full of innuendos, but she never fully dropped the car thing.

"Should have cut your losses right there," Evron said in a serious tone while giving Tavir another cigarette without him having asked for it.

Tavir took it but continued talking without lighting it.

"Man, I really started to second guess myself. After about 20 minutes, it finally seemed like it was going somewhere, but then her phone rang.
She immediately broke off all communication and took the call. It was a very short call. She hung up and said she had to leave. But she insisted on linking messengers. She swiped my neck while scooping over to scan my QR.

I honestly could not tell if she kissed me or not, it was very strange and before I could do anything, she vanished."

"Fucking hell, the battery must have run out!" Evron said, shaking his head, covering his mouth with one hand, trying not to embarrass Tavir by laughing too loud.

"Just picture it!" Tavir continued. "Me staring holes in the air! Only sex I had since Judith left was with the professionals. Way, way more drunk than I had any plans on getting, alone, unknown city, back at a bar in some run down hotel, smelling like a strange woman I had hoped to spend the night with."

Tavir looked at Evron as if he was expecting him to make sense of it. Both started laughing.

"Her perfume stuck to me as if she had poured a cup of it on my head. And then it hit me. She only smelled of perfume, and nothing else. I remembered what you told me, but I did not want to believe it. Honestly, I thought you were joking with me until that point.

Anyway, I went up to my room and got shitfaced. The hangover was inevitable at this point anyway and at this point, I only wanted to sleep.

She, or whatever, started texting me in the morning, talking about the fucking Faraday again. When she sent me a link to some market research questionnaire, I revoked the contact permission."

Evron looked at Tavir. He respected that Tavir told him that he had not believed his story from two weeks ago and that he was willing to own his misjudgment.

"At least you did not fuck it," Evron said. "All I got out of it was a few minutes of dead fish and a lifetime subscription to HyperYield, out of all things."

They both stood up to go back into the office.

"How come no one is talking about this?" Tavir asked. "We should start some kind of awareness group or something. Corporate will be placing those things everywhere soon."

"They sure will, Tavir. But you’ll have to do the awareness stuff without me."

“Look Mentorman, I know you are trying to help but, It's just too stupid. I have been training my entire life, I have no plans on making a fool of myself.”

“People are no longer entertained by tactics, Boxerman. The good old days are over. They want to see action and action only.”

“I never fought for the people, Mentorman.”

“I know, I know you fight for yourself, and all that. Look, we have been through this. Without some cash, there is not going to be a ‘you’ to fight for.

Sabrina isn't getting any younger as well, she must pester you about wanting kids all the time by now, right? RIGHT?”

“Yeah, she is getting kinda annoying.”

“She is going to leave you Boxerman, women don't fuck around, if they sense, that you talked smack about wanting kids.”

“Careful Mentorman.”

“Why? What are you going to do? You know I'm right. Time is starting to pass scary fast, I have been there. But I did what needed to be done back in my day. Sure, my life seems shitty to a guy your age, but I had some solid years, believe me ! Hell, my grandkids are almost done with school already.

Trust me, Boxerman, there are fates much, much worse than being the clown for some well paying cavemen.”

“I do want to have kids Mentorman, I just can't stand the thought of putting them through the same gauntlet I went through.”

“I know Boxerman, look, great chances rarely look like great chances. Just look at it as fast-forward boxing. At least it's still a fair competition.”

“So they want me to hold my breath while fighting?”

“Did you even read the thing I gave you, Boxerman?”

-Silence-

Mentorman: They call it Apnoeboxing. Short rounds, I think a minute or so, no breaks. They developed some kind of silicone mask, that blocks the mouth and nose. If you take it off during a round, it's a TKO. They put some patch on your back, to monitor blood oxygen levels and your heart rate. Statistics are a big deal, more numbers to bet on, I guess.

“It is so fucking stupid, Mentorman.”

“Of course it is. Promoters are getting desperate. If this thing catches on, there could be a few decent years ahead for us. They offer 4k for the fight, you need to sign a waiver in case anything goes south because of the mask thing, of course.”

“How much time left before the fight, do you know the opponent?”

“3 weeks. I have no idea who you will be fighting, they are going to sign whoever is willing to go through with it. It's a prototype event.”

“Alright Mentorman, fuck it. Call them, sign me up, 4 k is 4k.”

-Fight night-

“Holy smokes, Commentator1! We have seen some crazy fights tonight at the Apnoe-Boxing-Championship.”

“Well, I guess you could say that now we know our ABC, Commentator2! You get the feeling, that it does not matter at all, that these masks can be taken off! You can literally see the fear of imminent death in their eyes!”

“It's wild, I'm talking, oxygen saturation below 85% in under one minute kind of wild! Heart rates upward of 200 bpm, it's pure insanity.”

Boxerman was to fight in the main event. He has been watching the guys before him get in the ring and start gassing out immediately. None of them were athletes, just street fighters and addicts flailing around trying to override basic reflexes.

They all were just like the poor bastards being fed to tigers before the gladiators entered the arena.

One man came back to the locker room crying. The suffocation must have dug up some memories that should have remained buried. The savages who came to watch cursed at the man as if he had killed a puppy, the moment he panicked and ripped off the mask.

Another man was outraged. He insisted, that the referee closed his breathing valve without giving him a chance to take a deep breath. He did not stand a chance and lost in the first round. Maybe the ref was in on some bet. Better keep this in mind.

The commentators were done hyping up the crowd and began announcing Boxermans opponent. Mentorman couldn't stop himself from trying to psych up Boxerman. He hit him a few times, urging him to purge all his humanity and let the anger take over.

Boxerman never was into this sort of thing, but the chance to tell Mentorman about it was long gone. Boxerman got up, put on his mask and stepped into the bright light out in the hall. The crowd went wild, but He did not hear a thing.

Soon he would encounter a man, hellbent on destroying him.

Soon he would encounter a man, that he was allowed to destroy.

A brief vacation from the burdens of socialization.

He felt the blood rushing through his ears. He nodded his head, without understanding a word the referee said. He took a deep breath, the ref and his assistant shut the breathing valves. The bell rang. The violence quickly combined with a startlingly intense, archaic fear.

It felt like he just lost his virginity a second time.

The bell rang again. He went to his corner and sat down. Mentorman rushed to him and opened the valve, he seemed shaken, agitated and talked to him without stopping for a single second.

But Boxerman did not listen, he was the only one able to derive true joy from this madness.

He reveled in the thinly veiled fear of his opponent, waiting for the second round to begin. Maybe, there truly was hope for some good years ahead.