Propargyl alcohol propoxylate PAP CAS 3973-17-9 with OEM service of purity, China factory

Good quality, most competitive price. Pls contact   [email protected] mobile phone/wechat: +8615071395570 Office tel:+86-27-85803473 whatsapp:https://api.whatsapp.com/send?phone=+8615071395570&text=Hello

To Impeach or Not to Impeach? That is not the question.

The problems with the GOP are far greater than any one figurehead.

BY MARILYN KATZ

Originally published on May 26, 2017 by In These Times

Progressives must remember—and point out publicly—that Trump is not the outlier but the spawn of the Republican Party.

The daily revelations of the entanglement of Trump’s entourage have Republicans squirming and Democrats salivating at the smell of blood in the water. Former boogeymen like the CIA and the FBI have suddenly become heroes to liberals. After years of relative quietude, Russia has emerged once again as the evil empire, as if we were living in the height of the Cold War.

Even progressives have not been immune, with thoughtful In These Times writers like Kate Aronoff and Jeff Alson spending their considerable brain power on weighing the danger, in the case of Alson, and benefit, as Aronoff sees it, of impeachment.

While the speculation is entertaining—and great for the bookmakers in Vegas—for progressives and others who take care about the future of the nation and the world, this almost singular focus on Trump and impeachment is both mistaken and dangerous. Like a horrific accident on the highway that commands everyone’s attention, Trump now serves as a dangerous distraction.

Consider this. Some of Trump’s egregious imperial actions, such as the travel ban targeting people from six Muslim-majority countries, have been hindered by large-scale protest. Yet, quietly and without much attention, the Republican Congress has already passed, and Trump has signed into law, pieces of legislation that threaten public health and welfare whatever Trump’s fate.

This Republican assault on our social fabric has already resulted in the following new laws:

States can withhold funding from health providers just because they offer abortion, even if no federal funds are involved—meaning no federal funds for the 1.5 million patients who depend on Planned Parenthood for their pap smears, breast exams, contraception, or other health care needs.

Coal companies and others no longer are prohibited from dumping toxic chemicals and debris into streams and rivers (H.J. 38 and 41).

People with severe mental illness are no longer prohibited from buying guns without extensive background checks (H.J. 40).

Through the weakening of federal regulations, public lands have been reopened to oil drilling, tree cutting and private use (H.J. 44).

Our personal data can now be gathered from the internet and sold at will (S.J. 34).

Employer worksite injury reporting laws have been loosened, gutting OSHA regulations and thereby endangering working men and women (H.J.83).

And that’s just what’s now become the law of the land.

Congress has put on its plate numerous bills aimed at eroding the right to choose, diminishing environmental protections, abolishing the Environmental Protection Agency, attacking unions, and undermining public education.

This year alone, 39 bills that restrict voting rights have been introduced in 22 states, with at least three states having adopted them into law, according to the Brennan Center for Justice. The future of a woman’s right to make her own reproductive choices is similarly imperiled. Already, state legislators have introduced 431 anti-abortion bills, with 88 bills on their way to passage in 28 states that would fully outlaw abortion or limit it so much that it is impossible to obtain.

We cannot ignore Trump or the policies he has and will continue to put forth. Every one of Trump’s retrograde and draconian executive actions or proposed policies needs to be called out, resisted, and defeated. But that must be the starting point, not the end of our thinking.

Whatever the Republicans (or the Democrats) may do about impeachment, progressives must remember—and point out publicly—that Trump is not the outlier but the spawn of the Republican Party and the policies it has espoused these past 15 or 40 years.

We need not only to change the occupant of the White House but the occupants of Congress and the state houses. If we fail to do so, in 2020, whether it is Pence or Trump who heads up the GOP presidential ticket, we will already have lost much of the progress made over the last century, and we will face the danger of gerrymandered districts yielding a president and Congress that look much the same as this one.

In Chicago, where I live and work, this has meant vigorous opposition to Trump. We turned out 250,000 people on January 21, flooded the airports when the travel ban emerged, and have been marching and protesting ever since. But it also means adding two more elements to our work: resisting the Republican agenda as well as the man, and turning protest into power.

This month the Illinois legislature passed a law that protects abortion in the event that the Supreme Court were to overturn Roe v. Wade and, critically, restores the right to abortion funding to both Medicaid recipients and state employees. The bill now sits on the Republican Gov. Bruce Rauner’s desk—hopefully like the sword of Damocles.

Demonstrations, marches, and massive call-ins to legislators’ offices were responsible for that victory. Ensuring that victory sticks will require turning political interest into action and transforming that participation into voter registration and then votes. This must all be done with the understanding that Trump is the symptom and not the cause of our problems.

It is tempting make common cause with those who would use Trump’s dalliance (real or imagined) with the Russians and his lies as sufficient cause for his ouster. And it may be that his ties and lies do him in. But progressives, eyes wide open, must remember that it is not an external enemy from whom we have the most to fear but, rather, an oligarchy that is all-too-eager and prepared to sacrifice a president to secure their agenda.

It is up to progressives inside and outside the Democratic Party to recognize and proclaim loudly that the solution lies not with Trump’s ouster, but with the creation of a peoples’ agenda powered by a well-informed, organized populace ready to do whatever it takes.  

MARILYN KATZ

Marilyn Katz is a writer, consultant and long-time political activist. She is president of MK Communications, a partner in Democracy Partners and a founder and co-chair of the newly formed Chicago Women Take Action.

Underswap Sans Fanfic Birthday Tacos

One year, for Blueberry's birthday, he decided to host a party. Parties have food obviously, but Blue wasn't sure that tacos were the most "birthday-like" food. He still wanted to serve them... It was his signature dish, after all! But he needed a way to make the tacos appear more festive. So he and Papyrus headed out to the store for ingredients. Originally, the plan was something simple: Decorate the taco shells with that cool edible spray paint stuff (Sans had always wanted to try those out, but Papyrus said they never had a reason to buy them), and get small star shaped cookie cutters so Sans could stuff star tomatoes into the taco meat. But as their journey through the store continued, they soon realized the original plan was nothing short of "too little." This was Blue's birthday after all. They needed to go all out! And so they did. Pretty soon the shopping basket was filled with streamers, balloons, cake mix, frosting, party hats, star decorations, this weird little multi-colored tea cup set that Sans had found, a pack of cigarettes-- wait what, bags upon bags of candy... And a pinata was stuffed under Pap's arm. Blue was still hopping around, trying to find absolutely anything that looked even remotely festive. Meanwhile, Papyrus eyed his wallet wearily... He hated to do it, but when Sans came back holding a pony plushie, he told Sans to put it back, along with half of the stuff they'd gotten. They couldn't afford all of it. Blue unhappily agreed, under the conditions that Papyrus put the cigarettes back too. Papyrus tried to protest, but Sans went right into a lecture about how bad smoking was. So to shut him up, Papyrus put the cigs back. The brothers made their way to the check out line, and Paps snagged some lollipops. If he couldn't smoke, he'd at least try to satiate his addiction a tad... with sugar and chemicals. Perfect.

Once back home, Sans began decorating the house. Streamers were everywhere, balloons floated down from the ceiling -- having been poorly taped up there by a short skeleton using a chair. Don't worry, he did it under Papyrus's watchful eye. And his watchful snicker as the balloons refused to obey Sans and would fall from the ceiling seconds after he taped them there. After an hour of this, Sans finally concluded that some of the balloons just looked better on the floor, and went into the kitchen to cook food for his party guests. That's right... You guessed it. Tacos. But not just any tacos! These were Birthday Tacos! Don't be fooled by their regretfully unoriginal name! You see, Sans was too busy creating perfection to give them a real name! He still wasn't sure what to do with them, so he threw in a little of this, and a little of that. He saw the cake mix sitting on the counter.. Oh geez, he'd forgotten to put that away... Well.. No use wasting it.... He opened the package up to put it into a bowl to make a cake. But he opened it over the Taco meat, and froze in terror as the cake mix poured into the meat. Sans was tempted to cry. No! That wasn't part of the ingredients! He'd just ruined the meal! He then paused... This was a birthday party after all... What's a little cake? In the... tacos... .... Needless to say, Paps decided his brother was taking a long time in the kitchen. So he hesitantly pushed himself off the couch and went to check on the smaller skeleton. He almost wished he didn't... There was salsa everywhere. Frosting was painted on the ceiling (whether it was put there on purpose or not, that still remains a mystery to this day). The floor was covered in plates, all neatly holding a taco with a terrifying pinkish brown sludge in the middle, and red star shaped tomatoes on top. Some contained cheese, and some just contained regret. Papyrus was astounded... "Sans...?" Again... he wished he didn't come into the kitchen. Sans was standing in the sink-- for it was the only place to stand without stepping on food-- and he was using a wooden spoon to reach for a bag of cheese. It was just out of range... The struggle was real... Papyrus turned and walked away. He was not dealing with this. "Happy birthday, Sans!" He called. Sans didn't hear him over his own maniacal, victorious laughter, having obtained the cheese from across the counter. Five minutes later, the guests arrived. The party ensued, and everyone woke up with food poisoning the next day.

Happy birthday, Blueberry.

Vestibular

A year after the last RESET, Sans has settled down with his brother on the surface.

Then a throwaway comment brings up something he hoped he'd never face again. What's a monster to do when his worst fear is so irrational?

Click here to read on Archive of Our Own, or read more below the cut.

“Sans,”  Papyrus said, pausing in his fight with the strings of his apron.

“yeah, paps?”

“When are you going to clean out the basement?  I know you said you’d get to it ‘later,’ but you haven’t touched it in a full year.  All your equipment from our old home is still in boxes, and that machine you used to tinker around with so much is in pieces.  Do you think you could take a look at it this weekend?”

The question was casual - almost too casual.  It had nothing of Papyrus’s normal enthusiasm, and Sans didn’t have to look at his brother to know that he was watching for any flinch or sign of distress.  Sans made sure there was nothing for Papyrus to see.

He also really, really didn’t want to go down into the basement.  Just having it there was a huge weight on his mind: a constant reminder that at any time he could be dragged back down into a dark hole with no sunlight or stars and left there to  R O T.

He realized that Papyrus was still looking at him - openly, now - and waiting for an answer.   “uh, sure thing, paps.  i’ll clear my busy schedule and see if i can organize the mess a little.”

There was a pause as both he and Papyrus waited for the inevitable pun, but...Sans’s mind was strangely blank.

Papyrus recovered quicker than Sans did.  “W-well, I am glad to see you finally doing something about it.  Also, you have not touched your breakfast spaghetti.”

Sans looked down at his still-full plate.

“i’m, uh, not really hungry right now.  can you stick it in the fridge for me?”

“DO IT YOURSELF, LAZYBONES!”

Sans was already gone.

He hadn’t gone far - just upstairs to his room - but once Sans rematerialized he collapsed onto the bed like he’d traveled across the city.  His breathing was too fast, too shallow.   Something pounded in his bones; magic, he assumed, but it could have been anything, really.  He tried to focus on the scientific marvel that was his physical composition, but his mind wouldn’t sit still long enough for it.

He’d...he’d promised to go into the basement.  He’d promised to go into the basement.  What on earth was he thinking?  He’d avoided it for a reason.  He felt a brief surge of anger at Papyrus for forcing him into this situation, but pushed it aside.  It wasn’t Papyrus’s fault, not at all.  It was his own fault; his fault for being weak, for being cowardly, for not just explaining himself to his own brother.  It was Papyrus.  He’d...well, not understand, but at least empathize.

Sans knew he was breathing far too quickly.  It didn’t matter, not in the same way it mattered to humans, but it still wasn’t good for him.  He wracked his overstressed mind for some way to calm down.  He recalled something: Frisk, caught up in the memory one of her deaths, curled into herself and rocking back and forth.  For lack of any better ideas he crawled off his bed, blanket in tow, and curled himself into a ball on the floor.

It felt...well, it felt a little better, at least.  He felt more secure; more together.  He pressed the top of his cranium closer to his patellas, reveling in the dull ache that spread through the bones from the pressure.  The pain was unpleasant, sure, but it was his.  It was something he could control.  He wrapped the blanket closer around himself.

The only downside to this position, the rational part of his mind noted, was that his breathing was slightly hampered by the bulk around his middle.  He had never understood why (or how) a skeleton put on weight, but it wasn’t doing him any favors at the moment.  He eased up a little, trying to achieve the feeling of closeness he wanted while taking the pressure off his weird magic belly.

Taking deep breaths, he thought back to the conversation a few minutes before.  Panic still threatened on the edges of his memory when he remembered Papyrus’s words and concerned expression.  He had to do something - that much was clear - but he really, really wished there was something he could do without actually entering the basement.  Wild plans flitted through his mind; he flirted with the idea of burning the house down (too risky; paps might get hurt) and lifting the house off its foundations momentarily to give the basement some breathing space (not sure i could hold it up that long...or put it down exactly the way it should go).

He knew, he knew that he was being irrational, and the part of his mind that loved all things science was laughing at him for it.  He was having a legitimate panic attack, he realized.  He was having a panic attack, and he was a skeleton.  How was that even possible?  He clearly lacked the physical and chemical components that caused panic attacks in humans and most monsters, but he was panicking all the same.

tell the media; i’m a friggin’ miracle.

“SANS!”

Oh.  Right.  Papyrus.

“SANS, YOU CAN’T JUST RUN AWAY FROM YOUR BREAKFAST LIKE THAT.  IT ISN’T EVEN QUICHE!”

“‘mokay, paps,” he said.

“SANS, I CAN’T UNDERSTAND YOU THROUGH THE DOOR IF YOU MUTTER.”

Sans turned so his mouth wasn’t muffled by his sleeves and repeated himself.

“I highly doubt you are,” Papyrus said in a much quieter voice.  “In fact…”

Sans didn’t react when the door slammed open to reveal the bundle of energy that was his little brother.

“SINCERITY HUG!”

“can’t breathe, paps!”

“YOU’RE A SKELETON, BROTHER!  YOU DON’T NEED TO BREATHE!”  He loosened his hold slightly, anyways.

“oh, right.”

Sans relaxed into the hug.  The sincerity dissolved a large amount of his remaining panic, leaving only a low level of distress that could be shoved to the side and ignored.  Tears inexplicably pooled in his eye sockets, despite lack of actual tear ducts.  Another mystery.

“thanks, bro.”

“Anytime!”  Sans could hear the smile in Papyrus’s voice.  “THE GREAT PAPYRUS IS THE COOLEST OF BROTHERS!  IF YOU REQUIRE A HUG, DO NOT HESITATE TO TELL ME!”

Sans tightened his hold on his brother.  He committed the feeling to memory.  Maybe it would be enough to stave off the impending crisis.  Even if it wasn’t, it was enough for the moment.