How does he fucking manage it

The semi-companion piece to Kevin's one and it's all about Mads, of course. Dedicated to Kevison Nation (every single fudging one of you) and to @flythesail and @penny259 (your comments have me weeping haha 😚). Also on ao3.

A little into Madison Pearson by x (with additions) Summer 2026

I first met Madison Pearson a year ago at George Clooney’s 65th birthday celebrations in Perthshire, Scotland in a fashion closer to that of long-travelled friends who haven’t seen each other in years than that of complete strangers who just so happened to enjoy the same foodie indulgence (bacon-wrapped dates, anyone?). Despite the grandeur of the guests present at the lavish affair – politicians, laureates, philanthropists and A-list celebrities (including her own husband actor Kevin Pearson) – Madison Pearson had the kind of invigorating energy that just drew absolutely anyone in.

Perhaps it was the enchanting mix of contained excitement and understated class she exuded that will warm you upon beholding up close, or perhaps it was the charm of a more loquacious woman of California mixed with the rare intelligence of a world-traveller. Either way, despite the taxing social waltz her husband took her throughout the night bumping elbows with the elites, Madison was one of those people who truly left a lasting impression.

Squeezed next to her in the back of a cab, Madison is head-to-toe in Temperley London x Axel Arigato (vintage-inspired nautical jumpsuit and platform suedes) en route to a baking class where her five-year-old twins Nick and Franny are waiting for her to join them along with their father.

“I was supposed to get changed,” she says, lamenting on her attire worn for a meeting with some West Chester development executives that’s perhaps too luxurious for an afternoon of mixing flour and butter and sugar. “But you have to make at least a bit of an impression, right?”

Madison has been the powerhouse head honcho of the Pearson family business, Big Three Homes, since its establishment three years prior. With a solid background in business management and a surefooted ability to navigate the mores of an ever-changing property development landscape, it was no question that Madison would rise up to the challenge of breaking into the market with a business model founded on family, philanthropy and sustainability.

Despite growing up largely independent without people close enough to call family, Madison has also found the means to speak about her experiences in an effort to encourage and give hope to the younger generation of girls and young women who may be going through an ongoing battle between themselves and their self-worth.

“I never felt enough,” she says of the origins of her battle with her eating disorder that began when she was still in middle school. “I look at Franny and she’s so small and carefree and I want to give her everything I never had, but I know that even that won’t be enough unless she herself realises how worthy she is of all the good and all the love that she deserves.”

We pull up outside the baking studio and she brightens at spotting her husband and twins’ silhouettes behind the frosted glass windows. Nick and Franny almost topple over their stools as they rush to overwhelm their mother while their father scrambles to keep his heart rate down—a close call with their foreheads hitting the edge of the marble benches as they got down will just about do it.

Even with her petite frame, Madison carries the twins like she’s just holding a bag of groceries. Unsurprisingly, both Nick and Franny are as enamoured of their mother as she is of them and are on the verge of complaining when put down just as Kevin, grinning ear to ear, envelops Madison in his huge arms—to be fair, he’s always been quite remarkably chiselled but the Tom Ford sweater and those tailored jeans (chosen by his wife “of course” as Kevin credits) is a different level altogether. He leans down to give her a kiss.

Back in Perthshire a year ago at the Clooney extravaganza, I caught up with the married couple the day after the festivities over a traditional Scottish breakfast as we overlooked the highlands of the Gleneagles.

Perhaps unlike the Clooneys, who were still entertaining their guests from all over world, the Pearsons were much more relaxed within their own family bubble. Having just celebrated Kevin’s twin sister’s wedding three days prior with close family and friends, the pair was grateful to spend some quality time with each other and their twins without the need to be anything but present.

From my perch, Kevin and Madison were the kind of couple that were very much “old souls”. They held an affection for each other that is rooted from sincere fondness and adoration for each other—they converse like deep friends and trade wits like secret lovers. And despite the media attention of the adorable moments shared online (often by the social-savvy actor), Madison is uncompromising when it comes to the privacy of their children.

While the twins dipped in and out of the table pilfering scones or taking over their mother’s green juice, neither one of their parents were the least bit bothered by the constant attention they need to provide such a rumbunctious pair.

“They’re so funny,” Kevin said, a careful eye on little Nick who was staring at the whipped cream on his tiny finger like he was contemplating on wiping it on his dad’s face.

I do recall having a good laugh when I accompanied the family on a tour of a nearby 17th century castle and little Franny, a copy-and-paste of her mother, pointed at a wood-cut table decoration of what looked to be intertwined lovers and confidently yelled, “That’s mommy and daddy!”

The fierce mama bear of the Pearson household of four (Madison sometimes calls her husband “kid number three, but don’t tell him that or he’ll get ideas of trying for another!”), remarks that forging her own path away from her husband’s spotlight had been remarkably easy, and she gives much of the credit to the rest of the Pearson clan who all treasure family more than anything.

Even with the notoriety of her brother-in-law, rising political star Randall Pearson, who currently serves in the Philadelphia municipality and is on track for a career in congress, Madison says that quality time to rest and recuperate is a must.

“[My sisters-in-law] and I have a girls weekend every other month when we can where we literally book ourselves a gorgeous Airbnb and just glamp down. I’m talking sleep-ins, endless mimosas, spa sessions… you name it! It’s the kind of getaway that [our husbands] get really jealous for.”

And upon being reminded, Kevin, now sporting Franny’s tiny chef’s hat, shakes his head at his wife conspicuously as if in reprimand that he most definitely should be included in the gals’ next glamping session despite him being, well, not a gal.

While Nick proudly counts five of about a thousand sprinkles that are scattered on his side of the bench, Madison congratulates him with a warmth and pride that is infectious enough to make you think that she’s proud of you too. And despite her husband’s very obvious possessiveness over her—you could count only one occasion where the actor is not at arm’s length from her—when Madison focuses her attention on you, it’s not difficult to believe that this powerhouse woman could truly do absolutely anything.

“She is that and more,” Kevin says about his wife. “Sometimes I can’t believe that this is my life. Our life! Like, she’s mywife, and these two are our kids. It’s just wild! I’m grateful, just grateful.”

Despite the doubts and fear that had been Madison’s constant companions for most of her life and especially going into adulthood, there is a fierce resilience in her that she could only credit her dear grandmother Frances—her own daughter having been named after her.

“She always believed in me,” she recalls, an eye on the twins squatting by the oven watching their creations rise. Despite the deep grief and loss that are quite intimately shared by the married couple, Madison says that it has only made them more resolute in loving their children and each other as best as they possible can every day.

“You just don’t know when it’s your time,” she says. “So, Kev and I make sure that there are no ‘next times’ when it comes to our family.”

When I had asked Madison about Big Three Homes back in Scotland, she squealed at the origin story of its founding, which started with Kevin’s late father Jack Pearson having asked his wife Rebecca to start the business together as partners.

Although Jack’s tragic and unexpected passing put an indefinite hold to this dream, its fulfilment through his son Kevin and through Madison is a testament to the kind of legacy that Jack Pearson had begun through his kids.

“I mean, it started off as more of a passion project for Kev,” Madison says. “But we knew it was always going to be something really special. Especially because his first project was the house that Jack had wanted to build for his mom. And when Kevin had this wonderful idea of bringing the family together to start the business and he asked me to be a part of it, how could I have said no!”

Kevin makes a point to say though that even if the idea of Big Three Homes originally came from his parents, its fulfilment is as much a part of his and Madison’s own story as it is his parents’. And choosing to have Madison work alongside him wasn’t just the best choice (given how much of a boss she is), but it was the only choice he ever wanted or considered.

“I know this is cliché, but I can’t stand not being with her,” Kevin says. “I made a point of this when our twins were born, and I meant it!”

Madison and the family split their time between California and Pennsylvania both for Kevin’s work and for the business, but nowadays, it’s more of an 80-20 split in favour of the east coast.

When asked about a career path carved away from her hometown in California, Madison says fondly, “It surprises a lot of people when I say this but I’m actually an east coast girl.”

This fun fact translates quite well in Madison’s day to day. She could turn any conversation into an erudite discussion, and she will utterly beguile you with her knowledge of books and literature—her constant companions when she can sneak away to her own personal Taj Mahal, a stunning Japanese garden in the backyard of their Pennsylvania home which Kevin built especially for her.

As the Pearsons continue to make a splash in the world of construction, politics, arts and entertainment—a rare mix indeed for a family in the spotlight—Madison is determined to continue writing a story with her husband and her children that she never had growing up.

With the twins happily destroying their creations by the mouthfuls, Madison promises that another visit is a must and perhaps this time, she can show us a collection of Kevin’s baby photos coupled with her own personal commentary to boot.

And who would say no to that.

Mosley, Leonard. Backs to the Wall: London Under Fire, 1939-1954. London: George Weidenfeld & Nicolson, 1971; reprint, as Backs to the Wall: The Heroic Story of the People of London During World War II, New York: Random House, 1971.

Each generation gets the history that it needs — or wants, or demands. That’s what kept going through my head as I read Backs to the Wall, which appeared three years after France’s youth explicitly rejected both Charles de Gaulle, the self-appointed leader of the Free French during World War II, and the political ideology that he represented, and amidst ongoing unrest over the Vietnam War. (It’s also worth mentioning that it was published in the same year as Norman Longmate’s How We Lived Then: A History of Everyday Life During the Second World War and two years after Angus Calder’s The People’s War.) This book gives up a World War II narrative in which Churchill was an improvement on Chamberlain only in that he wasn’t an appeaser, de Gaulle was worse than both of them put together, the Allied leaders all cordially loathed each other, half the British public wanted to sue for peace, and there was across-the-board mutual dislike between London civilians and American troops (and British dismay at the way African-American troops were treated by their white counterparts was far from universal). Do I exaggerate? Only slightly. Backs to the Wall is a sort of distant, city-specific pre-echo of Juliet Gardner’s sour 2004 book Wartime: Britain, 1939-45.

As with Wartime, however, this book does have the virtue of introducing us to a number of very interesting people. I became interested in reading it because it brought Vere Hodgson’s wartime diary to public attention. Mosley quotes or paraphrases Hodgson’s writing from the beginning of the war through its end, and also seems to have interviewed her extensively. His primary villain, meanwhile, is not Chamberlain but Chamberlain’s chief acolyte, Henry “Chips” Channon, from whose diary he quotes widely (and who turns out to have been born and raised in the United States, to my surprise). We hear a great deal from the chemist and novelist C.P. Snow and follow the misadventures of two civilians, Jenny Martin and Polly Wright, whose consistency in both bad luck and bad choices meant that neither of them was able to stay out of serious trouble for any length of time.

There are many glimpses of the London home front through the eyes of two boys, both eight when the war began: John Hardiman, of Canning Town and later of Aldgate, who was evacuated in 1939 but soon returned to London, and Donald Ketley of Chadwell Heath, who was never evacuated at all. Donald, who thoroughly enjoyed himself during the war, had an experience that speaks to our own recent reality:

Another good thing: quite early in the Blitz, his school had been totally destroyed by a bomb. Since Donald was shy, a poor student and unpopular with his teacher, he was overjoyed when he heard the place was gone. Thereafter he went each day to his teacher’s home to pick up lessons, which he brought back the next day for marking. In the following months he changed from a poor student to an excellent one, and although he was aware that his teacher rather resented it, he didn’t care. 

Mosley also introduces us to Archibald McIndoe, the real-life counterpart of Patrick Jamieson, Bill Patterson’s character in the Foyle’s War episode ‘Enemy Fire.’ Art seems to have imitated life pretty accurately in that instance: he and his burn hospital in East Grinstead were apparently exactly like what was depicted, the only difference being that the hospital was set up in an existing hospital building, not in a requisitioned stately home.

Backs to the Wall seems to have been one of the earliest books to make substantial use of Mass-Observation writings. Most M-O diaries are anonymous, but there are two named diarists here who stand out. John James Donald was a committed pacifist whose air of lofty detachment as he observes the reactions of those around him to air-raids and other wartime event and prepares for his tribunal — which, in the end, he decides not to attend — quickly grows irritating. More interesting is Rosemary Black, a 28-year-old widow, in no small part because she differs markedly from what I had thought of as the archetypical M-O writer. Here’s her self-description on M-O documents: “Upper-middle-class; mother of two children (girls aged 3 and 2); of independent means.” Mosley continues:

She lived in a trim three-story house in a quiet street of the fashionable part of Maida Vale, a short taxi ride from the center of the West End, whose restaurants and theatres she knew well. She was chic and attractive, and lacked very few of the niceties of life: there was Irene, a Hungarian refugee, to look after the children; Helen, a Scottish maid, to look after herself and the house; and a daily cleaning woman to do the major chores.

Black took her children out of London at the beginning of the war but quickly brought them back, and when bombs began falling she kept them in place — air raids might be disruptive for them, but apparently relocation had been worse. She was very much aware that she was riding out the war in a position of privilege, and she often expressed guilt feelings; but this tended to fade away before her irritation at the dominance of “the muddling amateur or the soulless bureaucrat” in the war effort. Offering her services, even as a volunteer, proved very frustrating. “She was young, strong and willing; she typed, spoke languages, was an expert driver and had taken a course in first aid,” Mosley tells us, “but finding a job even as a chauffeur was proving difficult” in September 1940. (She actually wasn’t all that strong physically: as we learn, she suffered from rheumatism which grew worse during the war years and probably affected her outlook.)

Black was greeted with “apathy and indifference” by both A.R.P. and the Women’s Voluntary Service. Early in 1941 she was finally able to get a place handing out tea, sandwiches, cake, and so on to rescue and clean-up workers at bomb sites from a Y.M.C.A. mobile canteen. She was a bit intimidated by the women with whom she found herself working:

Their class is right up to the county family level. Nearly everyone is tall above the average and remarkably hefty, even definitely large, not necessarily fat but broad and brawny. Perhaps this is something to do with the survival of the fittest.

And the work did bring her some satisfaction, even if it was of the type that lent itself to being recorded with tongue placed firmly in cheek:

We had a pleasant and uneventful day’s work serving City fire sites, the General Post Office, demolition workers and Home Guard Stations, etc. We were complimented at least half a dozen times on the quality of our tea ... I think the provision of saccharine for the tea urns to compensate for the mean sugar allowance is my most successful piece of war work. What did you do in the Great War, Mummy? Sneaked pills into the tea urns, darling.

For all her good humor and astute observations, Mrs. Black was far from immune to tiny-mindedness. After an evening out in 1943 she wrote:

I had to wait some time for the others in the cinema foyer, and I was much struck, as often before, by the almost complete absence of English people these days, from the capital of England. Almost every person who came in was either a foreigner, a roaring Jew, or both. The Cumberland [Hotel] has always been a complete New Jerusalem, but this evening it really struck me as no worse than anywhere else! It is really dismaying to see that this should be the result of this war in defence of our country.

Indeed, Mosley cites the results of a multi-year Mass-Observation study that showed a marked increase in anti-Jewish views London’s general population over the course of the war. Since it’s just one study, and since I haven’t seen that study mentioned anywhere else, I am reluctant to trust blindly in its accuracy; and there’s also this:

The small flat which George [Hardiman] had procured for [his family] ... in Aldgate was cleaner and airier than the old house in Canning Town [which had been bombed], and the little Jewish children with whom John now went to school seemed to be cleaner than the ones in Elm Road; at any rate, he no longer came home with nits in his hair.

On the other hand, Mosley himself gives us only a fragmentary view of London’s wartime Jewish population: everyone seems to be either a terrified refugee or an impoverished East Ender. We hear nothing about the substantial middle- and upper-middle class population — mostly of German descent and in some cases German birth — that had already taken shape in Northwest London; and while we are briefly introduced to Sir David Waley, a Treasury official, in connection with the case of an interned Jewish refugee, we aren’t told that Waley himself was Jewish, a member of “the cousinhood.” On yet a third hand, Mosley also quotes other M-O surveys from the same period that indicate largely hostile attitudes to most foreigners in London, with Poles at the bottom of the ladder and the small Dutch contingent on top. (Incidentally, the book’s extremely patchy index identifies Vere Hodgson as a Mass-Observation diarist, which she wasn’t.)

Backs to the Wall closes with a very brief, remarkably non-partisan account of the 1945 general election and its immediate aftermath. “Neither side had any inkling of the way the minds of the British voters were turning,” he writes.

When [Churchill’s] friends suggested that he was a victim of base ingratitude, he shook his head. He would not have such a charge leveled against his beloved countrymen. Ingratitude? "Oh, no," he said quietly, "I wouldn’t call it that. They have had a very hard time."

The book is worth reading for the primary materials that it includes, but it probably tells us as much about the era in which it was written as about the period that it covers.  

for @duchessofostergotlands’s anon, it’s a rehash of her VF interview but here you go anyways!

Princess Anne urges young royals: ‘Dont forget the basics’ of service.

The Princess Royal says there is no need to always 'reinvent the wheel' when it comes to royal duties

By Hannah Furness, Royal Correspondent for The Telegraph

Princess Anne has warned that the younger generation of the Royal Family should not always try to “reinvent the wheel”, saying they must not forget the basics of service in their drive for doing it a "new way".

The Princess Royal, who undertook more than 500 engagements last year, suggested the younger generation were continually seeking new ways to work, rather than looking back to what had been done successfully already.

In an interview with Vanity Fair to mark her 70th birthday this year, she described herself as “the boring old fuddy-duddy at the back saying, ‘Don’t forget the basics’.”

“I don’t think this younger generation probably understands what I was doing in the past and it’s often true, isn’t it?” she said. “You don’t necessarily look at the previous generation and say, ‘Oh, you did that?’ Or, ‘You went there?’

“Nowadays, they’re much more looking for, ‘Oh let’s do it a new way.’

“And I’m already at the stage, ‘Please do not reinvent that particular wheel. We’ve been there, done that. Some of these things don’t work. You may need to go back to basics.’ ”

Speaking of her own work, which includes 50 years with Save The Children, she said: “It’s not just about, Can I get a tick in the box for doing this? No, it’s about serving….

“It comes from an example from both my parents’ way of working and where they saw their role being. I mean, my father served. It was a more direct form of service, I suppose you could argue.

“And the Queen’s has been a lifelong service in a slightly different way, but they both have that perspective of service which is about working with people.”

Vanity Fair did not detail which younger members of the Royal Family the Princess had in mind.

The Duke and Duchess of Sussex have previously emphasised their ambitions to appeal to a new "global" generation through their work, saying earlier this year that they had sought to "carve out a progressive new role within this institution" before deciding to leave it.

Now, they said, they "intend to develop a new way to effect change" with a non-profit organisation.

In recent years, both they and the Cambridges have concentrated on delving "deeper" into key causes, rather than each taking on hundreds of patronages like their grandparents, aunts and uncles.

In an interview about her career, charity work and family, she was also asked about her decision to decline titles for her two children Peter and Zara Phillips,, more than four decades before the Duke and Duchess of Sussex made the same decision for their son, Archie Mountbatten-Windsor.

“I think it was probably easier for them, and I think most people would argue that there are downsides to having titles,” the Princess said of her own children. “So I think that was probably the right thing to do.”

Her two children have gone on to forge their own careers. Zara Tindall is an Olympic medal-winning equestrian who is free to take business deals, and Peter Phillips has worked in banking and sports management. Earlier this year he was spotted on a milk advert in China.

The Duke and Duchess of Sussex made a similar decision to allow Archie to grow up as a private citizen, without the use of a title. As they left the working royal family in January, they agreed that they too would no longer use their “HRH” as they pursued “financial independence”.

The interview, which took place at St James’s Palace, also saw the Princess Royal speak about her own upbringing, and experience at boarding school.

While her brother Prince Charles famously had a difficult time at his Scottish school, reportedly calling it “Colditz in kilts”, Princess Anne said she thrived as a boarder at Benenden School in Kent.

“My case was slightly different to my senior brother’s,” she said. “I was ready to go to school. I had a governess and two friends and that was never going to be enough, really, so I was only too pleased to be sent off somewhere else.

“I think boarding school has been demonized by some when in fact it’s a very important aspect to have available and many children actually thrive in it.”

Princess Anne now has a reputation as Britain’s hardest working royal, carrying out 506 engagements in 2019; second only to Prince Charles’s 521.

Speaking of her aides, and the number of engagements she prefers to pack into a day, the Princess said: “I make their lives more difficult in terms of the logistics, I’m afraid, but if I’m going to be in London, I don’t want to be hanging about.

“I’m fortunate that the programme that I make up is a direct result of being asked to do these things. It would be a pity if you didn’t try and do them.”

She has no plans to begin retirement at 70, pledging to continue as long as her patronages find her useful.

“I don’t think retirement is quite the same [for me],” she told the magazine.

“Most people would say we’re very lucky not to be in that situation because you wouldn’t want to just stop. It is, to a large extent, the choice of the organizations you’re involved with and whether they feel you’re still relevant.

“But I think both my father and my mother have, quite rightly, made decisions about, you know, ‘I can’t spend enough time doing this and we need to find somebody else to do it’ because it makes sense.

“I have to admit they continued being there for a lot longer than I had in mind, but we’ll see.”

On her own early career, which saw her ride in the Montreal Olympics in 1976 and become the first member of the royal family to win Sports Personality of the Year, she said :“I thought if I was going to do anything outside of the royal family, horses was likely to be the best way of doing it.”

The Princess, who has recently found herself hailed as a “fashion icon”, in part after television drama The Crown revived interest in her youthful wardrobe, also spoke about her determination to support the British fashion industry.

Joking that she re-wears clothes “because I’m quite mean”, she said: “I still try and buy materials and have them made up because I just think that’s more fun. It also helps to support those who still manufacture in this country.

“We mustn’t forget we’ve got those skills, and there are still places that do a fantastic job.

“I very seldom buy anything which isn’t made in the U.K.”

The full interview is available in the May issue of Vanity Fair, out in print and digital on Friday, April 17th.

Definition

Hello friends.

Some time has passed since I last wrote. Much has gotten in the way of this pseudo-blog/ artistic pursuit. Breakups, jobs, other creative pursuits, school, Krav Maga. I promised myself over and over I was going to write again.

I was going to write on how coffee inspired the Revolutionary War and coffee shops deserve to be places of political discussion once again. I was going to write on how manhood died along with the countless lives lost in World War II. I was going to write tales of love, pain, and other drugs.

All vast and deep subjects clearly.

It seemed, however, every time I sat down to type, my creative juices dried up like a raisin in the sun. Much of this is due to great personal growth in a short time.

Last I wrote I was angsty, anxious, and desperate to find my purpose in life. I knew my voids and sought to fill them with validation, creativity, and general busyness. These days I’m a bit more relaxed and more comfortable in who I am...perhaps even a tad too confident. Till today.

My private readings, life circumstances, and conversations have prompted several questions I felt need answering. How do people around me view me? Am i delusional in the words I use to define myself? Lastly, what words do I want at the end of my life be used to describe me?

Naturally, I texted several people the following question and waited for a response.

“What words would you use to describe me?”

Now I didn’t cherry pick my audience mind you. I chose close friends, people that barely know me, people with ideologies opposite of mine, mentors, old flames. I wanted an honest opinion. I desired to be fully self-aware with no false notion of who I am. 

Here is what I received back.

-Loyal

-Dedicated

-Creative

-Capable

-Adventurous

-Funny

-Aggressive

-Bold

-Love deeply

-Noticeable

-Charismatic

-Caring

-Determined

-Strong

-Safe

-Reserved

-Compassionate

-Insecure

-Stubborn/strong-willed

-Driven

-Earnest

-Impulsive at times

-Hard-working

-Genuine

-Positive

-Unshakeable

-Passionate

-Personable

-Joyful

-Clean

-Forgiving

-Independent

-Ambitious

-Daring

-Honest

-Inspiring

-Attractive

Now I don’t share these words to pat myself on the back. These responses just answered the question of how I am viewed. It also opened my eyes to any potential areas I may lack in or am delusional in my ability in. For instance, I thought I was secure in who I am. Apparently, my actions still counter this belief. That is ok! At least now I am aware of it and can keep moving forward to improve in it.

The question still remains, however, what word do I wish at the end of my life be used to describe me? I want this word to be a reflection of my faith, my accomplishments, and my life’s goals. I want it to define how I treated people, made them feel, and touched their lives. I want it to embody the true spirit of manliness. Not in a macho fashion, but rather like this poem by Kipling.

“ If you can keep your head when all about you       Are losing theirs and blaming it on you,   If you can trust yourself when all men doubt you,     But make allowance for their doubting too;   If you can wait and not be tired by waiting,     Or being lied about, don’t deal in lies, Or being hated, don’t give way to hating,     And yet don’t look too good, nor talk too wise: If you can dream—and not make dreams your master;       If you can think—and not make thoughts your aim;   If you can meet with Triumph and Disaster     And treat those two impostors just the same;   If you can bear to hear the truth you’ve spoken     Twisted by knaves to make a trap for fools, Or watch the things you gave your life to, broken,     And stoop and build ’em up with worn-out tools: If you can make one heap of all your winnings     And risk it on one turn of pitch-and-toss, And lose, and start again at your beginnings     And never breathe a word about your loss; If you can force your heart and nerve and sinew     To serve your turn long after they are gone,   And so hold on when there is nothing in you     Except the Will which says to them: ‘Hold on!’ If you can talk with crowds and keep your virtue,       Or walk with Kings—nor lose the common touch, If neither foes nor loving friends can hurt you,     If all men count with you, but none too much; If you can fill the unforgiving minute     With sixty seconds’ worth of distance run,   Yours is the Earth and everything that’s in it,       And—which is more—you’ll be a Man, my son!”

This is one of my most favorite poems. In many ways it is the philosophy I try to adhere my life to. I could spend hours writing and breaking down this poem, but instead, for today, lets continue on finding the word I wish to define Isaac Stitt.

After much thought and reading I settled on this simple yet regal word.

NOBLE.

I wish to be defined as a noble man.

What is nobility? Is it a lifestyle of luxury, helicopter pads, and yachts laden with bikini clad models? Is it a monarch upon a golden throne, surrounded by servants who run to his every beckoning, and a castle filled with exotic fantasy? Maybe it’s James Bond, sipping martinis, rescuing the world, and snatching every lovely woman in his path. Perhaps it is Alcibiades, a politician with loose morals, charisma, and an extravagant lifestyle.

I think not.

Merriam-Webster define the word “Nobel” as, “possessing outstanding qualities possessing very high or excellent qualities or properties, characterized by, or arising from superiority of mind or character or of ideals or morals.”

I believe that is but half of it. Why yes, I want to be known for my good qualities, and high morals and standards, but.....there’s something lacking. It’s missing movement. To be described as “caring” is one thing. It is the practice of the word that makes it so. We can call a car “sleek” all we wish, but it’s not till we see it speeding down the highway do we actually see it as it truly is. “Sleek”.

I believe an illustration would help us best define nobility. So who embodied the word “Noble” in action?

Leonidas. No not the guy with ripped abs and a Scottish accent kicking people down wells. Not even that guys in a weird graphic novel. I’m talking the historical badass who led 300 of the mightiest warriors into certain death, as he knew their sacrifice would give the Greeks time to prepare and fight against the Persian Empire. He was loved by all his men, sweated and fought next to them, not behind them. He rejoiced with them and wept with them. He paid the ultimate price to save his city and the rest of his country, which didn’t even like him.

That’s nobility.

Nobility is Andy Reid. Continuing to grind despite the lack of success. To keep going even when failure is rampant. To stay gracious and hungry despite failing every time a championship is near. To prepare and be so involved with your players they would run through a wall for you. Or maybe at least  have multiple comebacks on some of sports biggest stages.

That’s nobility.

Nobility is Winston Churchill. Leading a nation that was at it’s breaking point. Standing firm in the face of defeat. Caring about every single life lost. Pushing forward in the face of a parliament that didn’t even like him and wished to veto any idea he came up with. Staying firm to the course, never giving up, being a man of the people.

That’s nobility.

Lastly, to be noble is to be Christ-like. To emulate his life of surrender, sacrifice, and love for all man. To give up one’s own dreams and desires for the good of others, to pay whatever price necessary for the freedom of those around you, to love those that despise your name. To love everyone from the most innocent child to the most vile adult, to accept each person as they are, and to point them to a better way.

That’s nobility.

It is not just being honorable. It is not just being a person with high morals. It is not even being a “good person”.

Nobility is character in action. It is a drive of the most finest qualities towards a goal of self-sacrifice for those near and far. Nobility is the apex where the quality of a man is tested and refined. It is the product of years of self-denial, a driving towards improvement, and a surrender of one’s base desires and fleshly lusts.

To be noble is not to be the ruler of all. Nobility is to be the servant of all.

And that is what I will forever strive to be defined as.

Much Love,

Caasi.

Ireland Impressions

I just returned yesterday from a five-day trip to Ireland with my daughter, Isabelle.  She is applying to grad schools, and this last summer I let her know that I had AAdvantage miles that needed to be used.  I thought she might use them to travel to interviews, but it turns out that in the world of Biology, the schools pay for prospective students to come interview.  I realized yet again that I chose a difficult field--as a free-lance professional violinist, I’ve gotten used to paying to play, so to speak...  Anyway, she suggested that we take a trip to Ireland.  She works in a lab with someone who had gone there on his honeymoon, and he had very enthusiastically recommended that she go.

Without going into a lot of detail, Isabelle had a run-in with a virulent virus (I know that’s redundant) in September.  The virus caused some frightening seizures which resulted in two hospitalizations.  We weren’t sure that we would be able to go on our trip, scheduled for the end of November.  So when Isabelle got the okay from her doctors, it was excellent news, in many ways.

We had held off making hotel reservations, but fortunately the end of November is off-season in Ireland.  Ordinarily I would have done a lot of research to decide where to visit and where to stay, but the last-minute nature of our planning made that impossible.  Maybe the more spontaneous approach to this adventure made it more satisfying.  Also, thanks to crowd-sourced reviews of everything on the internet, gone are the days of toting guidebooks around.  Our last big trip was to Munich and environs--eight years ago--and we definitely did that the old-fashioned way. 

Okay, I’ll get on with it.  We actually had five full days in Ireland, bookended by two days of travel.  The airline travel was unremarkable, which might be remarkable, now that I think of it.  Our plan was to spend one night in Dublin, two nights in Galway, one night in Cork, and the last night back in Dublin.

Day One: Dublin

Our hotel was just south of the River Liffey in the City Centre.  We took a cab there from the airport and dropped off our suitcases so we could immediately start exploring.  On our way to see the library at Trinity College, we ran across a cool exhibit of art books at a gallery.  A good start.  At the library we learned that only a facsimile of the Book of Kells (the famous medieval manuscript) would be on display that week.  Not a big deal, especially since the library itself was awe-inspiring.  I overheard someone saying something about Harry Potter, and we learned that they had shot a library scene there.  It was also featured in one of the later Star Wars movies.  Did that make it more meaningful to me?  I’m almost ashamed to admit that it may have...  We also visited the Guinness Storehouse in the early evening.  It’s described as a “brewery experience”.  A bit too theme-parkish for my taste, but I definitely know more about the process of brewing beer in huge quantities!  The top floor bar where we had our complimentary pint has a 360 degree view of the city.  We had two great meals that day, both at pubs.  I have a much different impression of what pub food is now--many vegetarian and even vegan options.

Day Two: Dublin to Galway

A few days before our trip, I literally awoke in a cold sweat about driving on the left side of the road.  My colleague Catherine had given this advice, to be used as a mantra: drive on the left and look to the right.  We were picking up the rental car, and I would be the only driver--Isabelle isn’t able to drive for six months from the time of the last seizure.  The weather was pretty intense--driving rain and wind.  I thought it was charming that so many people apologized for the weather.  We had escaped just before a big snow in Chicago, so I kept assuring folks that we had seen worse!  The driving challenge turned out to be my position on the right side of the car.  It took me an entire day of Isabelle saying “Mom, you’re over the line!” to get used to centering the car in my lane.  Driving on the left side wasn’t as weird as I had thought it would be.  And I think the roundabouts are brilliant.  They keep traffic flowing, and cause fewer accidents than traffic lights.

We had breakfast/early lunch at Tyrrellspass Castle, and continued on to another castle at Tullamore--Charleville.  Evidently, they have an annual music festival there called Castlepalooza.  They were shooting a rock video when we arrived, and we weren’t able to go in, but the drive up to it was downright magical.  That was a word that kept popping into my head over and over.  The rain and temperate climate cause the vegetation to be green, even in late November.  That, along with the mist and ancient trees, conjured up images of fairy tale enchanted forests.

We decided that we would go directly to the Cliffs of Moher since it looked like it would be rainy the following day.  The drive up there was pretty harrowing.  We were on rural roads that narrowed without much notice, and I was still trying to hone my new driving skills.  What a reward when we arrived though!  The cliffs at the edge of the Atlantic are ruggedly breathtaking.  Because it was off-season and relatively late in the day, there were very few tourists.  And there were sheep grazing right next to the trails--even a proverbial black sheep.  They are the “Shaun the Sheep” type with the black faces, and both Isabelle and I are big fans.  It’s too bad that today I started thinking about the fact that they are livestock and not pets...

When I started the car at the Cliffs, two warning lights came on.  We looked them up--Electronic Stabilization Control and Emission Control.  I figured we could make it to Galway, but we knew we would have to address the issue the next day.  Thankfully, we did get there with no trouble.  Our hotel was once again in the City Centre.  About a block away was a Christmas market with food stalls and some carnival rides.  Before we left home, I had wondered how commercial Christmas would be in Ireland.  We learned that decorations generally go up a day after Halloween, so I guess that the US isn’t the only place that extends the holiday to last over two months.  But to us, everything looked so quaint suspended over cobblestone streets.  There is also an upscale Irish department store, Brown Thomas, that does some wackily inventive holiday windows.  In Galway, one featured a male mannequin with an owl’s head.  We had another great dinner--excellent farm to table food and a vegan local beer.

Day Three: Galway

We finally had a chance to sleep in!  Then, unfortunately, we had to drop the car at an Enterprise-approved car repair facility for diagnosis.  It was very close to the City Centre, so we walked to the Fisheries Watchtower (museum) and the Galway Museum.  The wind was fierce--equal to anything I’ve experienced in Chicago, but that weather was over by 2 PM or so.  At the museum, we learned about the ancient and more recent history of the city, including the Irish uprising against the British.  I know through 23andMe that my DNA makeup is 41% British and Irish, the largest percentage in the mix.  23andMe doesn’t specify English, Scottish, Welsh, or Irish--I’m probably all of the above.  We're pretty sure that the Hughes name comes from Wales, and our background is pretty thoroughly Protestant.  I grew up with the impression that the Reformation was a positive thing, and that the Protestants held the moral high ground.  But in this phase of my political thinking, my belief is that religious differences have most often been used to justify` the lust for power and the control of natural resources and goods.  I also just finished an amazing book on the trip--”Fantasyland: How America Went Haywire” by Kurt Andersen.  The US was founded by some pretty crazy Protestants, and I can’t take much pride in the ways that they behaved.  Anyway, the visit to Ireland has led me to wonder what my ancestors’ political roles were in these struggles for independence.

We had savory pie for lunch--mine was kale and wild mushroom, locally sourced again, with spelt flour crust.  Isabelle and I agreed that it was our favorite meal of the trip.  We had to go back to the car repair place, and they informed us that we needed to get a replacement vehicle.  This gave us the opportunity to talk with the lovely young woman from the Enterprise facility in Galway, the longest conversation we had with any local on the trip.  The replacement car was newer and better, and they gave us a free day’s rental, so it was a win-win-win situation!  We briefly visited the gorgeous Galway Cathedral where a nice man let us in even though they had just officially closed.  We also heard some Irish traditional music, and ate at yet another farm to table restaurant.  Incidentally, the prices were really reasonable compared to Chicago prices for similar food.

Day Four: Galway to Cork

Isabelle figured that Limerick would be a great place to stop on our way to Cork.  We ended up spending much more time there than we had planned.  After a great mocha (my first time trying oat milk) and breakfast, we went exploring.  There was a mostly ruined castle, King John’s Castle, that had an excellent museum component that inspired more rumination on the conflicts between the different factions in the British Isles.  And very nearby was the 850 year old Cathedral of St. Mary.  Very impressive to us Americans when we’re inside a building with that kind of history...

We decided to visit Blarney Castle on our way to Cork, and it was much more captivating, and much less touristy than I had imagined.  As we approached the castle on foot, we passed signs that read “90 minutes to the Blarney Stone”, “60 minutes to the Blarney Stone” etc.  We were once again grateful that we were there in the off-season.  Our wait to kiss the Blarney Stone was...0 minutes!  Yes, we did it.  There are many stories about the Stone, but the most common is that it gives you the gift of gab, and not in a good way.  But I figure I can use the gift of gab--everyone always tells me that I’m too quiet and very private.  Wow--it may already be working, since I’m writing this long involved post about our vacation!  Surrounding the castle is a gorgeous park that is truly a botanical garden, including a poison garden.  That traditionally would have had medicinal plants that “will either kill you or cure you.”  There were huge redwoods, oversized rhubarb plants, a spectacular fern garden with waterfall--magical, you might say!

We went on to Cork, found our B & B, and went into the City Centre for another excellent meal.  We wandered around, figuring out what we wanted to do there the next morning.  There was a large courtyard with a light display called “Glow” that was set to open the next day.  Also a ferris wheel that seems to be a standard part of a Christmas market--who knew?  Our B & B was pretty cool, but the woman who ran it seemed disappointed that we hadn’t opted for the breakfast part of the equation.  We had our sights set on a coffee place we had seen on our reconnaissance mission...

Day Five: Cork to Dublin

We did go to the Bean and Leaf, and it was very near to the English Market that we planned to visit.  The English Market is a covered food market that houses a huge variety of fresh grocery items.  We wondered about the origins of the name, and found out that the English or Protestant Corporation that ran Cork untl the mid 1800′s founded it.  It catered to a wealthy clientele while the Irish Market catered to the working class folk.  Now, everyone goes there, and they have all of the super-trendy foods that you would find in an upscale grocery store in the states.  We bought a few things there, walked around a bit more, and got in the car to head to our last big adventure. 

Almost as ubiquitous as the sheep on the hillsides were the rainbows.  We saw a few every day that we were driving, including a couple of double rainbows.  The conditions were perfect--light rain, followed by the sun breaking through the clouds.  Now I understand the whole leprechaun and pot of gold at the end of the rainbow image.  They seem so...magical!

I think it was the vinyl record store we checked out in Cork that got us onto the subject of rock operas.  On our next car ride we listened to Pink Floyd’s “The Wall”.  It was one of the few times we listened to music in the car.  Most of the time the British-accented Google Maps lady was telling us where to go--”take the slip-road on the left.”  Thank goodness for Google Maps!  It would have been difficult to navigate all of those one-way streets with me driving on the left, using an old-fashioned map...  Anyway, it was a pretty long stretch on a main road to get us to our next destination: the Wicklow Mountains at Glendalough.  The same mountain range extends into Dublin where they’re called the Dublin Mountains.  It was astoundingly beautiful there--and the smells were so fresh and fragrant.  We hiked a very short trail that took about 50 minutes, but it gave us the flavor of the park.  We had lunch at the Glendalough Hotel.  And that reminds me--many of our servers, especially in the Dublin area, were young Eastern Europeans.  Evidently, Ireland is a very popular place to look for better job opportunities, and a better life in general.  We did remark on the fact that we saw very few people of color though.  I want to find out why that is the case.  It does make me wonder about ethnic and religious homogeneity.  Would I have felt such an affinity for Ireland if I weren’t white and culturally Christian?  

On the way down the mountain and back to Dublin, we listened to “Thick as a Brick” by Jethro Tull.  Isabelle had never heard it before.  I thought it had an appropriately Celtic feel, and was loosely in the rock opera genre.  We listened to a few Irish artists as we were making our way back into Dublin in Friday evening traffic.  We checked into our last hotel, did a bit of last-minute souvenir shopping, and ate at a pub with live music.  The two musicians played mostly traditional Irish music, but also included a few American tunes.  It was kind of a fitting transition since we would be heading to the airport in the morning.

I am so grateful that Isabelle was well enough that we could make this trip.  She was a great traveling companion, and our energy levels were very well matched.  We shared a similar idea of the optimum balance between planning and spontaneity.  I’m not sure how to wrap this up except to say: Travel with your adult children!  Go to Ireland in the off-season!  Enjoy the rainbows!

Such a parcel of rogues in a nation…

Such a parcel of rogues in a nation…

 O would, or I had seen the day

That treason thus could sell us,

My auld gray head had lien in clay,

Wi' Bruce and loyal Wallace!

But pith and power, till my last hour,

I'll mak' this declaration;

We're bought and sold for English gold -

Such a parcel of rogues in a nation.

 Interpretation of poetry has never been my strong point, but I’d hazard a guess that The Bard was pretty pissed off when he wrote these words.  More than 200 years later, I have to wonder – are we still a “parcel of rogues in a nation”?

 I started off 2019 with two resolutions:

1.     Don’t worry about things until they happen

2.    Stop tweeting

 I lasted until the 2nd of January before I came across a tweet from the Scotsman…”End indyref2 talk in 2019, campaigners TELL @NicolaSturgeon” and felt compelled to retweet with a sarcastic comment and a bemused emoji. Fast forward a few hours and I’m awake at 3am, anxious about the state of the country and a Brexit that hasn’t happened yet.

Earlier in the year, to relieve my anxiety, the “other half” begrudgingly agreed to me stockpiling food.  So I set about compiling a “Brexit Cupboard” filled with pasta, rice and other staples from the continent such as olive oil and sundried tomatoes that may be hard to come by in the even a no-deal Brexit scenario.  I received a lot of stick for this from friends and family, who suggested that I was catastrophising and perhaps I had too much time on my hands, being on maternity leave at the time.  It was time I went back to work.

 Brexit cupboard ready to go, I still find myself awake at stupid o’clock in the morning, so in another attempt to get a decent night’s sleep I thought I’d try to take the thoughts that are troubling me and put them down on paper….

 Back in 2014 when Scotland voted No, I was heartbroken but I understood and accepted the result.  I don’t blame my friends and family who voted No (openly).  Initially, my gut reaction was No.  It was a risk, but I decided that since it was such a serious decision, I should partake in some research.  I had never been interested in politics before and, prior to 2013, wasn’t even registered to vote.  Coming from a predominantly socialist family, I was conscious that my vote should be an informed decision and not based on what those around me thought.  The more I read, the more convinced I was that Scotland should be independent, and the more incensed I became that we weren’t already.

 I joined Twitter, entered into discussion with “Unionists”, asking questions and looking for a reason as to why Scotland should remain as part of the UK. I am still looking.  For one single reason.  Instead I have received nothing but condescending replies, questioning my intelligence and level of education, or lack thereof.  One lovely chap asking, “not very bright are you?”. Regarding the ever divisive topic of Scottish Independence, polite discourse quickly descends into “sharing and pooling” and “fiscal transfer” and “go away, you don’t understand”.  I’ve tried with GERS.  I really have, and I don’t think it’s that GERS figures are beyond the comprehension of the average “cybernat”.  Just that they are far too dull to hold the attention of all but the most dogged “Britnat”, who would rather see Scotland burn to the ground than be independent (they might get their wish come April).  They wait eagerly for “GERS-figures day” every year and, like a dog with a bone, rip them to shreds and shout “See!  They are your own government’s figures and they show that Scotland is too wee, too poor!  Get back in your box”.  From what I can understand, these figures are based on Scotland being part of the so-called “United” Kingdom and can’t be used to predict what an independent Scotland would look like so I really don’t see what all the hoo-hah is about to be honest.

 Sometimes I think, in an alternative universe, where Scotland voted Yes four years ago, what would my unionist friends and family think if the country was in the state that it is now?  I’m pretty sure they wouldn’t be biting their tongue, going by the continuous loop of “SNP-bad” rhetoric that still prevails, despite none of this current shit-show being of their doing.

 Looking at the state of affairs, it is extremely disturbing to see what people will accept nowadays.  If you had told me four years ago that the UK would be stockpiling food and medicine, preparing the army for civil unrest and that Schrödinger’s drones would cause Gatwick airport to grind to a halt, I would have said, no one in their right mind would vote for that….but then again, they didn’t put that on the big red bus.

 Credit where it’s due to the Westminster establishment, they have been extremely clever in this respect.  Of course it would never have worked to put “Vote for martial law” on the bus!  Instead, over two years they have, little by little, gone from “£350 million for the NHS!” to “a no-deal scenario wouldn’t be the end of the world” with Westminster’s very own resident hobbit Michael Gove kindly suggesting that we allow people to scavenge on rubbish heaps.  Even better, it will give us a chance to go back to the good old days of the Blitz when everyone pulled together.  To anyone who says that, I say, get yourself down a trench during the Battle of the Somme in 1916.  I visited the WW1 battlefields in 2015 after 97 years of peace, and it was traumatising enough.

 To anyone who is (even now!) unsure about whether Brexit is all bad, I simply say, look at who supports it…for the love of God!  Imagine, stumbling across a party and looking around to see Boris Johnson, Hobbit Gove, Nigel Farage, Andrea Leadsom, Dominic Raab, Priti Patel, John Redwood, Vladimir Putin and last but by no means least, the smiling assassin, Jacob Rees-Mogg and his fellow Dickensian panto-villain Julia Hartley-Brewer (never trust anyone with a double-barrelled surname).  I would be turning on my heel and getting out of that place before they started burning £50 notes (or as it will be known post-brexit…$5,000,000).

 I happen to think Theresa May herself would also be at that party.  I am not for a minute buying that she was ever a Remainer.  I reckon her husband (senior executive at an investment fund that profits from tax-avoiding companies) would stand to lose a pretty penny from the EU’s Anti Tax Avoidance Directive which was presented on 28th January 2016 (!) and requires its member states to apply these measures as of 1st January 2019…3 months before the Brexit deadline.  Coincidence?  No deal has always been the end goal and who better to run down the clock than the cringe-worthy curtseying Theresa May who campaigned so emphatically for Remain? Theresa May, who is trying to broker a deal that is best for the WHOLE country and one that supports the democratic vote…the last democratic vote you’ll ever have, by the way.  Because now democracy means that when you voted once, based on an illegal campaign that no-one has been held accountable for, you are no longer entitled to change your mind because that is what democracy means now. Is Theresa May the Keyser Söze of Westminster?  Albeit her daft walk at the end is to the tune of Abba?  Is she that clever and forward-thinking to have orchestrated this whole clusterbourach?

 No, she is merely a puppet and her strings are being pulled by disaster capitalists who know exactly what they are doing.  They will have prepared for every eventuality.

 Panto villain Mogg has been popping his polite, well-spoken, over-privileged and under-achieving head up recently to air his views whenever he can on the main-stream media.  I noted that he voiced his support of the late Margaret Thatcher featuring on the new £50 note.  Margaret Thatcher, who was a known admirer of General Pinochet.

 This is a quote from Naomi Klein’s book, The Shock Doctrine:

 “The British prime minister was well acquainted with what she called “the remarkable success of the Chilean economy”, describing it as a “striking example of economic reform from which we can learn many lessons”.  Yet despite her admiration for Pinochet, when Hayek first suggested that she emulate his shock therapy policies, Thatcher was far from convinced.  In February 1982, the prime minister bluntly explained the problem in a private letter to her intellectual guru.  “I am sure you will agree that, in Britain with our democratic institutions and the need for a high degree of consent, some of the measures adopted in Chile are quite unacceptable.  Our reform must be in line with our traditions and our Constitution.  At times the process may seem painfully slow.”

 I wonder if 30 odd years is slow enough and I think by “quite unacceptable”, she means this…

 https://www.independent.co.uk/news/the-pinochet-affair-i-saw-them-herded-to-their-death-i-heard-the-gunfire-as-they-died-1179543.html

Make no mistake, this is a right-wing coup.  It’s just that it’s being carried out in an orderly fashion – the British way.

 No one wants to talk about Brexit anymore.  The majority of the people in my life are completely ignorant about the consequences of a no-deal scenario, blissfully so, and encourage me to join them. The apathy shown towards the biggest political disaster to happen to this country in living memory is beyond my comprehension.  So half the country is sleepwalking and half have just about reached Brexit saturation point and all the time we are being nudged, slowly towards the edge of the cliff. ….and when we’re pushed over the edge, there will be Sajid Javid waiting on an armed boat shouting “CRISIS! - NO MIGRANTS ALLOWED!”.  The neoliberals stand to make a tidy profit while the country is reeling from the chaos that would inevitably ensue from a No-deal. We can look forward to the swift privatisation of our Health Service, abolition of the welfare state, chlorinated chicken, etc.

 In 2014, Scottish independence was about hope and the ability to control our own affairs.  Now, it’s about the survival of our democracy.  If Scotland is not independent come March 29th 2019, I predict that, freed from the burden of EU laws, Westminster will adopt Henry VIII powers to abolish the devolved parliaments.  It has already shown what it is capable of, and its contempt of the Scottish parliament, by taking them to court over the Continuity Bill.  Scotland has barely been mentioned throughout the Brexit “negotiations” and has been disregarded and disrespected at every turn.  We are absolutely not, as was promised, “Better Together”. Independence is the only option now and I, for one, hope to begin 2020 as part of an independent Scotland with my human rights still intact.

 However, if anyone is reading this in a post-Brexit version of “The Handmaid’s Tale”….nothing to see here!  All left-wing views out the window.  God save the Queen.

The right way to theorise the EU, I argue, is as in effect a coordinated set of constitutional structures for each of the member countries.  The EU is not a “superstate”, nor can it easily become one, juridically: it has always been clearly stated by the highest legal authorities in each country that at least at the moment the countries are sovereign entities, able in the last resort to decide their own futures.  This is not empty rhetoric since, among other things, it is the justification for the continued representation of each EU country separately at the UN, something they are extremely unlikely ever to renounce.  For this reason much of the use of the term “sovereignty” in the referendum debate was indeed as unhelpful as its critics complained.  Moreover, the fact that the EU is not a state is the source of many of the problems it itself faces, as well as the problems conventional states face dealing with it; the thousands of deaths in the Mediterranean are testimony to the dangers of its current anomalous character and the fact that it is stuck in a half-way house, neither able to be a state with its own borders nor an alliance of states which control their own.  It is also why negotiating with it is not like negotiating with a normal state, but more in some ways (though one should not push this analogy too far) like negotiating with a Supreme Court – the picture Varoufakis paints in his gripping memoirs of his dealings with the EU institutions illustrates their strange character and the mistake we make if we treat it like either a unitary state or an ordinary international grouping .

The key feature of the EU is that the sovereign authority in each state has enacted a certain rather curious kind of constitutional order for each of them, in which a set of principles and institutions are entrenched in a position beyond the reach of conventional, “governmental”, legislation.  These principles and institutions are supranational in character, of course, and that is why the states took this course of action, but seem from within each state the supranational character is not, in a way, the key feature: the key feature is rather that they are entrenched within the legal system of each country (this is what makes them different from the other supranational arrangements with which they are often compared, such as NATO or – even – the UN, at least in great part).  The curious feature of these constitutional orders, however, is that they cannot be amended by the same process by which they were imposed: an Act of the UK Parliament by itself straightforwardly entrenched the EU institutions in UK law, but no Act of the UK Parliament by itself can amend them.  Only a process of intergovernmental negotiation, issuing in changes which no one country can impose upon itself, can alter the essential character of the EU’s constitutional structure.  The only thing an individual state can do is repudiate the whole structure – as we are finding out.

Most states on the Continent already had constitutional structures of some sort before the EU was formed, and their politicians were used to operating inside them, just as American politicians are.  But the idea that a constitution could not be amended was new to them also – though, and this may be significant, not to German politicians.  The German constitution is a legal oddity: the West German constitution, the Grundgesetz, was technically authorised by three of the four powers in the Allied military government, and included the provision that in the event of reunification a new constitution would have to be ratified by the German people.  After the dissolution of the military government in 1991 the provinces of East Germany simply acceded to the Western state and its Grundgesetz, so the German constitution has never actually been ratified properly; moreover, a tradition has developed within German constitutional jurisprudence of supposing that certain fundamental moral principles are enshrined in constitutional law without the need for positive enactment.  It is easy to see how a domestic structure of this kind renders the structures of the EU far less problematic for Germany than they are for the UK, or indeed for France, with its long history of popular constitutional legislation.

Britain, by virtue of its desire to join what was then the Common Market, thus found itself forced unwittingly into the default shape of a modern state, with a constitution which lay beyond the power of the government to change.  And as an almost instinctive recognition of this, the Wilson administration as we all know decided to use for the first time the default institution of constitutional legislation in a modern state, the referendum, in order to legitimate it.  Though constitutional referendums had occasionally been proposed in the UK, notably to deal with Irish – and indeed Scottish – home rule, this was the first time that such a thing had seemed clearly necessary in Britain – about two hundred years after it seemed equally clearly necessary to the English settlers in Massachusetts.  Since that time, as we also all know, the constitutional referendum has become a familiar feature of British political life.  Characteristically this has happened without a formal or legal acknowledgment of their fundamental role, and technically they are merely consultative; but the idea that they could be disregarded seems to most people about as fanciful as the idea that the Queen could actually use the power, still technically in her hands, to veto a Parliamentary statute.  Even in the aftermath of the Brexit vote, few people have advocated simply ignoring the result; the popular anti-Brexit response has been instead to call for a second vote, and that seems to me to be testimony to the obviousness of the change that has come over British politics.  The EU and the referendum as an institution in the UK are wrapped in one another’s arms.

I might add at this point that the dangers and disadvantages of these kinds of structures tend to be far less obvious to people who are politically engaged or have some kind of public role.  I mix in America with people who are regularly dealing with the Supreme Court, are leading figures in the political parties, or are writing for the press and trying to influence the political agenda.  For them, it is easier to think that they will have some effect on politics through these processes than through the old-fashioned process of elections, and it is natural for them to think that their personal experience is something like an objective fact.  One of the critical comments on my Brexit piece concluded with something like “perhaps we have had too much democracy”; it struck me reading it that “we” would not have to worry about less democracy if “we” were people like you and me, but for most people the vote is the one way they possess of altering their political circumstances.  As a result, I think the general population has always been able to think more clearly about the EU than the political elites, since they have much more to lose.

To repeat: you may not be interested in constitutions, but constitutions are interested in you.  They are not neutral, benign forces, however much the lawyers charged with maintaining them pretend that this is so; again, you only have to think about the history of American constitutional jurisprudence (much more familiar to us than Continental constitutional jurisprudence, for obvious reasons) to see this.  Think about the way the Commerce Clause has been used to extend federal power; think about the Dred Scott judgement and its endorsement of slavery; think about the Korematsu case on the internment of Japanese Americans; think about Citizens’ United.  Put against them, of course, Brown vs the Board of Education or Roe vs Wade; but we will be choosing according to our political preferences.  Certain kinds of political programmes are simply impossible in certain kinds of constitutional orders.

My favourite example of this, and something of great relevance to the general theme of this lecture, is the creation of the National Health Service in Britain.  It required a very unusual constitutional order, since its most distinctive feature, and the thing which still sharply differentiates it from the single payer systems found in most developed countries (and even, in many respects, in the USA), was the fact that it involved a mass expropriation of private property, in the form of the so-called “voluntary” hospitals, some of which like Barts had been independent institutions for over eight hundred years.  This was the issue which was most fiercely debated within the Attlee cabinet, and the result of Nye Bevan’s victory there was one of the most far-reaching examples of nationalisation from those years, and the only one which has survived more or less intact.  It is often asked by opponents of the NHS, “if it’s so good, why don’t other countries copy it?”  But in this respect it would be extremely difficult for other countries to copy it, since in most modern states expropriation of private property without compensation would be legally impossible without a far-reaching constitutional amendment which might be very hard to pass.  In Britain in 1946, all that was needed was a single sentence in an Act of Parliament: “there shall, on the appointed day, be transferred to and vest in the Minister by virtue of this Act all interests in or attaching to premises forming part of a voluntary hospital or used for the purposes of a voluntary hospital…” (para. 6.1).  What this illustrates is that the achievements of the Attlee government, still the touchstone for left-wing measures in this country, required the kind of ancient omnicompetence which Parliament still possessed in the 1940s.

The fact that every schoolchild is taught (or are they still?), that the British labour movement was intensely Parliamentary and non-revolutionary, was not the consequence of some magic trait of the British which enabled them to avoid the turmoils of the revolutionary years on the Continent, and indeed in America (for what else was the Civil War but a vast revolutionary moment?).  Marx and Engels observed from their vantage point in Victorian England that the bourgeoisie had taken different routes in France and England to hamper the industrial working-class from gaining power.  In France they had conceded universal male suffrage, first in 1792 and again and permanently in 1848, but they had bound the legislature with a constitution which secured things such as private property (broadly defined) against legislative encroachment.  In England, there were no such constraints on the legislature, and therefore the proletariat had to be denied the vote – which in this country, we should remember, was finally extended to the entire adult male population only in 1918, the same year that the first women received it (or rather recovered it – women lost the vote in 1832).  So Marx and Engels concluded that the only thing necessary to bring about socialism in England was the extension of the Parliamentary franchise, whereas in France it required revolutionary and extra-constitutional action.  Exactly the same logic activated the early leaders of the Labour Party in Britain: they had every confidence that the Parliamentary route to power was the right one, since they would then have available to them any measures to promote socialism which they thought fit, and which they could persuade a simple majority of their country (by definition, largely the working class) to support.

In the case of the EU, the overall character of the constitutional order pushes consistently in what we might call a neo-liberal direction.  This is the point which Wolfgang Streeck has repeatedly insisted on, and has documented in convincing detail; he thinks that it is largely because of the influence on the institutions of German capital, and that is clearly true to an extent, but I would also argue that the institutions to some degree have a life of their own.  Put in place a constitutional order which specifies certain economic freedoms – for the EU, the now notorious four freedoms, the free movement of goods, capital, services and labour, to which we should also add the lesser-known but very important freedom of establishment; let a group of modern jurists loose on them; and the result will almost inevitably be a series of rules which are tilted towards the market.  Constitutional orders are a combination of rules and the people interpreting them (as Hobbes in particular understood very well), and the people inevitably develop a certain kind of internal culture which is usually proudly immune to outside political pressures.  The American founders realised this, and were very interested in ways in which the judicial process could be made responsive to the citizens, including in some states the election of judges, and the elaborate process of nomination and confirmation for federal judges.  The worst of all worlds is to have a strong constitutional order and an independent judiciary – something I sometimes fear Britain is drifting towards even outside the EU.  But that would be material for another day.

A simple way of seeing how this works is a comparison between Bernie Sanders and Jeremy Corbyn.    As many people have observed, the parallels between them are very close, in terms of their age, their lack of conventional politicians’ gloss, their roles as insurgents within an established centre-left party, and the enthusiastic support they receive from young voters.  The three proposals which Sanders put at the heart of his movement were: pull out of or radically modify NAFTA and do not enter the TPP; greatly increase the tax on the big Wall Street banks; and introduce free state college and university tuition paid for largely by the Wall Street tax.  The British version of these proposals obvious resonate with Labour’s newly energised electorate, but – and I want to stress this – none of them would have been feasible for a British government within the EU.

The EU was itself Britain’s NAFTA or TPP, and it also decided all questions of trade for Britain with the rest of the world, so there would be no question of a British Bernie within the EU even thinking of such a thing.  A British government could theoretically change the tax regime on the City, but the free movement of labour and capital within the EU would permit the banks simply to transfer operation to a friendlier tax regime elsewhere in the Union without anything of the trauma which would afflict Wall Street banks if they fled the US to avoid a Bernie tax. And even something (one would have thought) as parochial as free college tuition would not have been entered into lightly by a Britain within the EU.  The EU enforces the principle that no distinction can be made between home and EU students when it comes to college fees, so free tuition funded by British taxes for British students (assuming that the banks could be made to stand still long enough to be taxed) would mean free tuition for students from across the EU funded by the British.  Scotland has managed this on a small scale, though with the significant anomaly that it can charge fees to English students but not to other EU ones, but it is inconceivable that a scheme of this kind could be put in place for the whole of Britain without enormous public protest.  I should say that I am amazed that the tabloids didn’t leap long ago on to the fact that British taxpayers already subsidise EU students in English universities, far more in practice than other EU taxpayers subsidise British students at Continental universities.  Strikingly, the EU enforces a rule which even in the integrated economy of the US would be unacceptable, since it is taken for granted there that in-state students pay lower fees at state universities than out-of-state students.

If what I have been saying so far is right, the worst mistake which the Left in Britrain could make would be to once again put itself under these kinds of constraint.  Paradoxically, the constraints do not affect the Right anything like as much; indeed, I would say that the underlying verities of the EU are currently just the same as they were in the 1970s, when Margaret Thatcher wore her famous Common Market dress, and a wide swathe of Labour politicians, from Michael Foot through Tony Benn (who in those days was not thought to be exceptionally left-wing) to Peter Shore, who was generally on the right of the party, all saw the risks to traditional Labour politics which European union posed.  This is why Corbyn, a relic (like myself) from the 1970s, could see this more clearly than other contemporary politicians.  This particular penny is beginning to drop on the Right – I was very struck by a recent piece in the Telegraph by Charles Moore raising the question of whether it might be best to stay within the institutions of the EU in order to block Corbyn’s policies.  To his credit, he answered his question decisively in the negative, but his article reminds us about the odd history of European union, and how its critical aspect has always been the role of union in removing possibilities from domestic politics, though this has seldom been possible for the political parties to admit, even to themselves.  The Tories were enthusiastic about it as a means of permanently blocking the reappearance of socialism, but turned against it when it looked under Delors as if it would instead entrench left-wing policies; Labour became interested in it at that point, but began to turn against it recently when it turned out that the actual decisions of the European institutions by and large go against the interests of European workers.  It should also be said that there has always been a significant section of the Labour party which viewed membership as a kind of self-denying ordinance, preventing the party from veering back to the Left and therefore (they thought) endangering its electoral prospects – this is, I think, the honourable (though I would say misguided) source of the strange fascination it has held for some important figures in the party.  But the key point about this history is that it is precisely the capacity of European union to take serious political issues off the domestic agenda that has been the fundamental reason both for supporting it and for opposing it.

So what should the Left now do?  There has been a remarkable outburst in the press and at Westminster of people trying to engineer a “soft” Brexit.  Astonishingly, the idea seems to have gained ground in some quarters that the Labour vote was a vote against Brexit; this is an idea that could only occur to people in the Left establishment who believe that in reality most Labour Party voters must be just like them, and for some reason were merely pretending to be in favour of Brexit last year.  This is testimony to the extraordinary power of the conviction among most politically active people that to be on the Left simply entails support for the EU, and that sooner or later everyone will realise this; it is also testimony to the social gulf between the Left establishment and its traditional electorate.

In particular, something like membership of the EEA is creeping back onto the agenda.  At the beginning of the referendum campaign, like many Brexiteers at that time, I was mildly in favour of the EEA option, but I have come to realise its dangers.  First, from the point of view of keeping Scotland in the Union it is not really an improvement on the EU.  Scotland would still not need the United Kingdom to have a United Economy with England, and the logic of that position would sooner or later work itself out; Norway after all manages to have an integrated economy with the rest of Scandinavia without being under Danish rule.   This is presumably why Nicola Sturgeon seems reasonably happy with a soft Brexit.  Ruth Davidson is also supposedly pushing for it; this could simply be a piece of local political tactics, but she might mean it, and if so she may not so easily be able to see off the next push for independence.  Indeed, she might easily find herself in a few years time Prime Minister of an independent Scotland, and who knows whether this has occurred to her or not?

Second, the arguments about the restrictions on Left policies which the EU institutions represent apply just as much to the EEA or EFTA.  By now the laws in EEA and EFTA countries on such things as competition are thoroughly integrated into the EU legal framework, and are governed by ECJ judgements.  As long as this is so, the EEA and EFTA will have broadly the same economic character as the EU.  This has already been seen in Norway, where a collective agreement dating from the 1970s which granted the Norwegian dock labourers’ union the sole right to unload cargo was nullified by the Norwegian Supreme Court earlier this year on the grounds of its incompatibility with EU law by virtue of the freedom of establishment clause; this parallels a similar case within the EU, currently going through the courts in Spain.  Breaking the comparable arrangement with dock workers which the Labour government negotiated in 1947, we should remember, was one of Thatcher’s signal achievements.   And though some defenders of this “soft” Brexit talk about it as a temporary measure, if there is one safe generalisation in politics, it is that temporary arrangements usually become permanent.

If I am right in supposing that this new surge in left-wing politics is the result of Brexit, it would be suicidal to overturn it.  We can see the dangers of doing so very clearly in the case of the working-class UKIP voters, particularly in the North, who felt it was now safe to return to Labour; but it is also dangerous indirectly and in the long term for the newly-energised younger voters of the South.   They may to some degree support the EU, but their new energy is a product of Brexit, and not in the sense that it is merely a reaction to it.  Like everyone else, they have sensed the opening-up of possibilities long denied to them, and even if they want the EU they surely do not want the return to power of the kind of politician the EU necessarily breeds.  I suppose the closest analogue to the position we can reasonably ascribe to them is not Streeck’s but Varoufakis’s: a hope that somehow the EU can be seized by the forces of the Left, coming especially from Southern Europe.  As I said earlier, the views of both Streeck and Varoufakis are way beyond anything available in the British debate about Europe in their seriousness and sophistication, but the problem with Varoufakis’s position is that he has never given any good reasons for supposing his vision is attainable; the more sober view espoused by Streeck carries more conviction, and its lesson (as he has himself acknowledged) is that Brexit may be the best hope, not only for Britain but for the rest of Europe as a whole.  The great prize awaiting the Left in Britain, and it is now almost within reach, is genuine Brexit followed by a Labour government.  Then the Left can re-enact whatever it thinks is good in EU regulations about such things as the environment and working conditions, and whatever immigration policy it wishes, and at the same time free itself from the far-reaching restrictions which the EU imposes on traditional socialism.

But the Labour Party is faced with a tremendous temptation: undermine the May government by joining with those in the Conservative Party who want a soft Brexit, and profit from the Conservatives’ consequent dissolution.  But if the Labour Party chooses short-term success by re-entering (in some form) these structures, the logic of British politics over the last thirty years will simply repeat itself, and we will inevitably end up with permanent Tory rule in an England without Scotland, or some kind of Blairite regime, no doubt repackaged (barely) as “Macronist” – Macron being the perfect emblem of the conjunction of the EU and neo-liberal economic policies, and the consequent destruction of socialism.  Without Brexit the Labour Party will revert to its role of providing an alternative managerial class for late-stage capitalism, and the enthusiasm of its new-found supporters will wither away or find new and more troubling outlets.  This is exactly what the Tory Remainers would like to see happen, and the Labour leadership ought not to fall into their trap.  You will know better than I do whether this will happen, but the signs are not good, with Kier Starmer insisting that some deal must be struck with the EU and that a “hard” Brexit will necessarily be opposed in Parliament by the Labour Party.  Above all at the moment the Labour Party needs to keep its nerve: it is on the verge of its greatest prize in a couple of generations, with the possibility of genuinely transforming British politics, and it would be a tragedy if it allowed itself to throw this away.

4th of July

Summary:

It is the 4th of July. The Independence Day of America. And as a die-hard American patriot, it's important to Soldier that everyone on the team who is not American does not feel deferred on that day, so he'll include them on this holiday. Like every year. But this time, Medic, Heavy and the others fight back. Soldier does not understand why. He only meant well after all.

Be an American! It's just once a year after all, maggots!

Medic saunters comfortably through the old town of his beautiful Rottenburg. The sun is shining and the people are greeting him kindly on his way. His snow-white doves roam the bright blue sky with their elegant flying skills and look completely carefree. An indeed life-affirming sight. Just a wonderful day today. Just like yesterday and the day before yesterday and all the days before that. Medic draws the clean air deep into his lungs and exhales very slowly. Could something make this day even better?

“Good day, sir.” Suddenly, Medic is approached by a strange man with a distinctive accent. “I wish you a good day too” he answers. “How about a new haircut, sir?” “Hmm?” “Forgive me. I'll introduce myself. My name is Doe and I am the new hairdresser of this small, tranquil town.” Just now does Ludwig notice the shield behind the man who calls himself Doe. A small beechwood sign hangs above the entrance to a small, unassuming barbershop with gilded hinges. The salon for the Germans of yesterday - is written on it with white brush paint. A very strange name… “Oh, a barber. I'm really pleased. But I don't need a haircut. I'm completely satisfied with my hair.” “The visit of the first customer is for free. I don't just cut hair, I dye it too.” “Well, in fact, I have the feeling that the black of my hair has faded slightly. Do you have ebony black?” “Of course, sir. I keep every kind of black.” “Agreed! Then I'm your first customer.” “Please come in.” The day CAN be even better!

Even from inside the shop is small and inconspicuous, but it radiates a certain coziness. “Please take a seat here.” Doe positions himself behind a barber chair with a wide back and a black leather cover. It's one of those fashionable, height-adjustable chairs with foot-supported and thick, comfortable armrests. Truly the jewel of the hairdressing salon. On the wall in front of it is a large mirror with gold decorations on the corners. Ludwig gladly takes a seat. The feeling of sitting in it is wonderful! “Please lean in and place your arms on the armrests to enjoy the full range of comfort.” Medic doesn't need to be told twice and is only too happy to follow the barber's friendly request. Back, head and arms are on cloud nine. Ludwig has to pull himself together not to fall asleep. “Do we have it comfortable?” “Extremely comfortable.” “Very good.” The voice of the friendly barber suddenly changes. It sounds sarcastic and slightly vicious. An uncomfortable feeling spreads in Medic. Just as he is about to sit up, suddenly straps appear from the armrest and backrest and tie Medic to the chair. “Got you! Muhahaha!!” Horrified, the captured German stares into the big mirror in front of him. The man behind him now wears a (too big) soldier's helmet and his clothes have also changed. An American soldier! “What’s happening?!?” “I'll tell you what happens here, Kraut. Look outside.” The peaceful idyll of the pretty old town is destroyed as large, heavy American tanks drive through the streets. “From today, Germany is the property of America and all Germans will be turned into real Americans. And I'll start with you. And the first step to becoming an American soldier is a new hairstyle.” Doe suddenly holds an electric razor in his hand. On his face a big grin. “B-but I’m a Doktor!” “So? Then you'll become a military, American paramedic. And they have exactly the same hairstyle as a proud American soldier.” “Are you a patriot or is it a mental disorder that you must always mention that everything is American?” “Of course I am an American patriot! And you will be too. With your new, military haircut, Hippie.” Another strap fixes Ludwig’s head on the headrest and the razor starts to hum. With eyes wide open, Medic has to watch his black hair come loose from his head, along with his curl, which he had always nourished and cherished with so much effort. And Doe’s crazy sing-song resonates throughout the store, throughout the whole city. “U.S.A.! U.S.A.! U.S.A.!”

“U.S.A.! U.S.A.! U.S.A.!” Soldier's morning roll call in the corridor rouses Medic out of his nightmare and he sits bolt upright in his bed. Not the first time, but the first time he is grateful to him. His room door opens and Soldier sticks his head in. “Good morning, cupcake. Get out of bed! We have a long day today.” And he’s already gone again. “A long day? We have our day off today...” Soldier looks so pumped and cheerful. What could that be for a reason? Maybe there is none. Jane is sometimes like a small, moody kid, and the whole team has to bear his moods.

20 minutes later, Medic heads to the kitchen to make a cup of coffee. He didn’t meet anyone from the team all morning. It almost seems as if everyone had flown out. Except, of course, Soldier, whose voice echoes from afar through the whole base. “There you are, maggots! Did you really believe that you could hide from me? I find you always and everywhere!” What is going on today? Something is different. There's something in the air. Medic must think again of his dream. He knows he had that dream, or at least a similar dream, before. But when was that? And in what connection was this dream? “I guess I'm getting old.”

When he arrives in the kitchen, Medic approaches the coffee maker. As expected, no coffee is ready. You would think that nine men in one spaces brings advantages but the opposite is the case. Scout drinks his energy drinks, Engie and Demo prefer drinking alcohol, Pyro...no idea. Spy only consumes wine and tea (as Medic actually does, too but in the early morning it just has to be coffee) and Heavy (secretly) drinks vodka, albeit very little. So the only ones who drink coffee are he, Medic, Sniper, and Soldier. However, Sniper has his own camp stove, which he keeps in his van, and Soldier keeps his own coffee in a separate thermos bottle, which he actually drinks only when he dominates an enemy. It takes a while for the coffee to be used up, which is why Soldier has to keep warming it up - but Medic suspects that he's drinking it cold too… To cut a long story short, Medic always has to cook the coffee by himself. Every morning. But it's done quickly and only a few minutes later, Medic enjoys the early morning caffeine boost. With the steaming coffee cup in his hand, Ludwig makes his way back to the infirmary. Today he intends to start a new experiment on baboon livers. He's worried about Tavish's livers. He is always so proud of them because their tolerates tons of alcohol. But eventually this will be over. And then he will need Medic and his baboon livers. Medic wanted to do that for quite a while, but as a mercenary you has little free time.

On the way, he passes one of the provocative calendars that are spread throughout the base. Without a specific reason, he casts a glance at it - and the coffee runs into his windpipe, causing a violent cough attack. Now he knows why Soldier behaves this way today. It's just like last year. How could he forget that? That's why the Mercs have their day off today. Today is the 4th of July… Soldier's favorite day… “Oh no…” “There you are, maggot!” Startled, Medic swirls around. Soldier stands in front of him. “You probably wanted to make yourself scarce, too, eh? But not today!” “I wanted… I just wanted…” “Quit it! So, sister. You may now choose whether you want to be Governor Morris or George Washington.” The die-hard patriot holds up two costumes. Last year, July 4th was already exhausting, but that's new. It seems to get worse every year. “... … …”

“„♫O! say can you see♫by the dawn’s early light, What so proudly we hailed♫at the twilight’s last gleaming. Whose broad stripes and bright stars♫through the perilous fight, O’er the ramparts we watched, were so gallantly streaming?♫” Soldier had forced his team into the common room, which is decorated with blue-and-white-red garlands and American flags on the walls. And even the Mercs are decorated in American style. In the form of costumes from American founding fathers and presidents. However, only the non-Americans. Pyro sits in a cage on the wall, also in a costume. It's brown, has wings and a tail. When Heavy asked what he's portrays, Soldier replied with pride that he's America's national symbol. A griffin - half eagle, half lion. The strongest and proudest animals in the world. “And what about the bear?” Medic had asked. And Soldier had answered, “A bear? You mean a teddy bear like the Berlin bear?”

Scout and Engie are standing to the left and right of Soldier, who had positioned himself in front of the table where the disguised Mercs are sitting, and sings the American national anthem with his right hand on his chest. The notes are unbearable crooked, but no one dares to interrupt him. On days like this he's unpredictable. Scout and Engie sing too. Engie rather reserved, but Scout with a little more vigor. For the suffering Mercs it feels like an eternity, until the song is finally sung to the end. “Finally. Now I can take off this stupid costume, yes? The beard starts to itch.” Spy wants to doff the annoying thing but Soldier slams both hands on the table. “Abraham Lincoln is a proud beard bearer, Maggot! It will stays!” “Don't pretend you knew him personally” Spy says, cross his arms. “I know him personally! He is sitting in front of me after all!” “Pah!” “I have a question... Who am I?” “Your name is Francis Scott Key, you Scottish ignorant!” “Okay… And what did he do?” “Do I really have to explain everything to you?” “Please excuse me for not knowing much about American history! I'm surprised you know so much about it.” “I am American! Of course I know about the history of my country!” “Oh yeah? If so, then you should also know that this land originally belonged to the Indians! And not you or any other American. So stop pretending that everything is yours!” “Oh Demo…” A dangerous growl escapes Soldier's throat. Dell and Jeremy take a step back. “Of course, this land belongs to me! Just as your asses! Everything is listening to my command!” Now, Tavish shoots up from his chair and glares at Jane across the table. “May I remind you, lad, that you have the role of the soldier here? And what do soldiers do? They take orders, and give none!” Suddenly Soldier holds his disciplinary whip in his hand. It pops loud as he slams it in the palm of his hand. It doesn't need words anymore. Demoman sits down on his chair without further ado and remains silent. He has gone too far, he knows. Often Soldier is like an idiot and you have to scold him once he has messed up again. But on days like these, it's best not to mess with Jane. “Want another one of you Europeans mess with me?” “Um... I'm not a European.” “But you're still not an American, Aussie!” “Yes, but we also speak English! In addition to... 250 other languages, since the Europeans have settled down at our place. Or maybe more...” “AHA! So you are a half European too!” George Washington remains silent subsequently.

“I'll be right back. Then I test your knowledge of this proud land. After all, you have lived here for several years.” And with these words Soldier leaves the room. Dell is a bit ashamed and doesn’t dare to look the other in the eye. Jeremy, however, enjoys the situation. Spy feels provoked. “What are you grinning so stupidly? Actually, you're not that patriotic, Scout.” “That's true, but I like how the hard helmet goofs off you.” “Engie, can you not talk to him?” “I would, but in these phases Soldier is very inaccessible. He wouldn't listen to me. Just do what he says. The day is over quickly.” “Such days never end…” “Here I am, maggots!” Soldier enters the room; with a thick book under his arm. The table trembles as Soldier drops the book on it with a loud bang. “What's this? A quiz book?” “Quiet! I'll ask you questions one after another. And woe to him who doesn’t know the answer!” “What about Scout?” The runner flinches. “’ow about if you ask the boy a few questions first?” Scout's expression on his face shows that he certainly does not know much about American history. But Spy should have known what Soldier would answered. “I don’t need that! He is an American!” Scout exhales (silently) relieved. With his mouth he forms "Fuck you, Spy!" and holds up his middle finger. Soldier notices nothing from all this. His whole attention is on the non-Americans. He opens the book and flips the pages. Engie and Scout look over his shoulder with interest - and then look at each other in wonderment. “My first question is addressed to the Honorable Benjamin Franklin.” Some of the Mercs look at each other questioningly. “Heavy, that's you” Medic whispers to the Russian. “D-da?” “Who started the Cold War and who will win it?” “Umm…” “What is that for a question? I thought you were asking questions about American history or the people we embody today with these costumes.” “Did I already ask your question, Fritz?” “………” “So, Commie, who started the Cold War and who will win it?” “I-I don’t know…” “Should that surprise me?” “Heavy can not look in the future! And I do not know who started. Heavy does not understand politics a lot.” “Failed! But lest you die stupid, I'll tell you the answer. The Soviet Union has started the war and America will end it by winning!” “You cannot look into the future too, Soldier. Or did Merasmus help you?” “I don't need Merasmus to know that America will win! I know that! The next question concerns Francis Scott Key.” Tavish's eye rolls annoyed in its cave. “It's about today's day of honor America. How can it be that America was able to free itself from England, but Scotland is failed to do so?” “…what?” “Correct! Because America is great and strong! Quite different than you. Or do you skirt carriers like to boss around by this billycocks and tea drinkers?” “How dare you? We are not England's slaves! We are united!” “And then came Ireland and has also united with England named United Kingdom of Great Britain and Ireland. Or where in this name is Scotland?” Demoman clenches his hands into fists. For a moment, he thinks about to attacks Soldier, but reconsiders and instead folds his arms offended.

Medic, Sniper and Spy look at each other. The three know what's going to happen to them. And they know that Soldier is going a step too far this year. They knew from the beginning that he's a hardcore patriot. And, in fact, they've gotten used to the fact that he makes fun of them or insults them sometimes. But this is just humiliating. “Now to you, Frenchie.” “Oh please.” “Tell me, how was it possible that France couldn't conquer America but Canada?” “…because America is great?” “Positive! And because the Canadians are a bunch of weaklings! You're not that stupid, Spy.” “I just said what you wanted to ‘ear. The reality looks a little different. North America was taken possession of France and was partly a colonized territory called la Nouvelle-France.” “Wat?” “New France. For 229 years. You can imagine ‘ow many Americans ‘ave French ancestors. Maybe you too?” “I come from the heart of America!” “That doesn’t matter at all.” “Pah! I would rather have German ancestors and even that I don't hope so. Even if that were the case there is hardly an American who speaks French. Unlike the Canadians! And I am neither French nor Canadian! And no German!” “Yes… And their French sounds ‘orrible.” Soldier lets his growling laugh sound as he turns his head to Medic. “C’mere, sister.” Ludwig rolls his eyes annoyed. If Soldier wants to boast about how great America is and his gaze stays on him, then it can only be about one topic… “Who kicked Germany in the ass during World War II?” “………” “Answer!” Medic takes a deep breath. Press on regardless! “I know you want to believe that America defeated Germany. But actually it was the Russians who gave the Germans the coup de grâce.” Heavy lowers his head ashamed. “That's a lie!! America has defeated Germany!” “It was Russia. Ende.” Medic folds his arms. That's the last straw! He doesn't want to be constantly treated like a second-class person just because he's not an American.

Soldier slams both hands on the table until it trembles. “I forbid these impudence!” And with these words he rushes out of the room again. “Was that really Russia?” Mundy asks. “Well” replies Medic, “I don’t know that either. I haven't dealt with it so far. But I know that even France claims to have defeated Germany.” “Pah!” Spy lights a cigarette. “Can we finally talk about something else?” “Today is the 4th of July. We knew that would happen. Was not different last year.” “Last year was not that bad. Soldier only forbade us to say a single word in our mother tongue. And now we have to wear those stupid costumes and answer stupid questions to prove to Soldier that he's above us. I'm fed up!” “Aye! Me too! What is he actually thinking?” “Probably nothing…” “Hey, Pardners. Take a look at Soldier's book.” Engineer pushes the thick book across the table over to the others. What they see surprises them. “What the…!?” The Mercs have assumed that the book is about America. Well, actually it is about America but the pictures and texts are homemade. An originally empty book, which Soldier had filled out with his scrawl and underexposed sense of artistic representation. The texts are about how great America is and how lame other countries are. The pictures show on each page a big American flag and under it various other country flags. German - French - English - Russian...  The colors of the German and the French, as well as the Russian flag are reversed. “I might ‘ave guessed” Spy moans. “These stupid questions ‘e asked, he cannot possibly ‘ave from a real textbook.” “Well, it's a legitimate textbook for him.” “This guy really lives in his own world.” “Yeah, in the American world.” Actually, Tavish's saying was not meant funny, nevertheless it makes the mercenaries laugh. Even Spy has to smile.

“What’s going on here, fagots?” Soldier is back in the room; the whip at the ready. “What are you doing with my book?!” The patriot rushes over to the Mercs, slamming the book shut with such a force that blows Spy's cigarette out of his mouth and tucks it under his arm. “That’s mine!” “We just took a short look” Mundy defends himself and the others. “Yeah, yeah yeah! It's always the same with you non-Americans! You always want our secrets! But as long as Jane is Doe, I will not let that happen! And you two?” Soldier turns to Engineer and Scout. “You just let it happen? Traitors! You just cannot trust the foreigners! And something else. As from today, only English is spoken!” Now it's Heavy who slams his hands on the table. He gets up from his chair and looks menacingly down at Soldier. “Don't talk to Heavy like that!” “Easy, Heavy.” Medic puts a hand on his shoulder. “I'm sure Soldier will apologize. Right, Soldier?” “Why should I do that?” Now the foreign Mercs are moving together. “Because the foreigners are in the majority.” “………” “And you can certainly not forbid us to speak in our mother tongue. Am I right?” “Da!” “Oi!” “Aye!” “Oui.” “It just figures that the Nazi would take the lead.” Engineer is clearly uncomfortable with how the situation develops. Sensitive, he tries to bring Soldier to reason. But he doesn't get further than his name because Spy leans back in his chair and takes the floor. “My dear Soldier, we are not the problem, but you.” “What do you mean?” “Very simple. You put us in the costumes of, I 'ave to say, great Americans. It's even a 'onor for us to be dressed like the Founding Fathers and Presidents on a day like this one. And you know why? Because America is partly our home too. We feel just as comfortable 'ere as we are at our 'omeland. We 'ave accept it. Why can't you accept that foreigners 'ave a 'ome in America? Celebrating the 4th of July with just as much enthusiasm as Americans. You probably let us wear these costumes for several reasons. But first and foremost, to 'ide that we are not Americans. And even that doesn't work. You attack us anyway. Or do you 'ave no respect for Abraham Lincoln or George Washington?” “O-of course, Sir!” Soldier salutes. Scout leans over to Engineer and whispers, “This guy is insane.” As if Soldier has heard that, he turns to them. “Why don’t you salute our Honorable Presidents and Founding Fathers?” “You are insane!” Jane hits Jeremy on the back of his head. “Ow!” “Chest out!” And there is another blow with the whip on the butt. With a renewed outcry Scout stands straight up and his arm moves almost automatically upwards to get into salute position. Engineer doesn’t want to undergo disciplinary sanctions and salutes. Now the three Americans are standing in front of the rest of the Mercs, saluting and with the utmost respect in body language. Except for Scout. He feels extremely provoked by Spy's gaze and spitefulness smile. You'll suffer for this! “Hey, Captain Harthelm.” “Silence, Soldier!” “I have important information from secret service.” “From secret service?” “Scout, what are you doing?” “Our presidents and founding fathers are spies.” “WAT?!” “Yeah! I mean look at them!” Soldier looks closer at Spy and the others (as far as the oversized helmet allows). “Hhmmmm…” Facepalm. It's time to bust the guys. And that's proper for a real American, isn't it? Jeremy dash at Spy, grabs his Lincoln-beard and pulls it off his face. Soldier gasps loudly and grabs his chest in horror. “Traitors! Spies! In my base!” “Retreat!” Heavy, Demo, Medic, Spy and Sniper flee out of the room. Of course, they could defend themselves against Soldier, but if Soldier is in a rage, even Heavy is powerless. High treason is in his eyes the worst sin that can be committed. Jane Doe can't take a joke here… While the Mercs flee down the hall, Soldier's voice resonates throughout the base. “Come back here you treacherous, sneaky, deceitful, cowardly, spying hippies! No one messes with America! And I am Americaaaaaa!” “Have you often wondered if Soldier has several personalities?” “No, but I think ‘e is capable of doing everything.” “Now he will sweep through this base like a tornado and make our life hell.” “Don't worry. We just hide somewhere and wait until tomorrow. Then everything will be normal.” “Yes, until the next 4th of July…” “Then we have to do something, so that doesn’t happen anymore. We should teach him a lesson” Heavy suggests. “And ‘ow should we do that?” “Heavy don’t know yet.” “Don't worry, lads. We will come up with something! Finally, we come from five different regions of the world.” “And what does that have to do with it? Are you losing your mind like Soldier?” “Just sayin’…”

Enraged, Soldier strides up and down in the common room. “These miserable deceivers. Disguise themself as honorable Americans to deceive me! But no one is fooling me!” “Nice goin’, son” Engineer whispers angrily to the boy. “That was not my fault! Spy provoked me. And that's what comes of it!” “You!” Dell and Jeremy startle. “You will help me to find these deceivers! Engie! You build your Sentrys at each entrance and exit of this base. The dispenser and the teleporter entrance come here. The common room is now our headquarter.” “But this whole base is our headquarter…” Soldier grabs Scout by the shoulders. “I don't know if you might not have noticed, boy, but our base has been infiltrated! The rats are in the cheese…” “And…now?” “You will track them down and report back to me.” “Me?” “Of course! You're a scout, aren't you?” “Well…yeah.” “Then move!” Before you know it, Scout is already gone. “And you? You're still standing here, too.” “Jane, don't you think you're exaggerating?” Soldier's lips twitch. “What was that, soldier?” “I-I mean…” Soldier approaches Engineer. “We are at war. There is no ifs and buts.” “These are our friends. Our comrades.” Soldier's lips twitch again. “I feel like you're sympathetic to America's enemies. Dell...” He takes Engineer by the shoulders. “I need you. You are my closest ally. Don’t abandon me and America. So start positioning your toys now.” Dell shakes his head wearily, but he finally agrees to placate Soldier. “Thanks, Engie.” Soldier wants to leave the room. “What are you going to do, Soldier?” “Prepare myself for the war. What else?” And then he's gone. Engineer sighs in defeat and finally sets about building the dispenser. “Hudda…” Pyro embraces the bars of his cage and looks slightly scared. “Don't worry, buddy. You're safe in there until it's all over. Hah, I bet BLU doesn't have such a hassle with their Soldier.”

At the same time in the BLU Base: “Get down! Get down, maggots! You call that push-ups? My grandmother can it better! Sissies! It's high time that an American gives beans your non-American asses! I will make you get a move on!” “S-soldier! That’s too much…” There is a painful whip on the butt. “Did I allow you to speak, Baguette? Bread doesn't talk! And what about you, Kraut? Don't you have any strength anymore?” “Fess!” Another whiplash. “Kraut and baguette. Kraut-Baguette! That's the name for you both now. When I say Kraut-Baguette, you two will spurt, got it? And you, commie? I know you're fat, but come on!” Another whiplash echoes through the base. Engineer and Scout sitting in the background and drink their beer and energy drink and enjoy the sight. Pyro lies in the corner and takes a nap with his plush unicorn. “Maggots!” *smack*

"Well, I bet there is more harmonious than over here.”

Entrenched in the basement, European (and Australian) mercenaries squat and think about what to do. “Great, I actually feel like an intruder. What is Soldier thinking?” “I don't think ‘e thinks anything. I rather believe that ‘e is guided by ‘is instincts.” Spy massages his temples. “First the April 1 with Scout's unbearable jokes, and then the July 4th, when Mon cher Soldier's patriotic spirit gains the upper ‘and.” “Don’t forget Halloween, Spook.” “Oh yes… ‘alloween is fun.” “Nah!” Sniper hates Halloween. For a simple reason. On that day Soldier thinks, whatever reason, he is Merasmus. Says he looks like him. “Where is a similarity between me and him?” “Well, I recognize some similarities too.” “What's your problem with me, Spy?” “I don't ‘ave any problem with you. I just said that I can also recognize similarities. This big bulbous nose, this 'I am an Idiot' - gaze…” Tavish and Misha cannot help smiling. “Gaaahhh!” “Could we concentrate on thinking about how to give Soldier a piece of his mind?” Medic sighs. “We must stick together now. This is especially important in moments like these. But I think I have an idea.” “Really?” The rest of the team is on fire for Medic's words. “Well, I think we have to tell him that our home countries have done a lot of good for America.” “Hmm… Could maybe work, lad. We have to win his trust. And when we have that, he may leave us alone in the future on 4 July.” “And on Halloween!” “That's not interesting, Bushman.” “Why you…!” “Easy, Mundy. One thing at a time. First we'll take care of that, okay?” “Medics words soothe the sniper. But he cannot resist to hiss at Spy.” “But how do we get Soldier to listen?” “That's a good question, Heavy. How do you make an American soldier capitulate?” “By checkmate his team.” “That's right. But we will not checkmate Scout and Engineer but get them on our side.” “It's quite possible that Engineer will do that, but not Scout.” “He's not a patriot, he just wants to give you a wipe, Spy. But we will certainly get him on our side.” “And I ‘ave the feeling that this will ‘appen at my expense.”

“Maybe~” The Mercs flinch. Scout sits above them on one of the pipes on the ceiling and grins silly down at them. “How did you find us?!?” “Aw c’mon. I am the best. Apart from that, it is not too difficult to detect a group of retirees.” “Aye! Watch your mouth, boy!” “How did you get in here?” “Through the ventilation shaft.” Scout proudly points to the hole in the wall. “I'm surprised you ‘ave taken this path. The ventilation shaft ‘asn’t been cleaned for years. Quite apart from the creepy-crawlies.” “C-creepy-crawlies?” “Yes… For example, that spider on your shoulder.” “Waaahh!?!” Panicked Jeremy pats down his shoulder, then the other. He moves so hastily that he loses his balance and falls off the pipe. Lucky for him that Heavy was sitting right under him. The friendly Russian catches him in the middle of the air with one hand. “Little man is afraid of little spider?” On solid ground Scout pats down his clothes. “I- I'm not afraid of spiders” he replies defiantly. “Calm down, Scout. There is no spider. Spy fooled you.” “Yes, thanks. Nevertheless, it tingles me everywhere now!” “Little man is afraid of a small, invisible spider” laughs Heavy. “Yeah, yeah, yeah…” “What do you want, Scout? I bet Soldier sent you to look for us, am I right?” Medic folds his arms. “Yeah, sure. But I didn’t look for you because he told me.” “Why you’re here then, mate?” “Well, I've heard that you want to get me and Engie on your side. What do I get if I join you?” “That doesn’t answer the question of why you went looking for us.” “He went looking for us because he's scared shitless in front of Jane. He just doesn't want to admit it.” “Hmph! Hey! Better make me a good offer, otherwise I'll go to the hard helmet and peach against you!” Heavy rises from his seat in the form of a wooden box. With his arms tightly folded, he stands directly behind Scout; towers over him like a sequoia and looks down at him sternly. The boy has to swallow. “Do you really think that, where you are now in our midst, we just let you go that way? That we let ourselves be pressured by you?” “Y-you owe me something if I join you. And remember that you need me if you want to get Dell on your side. Soldier has forced him to align his sentries to shoot at anyone who is neither Red nor a Scout, Engineer, or Soldier class.” “Are you serious?” “Pffft! For all I care. You can try your luck.” The mercs look at each other. “Okay, lad. What do you want?” “Yeah, awesome! Weeellll… You all become my slaves. For, say... three months. You make my room, bring me food and drink and do all my household chores.” “You’re feeling fine, boy?” “Pah! I prefer to sit in the basement for the rest of the day. Tomorrow Soldier is back to normal anyway.” “All right, all right! Then I'll make you another offer. I'm allowed to borrow Spy's cigarette case.” “What?!” “Hmm… I can live with that. What about you?” Everyone agrees, only Spy has objections. “Why should you want that? You cannot ‘andle it anyway!” “Oh come on, Spook. Give the baby his bottle.” “Come on, Spy. Pull yourself together.” “If the spook is over, you can ‘ave it. But the using is only under my supervision, understood? And woe, you just want to behave mischievously!” “Yeah, yeah. Calm down, gramps.” “Hmpf!” “Then go, boy.” “Alright! I'm back in no time!” And with that Scout leaves the cellar. Spy takes out his cigarette case. “What you up to?” “I will follow ‘im. I don't trust ‘im. ‘e's up to something.” At the touch of a button, Spy disguises as Scout. “Actually, we would have come up with this idea sooner.” “But we should have put Scout away before. This brat would have ruined it.” “Haha! I could to get used to hearing Scout talking about himself like that.” “Why don't we choose a day in the year where we do somethin’ nice together. You know, as a team. Spy dresses up as all of us and makes a few jokes. As a kind of comedic show” suggests Tavish excited. “I’m not a comedian and certainly not here to entertain you.” “Don't pretend that you don't even want to have fun at our expense. You're pretty much like Scout.” “Well, the apple never falls far from the tree.” “That’s not true…”

“You died as you lived: running away!” “Oh, Soldier, who will they ever find to replace you? Anyone! Ahahahaha!!” “You look like death warmed over *chuckles*” “I've merely finished what your liver started!” “Aww, too bad this wasn't a pie-eating contest!” “Yippee ki-yay, my dead, illiterate friend!” “I'm looking at your x-ray, and I'm afraid you suck!” “You live in a van! Ahahahahaha!” “I'll see you in hell... you handsome rogue.”

“Hmpf!” Without another word, Spy leaves the basement. “Oh dear, if that goes wrong.” “And we?” “We’ll wait here.”

The fake scout sneaks through the base. He had lost sight of the real one. This rascal just cannot walk normally, has always to run. But he has an idea. He will visit the common room. As pretty as Soldier had decorated the room, he surely have declared it to the Headquarter. But the common room is empty (except for Griffin-Pyro). The teleporter and the dispenser are here, confirming Spy's guess. Where could Engineer be? Maybe the teleporter will bring him directly to him? But before Spy can use the equipment, Soldier suddenly appears. His rocket launcher on his shoulder - loaded and ready to fire his missiles at the allegedly traitors. “What are you doing here, soldier? Did you find the enemy?” “Uumm… No, not yet.” “Hadn't I been clear enough that I don't want to see you here any more, until you did your job?” Soldier raises his voice. Actually, he always talks loudly. But now he's talking loudly because he's in a rage. Really unbearable. But Spy must not break character. “I have not found them yet, but I think I know where they are right now.” “Who?” “In the abandoned part of the base.” “And why didn't you search there, if you are so sure that they are there?” “W-well because…because err…” “Ah I see. You’re afraid. Soldiers are not afraid!” “Dude, I don't know if you haven't already noticed, but it's really scary there.” “And if Merasmus would live there with all his evil products! We both go there now and smoke the rats out!” Jane grabs the fake scout by the ear and pulls him along. “Aw crap!” Before they can leave the common room, suddenly the real Scout appears. When he sees the two, he freezes. He needs a moment to realize that he's facing himself. “Aw crap…” “What the…?! Ahhh! A doppelganger traitor!” Soldier throws Spy over to Scout and points his deadly rocket launcher at them. “What are you doing?” “Hunt you down! I don't know who of you is the real one, so I'll play it safe.” “You cannot do that!” “Yeah, man! If you kill me, you're a comrade murderer! Because I'm the real scout!” “No, I'm the real one! If you kill me, you will be dishonorably disbanded from the army!” Jane hesitates. Both have good arguments. Then there is only one thing to do. Without letting the two out of sight, Soldier walks over to Pyro's cage and unlocks it. “Get in there!” “What?” “I'm not going in there! Not to this…thing.” “In with you or I'll blow up both of you a rocket in the ass! Shit on the consequences!” The two scouts exchange views with each other. Only very slowly and hesitantly they approach the cage. Pyro looks like he cannot wait to get new roommates. Like a small child, he claps excitedly in his hands. “What are you doing here?” whispers Scout angrily. “Preventing you from doing nonsense.” “So you don’t trust me?” “Indeed, I don't do that at all.” “QUIET! Whispering will not be tolerated!” At the cage door the two hesitate. Impatiently, Soldier moves them up with a kick and immediately closes the cage. “What's that supposed to be?” Doe grabs a chair and pulls it over. He sits down on it, places the rocket launcher next to him on the ground and uses it as arm supported. “Now I will find out who of you is the real scout.” Again, the two scouts exchange views with each other. “And how do you want to do that?” “By asking you questions that only the real scout can answer.” “No problem!” the two answer synchronously. There's nothing Spy doesn't know about his teammates. Just disguising as them doesn't make him a professional spy. He must be them. He has to think like them, like and hate what they like and hate. In other words, physically as well as mentally, he must be the exact copy of the enemy. Spy is ready! However, the constant embrace tries of Pyro is a bit disturbing…

“First question…” The real Jeremy fidgets excitedly. Or maybe it's nervousness? “What's Scout's favorite drink?” “BONK! “Bonk…” “Bonk? What is that?” “Err…?” “………?” “The answer is wrong, maggots! The correct answer is milk.” “Milk? You've got to be kiddin’!” Spy pokes Scout in the ribs. “What's the big idea?” “Stop being upset and play his sick game.” “No whispering! Next question. What does Scout's mother look like?” “Beautiful.” “Hot.” Scout gives Spy a bitter look. “Oh really?” Soldier laughs perverted. “Wait a moment! You miserable pervert!” “………” “Okay, the third and last question. How old is Scout?” “I'm 23, knucklehead!” “Pfft! I would be with pleasure. But in reality I'm only 16.” “Positive!” Scout is extremely outraged. “Which side are you on?” “On my own. After all, I am a selfish brat.” “Although I have already finished my interrogation that is correct, too. Come out, soldier.” Jane opens the cage and lets Spy step out and immediately closes it behind him again. “I knew from the beginning that you were the real scout.” “You kiddin’ me?” “You can give up on your dilettante disguise now, Spy.” “I AM THE REAL SCOUT!” “If so, how is it possible that you have answered the questions about yourself incorrectly?” “I have answered correctly! You just think I'm wrong because you have no idea about me! You don't know anything about me!” “I hardly believe that, maggot! I know everything about my team! And you're a 16-year-old milk face. Or how do you explain that you are still so small at 23? When I was that age, I was already three heads taller than you.” Frustrated, Jeremy screams. Spy looks back and forth between Soldier and Scout. He would not have thought that this would happen. And he likes it. A real satisfaction. “Now that it's clear, we'll both hunt the traitors out of hiding.” “Wait… We both?” “Of course! Is there a problem?” “N-no! Of course not.” Actually, Spy had planned to go looking for Engineer. But now he has Soldier on his hands, so he has to change his plan. And he already has an idea. “Umm… I said that I suspect the traitors in the abandoned part of the base, right?” “Those were your words.” “Well, as far as I know, this place is locked. Do you have the key?” “Of course. That's my base after all!” You would like that, wouldn't you?

“I'll go get it. You wait here! And don't let yourself be conned, got it?” And with that, Soldier bustles off. Spy uses this time to talk to Jeremy (who looks pretty pissed off). “Scout…” “I'm not talking to you anymore” he replies defiantly, folds his arms and turning away. “Now don’t act like a defiant child!” “Why not? After all I'm still a child. Am I right, Scout?” “Oh please. Even the most childish 16-year-olds are more adult than you. Now get a grip. You know that Soldier is an idiot.” “Pah!” “Anyway. ‘ave you talked to Engineer?” “………” “Scout.” “………” Spy sighs beaten. This kid… “I’m back!” Soldier's dominant voice enters Spy's ears and goes through his entire body. This frightens the French so much that he almost betrays himself. How can it be that a guy who is always loud can sneak up like this? “Let’s go, soldier!” With one last look at Scout, Spy follows Soldier into the corridor. “Hudda…” Pyro carefully places a hand on Scout's shoulder, but he shakes it off. “Leave me alone, Pyro.” “Mmpfhh…”

Engineer lies relaxed on his sun bed at the main entrance of the base next to his sentry and drinks his beer. He has not heard anything from inside for a while. Apparently the others were able to successfully hide from Jane. And it's not easy to hide from Jane. If he is looking for something or someone, he is like a bloodhound. They're safe and Engineer doesn't have to worry about them. He can only hope that they stay in their hiding place and don't come across of one of his sentries. Solly had ordered him to changed them so they shoot at anyone who - well - is not American. Dell has to admit that he's worried a bit for Soldier. This year he goes a little too far. What if the others blame him so much that they assassinate him the next day? Nah! We are a team. We hold together like a family. Each of us has his quirks and everyone understands. Tomorrow we will surely laugh about it. Engie closes his eyes. The even breathing of his beloved Sentry makes him slightly sleepy. And while he's dozing off slowly, Dell remembers that they had always celebrated 4th of July in Texas with a big fireworks display and an even bigger barbecue party. Best beef on best grill. Automatically his right hand puts itself on his stomach. A shadow settles over Engineer. But he doesn't bother because he believes only one cloud has moved in front of the sun. “I've heard that alcohol makes you fat and ugly.” Oh shit… Scout stands over him, holding one of Dell's beer bottles in his hand. “And energy drinks make you hyperactive and stupid.” “Pff!” “What do you want, boy? Didn't Soldier send you away?” “Sure. And as good as I am, I have already found the classics.” “For real? Where are they?” “They have entrenched themselves in the cellar.” “You will not tell Jane, will you?” “Hmmm… No. Spy promised me to borrow his cigarette case if I shut up.” “Doesn’t sound completely voluntary.” “Some offer they had to make.” “Boy, if you help someone, then you do not take anything from them.” “Why not?” “Because these are your teammates. They are like your family.” “If it were your family, it would be different.” “There we go.” “Yeah, yeah, anyway! At any rate, they begged me to talk to you. I was their only hope, you know?” “Don't beat around the bush, son!” “They plan to teach the hard helmet a lesson so that he will hold back a little more next July 4th. And they want our help. Are you in on it?” The word assassinates comes in Dell's mind. “What are they planning to do?” “No idea. But it will be interesting.” “Hmm… Okay, I'm in it. Are you telling them this? I have to stay here. When Solly realizes that I'm not in my place, there's trouble.” “Pffah! Today only one will get trouble. And that's not us. Besides, I just wanted to go to the common room. Let Pyro out of his cage.” “That's nice of you. The poor buddy. Kept like an animal in a cage.” “I think he feels comfortable in it. Just want to let him out to create chaos and confusion.” “………” Scout makes suddenly twitching movements and scratches his head and neck. “What's up with you, boy?” “Nothing! Just have the feeling that I have creepy-crawlies on my body.” “Creepy-crawlies?” “Yes, anyway! I'm gone.” He leaves. The others are in the basement. Not the nicest place, but maybe they are safe from Soldier. But now Dell has to decide what he should do. Does he go to them now and possibly risk Jane getting wind of it? If only he knew what exactly the others were planning. “Oh boy…”

Spy and Soldier are now standing in front of the locked steel door that leads to the abandoned part of their base. Why this part is left unused, they don't know. That's how it was already when they moved in here three years ago. Even the corridor that leads to this door seems slightly ghostly. What does it look like inside then? From the outside, the Mercs have no insight, because the windows are provided with boards and curtains. The question is how Soldier got the key. “Have you ever been in here?” “Of course not, maggot!” “Why not? I mean, it's exciting, isn't it?” “That's why Miss Pauling gave me the key. Because I'm the only one with discipline and responsibility. Closed doors are not funny, after all.” “Okay…?” Sometimes you are even a bigger joker than Scout. But things like locked doors are probably a limit to you. We should take advantage of that in our favor.

Doe unlocks the heavy door and pushes it open. Immediately an ice-cold wind and the slight smell of mold blows against them. Spy turns his head away in disgust. “Disgusting.” “Don't whine! In you go!” Soldier pushes the wrong scout through the door. The cold immediately takes possession of him and makes him shiver. But he has to admit that something else triggers the shaking. They are standing in a corridor. On the right the gray, unfriendly, cold wall and on the left the row of windows. It's the old boards that nailed to the windows that mouldered. The gray curtains, which probably used to be white are torn and blow ghostly back and forth. The light that shines in between the boards from outside is deprived of its brightness by the curtains. Spy has to swallow a bit. Scout should be grateful that he isn't in his stead. Soldier just marches headlong. He sighs and follows him. This is the perfect place to get rid of him. But for that they have to go deeper. Lucky Soldier doesn't distrust Spy's lie. After all, he had finally claimed that they had fled in here, even though the door was locked. Suddenly Soldier stops abruptly. “Just a minute…” Oh-oh! “The door was locked. How did they get in here?” The patriot turns to Spy. “Eerrr… M-maybe they had a spare key?” “Impossible! I have the only key!” “W-w-well t-then umm...” Soldier looks piercingly at him (through his helmet). Merde… Spy gets ready to run away when Soldier suddenly starts to laugh. “Hahaha! Presumably, this French Spy has turned into the key and opened the door for them. He was the only one left behind to fool me! To give the other time. But I don't let anyone fool me!” …artard.

The two reach the first room. There are no windows in there, absolute darkness. But the Spy doesn’t really care. He wants Soldier's key. “Light the way for me!” “I…what? I have no light.” Soldier reaches into his pocket and brings out a small flashlight, which he hands over to Spy. “That's why I'm the leader and you my battalion.” “I think we should end this ridiculous war.” Soldier slowly turns to Spy and looks threateningly down at him. “What was that?” “I mean, we could search them here for hours without ever finding them. And they are not our real enemies either. You just get weird ideas because today is your favorite day.” “Are you telling me that July 4th is not a day of honor in your eyes?” “What? No!” “Did you switch to the side of the enemies?” “That's not how I meant it!” Soldier steps close to Scout, who in turn dodges backwards until he has a wall in his back. Jane bends down to him, their noses almost touching. “I would advise you not to betray me.” Spy has to get this psychotic patriot off his back before he blows his cover! “Now listen to me! You may be the leader!” At least that's what you think. “But you should not forget that we are your troop! And what is a leader without his men? Nothing! Therefore, you should finally start to respect us more and insult less! And while we're at it - stop constantly screaming!” “But I have to scream and insult you! Otherwise you snails will not get off the stick! And as always you are the best example! Or why I still have no light, eh?” Soldier grabs Scout and shoves him into the room in front of him. Muttering something to himself, Spy turns on the flashlight. The room is quite big. Or is that because of the yawning emptiness that reigns here? Presumably this was or should be something like a common room. “Why is this part here actually abandoned?” “That’s Top Secret!” “In other words, you have no idea either.” *smack* The hit with the whip on Spy's butt causes the dead air to shake. With his mouth wide open, he turns to face Soldier, a hand on his butt, his face covered in surprise, disbelief, and pain, thinking of making a cry of pain or not. “I hate backtalk! Now stop looking like Engie’s Truck and move! I finally want to get these maggots and teach them the lesson of their lives.” We'll see who will get learned his lesson…

A doorless passage leads the two into another room border to three others. Spy didn't think the darkness could get any darker. It looks like it could swallow the light from the flashlight. “Great. And which way do we take now?” “Light once in every room.” Spy obeys. But he doesn’t step too close to the dark rooms. After checking all three, he returns to Soldier. “Report, private!” “Well, the left and right passages lead to a dead end. And the middle one to another eerie corridor.” “Then forward march!” “Uummm…” “What is it?” “W-well, how about I stay here? I mean, just in case they get past me. So I can trap them, y'know?” “Without flashlight?” “Er…” “You’re coming with me!” “But it's so scary!” “You are a shame for the army! I'll give you beans when I'm done with these traitors!” Soldier rips the flashlight out of Scout's hand. “You stay behind me!” “Aren’t you...afraid of ghosts?” “Me? Afraid of ghosts? Pah! I have already fought against ghosts you were a mere twinkle in your father's eye!” I don’t think so, my dear Jane.

Soldier goes straight to it. This whole team consists only of weaklings and yellowbellies. He's the only one who can bring this bunch to heel. They simply lack discipline. Once fighting in the war, they would finally turn into a man! The fight against the BLUs doesn't count. These are all just washcloths, too. It's time for Soldier to dust off his top-secret training plan. Doe reaches a staircase that leads up one floor. After a few steps, he notices that Scout has not said anything for a while. Actually, nothing bad, because the enemies cannot be forewarned. Nevertheless, it's quite untypical. “What's wrong with you, Maggot? Are you so afraid that it makes you speechless?” No reaction. “Scout?” Silence. Doe turns to the boy, but he’s nowhere to be seen. What? Lost? One of his men is missing and the enemy is lurking nearby. What to do? Retreat! Of course Soldier could also act as a one-man army. Together with his rocket launcher, he is a dangerous man. But what is a commander without his men? And for no other reason he will backtrack now. Too hasty, he begins with the descent, treads wrong and crashes down the last steps. With a heavy groan he hits the cold ground, losing the flashlight. It slips a few feet off the ground, away from him. “Ow…” He automatically touches his head. Thank god he had his helmet on. In addition to the weapon, the helmet is the best friend of a soldier. Still lying on the floor, Jane looks around for his only source of light. It seems so far away. If Soldier is honest, he feels a little uncomfortable without the flashlight. He feels for his rocket launcher and wants to get up, but something stops him. Doe listens into the darkness. Silence. He thought he had heard something. What exactly he cannot say. But no matter what it was. This was certainly the responsibility of the enemies of America, who are hiding in this abandoned part of the base. Is he being hunted now? They think just because he's alone now he's attackable. “You will never get me alive…” Hastily he stumbles over to the flashlight. Keeping it in his hand gives Jane a little peace of mind.

Soldier “Gasp!” One voice! There was a voice calling his name! A scary, whispering, transparent voice. Soldier cannot possibly determine which direction it came from. “Who's there? Show yourself!” Soldier Jane whirls around in panic. The voice was right behind him but nobody is to be seen. “Are you a ghost? I'm not afraid of ghosts! Before you even died, I've already fought ghosts!” Soldier Soldier Soldier Soldier Now the voice is everywhere. Or are there several? Soldier turns around his own axis. “I know exactly what you are up to! You want to confuse me! But that will not work!” During the turn, he discovers a figure in the light of his flashlight. Without thinking, he drops it, heaves the rocket launcher on his shoulder and fires all of his four rockets in the direction he thought he saw the figure. The explosions make the building shake - and then it's quiet. No more voices. After a short period of immobility, Soldier drops his rocket launcher. “Hmph! Don't mess with me.” He picks up the flashlight. Soldier feels like being invincible! However, his flashlight doesn't seem to feel that way, too. It's light begins to flicker. “Oh no…” A few final attempts to give light to its owner, and then the flashlight gives up its spirit and wraps Jane in absolute darkness. Soldier Soldier Soldier Soldier Soldier Soldier Soldier Soldier Soldier Soldier Soldier The voices are back. And louder this time than before. “No… No!” Jane retreats until he feels a wall in the back and slides down on it. Both hands are pressed to the ears. “Leave me alone!” Soldier Soldier Soldier Soldier Soldier Soldier Soldier Soldier Soldier Soldier Soldier!!!

After a painful odyssey back to the busy part of the base, Spy shoves the heavy steel door shut and locks it with the key he had stolen from Soldier. Thanks to his watch he could go unnoticed. Was not easy without light. He had to feels his way in the dark slowly and still got bumps and bruises. “Finally out there.” As Aiméric turns around to finally get the others out of the cellar, Dell suddenly stands in front of him. “Aaarhhgg! God dammit! Engineer! Was this necessary?” “I'm sorry, pardner. I saw that the door was open. Isn't it always locked?” “Yes, but I ‘ad to get Soldier in there.” “And he is still in there?” “I ‘ad to do it. I couldn't get rid of ‘im otherwise. Don't worry, ‘e's fine. Do me a favor and bring the others here. They are in the basement.” “Roger that. Scout has already taught me about it. I'll hurry up.” Dell's going. Meanwhile, Spy will get some flashlights. In search of it, he comes past the common room. He takes a quick look inside, just to see what Scout is doing. “What are you doing, imbecile?” The scout had tried to squeeze through the bars, but got stuck halfway. “What do you care” Scout countered, paying no attention to Spy. You can clearly see that he’s embarrassed by his complicated situation. Aiméric shrugs. “You're right. This is none of my business. I have something to do anyway. Pyro takes care of you. Don't you, Pyro?” “Hudda!” Caring, the pyromaniac puts a hand on Scout's head. “Aww. Isn’t that cute?” “Don’t touch me, you psychotic fire devil!” “Now, now. If I were you, I would be kind to your roommate.” “It's all your fault! Because you've distrusted me! If you had just stayed in the basemanet and let me do it, it wouldn't have happened.” “Calm down. You're just in a cage. When we're done with Soldier, we'll let you out.” “Why not now?” “Because Soldier ‘as the key.” “And where is the hard helmet? Did you backstabbed him? You can do that so well.” “…I'll go then. You don’t want to talk to me anyway. Au revoir ~” And Spy's gone. “Hey? Hey! Come back and get me out of here! Spy! Spyyyyyy!!” “Hudda!” “Leave me alone already!”

Dell reaches the basement. There he finds the others sitting in a circle. They give the impression of survivors of a nuclear attack. “Howdy, Pardners!” “Engie?!” Engineer is pleased that they are happy to see him. It's about time that they finally come out of the basement. He doesn't feel comfortable when his friends and colleagues have to hide in their own base just because Soldier has one of his phases. “What are you doing here? Did Scout finally find you? It took a long time.” “No, the boy was with me some time ago…” “And why didn’t you come right away?” “I could not leave my post. Soldier would have calls me down otherwise.” “And why are you here now?” “Spy gave me the green light. He said I should come get you. What do you have for a plan?” “We will make it clear to Soldier that America is not a super-land and it is stuck without other countries. Just like Soldier without us. Hmph!” Tavish speaks with a stern tone in his voice. When he's not drunk, he's one of the more austere and sober types. “But it's not personal, Dell.” “Hey, don't worry about me. I don't take that personally. I can understand you. Well then come. I'll take you to Spy.” “What would we do without you, Engie?” “Yes! You are the good soul of this team.” “You make me embarrassed, boys.” Engineer leads the four up the basement stairs and down the corridor towards the abandoned building. They pass one of the base entrances, where there is still one of Engineer's Sentries. Active and ready to shoot at anyone who is not American. Unfortunately, it comes too late into Dell's mind. Panicky, he whirls around to the others. “Stop! Don’t go any further!” Beep beep! The sentry fireworks illuminate the entire area. Usually a beautiful sight for Engineer. But this time he is plagued by gruesome guilt. He can do nothing but watch his beauty shoot down Medic, Demoman, Sniper, and Heavy. Their screams are completely destroyed by the shots. And finally, the Sentry shoots her four rockets, which fly with a graceful turn through the air and collide with the dying. Then it becomes quiet. Perforated, the Mercs lie motionless in front of Dell on the floor. Blood everywhere. Some parts of the body were separated by the explosion and flung away for several meters. His Sentry has made a good job. That will cause trouble. He will now quickly convert his Sentry and then wait at the Respawn for the others. He's hoping they are not too angry. How could they, where they had previously described him as a good soul of the team? They will surely understand him.

Spy waits impatiently at the steel door to the abandoned part of the base. He could find some flashlights in the storeroom. Now he is standing here waiting for Engineer to finally come with the others. He had sent him off a long time ago. What stops him?

Steps. Then finally the others can be seen. Spy rolls his eyes annoyed. “Well, finally. Where were… What’s wrong with you?” As they get closer, Spy recognizes the miffed expression on their faces. Engie, on the other hand, trots after the others, keeps his head down. “I'm sorry we kept you waiting, but a so-called Dell let us run into his Sentry and we had to make a trip through the spawn.” “Oh… I see. Don’t blame ‘im.” “Whom else then, huh?” Tavish's admonishing gaze wanders from Engie to Spy. “Maybe we should blame you. You should have sapping that thing, after all.” “Hey, hey, hey. Mutual blame doesn't help us. And basically, we all know who's to blame for all this trouble, right?” “Yes, where is Soldier actually?” “Behind this door.” Spy knocks on the steel door. “Wait a moment…” Medic looks around more closely. “That's the abandoned part of this base. And he is in there? All alone? And if I look at the flashlights like that, I assume that there is no light in there. I think we should hurry.” “Why?” “The human mind is quite complex. Especially the one from Jane. If you spend too much time in dark places, all by yourself, you can hear noises and see images that are not there at all.” “Wouldn't it be an advantage if he loses his mind?” All eyes are on Sniper. “Just saying. At least until after Halloween. Then Doc can fix him.” “Don’t worry. ‘e ‘as a flashlight.” “So... if there is no light in there, I can take care of it. Just a second.” And with these words Engineer's gone. “Does that mean I got the flashlights in vain?” Spy puts them down on the floor and unlocks the steel door. Soldier is not to be seen. He must be still deep inside. It's really strange that he didn't come back here. Did he get lost? But even Spy has found his way back. And that without a flashlight. Did something happen to him? If Aiméric is honest, he worries a bit about Soldier.

A moment later, the ceiling lamps begin to flicker and the ghostly corridor in front of them is flooded with bright light. “What the…? The electricity is still intact ‘ere?” Dell returns to the group, proud of himself. “Of course. I keep it in good condition permanently since we moved here. Arrangement from above. Just in case, I guess.” “But why are the whole windows nailed up?” “Don’t know. I should just take care of the electricity.” “That means… this key is yours?” Spy holds out the thick key to Engineer. “Yes, that's mine. I wondered how you and Solly came in there. Where did you get that from?” “From Soldier. ‘e said it belongs to ‘im. That the administrator entrusted this key to him because ‘e is the only you can trust. Pah! That should ‘ave make me wonder.” Engie shakes his head beaten. “Just get Solly out of there so that we can finally finish this nonsense.” With a nod, Spy, Medic, Heavy, Demo and Sniper enter the abandoned part that does not seem so abandoned now.

“Hey… Where is Scout?” “’e sits in the cage with Pyro.” “Oh… I'll check on them.” Engie is straight away on his way to the common room. Meanwhile, the others are looking for Soldier. “With light the rooms now seem even bigger. I wonder what Engineer should maintain the electricity in this abandoned part of the base. ‘e could have taken care of the furnishings, too.” “Maybe as a retreat, if something should happen to the main base?” “Well then the furnishing is even more important. At least it should ‘ave a fireplace room and a wine cellar.” “SOLDIER!” The others flinch. Tavish's voice echoes from the walls. “What are you doing?” “I call for him, lad. Who knows how far he is inside. By calling him we could find him faster.” “Where did you leave him behind, Spy?” “’ard to tell... With light everything looks very different. But I think we'll be there soon.” Suddenly, Medic stops abruptly. Heavy turns to him. “What’s the matter, Doktor?” “Don't you hear that?” Now everyone stops and listens to the silence. A soft whimpering is to hear. Demo's legs start to shiver. “G-ghosts?” “Don’t be silly, mate. There are no ghosts.” “Of course, lad!” “Of course not, mate!” “Lad!” “Mate!” “Lad!” “Mate!” “What about Merasmus?” “Merasmus is a wizard.” “An undead wizard!” “A zombie is still not a ghost!” “Are you two coming?” The others were keep moving and almost around the corner. The two stragglers catch them up. All alone it is quite scary despite the light.

“Oh dear…” The group reaches a kind of staircase. There, on a wall, Soldier sits huddled on the floor. The legs are tucked up to the body, both hands pressed against the helmet (seemingly a gesture to cover his ears) and head bowed to the ground. He mumbles anxiously something to himself. Next to him lies his rocket launcher. “Woah!” Tavish discovers the perforated and blackened wall. “Did he shoot at it?” Spy feels a bit guilty about leaving Soldier alone. However, he had his flashlight. He could have found his way back. Aiméric notices the flashlight on the ground next to Soldier. He picks it up and presses the switch. When nothing happens, he tries again, but nothing. It must have broken. So he sat in complete darkness all the time. “That cannot be true…” Medic kneels down to Solly. “Soldier?” “They want to get me but they will not get me they want to get me but they will not get me.” “Soldier!” “They want to get me but they will not get me they want to get me but they will not get me.” Medic reaches into his pocket and takes an injection from there. “Why are you carrying syringes with you, Doc?” “My dear Sniper, what kind of doctor would I be if I didn't do that? I always have to be prepared for everything.” “And what exactly is it?” “A sedative. Or as I like to call it, a panacea. It not only soothes but also relieves pain and restores mental stability. And that's what Jane needs more than anything right now.” Sniper nods his head but actually he has no idea what Medic means. He's about to sets the syringe on his neck. “Into the neck? For real?” “Medic rolls his eyes annoyed. “Who is the doctor here?” “I’m sorry, Docteur.” “Be careful!” “Don't worry. Soldier is quite insensitive to spraying. He will not notice anything in this condition.” Even as he speaks, the needle penetrates the skin and against all expectations Soldier suddenly jumps up, hits Medic with his fist in the face, grabs the syringe, pulls it out of his neck and throws it away. It ends up in Demo's leg and the white fluid content is pumped into his veins, the effect of which begins immediately. “Uaarg… aaarrg….” The seasoned Scot falls backwards to the ground, lies there with outstretched limbs and stares apathetically at the ceiling. “Wooooooaaahhhh….” “Tavish! Mate!” While Spy takes care of Medic and Sniper to Demoman, Heavy grabs the raging Soldier and shakes him vigorously. “What’s the matter with you?” When that doesn't help, Heavy raises his right hand and gives Jane such a strong slap in the face that the helmet flies off his head. With big eyes, the soldier stares up at the Russian. “C-commie…?” “Name is Heavy or Misha. Remember that at last! We have a serious word to talk about!” “Ssshh! Don’t you hear that?” Soldier's eyes move excitedly back and forth. “What?” “Ghosts…” “There are no ghosts.” “They are here!” Soldier starts raving again. Panicked, he tries to get out of Heavy's grip. “Calm down!” Again Misha gives him a slap. This time even stronger. So strong that Jane slumps lifeless in his big hands. “Well, you did a great job, fatman. Is he dead?” Medic regains his legs slowly. He holds a handkerchief under his nose to stop the bleeding. “Are you okay, Docteur?” “Yes, thank you. Let me see.” Ludwig lays two fingers on Soldier's neck to feel his pulse. “Oh, he's just unconscious.” “Good, then we can finally-“ “However…” interrupts Medic Spy and looks at Soldier deliberating. “However, it might not be a bad idea to kill him.” “WHAT?!” All horrified glances are directed at Ludwig. “It's very easy. His mind is completely fogged. The syringe was his only chance. And it was wasted.” Medic looks down on Demo. “When he wakes up, he will still be trapped in his psychosis.” “Well then just give him a new syringe!” “Pah! Am I your syringe clown? We kill him now, go back and on the way we pick him up at Respawn.” Everyone keeps quiet. “If you please, Heavy.” The good-natured Russian hesitates, but then grips Soldier's throat and puts his other hand on his head to break his neck. But again he hesitates and turns to the doctor for help. His mouth twitches and Medic starts to laugh loudly. “Pffahahahaha! That was a joke. Just kidding. When he wakes up again, he will be the old self again. And even if I had to get another syringe ready, you know how much I like doing that.” “It's said that Germans ‘ave no sense of ‘umor. But they ‘ave. And it's cruel…” “Doctor scared Heavy.” “I’m very sorry, Heavy. I hope you don’t mind carrying Soldier and Demoman?” Suddenly Tavish starts to babbling. “There is no god. Only the infinite universe. Equipped with the knowledge of the past and our and every life is nothing more than a tiny speck dust grain. 90 human years are just a moment in the cosmos. What is the meaning of life? The concatenation of generations to maintain the illusion of a meaning of life.” For a long time the Mercs are silently watching Demoman. Then their eyes wander to Medic. “Well, I didn't wrongly call my medicine a panacea. Apparently, it even affects consciousness-expanding. Fascinating. I have to examine this more closely.” “Does that mean this medicine has never been tested before?” “But it is. Just now.” “Docteur…”

When Soldier wakes up after a violent ride through nightmarish climes of his sleeping mind, he is bathed in sweat. Without having to sit up or look around, he knows he is lying on the bed in his veteran room (actually just his bedroom). He immediately recognizes this by the proud American flag on the ceiling above him. He had hung it up there to be reminded every morning when he wakes to feel blessed to be an American and to serve his country. But there is something else. Faces. He can recognize them. Engie, Heavy, Spy… They look worried. “Mutiny…” “Really, Soldier? That's the first thing that comes to your mind when you wake up?” “I told you that he will be the old self again.” Jane turns his head to the side and discovers Medic in a chair next to his bed. He opens his mouth, but with a wave of his hand, Medic silences him. “Before you insult me again as a Nazi, I have to tell you that you are under arrest. At least until you've listened to what we have to say.” Now the soldier raises his head and discovers the rest of the team. Immediately he lets his head drop back to the pillow. “Get it over with.” “Do you remember what happened?” “I was betrayed by my own men, was lured into a trap and exposed to a mental ordeal.” “Not really.” “Are you saying that I just imagined it all?” “No, I mean, you brought it all on yourself.” “What do you want to say?” Now Demoman approach Soldier and bends threatening down. "We mean, if you treat us so disrespectfully once again, you will fare even worse!” “Demo…” “You are not Miss America! You are not Captain America! You are NOT America! You're just a normal American, with a bit too much patriotism, which, I suppose, came about through brain damage! Because normal isn't it anymore!” “Tavish, leave that to me, please.” Medic’s calm voice lets Demoman calm down a bit. With a last snort, he turns away. “You know, you did something wrong?” “…no?” “No, huh? You forced us to act like Americans. You dressed us in costumes and wanted to hunt us down when we refused. Do you do that with your team?” “Don't make such a fuss! It's just once a year after all.” “Why, you…!” Demoman wants to rush upon Soldier but Sniper and Engineer can stop him. “To clarify this once and for all, we are here now. We need you-“ “Of course!” Medic breathes in and out calm before continuing. “-and you need us. That is essential. The same applies to America. What would America be without the other countries?” “………” “Everyone in this room comes from another country. Countries that are important to America or historically related to it. Let's just start with France. Spy, may I ask?” Spy's expression suggests that the Frenchman would loves to do it. “Well, my dear Soldier. You are a true American, are you?” “You bet your Frenchie ass!” “…good. Then the Statue of Liberty means something to you, right? Or as it’s called in my language La Liberté éclairant le monde.” “Which American doesn't like it? If you omit the baguette language.” “Hmph! So if you like it so much then you surely know its origin, hm?” “New York.” “No, you imbecile! The Statue of Liberty was a gift from France to America! And if you ‘ave also a lack of knowledge- it represents the Roman goddess Libertas, who stands for freedom! In ‘onor of America's independence - Fourth of July.” Soldier's jaw dropped. “I belong to the people who ‘ave made this wonderful gift to your people and you treat me like a foot soldier! Hmph!” “Oh er… Well… Thank you…” Aiméric takes a strong draft from his cigarette, and then answers calmly: “You're welcome. I could name a thousand other examples, but I think this was the most meaningful.”

“Okay, let's continue with Australia.” With a glance, Medic turns the floor over to Mundy. But he hesitates. “Oh er… I-I I'm not sure what Australia has ever done for America. I grew up on a small island. I later traveled because of my job but I was not really interested in that.” “Why didn’t you at least come up with something?” whispers Demo to him. But Mundy just shrugs helplessly. "I-I think there was once a mutual military agreement between the US, Australia and New Zealand.” “Okay, I think that's enough. Let's move on to Tavish.” Sniper's depressed. Dell pats his shoulder encouragingly. Tavish puts both hands in the sides. “America is fortunate about the thousands of Scottish immigrants.” Soldier leans his head. “Why?” “Because we have a rich culture that extends America's consciousness.” “For example?” “Our music, our pubs, our food, our martial heritage.” “I cannot stand the noise of your checkered backpack.” “That's a bagpipe!” “Scottish alcohol is too strong.” “You Americans just have a sensitive stomach.” “You eat disgusting stuff like steamed goat's mites called Hargat.” “Haggis! And it's stuffed sheep's stomachs.” “Martial heritage? This can only mean your skirts. Which men wear skirts? Under those you Scots are even naked. Well, that's probably the only thing that's not too bad…” “These are not skirts, but kilts! And the nakedness underneath means freedom.” “All this is little consciousness-expanding.” “That's just because you don’t appreciate it, and seemingly have no idea about Scotland. But someday you will.” “Don’t you still have to fight Nessie?” “I did! Long time ago… I miss the old times… *sniff*” “Great… Now we have two depressed gramps” Scout sighs. “Don’t get distracted. Heavy has something to tell you now.” The Russian rises from his place and like a sequoia he stands in the room, which makes it look quite small. “Heavy says only one thing – Russian-America.” “Wat!?” Now Soldier sits up in bed. He's curious to know how one got this name. “A Russian America? Impossible!” “No! Russian-America. That's one name. In 1867, the Russian Empire sold Alaska to America.” “That's rubbish! Alaska has always been part of America! And what does the nurse want to tell me then? Cuckoo clocks are from Germany?” Medic rolls his eyes annoyed. “At that time, Russia and America were friends.” “It just keeps getting better! That's probably wishful thinking.” Heavy ignores him. “Thanks to Russia, America has the largest exclave in the world.” “Hmph! Even if it's true, why did you call that example? Do you think, just because we have a family name, should I feel connected to Russia?” “This was a friendly gesture that still connects America with Russia today and vice versa. That's worth a lot. Especially in times like these. The cold war is at its peak. And no matter who wins. Heavy hopes that Americans and Russians will remember this gesture, not to forget that their countries can be friends and not always enemies.” It’s quiet in the room. “Wow, buddy. That was beautiful.” Engineer pats Heavy on the back amicably (actually he wanted to pat his shoulder, but the size difference...). Heavy sits back on the chair, a sign that he's done. “I hope you think about it, Soldier.” “Yeah, whatever… And what do you have to tell me? What has Germany ever done for America?” “Something very, very important. We are why July 4th became Independence Day.” “!!!” “Well, it was not Germany directly, but Prussia.” “Prussia? What's that? A country?” “It was, yes. A strong, battle-gifted, big country.” “I think I heard about that at school... But it doesn’t exist anymore, does it?” “That's right, Jeremy. Shortly before World War II, the largest part of Prussia became part of Germany. A fusion, so to speak. The rest was taken after the war by Russia and renamed.” “How about you finally come to the interesting part of the story!” “But Mon Chér. Such a story ‘as to be told in detail.” “That’s alright, Spy. At that time, when America was still ruled by England, the Americans sought help from the Prussian people. They knew about their fighting strength and their keen sense of tactics. The Americans wanted to learn from them, fine-tune their combat experiences and learn a lot about tactical strategy. And Prussia helped America. It made them strong for the upcoming fight against England and for the freedom and independence of America. And they won.” “So you really think that we, the world power, won only because we had help from Europeans?” “Exactly. Well, maybe the Americans could have done it without help. But they have asked Prussia for help, so no one can say for sure.” “Hmm… Okay. God bless Prussia! But what exactly does this have to do with Germany?” “Prussian blood flows in our veins. Earlier, I mentioned that Prussia and Germany are merged. In part... Now that Prussia is no longer, we stand for everything that Prussia has done.” Again Soldier keeps silent. "Kraut-Baguette convinced me most of all.” “Entschuldige?” “Pardon?” “Exactly!” Medic and Spy are looking at each other. “And what is now? Will you leave us alone next year and the years after that?” Jane hesitates. “Remember, Soldier. Such situations can be avoided by adhering to the most basic principles of human togetherness: decency, fairness, and respect. We are not Americans, but we live here. And we respect you Americans. And also your holidays. And your, sometimes, unbearable nonsense... And we also know that this is especially important to you. So also respect us, if we don't always speak English or do things characteristic for our country. Then we get along perfectly and something like today doesn't have to happen again. Agreed?” “Well, I guess it would be pretty boring if we were all Americans…” “You've got it, lad! Let's drink to that.” Tavish bursts out of the room, beaming with joy. Soldier puts on his faithful grin. “Oh! Where is Pyro?” “Still in his cage” answers Dell. “I thought it’s the best to leave him in there when I got the boy out of there. He almost crushed Scout to death.” “Yeah man! Don't know what's going on with this guy. He squeezed me as if I were a teddy bear.” “I think that Pyro is very sensitive and feels changes in the air immediately. And Scout, you were very upset. I think ‘e just wanted to comfort you.” “Shut up, Spy!”

Jane jumps out of bed in a good mood. “Booya! I'm hungry.” “That doesn't surprise me. You slept most of the day. It's getting dark outside.” “What? July 4th is almost over? Tomorrow we have to go back to the battlefield! No eat and no alcohol! Now it's off to the training ground! Go, go, go!” Soldier brings out his whip and pushes the other out of his room and through the corridor. “I thought I took his whip from him?” Dell wonders. “You did. I don't want to know where he got it from. Suddenly it was there!” “Shall we not correct him, Doktor?” “Not necessary. This is not Patriot-Soldier, but our caring Soldier who only wants the best for us.” “Hey, what about Halloween? We still have to talk about it!” Doe gives Mundy a big slap on the butt. “Shut up hippie and move!” While Jane droves his troops around like a cattle herd, they pass the storeroom where Demoman is just coming out, with a bottle of cider in hand. When he sees what's going on, he sets the reverse gear, but Soldier doesn't miss that. “You’re coming, too!”

October 31st – Halloween

Mundy lies on the roof of his van, his hands clasped behind his head and looks up at the sky. He has been in this position since nightfall. Waiting until this hideous day is finally over. The days before Halloween he had closely watched Soldier. He likes Halloween and he likes his Halloween costume. Because he wears it every year. A box with an antenna on its head, feet in shoeboxes, pretending to be a robot. Ridiculous! But the most ridiculous thing is that he considers him to be Merasmus on Halloween! Then he always knocks on his van to lure him out. Once he had even smashed a window of his! And this year will hardly change. Therefore, Sniper has taken precaution to move his van to another location. Here he should be safe from Soldier's rampage. On July 4, they gave Soldier a piece of his mind. Why not because of Halloween? But no, on this day does not have to suffer the whole team, but only the stupid, old Mundy! So who cares? “Hmpf! Wankers…” But if Sniper thinks about it, it's okay. Here it's quiet and peaceful. Besides, it's only once a year and Mundy can always change the locations. And it's a great change not always to stand in front of the base with his van. In lonely places like this he can even do some shooting practice (which he actually doesn't need!). So all in all not so bad that Soldier has in it for Mundy. Not that he needed an annoying Jane to go out with the van, but without him he's a bit unmotivated. He prefers to lie somewhere, his hat drawn deep in his face and dozing.

“Beep beep boop.” Mundy gasps. That cannot be… He listens more closely. Everything is so quiet. Was that already before? This silence literally kills him. Did he maybe just imagine that? He must have imagined it. Soldier cannot possibly know he's here. And how was he supposed to have come here? It's ten kilometers from the base. Mundy looks in all directions. Except for a few rocks, the area is quite assessable. However, he cannot see too far through the darkness. So it was imagination… Relieved, Mundy lies back and tries to continue where he was interrupted by his imagination. This time he pulls his hat in the face. “I need vacation.”

“Beep beep boop! I am a robot, maggot!” “………!”As if stung by an adder, Sniper jumps up, flees into his van and barricades himself there. He pulls the windows curtains shut. His heart beats painfully in his chest like a steam-hammer. “That cannot be... That just can not be...!” “Bleep, bloop. I am a robot. What is love?” The voice is much closer. And it clearly sounds like Soldier. Carefully, Mundy pushes aside one of the curtains and takes a gander but in the dark he can barely see anything. “Robot noises.” Suddenly the entire van starts to wiggle. Surprised, Sniper lurches back and forth. He falls into something and shortly thereafter it clashes. “Damn, Soldier! That was my coffee cup!” “I am a robot from the future. I was built to scare you.” “Stop shacking my van!” And indeed, Sniper's words are effective. Soldier stops and everything becomes quiet. But Mundy knows Jane is still there sneaking around his vehicle like a predator. He should go out and give him a kick in the ass, but Soldier is physically superior to him. So he has no choice but to stay here until the spook is finally over. “Come with me, if you want to live. With me. In my apartment. I need a roommate. The household is not done by itself. Beep.” “Piss off, you psycho!” “Meraaaasmuuuuuss! I will find you. That's what I do. That's all I do.” “I’m not Merasmus!” “Beep beep! The robot's natural enemy are hippies!” “Yeah, yeah. Whatever…” “MERAAAAAAAAASMUUUUUUUS!!!”

“DAMN, SOLDIER!” Suddenly, a threatening voice thunders through the valley and shakes the earth. The sky turns green. So intense that it even shines through the thick curtains. Soldier screams. Mundy glances carefully out of the window. The wizard hovers over Soldier, who keeps slightly bent in defensive posture - in his stupid costume. “Stop calling my name constantly! What do you think? And what makes you think that this ridiculous wretch in there is me? I'm not able to stand this anymore! And certainly I will not share an apartment with you EVER again!” “You were a bad roommate anyway. You were the next to take out the trash!” “I ALWAYS took out the trash! I was ALWAYS the one who made and did while you never lifted a finger! Unless, of course, you brought me trouble. For that you always had passion, time and energy!” “After all this time you're still angry about that? Bombinomicon didn't made such a fuss!” As soon as the name is pronounced, the demon book appears. “Did someone call me? Oh, Soldier! How are you?” “Hey, bomb! Do you remember the sour cream in the toilet?” “Yes! Hahaha! Merasmus sat down on it and had a very white ass afterwards!” “Hahahahah!” “Hharharhaha!” Mundy swallows when he notices Merasmus reaction. He will explode at any moment! “Enough!” BOOM! A mighty bang resounds and a moment later Snipers Van is hit by a poison green blast. The windows burst and the broken pieces tear the curtains as they spread throughout the van. The car horn goes uninterrupted, and yet Soldier's panic screams drown it out. That's going to be too hot for Sniper. No matter what happens to Jane, he will definitely disappear here. So he sneaks out of his van and jumps into the driver's cab. Even here the windows are broken and he has to sit on shards of glass. But he doesn't care. Just cut and run!! So puts the hammer down and drives away. After at least one kilometer, the crazy car horn gives up its ghost and there are still screams from Soldier to hear. Sniper stops the car, looks out of the window at the place where he fled. Neither Merasmus nor Soldier are more to see, but something different. Another explosion can be heard, from which a kilometer-high green atomic cloud emerges, which illuminates the night sky brightly. Even from this distance, Mundy can smell the sulfur. “Happy Halloween, ya rocket-hoppin' simpleton!” And with that, Sniper drives away.

The next day:

Mundy awakens in the bed of his van as the sunbeams of the hot desert shine in through the paneless windows. He sits up and stretches. Although his van was demolished, he still is in a good mood. His mood is always good after the day of the 31st of October, but this time because he's sure that he finally has his peace before Soldier. When he gets out of his van, Engie comes out of the base. When he sees him and his car, he immediately comes over to him. “What happened to your van?” “Oh that? This is the result of a night full of events.” “OK? Do you need help with the repairs?” “Would you help me with that?” “Of course.” “Thanks, mate.” “Never mind. Say, did you see Soldier? I think he did not return to Base yesterday.” “Uuummm…”

A loud bang makes the two wince. Mundy is worried that Merasmus is now haunting their base but it's not the wizard. Engineers Truck comes from the desert. “What the…?!” Dell's jaw drops and watches in disbelief as his beloved truck, completely demolished and limping, drives to the square in front of the base and stops there. Smoke escapes under the bonnet, one of the rear tires is flattened. The driver's door opens and Soldier gets out. He looks as awful as the truck. His costume is in many places eatened by fire, the antenna of his robot head is completely bent and now looks like a question mark. His left shoe is missing. Staggering, he approaches them both, takes Engie's hand and puts the car keys in there. “Thank you for lending me your truck. I have to sleep now.” And with these words, Jane scuffs like a zombie towards the base and disappears inside. Engineer still does not move. His eyes are fixed on his car. Mundy feels uncomfortable. “Well, I uh... I guess the repair on my van will probably have to wait.” The Texan still doesn’t react. With raised hands Sniper moves away. Once Dell freaks out, nobody wants to be around. Normally, he has a quiet nature, but sometimes there are situations where even a Dell hasn't himself under control. And that is just such a situation. Sniper is fed up with explosions and fortunately he reaches the base before Engie blows up.

……………………….. ……………………….. ……………………….. „DAGIT NAGIT, NABIT DAGIT! DAGNABIT, DAMNIT! DAMN, DAGNABIT! DAUUUUUGGGHHHHH!“

In the early evening of the same day:

“DAMNIT, DAMNIT, DAMNIT, DAMNIT! DARN! Grrrr… Aw, hell… Well, with a few simple steps you are as good as new again.” Engineer is on his way to his workshop. In the base he meets a good-humored Soldier, who seems to be aware of no guilt. “Oh hello, Engie! Can I borrow your wrench?” “DAGIT NAGIT, NABIT DAGIT!”

Notes: Happy Halloween! And I wish all Americans and in America living Germans, Russians, Frenchman, Scots and Australians a happy 4th of July!

Teenager Donald Trump or Lizard People Alien. Which is it??? Teenager Donald Trump or Lizard People Alien. Which is it??? Wow these traits apply to all 3!! See in the topic cloud below: donald trump age-17 regressed boy From BBC and spelling errors are actually Brit spellings:http://bbc.in/2xTcz9y Millennials may be the worlds most hated generation at the moment. But is disdain towards youth a new dynamic? By delving into the archives we found that older people have been griping about young people for more than 2000 years. Far more surprising is that throughout the centuries their criticisms have been remarkably similar. From complaints that the next generation are both too cautious and yet downright dangerous too worried about the world and at the same time too self-absorbed to care here are some of our favourites. Theyre lazy Millennials are lazy and think basic tasks are beneath them. A generation with a huge sense of entitlement Daily Mail 2017 Many [young people] were so pampered nowadays that they had forgotten that there was such a thing as walking and they made automatically for the buses unless they did something the future for walking was very poor indeed. Scottish Rights of Way: More Young People Should Use Them Falkirk Herald 1951 self-obsessed Theyre out-of-touch hipsters who spend too much on coffee and too little on facial hair care. Many are spoiled entitled or both. A Bosss Guide to Managing Bratty Millennials Momzette 2016 Whither are the manly vigour and athletic appearance of our forefathers flown? Can these be their legitimate heirs? Surely no; a race of effeminate self-admiring emaciated fribbles can never have descended in a direct line from the heroes of Potiers and Agincourt... Letter in Town and Country magazine republished in Paris Fashion: A Cultural History 1771 ...and really just awful. The tragic truth is that Americas millennials are a bunch of phone-addicted selfie-obsessed hashtagging snapchatting kale-munching twerking lazy whining ill-informed politically correct cossetted narcissists who find absolutely everything mortally offensive and believe there are 165 ways to sexually identify. Memo to millennials that awful feeling youve got is called losing Daily Mail 2016 We defy anyone who goes about with his eyes open to deny that there is as never before an attitude on the part of young folk which is best described as grossly thoughtless rude and utterly selfish. The Conduct of Young People Hull Daily Mail 1925 (Credit: Getty Images) Artistotle contemplating the know-it-all youth of his day (Credit: Getty Images) They think they know best My huge generalities touch on their insistence that they are right despite the overwhelming proof that suggests they are not Bret Easton Ellis in Generation Wuss Vanity Fair 2014 They think they know everything and are always quite sure about it. Rhetoric Aristotle 4th Century BC But theyre also too cautious. Millennials have been called the most cautious generation the first to grow up with car seats and bike helmets the first not allowed to walk to school or go to the playground alone. There really isnt anything magical about it: Why more millennials are avoiding sex Washington Post 2016 Its an irony but so many of us are a cautious nervous conservative crew that some of the elders who five years ago feared that we might come trooping home full of foreign radical ideas are now afraid that the opposite might be too true and that we could be lacking some of the old American gambling spirit and enterprise. The Care and Handling of a Heritage: One of the scared-rabbit generation reassures wild-eyed elders about future Life 1950 And yet too confident. Many of the millennials in today's workforce have more confidence than they do competence. Millennials: Their overconfidence at work can look delusional Irish Independent 2017 [Young people] are high-minded because they have not yet been humbled by life nor have they experienced the force of circumstances. Rhetoric Aristotle 4th Century BC (Credit: Getty Images) Millennials are defined by their flighty entitled approach to work or is that just young people in general? (Credit: Getty Images) Their expectations are too high. The prevailing narrative about members of Generation Y is that they are a fleet of job-hoppers who think they're above the grunt work of an entry-level position; in other words not the most desirable employees. The 40-hour weeks I think its slowly killing you Irish Independent 2017 The traditional yearning for a benevolent employer who can provide a job for life also seems to be on the wane In particular they want to avoid low-level jobs that arent keeping them intellectually challenged. Meet Generation X Financial Times 1995 Really they just complain too much. Whether its jobs property or just the sheer towering unfairness of the world millennial complainants are everywhere ready to give you a rundown of everything their generation has been stiffed on. In the way that we once had The Greatest Generation we now have The Whiniest Generation. But really the only place theyve been short-changed compared to us Xers or even the Boomers is property. Crybaby millennials need to stop whinging and work hard like the rest of us The Telegraph 2015 What really distinguishes this generation from those before it is that it's the first generation in American history to live so well and complain so bitterly about it. The Boring Twenties Washington Post 1993 They spend way too much money which is bad. When I was trying to buy my first home I wasn't buying smashed avocado for $19 and four coffees at $4 each. We're at a point now where the expectations of younger people are very very high. They want to eat out every day they want travel to Europe every year. Australian mogul Tim Gurner on 60 Minutes Australia 2017 The beardless youth does not foresee what is useful squandering his money. Horace 1st Century BC But theyre not buying houses also bad. Somebody is buying houses in the United States but it sure isnt millennials. Just ask their parents. Theyll be the ones worrying in the kitchen about whether their little darlings will ever leave. Millennials arent buying homes right now: What if they never do? The Guardian 2016 We want to get married but there is nowhere we can set up a house of our own. It is either a case of waiting goodness knows how long and we've waited all the war or going to live with Mary's mother. How often is a similar remark heard in those days for it is the problem that young people all over the country have to face. Thousands of young fellows have come home from the war intent on setting up a home with the girl of their heart only to find that there are no homes to be had Many men of course have not waited for houses but have got married and gone into rooms or to live with relatives but neither course can be considered very satisfactory. Nowhere to Set Up House Dundee Courier 1920 They want to live like adolescents forever. As more millennials delay moving out of their parents' home getting a job and are paying their own bills the age of adulthood has been pushed back. One expert suggests that millennials stay children for so long because they have been coddled by their parents and have had things 'too good'. Will they ever grow up? Daily Mail 2017 A few [35-year-old friends] just now are leaving their parents nest. Many friends are getting married or having a baby for the first time. They arent switching occupations because they have finally landed a meaningful career perhaps after a decade of hopscotching jobs in search of an identity. Theyre doing the kinds of things our society used to expect from 25-year-olds. Not Ready for Middle Age at 35 Wall Street Journal 1984 Modern technology has made them useless at decision-making The endless choices millennials face have also proven paralyzing. Theyre the constantly-swiping-right generation. Its always on to the next thing. They cant even: Why millennials are the anxious generation New York Post 2016 They have trouble making decisions. They would rather hike in the Himalayas than climb a corporate ladder. They have few heroes no anthems no style to call their own. They crave entertainment but their attention span is as short as one zap of a TV dial. Proceeding with Caution Time 2001 as well as impossibly self-absorbed. Mythology of Narcissus: entranced with his own image in a reflection: Who is entranced by their own glory and aura? Narcissus? Donald Trump? Teenagers and adults as with age regression? . Lost in Me Myself I and My Things: Emory University English professor Mark Bauerlein demonstrates how the internet is making young people increasingly ignorant about almost everything except online video games and the narcissism of self-authored internet content The more skilled kids become in using the tools of the digital revolution he demonstrates the more ignorant they become about the objective world around them. Digitally Addicted Kids Threaten to Return Civilisation to the Dark Ages The Independent 2008 Cinemas and motor cars were blamed for a flagging interest among young people in present-day politics by ex-Provost JK Rutherford [He] said he had been told by people in different political parties that it was almost impossible to get an audience for political meetings. There were of course many distractions such as the cinema Young People and Politics Kirkintilloch Herald 1938 Psychopaths Pirates Vampires and more: Run flee tell others! 300 topics on this listed below in the Cloud Archive: Click Here: Catalog of 100 Books Kindle Hypnosis Binaural Subliminal CDs culture of narcissism and psychopathy Donald Trump narcissistic personality disorder entranced narcissism narcissus self-absorbed trump aura and glory #trumpbully #stopbully #trumpmentalhealth http://bit.ly/2rZ1vSp

Teenager Donald Trum

Teenager, Donald Trump, or Lizard People Alien. Which is it???

Teenager, Donald Trump, or Lizard People Alien. Which is it??? Wow, these traits apply to all 3!! See in the topic cloud below: donald trump age-17 regressed boy From BBC, and spelling errors are actually Brit spellings: http://bbc.in/2xTcz9y  Millennials may be the world’s most hated generation – at the moment. But is disdain towards youth a new dynamic? By delving into the archives, we found that older people have been griping about young people for more than 2,000 years. Far more surprising is that, throughout the centuries, their criticisms have been remarkably similar. From complaints that the next generation are both too cautious and yet downright dangerous, too worried about the world and at the same time too self-absorbed to care, here are some of our favourites. They’re lazy… “Millennials are lazy and think basic tasks are beneath them.” A generation with a huge sense of entitlement, Daily Mail, 2017 “Many [young people] were so pampered nowadays that they had forgotten that there was such a thing as walking, and they made automatically for the buses… unless they did something, the future for walking was very poor indeed.” Scottish Rights of Way: More Young People Should Use Them, Falkirk Herald, 1951 …self-obsessed… “They’re out-of-touch hipsters who spend too much on coffee and too little on facial hair care. Many are spoiled, entitled, or both.” A Boss’s Guide to Managing Bratty Millennials, Momzette, 2016 “Whither are the manly vigour and athletic appearance of our forefathers flown? Can these be their legitimate heirs? Surely, no; a race of effeminate, self-admiring, emaciated fribbles can never have descended in a direct line from the heroes of Potiers and Agincourt...” Letter in Town and Country magazine republished in Paris Fashion: A Cultural History, 1771 ...and, really, just awful. “The tragic truth is that America’s millennials are a bunch of phone-addicted, selfie-obsessed, hashtagging, snapchatting, kale-munching, twerking, lazy, whining, ill-informed, politically correct, cossetted narcissists who find absolutely everything mortally offensive and believe there are 165 ways to sexually identify.” Memo to millennials, that awful feeling you’ve got is called losing, Daily Mail, 2016 “We defy anyone who goes about with his eyes open to deny that there is, as never before, an attitude on the part of young folk which is best described as grossly thoughtless, rude, and utterly selfish.” The Conduct of Young People, Hull Daily Mail, 1925 (Credit: Getty Images) Artistotle contemplating the know-it-all youth of his day (Credit: Getty Images) They think they know best… “My huge generalities touch on… their insistence that they are right despite the overwhelming proof that suggests they are not…” Bret Easton Ellis in ‘Generation Wuss’, Vanity Fair, 2014 “They think they know everything, and are always quite sure about it.” Rhetoric, Aristotle, 4th Century BC But they’re also too cautious. “Millennials have been called the most cautious generation – the first to grow up with car seats and bike helmets, the first not allowed to walk to school or go to the playground alone.” ‘There really isn’t anything magical about it’: Why more millennials are avoiding sex, Washington Post, 2016 “It’s an irony, but so many of us are a cautious, nervous, conservative crew that some of the elders who five years ago feared that we might come trooping home full of foreign radical ideas are now afraid that the opposite might be too true, and that we could be lacking some of the old American gambling spirit and enterprise.” The Care and Handling of a Heritage: One of the “scared-rabbit” generation reassures wild-eyed elders about future, Life, 1950 And yet too confident. “Many of the millennials in today's workforce have more confidence than they do competence.” Millennials: ‘Their overconfidence at work can look delusional’, Irish Independent, 2017 “[Young people] are high-minded because they have not yet been humbled by life, nor have they experienced the force of circumstances.” Rhetoric, Aristotle, 4th Century BC (Credit: Getty Images) Millennials are defined by their flighty, entitled approach to work – or is that just young people in general? (Credit: Getty Images) Their expectations are too high. “The prevailing narrative about members of Generation Y… is that they are a fleet of job-hoppers who think they're above the grunt work of an entry-level position; in other words, not the most desirable employees.” ‘The 40-hour weeks… I think it’s slowly killing you’, Irish Independent, 2017 “The traditional yearning for a benevolent employer who can provide a job for life also seems to be on the wane… In particular, they want to avoid ‘low-level jobs that aren’t keeping them intellectually challenged.’” Meet Generation X, Financial Times, 1995 Really, they just complain too much. “Whether it’s jobs, property, or just the sheer towering unfairness of the world, millennial complainants are everywhere, ready to give you a rundown of everything their generation has been stiffed on. In the way that we once had The Greatest Generation, we now have The Whiniest Generation. But really, the only place they’ve been short-changed compared to us Xers or even the Boomers is property.” Crybaby millennials need to stop whinging and work hard like the rest of us, The Telegraph, 2015 “What really distinguishes this generation from those before it is that it's the first generation in American history to live so well and complain so bitterly about it.” The Boring Twenties, Washington Post, 1993 They spend way too much money – which is bad. “When I was trying to buy my first home, I wasn't buying smashed avocado for $19 and four coffees at $4 each. We're at a point now where the expectations of younger people are very, very high. They want to eat out every day, they want travel to Europe every year.” Australian mogul Tim Gurner on 60 Minutes Australia, 2017 “The beardless youth… does not foresee what is useful, squandering his money.” Horace, 1st Century BC But they’re not buying houses – also bad. “Somebody is buying houses in the United States – but it sure isn’t millennials. Just ask their parents. They’ll be the ones worrying in the kitchen about whether their little darlings will ever leave.” Millennials aren’t buying homes right now: What if they never do?, The Guardian, 2016 “‘We want to get married, but there is nowhere we can set up a house of our own. It is either a case of waiting goodness knows how long, and we've waited all the war, or, going to live with Mary's mother.’ How often is a similar remark heard in those days, for it is the problem that young people all over the country have to face. Thousands of young fellows have come home from the war intent on setting up a home with the girl of their heart only to find that there are no homes to be had… Many men, of course, have not waited for houses, but have got married and gone into rooms or to live with relatives, but neither course can be considered very satisfactory.” Nowhere to Set Up House, Dundee Courier, 1920 They want to live like adolescents forever. “As more millennials delay moving out of their parents' home, getting a job and are paying their own bills, the age of adulthood has been pushed back. One expert suggests that millennials stay children for so long because they have been coddled by their parents and have had things 'too good'.” Will they ever grow up?, Daily Mail, 2017 “A few [35-year-old friends] just now are leaving their parents’ nest. Many friends are getting married or having a baby for the first time. They aren’t switching occupations, because they have finally landed a ‘meaningful’ career – perhaps after a decade of hopscotching jobs in search of an identity. They’re doing the kinds of things our society used to expect from 25-year-olds.” Not Ready for Middle Age at 35, Wall Street Journal, 1984  Modern technology has made them useless at decision-making… “The endless choices millennials face have also proven paralyzing. They’re the constantly-swiping-right generation. It’s always on to the next thing.” They can’t even: Why millennials are the ‘anxious generation’, New York Post, 2016 “They have trouble making decisions. They would rather hike in the Himalayas than climb a corporate ladder. They have few heroes, no anthems, no style to call their own. They crave entertainment, but their attention span is as short as one zap of a TV dial.” Proceeding with Caution, Time, 2001 …as well as impossibly self-absorbed.

 Mythology of Narcissus: entranced with his own image in a reflection: Who is entranced by their own glory and aura? Narcissus? Donald Trump? Teenagers and adults as with age regression?

 . Lost in Me Myself I, and My Things:

“…Emory University English professor Mark Bauerlein demonstrates how the internet is making young people increasingly ignorant about almost everything except online video games and the narcissism of self-authored internet content… The more skilled kids become in using the tools of the digital revolution, he demonstrates, the more ignorant they become about the objective world around them.” Digitally Addicted Kids Threaten to Return Civilisation to the Dark Ages, The Independent, 2008 “Cinemas and motor cars were blamed for a flagging interest among young people in present-day politics by ex-Provost JK Rutherford… [He] said he had been told by people in different political parties that it was almost impossible to get an audience for political meetings. There were, of course, many distractions such as the cinema…” Young People and Politics, Kirkintilloch Herald, 1938 Psychopaths, Pirates, Vampires, and more:

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