A Story

Finch:

You've Information for us?

V:

No, you already have The Information. 

All the names and dates are inside your head. 

What you want, what you really NEED, is A Story.

Finch:

A Story can be True or False.

V:

I leave such Judgments to YOU, Inspector.

 

On the morning of September 11, 2001, 19 men armed with boxcutters directed by a man on dialysis in a cave fortress halfway around the world using a satellite phone and a laptop directed the most sophisticated penetration of the most heavily-defended airspace in The World, overpowering the passengers and the military combat-trained pilots on 4 commercial aircraft before flying those planes wildly off course for over an hour without being molested by a single fighter interceptor.

These 19 hijackers, devout religious fundamentalists who liked to drink alcohol, snort cocaine, and live with pink-haired strippers, managed to knock down 3 buildings with 2 planes in New York, while in Washington a pilot who couldn’t handle a single engine Cessna was able to fly a 757 in an 8,000 foot descending 270 degree corskscrew turn to come exactly level with the ground, hitting the Pentagon in the budget analyst office where DoD staffers were working on the mystery of the 2.3 trillion dollars that Defense Secretary Donald Rumsfeld had announced “missing” from the Pentagon’s coffers in a press conference the day before, on September 10, 2001.

Luckily, the news anchors knew who did it within minutes, the pundits knew within hours, the Administration knew within the day, and the evidence literally fell into the FBI’s lap. But for some reason a bunch of crazy conspiracy theorists demanded an investigation into the greatest attack on American soil in history.

The investigation was delayed, underfunded, set up to fail, a conflict of interest and a cover up from start to finish. 

It was based on testimony extracted through torture, the records of which were destroyed. 

It failed to mention the existence of WTC7, Able Danger, Ptech, Sibel Edmonds, OBL and the CIA, and the drills of hijacked aircraft being flown into buildings that were being simulated at the precise same time that those events were actually happening. 

It was lied to by the Pentagon, the CIA, the Bush Administration and as for Bush and Cheney…well, no one knows what they told it because they testified in secret, off the record, not under oath and behind closed doors. 

It didn’t bother to look at who funded the attacks because that question is of “little practical significance“. 

Still, the 9/11 Commission did brilliantly, answering all of the questions the public had (except most of the victims’ family members’ questions) and pinned blame on all the people responsible (although no one so much as lost their job), determining the attacks were 

“a failure of imagination” 

because 

“I don’t think anyone could envision flying airplanes into buildings ” 

except the Pentagon and FEMA and NORAD and the NRO.

The DIA destroyed 2.5 TB of data on Able Danger, 

but that’s OK because it probably wasn’t important.

The SEC destroyed their records on the investigation into the insider trading before the attacks, 

but that’s OK because destroying the records of the largest investigation in SEC history is just part of routine record keeping.

NIST has classified the data that they used for their model of WTC7’s collapse, 

but that’s OK because knowing how they made their model of that collapse would “jeopardize public safety“.

The FBI has argued that all material related to their investigation of 9/11 should be kept secret from the public, 

but that’s OK because the FBI probably has nothing to hide.

This man never existed, nor is anything he had to say worthy of your attention, and if you say otherwise you are a paranoid conspiracy theorist and deserve to be shunned by all of humanity. 

Likewise him, him, him, and her. (and her and her and him).

Osama Bin Laden lived in a cave fortress in the hills of Afghanistan, 

but somehow got away. 

Then he was hiding out in Tora Bora 

but somehow got away. 

Then he lived in Abottabad for years, taunting the most comprehensive intelligence dragnet employing the most sophisticated technology in the history of the world for 10 years, 

Releasing video after video with complete impunity 

(and getting younger and younger as he did so),
Before finally being found in a daring SEAL team raid 

Which wasn’t recorded on video, 

in which he didn’t resist or use his wife as a human shield, 

and in which these crack special forces operatives panicked and killed this unarmed man, supposedly the best source of intelligence about those dastardly terrorists on The Planet.

Then they dumped his body into The Ocean before telling anyone about it. 

Then a couple dozen of that team’s members died in a helicopter crash in Afghanistan.

This is the story of 9/11, brought to you by the media which told you the hard truths about JFK and incubator babies and mobile production facilities and the rescue of Jessica Lynch.

If you have any questions about this story…you are a batshit, paranoid, tinfoil, dog-abusing baby-hater and will be reviled by everyone. 

If you love your country and/or freedom, happiness, rainbows, rock and roll, puppy dogs, apple pie and your grandma, you will never ever express doubts about any part of this story to anyone. Ever.

This has been a public service announcement by: the Friends of the FBI, CIA, NSA, DIA, SEC, MSM, White House, NIST, and the 9/11 Commission. 

Because Ignorance is Strength.

Ha. Fake Laugh. Hiding Real Pain.

Interview With A Murderer (True Crime Documentary) | Real Stories

"Hahaha uhhh - I did not kill Carl Bridgewater, 

and I will prove to you I did not" 

Cut to title

INTERVIEW WITH A MURDERER

Criminologist Professor David Wilson conducts a series of revealing interviews with convicted murderer Bert Spencer. Although never charged, Bert is widely suspected of killing newspaper delivery boy Carl Bridgewater in 1978 – a crime he has always denied. 

The crime is one of Britain’s most infamous unsolved murder cases, not only because it involved the brutal cold-blooded killing of a young boy, but also because the case became embroiled in controversy when the four armed robbers who had been sent to prison for Carl’s murder - the ‘Bridgewater Four’ - had their convictions overturned some 20 years later when a great miscarriage of justice was identified: one of their confessions had been forged by the police. In another twist, Bert was convicted less than a year later for the murder of farmer Hubert Wilkes – who was killed in exactly the same way as Carl – executed at point blank range with a shotgun.

Professor Wilson re-examines the evidence surrounding Carl’s murder and obtains devastating admissions from the person Bert considered to be his alibi, along with his ex-wife, both of whom break a near 40-year silence. After many hours in his company, Professor Wilson, who has worked with the some of the most violent prisoners in the country, presents his findings and impressions of Spencer directly to him. This culminates in a blistering and shocking exchange at the end of the film.

Her Very CONSCIOUSNESS Has Been Violated!

When no one listens to you, or you feel no one's listening to you, all sorts of things start to happen.

For instance you have so much pain inside yourself that you try and hurt yourself on the outside because you want Help, but it's the wrong Help you're asking for. People see it as crying wolf or attention-seeking, and they think because you're in the media all the time you've got enough 'attention', inverted commas.

But I was actually crying out because I wanted to get better in order to go forward and continue My Duty and my role as Wife, Mother, Princess of Wales.

So yes, I did inflict upon myself. I didn't LIKE myself, I was ashamed because I couldn't cope with the pressures.

"She could have broken me in Half" 

- Star Trek Picard [HD] Episode 7

This isn't something that a Ship's Counsellor is supposed to SAY, but -- YOU Had it COMING.

Do you have ANY idea what that Young Woman has been through?

What she's going through now..?

What the Romulans did to her...?

To you, the idea that All of This could be some kind of subterfuge or simulation is preposterous -- but to her, it would be More of The Same.

You KNOW You're Real -- but SHE has no reason to believe that, she has no reason to believe that she HERSELF is Real : Her Capacity to Trust was a FLAW in Her PROGRAMMING.

She's been manipulated, tortured -- 

Her very CONSCIOUSNESS has been violated."

Paranoid Weirdos : Government is Good for You

OSCAR :

Constance is such a natural mother, she's invited Robbie into the nest while his parents are abroad. 

Robbie is Canadian. 

You can tell by his youth. 

SPHINX :

Have you been brought to England to mature, Mr Ross? 

ROBBIE ROSS :

That was the idea. 

But it doesn't seem to be working. 

I've lived here since I was three and you see the pitiful result. 

OSCAR :

Robbie comes from a long line of Imperial Governors. 

His grandfather was Prime Minister of Upper Canada. 

Or was it Lower Canada? 

The British take their class system wherever they go. 

They apply it even to continents. 

SPHINX :

Are you planning to Govern a Continent? 

ROBBIE ROSS :

Oh, no. I don't even plan to govern myself.

"This is a film about how ALL of Us have become Richard Nixon.

Just like him, we have all become paranoid weirdos.

It's the story of how Television and Newspapers DID this to Us,

and how it has paralysed the ability of Politics to transform The World for The Better."

REPUTATION

BBC - How The Devil Got His Horns A Diabolical Tale

How The Devil got his bad reputation. 

For Beauty Lives with Kindness

Who is Diana? what is she,

That all our swains commend her?

Holy, fair and wise is she;

The heaven such grace did lend her,

That she might admired be.

Is she kind as she is fair?

For beauty lives with kindness.

Love doth to her eyes repair,

To help him of his blindness,

And, being help'd, inhabits there.

Then to Diana let us sing,

That Diana is excelling;

She excels each mortal thing

Upon the dull earth dwelling:

To her let us garlands bring.

"More than any other member of The Royal Family, Diana had understood what it meant to be a Princess in the 20th Century. She had reached out to those who needed help most -- what she always extended to The Poor and The Sick was a Golden Hand, without the white gloves of Royalty. Despite her position of privilege, she did not condescend or patronise -- she shared her vulnerabilities, and in doing-so, she gave people a measure of Hope in coping with their own unhappiness. By allowing people to see her personal failures, and successes, she gave them reason to believe  that they too could rise above rejection and survive, even triumph, over misfortune.

She did not dash dreams, but rather she did what Royalty is supposed  to do -- she made people feel better about themselves.

The Princess of Wales brought light into every room she entered -- which is why, people around The World suddenly felt so desolate when she was gone : They realised that they had lost someone who was truly  irreplaceable."

The Belt of Orion

FADE IN

1	EXT. CONSTELLATION OF ORION - NIGHT

Stars glitter like diamonds on the black velvet backdrop of space.
The Belt of Orion is center screen, but much nearer and larger
than ever seen by an Earth-bound astronomer.

A speck of light appears in the lower left corner of the screen.
No spaceship can be seen, but only a glowworm, a solitary sperma-
tosoan gliding through the womb of the universe. Over this we HEAR
the voice of an astronaut. He is concluding a report.

		ASTRONAUT'S VOICE
		(o.s.)
	So ends my last signal until we reach
	our destination. We are now on automatic,
	a mere hundred and five light years from
	our base ... and at the mercy of com-
	puters. I've tucked in my crew for the
	long sleep. I'll join them presently.

2	INT. CABIN OF SPACESHIP - ESTABLISHING SHOT - NIGHT

The cabin is neither cramped nor spacious, but about the size of the
President's cabin in Air Force One. In the immediate f.g. is a console
of dials and switches flanked by four chairs. Only one of the chairs
is occupied. The astronaut's back is to CAMERA. There is a ladder
amidships which leads to an escape hatch. The after Dart of the cabin
is obscured in darkness. We hear the MUSIC of a Mozart sonata emanating
	from a phonograph of stereotape. The astronaut is speaking into a
	microphone.

		ASTRONAUT
	Within the hour we shall complete
	the sixth month of our flight from
	Cape Kennedy. By our time, that is ...

He pauses, looking up at:

3	TWO LARGE CLOCKS - ON CABIN WALL

One clock is marked SELF TIME, but instead of twelve numerals it has
twenty-four. One of the needles is moving very slowly.

The other clock is labeled EARTH TIME, and its units, like those of a
	tachometer, are given by hundreds and thousands.

The largest needle of this clock makes one revolution every second.
	Over this we hear:

		ASTRONAUT'S VOICE
		(o.s.)
	But according to Dr. Hasslein theory of
	time in a vehicle traveling at close to
	the speed of light, old Mother Earth has
	aged a few thousand years since our de-
	parture -- while we have scarcely aged
	at all.

4	CLOSE ON ASTRONAUT

This is TAYLOR. He wears simple dungarees (or Churchill suit) and
	comfortable boots. He seems calm and pensive. Extracting the butt of
a cigar from the breast pocket of his dungarees, he lights it, then
	continues:

		TAYLOR
	It may be so. This much is probable: the
	men who sent us on this journey have long
	since been moldering in forgotten graves;
	and those, if any, who read this message
	are a different breed. Hopefully, a
	better one.

He begins to roll up his left sleeve.

		TAYLOR
	I leave the twentieth century without
	regret. Who was it? Marshall? ... said
	'Modern man is the missin 'a link between
	the ape and the human being.'

He removes the cigar from his mouth, turns to look out through one
of the portholes into the astral night.

		TAYLOR
	One final thought -- nothing scientific,
	purely personal. Seen from up here,
	everything looks different ... Time bends
	and space is boundless. It squashes a
	man's ego. He begins to feel like no more
	than a mote in the eye of eternity. And
	he is nagged by a question: what if any-
	thing, will greet us on the end of man's
	first journey to a star? Are we to believe
	that throughout these thousands of galaxies,
	these millions of stars, only one, that
	speck of solar dust we call Earth, has
	been graced -- or cursed -- by human life?
		(pause)
	I have to doubt it.

He extracts a hypodermic needle from his breast pocket and injects
it into the vein of his forearm. He continues speaking.

		TAYLOR
		(sardonically)
	That's about all. I wonder if Man, that
	marvel of the universe, that glorious
	paradox who has sent me to the unknown...
	still makes war against his brother., and
	lets his neighbor's children starve.

Taylor withdraws the hypodermic needle from his vein and secures it in
a drawer of the console.

		TAYLOR
	Well then, Earthmen: A missing link
	salutes you. Bless you, my descendants.

Taylor snuffs out the cigar butt and places it in the drawer beside the
	hypodermic. Then, flicking a switch Au cut off the Mozart, he rises and
looks up again at:

5	THE CLOCK MARKED EARTH TIME

The longest needle of this clock now makes nearly two revolutions per
second. The shortest needle points to the numeral 2105.

6	INT. CABIN - TRACKING WITH TAYLOR

Space scientists have presumably solved the problem of weightlessness,
for Taylor walks the short distance from; the console to the after
section without particular effort. CAMERA FOLLOWS him, and we can now
see four glass capsules, or "caskets", in the rear of the cabin. Taylor
looks down at them.

On Track for Revolution

Revolutions, Marx said, are the locomotives of history. 

‘Put the locomotive into top gear’, Lenin exhorted himself in a private note, scant weeks after October, ‘and keep it on the rails.’

But how could you keep it there if there really was only One True Way, one line, and it is blocked?

‘I have gone where you did not want me to go.’

“ In 1924, even as the vice closes around the experiment, Trotsky writes that in the world he wants, in the communism of which he dreams – a pre-emptive rebuke to the ghastly regime of bones to come – ‘the forms of life will become dynamically dramatic. The average human type will rise to the heights of an Aristotle, a Goethe, or a Marx. And above this ridge new peaks will rise’.

The specifics of Russia, 1917, are distinct and crucial. It would be absurd, a ridiculous myopia, to hold up October as a simple lens through which to view the struggles of today. But it has been a long century, a long dusk of spite and cruelty, the excrescence and essence of its time. Twilight, even remembered twilight, is better than no light at all. It would be equally absurd to say that there is nothing we can learn from the revolution. To deny that the sumerki of October can be ours, and that it need not always be followed by night.

John Reed interrupts his own narrative of Prokopovich’s speech to the Duma deputies, prevented by exasperated sailors from martyring themselves. ‘It is beneath our dignity to be shot down here in the street by switchmen,’ he records him saying. 

Then: ‘What he meant by “switchmen”, I never discovered.’ 

Louise Bryant, who was also present, likewise noted the odd word. ‘Just exactly what he meant by that was too much for my simple American brain.’

There is a probable answer in an unlikely place.

In 1917, Chaim Grade was a young child in Vilna, Lithuania. Much later, when he had become one of the world’s leading Yiddish writers, in the glossary to the English translation of his memoir Der mames shabosim – My Mother’s Sabbath Days – he records the following:

Forest Shack: Term for the switchmen’s booths along the railway tracks in the vicinity of Vilna. Before the Revolution of 1917, the area around the Forest Shacks was the clandestine meeting place for the local revolutionaries …

A nickname from a meeting place. It seems likely that the word Prokopovich deployed as epithet was a disdainful term for ‘revolutionaries’.

Prokopovich had been a Marxist. His move to liberalism paralleled that of many other heretics infected with so-called ‘Economism’, as well as that of the ‘Legal Marxists’. There was a kind of bleak rigour to their stageist dogmas, in which the epochs must succeed one another perforce, like stations along a line.

Little wonder he would scorn the Bolsheviks as switchmen. What could be more inimical to any trace of teleology than those who take account of the sidings of history? Or who even take to them?

The revolution of 1917 is a revolution of trains. History proceeding in screams of cold metal. The tsar’s wheeled palace, shunted into sidings forever; Lenin’s sealed stateless carriage; Guchkov and Shulgin’s meandering abdication express; the trains criss-crossing Russia heavy with desperate deserters; the engine stoked by ‘Konstantin Ivanov’, Lenin in his wig, eagerly shovelling coal. And more and more will come: Trotsky’s armoured train, the Red Army’s propaganda trains, the troop carriers of the Civil War. Looming trains, trains hurtling through trees, out of the dark.

Revolutions, Marx said, are the locomotives of history. ‘Put the locomotive into top gear’, Lenin exhorted himself in a private note, scant weeks after October, ‘and keep it on the rails.’

But how could you keep it there if there really was only one true way, one line, and it is blocked?

‘I have gone where you did not want me to go.’

In 1937, Bruno Schulz opens his story ‘The Age of Genius’ with a dizzying rumination on ‘events that have no place of their own in time’, the possibility that ‘all the seats within time might have been sold’.

Conductor, where are you?

Don’t let’s get excited …

Have you ever heard of parallel streams of time within a two-track time? Yes, there are such branch lines of time, somewhat illegal and suspect, but when, like us, one is burdened with contraband of supernumerary events that cannot be registered, one cannot be too fussy. Let us try to find at some point of history such a branch line, a blind track onto which to shunt these illegal events. There is nothing to fear

By the Forest Shacks are the points, the switches onto hidden tracks through wilder history.

The question for history is not only who should be driving the engine, but where. The Prokopoviches have something to fear, and they police these suspect, illegal branch lines, all the while insisting they do not exist.

Onto such tracks the revolutionaries divert their train, with its contraband cargo, unregisterable, supernumerary, powering for a horizon, an edge as far away as ever and yet careering closer.

Or so it looks from the liberated train, in Liberty’s dim light.

Listen to Your Holy Guardian Angel

“ I can’t be this big of an asshole without having The Truth to back me up; 

Otherwise I’d be a fucking NUT, doing this. 

But see, if you have The Truth with you, you can DO this. “

— Bill Hicks

The Chooser

Harry Potter - Neville's Speech Scene [HD]

 a place for you in our rank.

I'd like to say something.

Well, Neville, I'm sure we'd all be fascinated to hear what you have to say.

Doesn't matter that Harry is gone.

Stand down, Neville!

People die everyday!

Friends, family.

Yeah...

We lost Harry tonight.

He's still with us.

In here.

So as Fred, Remus...

Tonks...

All of them.

They didn't die in vain.

But you will.

Because you're Wrong!

Harry's heart did beat for us.

For all of us!

It's not over!

Confringo

Come on!

All remain into the castle.

We have to kill the snake. 

 

Earthquake at The Temple. Rocks fall.
 

SPENGLER :

Look out!

Outside Ivo Shandor Building
Rocks fall. Crowd screams.

Temple of Zuul
Voice of GOZER sounds.

GOZER The Gozarian :

Subcreatures! Gozer the Gozerian, Gozer the Destructor, Volguus Zildrohar, the Traveler, has come! Choose and perish!

RAY :
What do you mean, choose? 

We don't understand!

GOZER The Gozarian :

Choose! Choose the form of The Destruk-torr!

PETER
Whoa! I get it, I get it. 

Very cute! Whatever we think of - 

If we think of J. Edgar Hoover, J. Edgar Hoover will appear and destroy us, okay? 

So empty your heads. Empty your heads. 

Don't think of anything. 

We've only got one shot at this.


GOZER The Gozarian :

 The choice is made! The Traveler has come!

PETER
Whoa! Whoa! 

Nobody choosed anything! Did you choose anything?

EGON :No!

PETER :
Did you?

WINSTON :
My mind's totally blank!

PETER :
I didn't choose anything!

PETER, EGON and WINSTON stare at RAY

RAY :
trembling
I couldn't help it. 

It just popped in There!

PETER
What? What just popped in There?

RAY
I - I tried to think -
stomping and screaming from below
EGON
Look!

RAY
No! It can't be!

WINSTON
What is it?

RAY
It can't be!

WINSTON
What did you do, Ray?

RAY
It can't be!

WINSTON
Aw, shit!

RAY
solemnly
It's the Stay-Puft Marshmallow Man.

Outside Shandor Building
Stay-Puft Marshmallow Man stomps cars as people run and scream in terror. 

ELLEN

Q : Why Would You Be Doing This on, like, A Daytime Show....?

Because The Last Two Bastions of Faith and The Public Trust for Americans are in Celebrities, and in Technology — both of which, they worship.

See, now you KNOW that it had to have been real, because you saw it all explained to you on TV, by a Celebrity.

Bottom Woman

By now, everyone was used to me. 

I was the cousin who’s always visiting.

No one ever even asked me why that was.

bottom bitch (n.)

A bottom girl, a bottom woman or bottom bitch, sits atop the hierarchy of prostitutes working for a particular pimp. 

A bottom girl is usually the prostitute who has been with the pimp the longest and consistently makes the most money. 

Being the bottom girl gives the prostitute status and power over the other women working for her pimp. However, the bottom girl also bears many responsibilities. 

In U.S. v. Pipkins, the Eleventh Circuit described the bottom girl’s duties as "working the track in her pimp’s stead, running interference for and collecting money from the pimp's other prostitutes, and looking after the pimp's affairs if the pimp was out of town, incarcerated, or otherwise unavailable". 

Similarly, the PIP Training Manual explains the bottom girl’s obligations may include handling finances and training and recruiting other prostitutes. Bottom girls may also instruct and advise new pimps on the ways of the prostitution business. 

The Pimp Game, a published instructional guide for pimps, compares the bottom girl to a coach in the NBA, i.e. a former player who "knows the ins and outs of the game", and explains that, like the NBA coach, she is "the least paid on the team, but the one who works the hardest". 

She also has the most interaction with her pimp's prostitutes, giving them "pep talks" and keeping them in the game.

I've been a bottom bitch for 5 years.......

To persuade underage females to prostitute for them, the Defendants (and other pimps charged in the indictment) presented a vision of ostentatious living, promising fame and fortune. Pimps perpetrated this myth with their own flamboyant dress, flashy jewelry, and exotic, expensive cars. To support this apparently extravagant lifestyle, each pimp kept a stable of prostitutes with a well-defined pecking order. At the top of each pimp's organization was his "bottom girl," a trusted and experienced prostitute or female associate. Next in the pimp's chain of command was a "wife-in-law," a prostitute with supervisory duties similar to those of the bottom girl. A pimp's bottom girl or wife-in-law often worked the track in his stead, running interference for and collecting money from the pimp's other prostitutes. The bottom girl also looked after the pimp's affairs if the pimp was out of town, incarcerated, or otherwise unavailable.

The pimps also recognized a hierarchy among their own. "Popcorn pimps," "wanna-bes," and "hustlers" were the least respected, newer pimps. A "guerilla pimp" (as other pimps and prostitutes considered Moore) primarily used violence and intimidation to control his prostitutes. Others were regarded as "finesse pimps," who excelled in the psychological trickery needed to deceive juvenile females and to retain their services. Finally, "players" (apparently, in this case, Pipkins) were successful, established pimps who were well-respected within the pimp brotherhood.

Both pimps and prostitutes generally referred to their activities as "the game." To the pimps, an important component of the game was domination of their females through endless promises and mentally sapping wordplay, physical violence, and financial control. The pimps created a system in which their prostitutes were incapable of supporting themselves or escaping their reliance on the pimp. A prostitute lived either in her pimp's home or in a room at a motel or boarding house paid for by the pimp. The pimp provided clothes for his prostitute, as well as money for the prostitute to fix her hair and nails. The pimp also provided condoms to the prostitute, or money to buy condoms. Also, the pimp frequently used threats of violence to control his prostitutes, or rewarded his prostitutes with drugs for meeting monetary goals. Other times, a pimp dispensed drugs to a prostitute to ensure that she was able to function through the night and into the early morning hours.

The pimping subculture in Atlanta operated under a set of rules, presented in the video called Really Really Pimpin' in Da South. This videotape was made in Atlanta by Pipkins and Carlos Glover, a business associate. Really Really Pimpin' in Da South featured prominent Atlanta pimps, including Pipkins, explaining the rules of the game. This video, along with its companion piece, Pimps Up Hoes Down, outlined the pimp code of conduct, and was repeatedly shown to new pimps and prostitutes alike to concisely explain what was expected of a prostitute. The origin of Pimps Up Hoes Down is unknown. In essence, these videos taught that prostitutes were required to perform sexual acts, known as "tricks" or "dates," for money. Prostitutes turned tricks in adult clubs, in parking lots, on mattresses behind local businesses, in cars, in motel rooms, or in rooming houses. A prostitute charged $30 to $80 for each trick, and was required to turn over all of this money to her pimp. Some pimps gave their prostitutes a "quota" to earn over $1,000 a night.

Despite the pimps best efforts to subjugate their prostitutes, the rules allowed a prostitute to move from one pimp to another by "choosing." This was accomplished by the prostitute making her intentions known to the new pimp, and then presenting the new pimp with money, a practice known as "breaking bread." The new pimp would then "serve" the former pimp by notifying him that the prostitute had entered his fold. The former pimp was bound to honor the prostitute's decision to choose her new pimp. A prostitute who frequently moved from pimp to pimp was known as a "Choosey Susie." And, a prostitute might "bounce" from pimp to pimp by moving among different pimps without paying for the privilege of choosing.

Choosing another pimp was not without risk for the prostitute. A prostitute could be punished for merely looking at another pimp; this was considered "reckless eyeballing." Owner pimps apparently were afraid that if their prostitutes were sufficiently impressed with another pimp's vehicle, clothes, and manner, she might choose a new pimp.

Other rules governed a prostitute's conduct. She was required to surrender all of the money from her dates; if she did not, she would be guilty of "cuffing." She was also required to unquestioningly obey her pimp and treat him with respect; if she did not, she was "out of pocket." At the whim of her pimp, a prostitute was obligated to have sexual intercourse with him, another pimp, or even another prostitute.

The pimps sometimes brutally enforced these rules. Prostitutes endured beatings with belts, baseball bats, or "pimp sticks" (two coat hangers wrapped together). The pimps also punished their prostitutes by kicking them, punching them, forcing them to lay naked on the floor and then have sex with another prostitute while others watched, or "trunking" them by locking them in the trunk of a car to teach them a lesson.

The pimps did not service only the Metropolitan Avenue clientele. For example, Pipkins branched out on the Internet, forming a web-based escort service which allowed customers to select a particular prostitute from pictures posted on a website. Also, pimps sometimes sent their prostitutes to Peachtree Street in Midtown Atlanta because patrons paid a premium for prostitutes in that neighborhood. Pipkins entertained members of a municipal police force at his home on at least one occasion, where they engaged in sexual intercourse with his prostitutes.

While all the pimps did not pool their profits from prostitution, some did. And the pimps generally aided each other. Pimps bailed each other's prostitutes out of jail; mentored younger pimps; swapped prostitutes with each other to get a better "fit;" warned other pimps and their prostitutes of the presence of police; provided condoms, rides, and rooms for each other's prostitutes; jointly organized private prostitution parties; recruited juvenile prostitutes together; recruited juvenile prostitutes for each other; divided the track geographically to reduce competition; and traveled out of town together to prostitute females in other cities. Pimps also operated as a price-fixing cartel to regulate the prices that their prostitutes charged for different sexual services.

FDDR

With two D's, as he says, for a Double Dose of This Pimping. 

You see, a Pimp's Love is 

VERY different from that of a Square....

Well, I'm a King Bee

Buzzin' around yo' hive

Well, I'm a King Bee

Buzzin' around yo' hive

Well, I can make honey, baby

Let me come inside

I'm young and able

To buzz all night long

I'm young and able

To buzz all night long

Well, when you hear me buzzin', baby

Some stingin' is going on

Well, buzz awhile

'Sting-a-been'

Well, I'm a king bee

Want you to be my queen

Well, I'm a king bee

Want you to be my queen

Together we can make honey

The world ever, never, seen

Well, I'm a king bee

Can buzz all night long

Well, I'm a king bee

Can buzz all night long

Well, I can buzz better, baby

When yo' man is gone.

Then I said, ‛Sweet, I copped a beautiful yellow bitch tonight. I got her humping on the track with my girls. Sweet, the bitch is crazy about me. I know I’ll hold her for years.’ 

He said, ‛Slim, a pretty Nigger bitch and a white whore are just alike. They both will get in a stable to wreck it. They’ll leave the pimp on his ass with no whore. You gotta make ’em hump hard and fast. Stick ’em for long scratch quick. Slim, pimping ain’t no game of love. Prat ’em and keep your swipe outta ’em. Any sucker who believes a whore loves him shouldn’t a fell outta his mammy’s ass. 

‘Slim, I hope you ain’t sexed that pretty bitch yet. Believe me, Slim, a pimp is really a whore who’s reversed the game on whores. Slim, be as sweet as the scratch. Don’t be no sweeter. Always stick a whore for a bundle before you sex her. A whore ain’t nothing but a trick to a pimp. Don’t let ’em Georgia you. Always get your money in front just like a whore. 

‘Whores in a stable are like working chumps in the white man’s factory. They know in their sucker tickers they’re chumping. They both gotta have horns to blow their beefs into. They gotta have someone to listen while they bad mouth that Goddamn boss. 

‘A good pimp is like a slick white boss. He don’t ever pair two of a kind for long. He don’t ever pair two new bitches. He ain’t stuck ’em for no long scratch. A pair of new bitches got too much in common. They’ll beef to each other and pool their skull, plots, and split to the wind together. 

‘The real glue that holds any bitch to a pimp is the long scratch she’s hip she’s stuck for. A good pimp could cut his swipe off and still pimp his ass off. Pimping ain’t no sex game. It’s a skull game. 

‘A pimp with a shaky-bottom woman is like a sucker with a lit firecracker stuck in his ass. When his boss bitch turns sour and blows, all the other bitches in the stable flee to the wind behind her. 

‘There ain’t more than three or four good bottom women promised a pimp in his lifetime. I don’t care if he cops three hundred whores before he croaks. 

‘A good pimp has gotta have like a farm system for bottom women. He’s gotta know what bitch in the family could be the bottom bitch when mama bitch goes sour. 

‘He’s gotta keep his game tighter on his bottom bitch than on any bitch in the stable. He’s gotta peep around her ass while she’s taking a crap. He’s gottta know if it’s got the same stink and color it had yesterday. 

‘Slim, you’re in trouble until you cop the fourth whore. A stable is sets of teams playing against each other to stuff the pimp’s pockets with scratch. You got a odd bitch. You ain’t got but a team and a half. 

‘A young pimp like you is gotta learn not to cop blind. Your fourth bitch is gotta be right to pair with the third whore. 

‘She can’t be no ugly bitch unless she likes pussy. She can’t be smarter than the pretty bitch. She can be younger, even prettier, but she’s gotta be dumber. 

‘Slim, all whores have one thing in common just like the chumps humping for the white boss. It thrills ’em when the pimp makes mistakes. They watch and wait for his downfall. 

‘A pimp is the loneliest bastard on Earth. He’s gotta know his whores. He can’t let them know him. He’s gotta be God all the way. 

‘The poor sonuvabitch has joined a hate club he can’t quit. He can’t do a turn around and be a whore himself in the white boss’s stable unless he was never a pimp in the first place. 

‘So, Kid, rest and dress and pimp till you croak. I ain’t had no rest in a coupla days. I think I’ll try to get some doss. Kid, these skull aches are getting bad. Good luck, Kid. Call me tomorrow, late. 

‘Oh yeah, happy birthday, Kid. That rundown was a birthday present.’ 

My skull was reeling from his rundown on the way home. It was five A.M. when I got there. The runt and Ophelia were asleep. They were locked together like Siamese twins. 

I picked up my scratch off the dresser. It was two and a quarter bills. I went and looked in on Chris. She was in bed reading a book. She looked up and put the book across her belly. She reached under the pillow. She gave me a roll of bills. I checked it. There was six bits. It wasn’t bad for a new bitch who got to the track late. She held out her arms. She was naked. I had to cop her some sleep wear. To avoid her arms I lit a cigarette. She said, ‛Daddy, did I do all right?’ 

I said, ‛Chris, you made a start. It’s like the first buck of that million you’re gonna make. I oughta frame it like a sucker who’s opened a new hot-dog stand. 

‘I want you to put that book down. Get some doss. I want you to take a fin to Leroy tomorrow. Hip him I’m your man now. 

‘The family is gonna Cabaret tonight. It’s my birthday today. I’ll get a rundown of your first night when I wake up. I’m gonna cop you a partner for the street real soon, baby. Good night, Chris.’ 

When I woke up, it was one P.M. I turned on my side. Two big brown eyes were looking at me. It was Ophelia. She started kissing my eyelids. 

She said, ‘Daddy, you’re so pretty. You got eyelashes just like a bitch’s. Phyllis took Chris to visit that sucker in the shit-house. Daddy, can I kiss my candy?’ 

I said, ‛Christ in Heaven, ain’t I got a whore in this family without a hot jib. Go on bitch. Then get your kit and trim my toe nails and paint ’em. We’re all going to get pretty for my birthday party tonight.’ 

She said, ‛How old are you, Daddy? I bet you’re nineteen.’ 

I said, ‛Bitch, I’m a hundred-and-nineteen. I just got a pretty baby face.’ 

Chris and the runt got back from Leroy around three P.M. Chris had a serious look on her face. 

I said, ‛Well how did he take the news? Did he hang himself from the bars before your eyes?’ 

She said, ‛Daddy, he fell apart. He would have killed me if he could have reached me. He cried like his heart was broken. He said he was going to kill you wherever he saw you. I feel bad, Daddy. He really upset me. I’m going to lie down.’

I thought, ‛That square chump is sure a whingding. I’m gonna put the hurt to him fast if I run into him.’ 

We partied at a swank white joint near the Gold Coast. We got home at four A.M. I was sober. The whores were stoned. I went and got into my bed. I dozed. An hour later I woke up. The three whores were crowded into bed with me. They were stroking and kissing me all over. Mr Thriller sure ached to be a circus performer. I was having trouble convincing Mr Thriller he had to take only one at a time. He was a pimp not a freak. The ring-master put the show on and stayed cool. It was eight o’clock before I got to sleep. It was a month before I copped the fourth whore. She was a cute tiny seventeen-year-old broad, about Chris’s color. The stable had brought her home from a coffee joint at closing time. They took their breaks there. The little broad was a waitress in the joint. She was curious about the whore game. She was wild to wear flashy clothes. She thought I was rich when she dug the pad. The excitement in her eyes hipped me I could make a fast cop. I took her into the living room. I cracked her into saying she’d be my woman and stop slaving for thirty a week. Then I gave her the pitch to tie the knot. She was sitting in a chair. I stood looking down at her. Her eyes never left my face. It was maybe like a rattle-snake charming a robin. I said, ‛Jo Ann, I gotta congratulate you. You’re not only lucky, you’re smart. You knew when you saw me that I was going to be your man. I’m hip that you were just waiting to meet me. ‛You have wanted since you were a little girl to live an exciting, glamorous life. Well, Sugar, you’re on Blood’s magic carpet. I’m gonna make your life with me out-shine your flashiest day dreams. ‛I’m a pimp. You gotta be a whore. I don’t have squares. I’m gonna be your mother, your father, your brother, your friend, and your lover. The most important thing I’m gonna be to you is your man. The manager of the scratch you make in the street. Now, sweet bitch, have you followed me so far?’ She whispered, ‛Yes, Blood, I understand.’ I reached down and took her hand. I took her to the window overlooking the city. I held her against me. I said, ‛Look out there, baby angel. Out there is where you work. Those streets are yours because you’re my woman. I’ve got five Gs in fall money. If you get busted for anything, even murder, I can free you. Baby Bitch, this family is like a small army. We got rules and regulations we never break. ‛I am really two studs. One of them is sweet and kind to his whores when they don’t break the rules. The other one comes out insane and dangerous when the rules are broken. Little baby, I’m sure you’ll never meet him. ‛Never forget this family is as one against the cold, cruel world. We are strong because we love each other. There’s no problem I can’t solve. There’s no question I can’t answer about this game. ‛Tomorrow I’m going to start filling your skull with everything about this game and street. I’m going to make a star outta you angel. Don’t ask any outsider anything. Come to Chris or me. ‛My little baby, I’ll protect you with my last drop of blood. If any mother-fucker in those streets out there, stud or bitch, hurts you, or threatens you, come to me. He will have to cut my throat first, shoot me first. I take an oath to protect you for as long as you are my woman. Baby, I know that’s for always. Now repeat after Daddy, baby.’ She squeezed tightly against me. She was in a trance looking up at me. She chanted along with me. ‛From this moment I belong to Blood. I am his whore. I will do everything he tells me. I won’t ever fuck with his scratch. I will hump my heart out every night. I’ve gotta make a bill a night.’ She slept with Chris that night. After the first week I knew she was the perfect partner for Chris. Sweet was right. Chris and Jo Ann ran Phyllis and Ophelia into a panting lather in the street. I started wanting that fifth whore.

King D.

Well, I'm a King Bee

Buzzin' around yo' hive

Well, I'm a King Bee

Buzzin' around yo' hive

Well, I can make honey, baby

Let me come inside

I'm young and able

To buzz all night long

I'm young and able

To buzz all night long

Well, when you hear me buzzin', baby

Some stingin' is going on

Well, buzz awhile

'Sting-a-been'

Well, I'm a king bee

Want you to be my queen

Well, I'm a king bee

Want you to be my queen

Together we can make honey

The world ever, never, seen

Well, I'm a king bee

Can buzz all night long

Well, I'm a king bee

Can buzz all night long

Well, I can buzz better, baby

When yo' man is gone.

BLY : He was a Wonderful Old Man. But he was waiting to be a Mentor, a Male Mother, to young American scientists, and they didn’t know The Tradition and they didn’t go to him.

MOYERS: But in these traditional cultures, when these older men played this role for young men, what were the older men? What were the Male Mothers doing for the boys?

BLY: When The Male Mother is there, and The Mentor is there, one thing he does is bless the young men. 

And it’s so strange, that men need blessing from older men. 

Robert Moore, I heard him say in a tape, “If you’re a young man, and you’re not being admired by an older man, you’re being hurt.” 

I like that a great deal.

So that many women bless young men, but the man still needs a blessing from an older man. 

You know, I heard Robert Moore say it to a group of men: “How many of you have admired a younger man in the last two weeks, and told him so?” Silence. 

“How many of you were admired by older men when you were young?” Silence. 

Then he said that sentence, “If you are a young man and you’re not being admired by an older man, you’re being hurt.”

Courage in The Face of Adversity : Tecumseh Personifies It

Tecumseh's war aims -- he was still incredibly, I have to say, in 1812 looking at some possible way to regain the Ohio boundary as a boundary between the white settlements and the Indians. 

And he sold that goal to the British.

Narrator: Arriving at the undermanned British outpost of Fort Malden in the waning days of June -- where most were convinced that Canada would fall before the approaching American army -- Tecumseh changed the military equation on the ground in less than three weeks, rallying wavering Indian allies to the cause and bolstering British resolve, and astonishing the British commander in charge, General Isaac Brock, with his extraordinary military skills and sheer force of personality.

John Sugden, biographer: Brock's remark is a classic one. He spoke to Tecumseh for a very short time, a mere few weeks. 

But he wrote back to the British Prime Minister, and he says that, "I've talked to the Indian chiefs, and there are some extraordinary characters amongst them. But here's Tecumseh," he says, "a more gallant or sagacious warrior does not exist."

Narrator: 

Tecumseh's brilliance on the field of battle in the summer of 1812 would cement his reputation

among the British high command as one of the greatest military leaders of all time. In little more than three weeks, the small but highly mobile force under his command completely unnerved the American army led by William Hull, forcing him to retreat back across the Detroit River to the American side and effectively bringing the invasion of Canada to an end.

On August 4th, at the Battle of Brownstown south of Detroit, with only 24 warriors at his command,

Tecumseh attacked and routed an American force six times as large -- killing 19, wounding 12, while himself losing only a single warrior.

Colin Calloway, historian: 

Tecumseh's finest hour is probably Detroit in 1812, when Tecumseh teams up with Isaac Brock, who finally seems to be the person who is going to deliver on the promises that the British have been making so long. Tecumseh and Brock together mastermind the capture of Detroit.

Narrator: 

On August 16th, at the Battle of Detroit, Tecumseh convinced the American defenders inside the

fort that they were facing an army many times greater than their own, parading his small host of warriors again and again through a clearing in the forest. Before the British and Indian attack had even begun, a white flag appeared above the ramparts of the fort, and the American army marched out and surrendered their weapons. It was one of the most humiliating defeats ever suffered by an American army.

David Edmunds, historian: 

Fort Detroit falls, Fort Michillimackinaw falls.  

Tecumseh and Brock, who were very close, are able to take Fort Detroit. 

They're able to, generally, gain the upper hand here on the Detroit frontier.

Colin Calloway, historian: 

And it seems as if the vision of an independent Indian confederacy -- an independent Indian state, if you like, supported by British allies, but independent of the United States -- is on the brink of becoming a reality.

David Edmunds, historian: 

And then, unfortunately for Tecumseh -- and unfortunately for tribal people --

General Isaac Brock is killed fighting the Americans over by Niagara. And the new British commander is named Proctor. And he's much less aggressive, and much more interested in just defending Canada, and in not really helping tribal people retake part of Ohio from the Americans. Tecumseh has to continually goad Proctor to march against the Americans. 

They invade Ohio twice, attempting to take Fort Meigs, which was an American fort near modern Toledo, and are unsuccessful.

Narrator: In the fall of 1813, the British fleet was defeated not far from Detroit at the Battle of Lake Erie, ceding control of the Great Lakes to the Americans. 

By then, Lalawethika and a ragged band of followers had appeared in his brother's camp along the Detroit River in Ontario -- driven from Indiana by their old nemesis, William Henry Harrison -- who even now was moving north at the head of a vastly reinforced American army.

David Edmunds, historian: 

The Americans invade Canada. And particularly after Perry's victory on Lake Erie, the British want to abandon the Detroit frontier and flee to what is now Toronto. And Tecumseh makes them stand and fight.

Colin Calloway, historian: 

The British-Indian army turns to make a stand at Moraviantown, on the Thames River in Ontario, in 1813. The outcome of the battle seems really to have been a foregone conclusion. By the time the British general Proctor actually stops to turn to fight, he has lost the confidence not only of his Indian allies, but of his own men. When the fighting breaks out, the British resistance is minimal. What resistance is mounted is mounted by Tecumseh and the Indian warriors.

Narrator: 

The final British betrayal would come on the cold, misty morning of October 5th, 1813, when, as

Harrison's vastly superior American forces began their attack, the British simply abandoned their Indian allies entirely and left them to fend for themselves on the field of battle.

David Edmunds, historian: 

And in one of the more remarkable speeches given throughout American history, Tecumseh says to the British, "Look. You have somewhere to go. 

But we are standing here, and we are fighting for our homeland. 

And if you want to run, you run. 

But leave us the guns and ammunition, because we will stand and fight."

Tecumseh (Michael Greyeyes): 

Listen! Father! We are much astonished to see you tying up everything and preparing to run the other way. You always told us to remain here and take care of our lands. It made our hearts glad to hear that was your wish. But now we see you drawing back like a fat animal, running off with its tail between its legs.

Listen! Father! The Americans have not yet defeated us by land. We, therefore, wish to remain and face ourenemy should they make their appearance. If you have an idea of going away, leave us the guns and ammunition and you may go and welcome for it. Our lives are in the hands of the Great Spirit. We are determined to defend our lands, and if it is his will, we shall leave our bones upon them.

John Sugden, historian: 

And then, finally, at the end, you often tell great leaders in the way they react in adversity. He knew that the British had given way before they engaged themselves. And, yet, there is no question of him retreating -- there is no question of him doing the "sensible" thing, which is to fight another day. He has committed himself to this act. He has said he's going to defend this land, and, if necessary, he's

going die for this land. And that's what he does.

David Edmunds, historian: 

And you couldn't think, in some ways, of a more fitting way for Tecumseh to die. He dies in the final battle here for the control of the Great Lakes. And he dies surrounded by his comrades. He dies killed by the Americans. And in the aftermath, his body is mutilated so badly by Harrison's Kentucky militia that the Americans who know him can't really identify him.

Colin Calloway, historian: 

And with Tecumseh dies, of course, the person who has held together the Indian

confederacy -- the person who has represented the best hope for Indian independence in North America. The death of Tecumseh puts, in a sense, finality on the American conquest of that area that what we know now as an American heartland, is going to be American. There will be no place in there for Indian people.

Stephen Warren, historian: 

I think Tecumseh is, in a sense, saved by his death. He's saved for immortality through death on the battlefield.

John Sugden, biographer: 

One of the great things in icons is to bow out at the right time, and one of the things Tecumseh does is he never lets you down. 

He was there, articulating his position -- uncompromisingly pro-Native American position. 

He never signs the treaties. 

He never reneges on those basic as principles of the sacrosanct aboriginal holding of this territory. 

He bows out at the peak of this great movement he is leading. 

He's there, right at the end, whatever the odds are, fighting for it into the dying moments.

Colin Calloway, historian: 

I think one of the things that is so important about Tecumseh is that he is person who by his vision and by his personality and the way he conducts himself gives us glimpses of humanity at its best. 

That in the most difficult of situations -- in the most hopeless of situations, perhaps -- people can have the courage to stand up and fight for what they believe in. 

Courage in The Face of Adversity : Tecumseh Personifies It

Kevin Williams, Absentee Shawnee Tribe of Oklahoma: 

Hope -- hope and freedom. That's what I thought he stood for. And his vision that he had, the way he looked into the future and tried to stop progress for the red people.

Sherman Tiger, Absentee Shawnee Tribe of Oklahoma: 

For some people, they may call him a troublemaker. And I think that's because, in the end, he lost. 

Had he won, he'd have been, you know, a hero.

But I think, to a degree, he still has to be recognized as a hero, for what he attempted to do. If he had a little more help, maybe he would have got a little farther down the line. If the British would have backed him up, like they were supposed to have, maybe the United States is only half as big as it is today.