Civil War: Chapter Twelve

Reading Time: 4 minutes

Roger crashed into his office. His sanctuary. It was only two fifteen, but he wanted a drink. Calls first.

He pulled out is cell phone and decided to call the cop again. But the phone buzzed in his hand before he could find the number.

“Hello,” Roger said.

“Hi, Mr. Thompson? This is Amanda Mateo, one of David’s teachers.”

“Hi. Ms. Mateo. Yeah, we met in August.”

“Oh, yeah, right. Parents’ Night. Of course. Listen, I wanted to find out how David’s doing. I felt so bad yesterday. Is he okay?”

Roger wasn’t sure how much to trust this woman. Her class led to his son’s brutal beating. And it opened up a rift in his marriage.

But Roger knew David needed allies, and David seemed to trust her. “David seems to be doing better today. He has a lot of cuts and puncture wounds. And concussions are scarier now than when I was a kid.”

“I am so sorry,” Amanda said. “Mr. Thompson, I know you probably think I’m terrible for what I did. And it sounds awful to say I was following orders, but I didn’t know what would happen. If I’d known, I’d have said ‘no’ to the lesson plan.”

Roger heard something in her voice. Sincerity? Pain? Guilt? “Well, David is pretty adamant that you were not the problem, Ms. Mateo. He said you helped him.”

She seemed to think about that information. “I tried to. But only after I followed the plan. I really didn’t expect something like that to happen. I want David to be alright. He is a great, great kid.”

“Yeah, he is,” Roger said. “He is.”

“So, I also wanted to tell you something else,” Amanda said. “I talked to Sergeant Franklin today, and he had me give a sworn statement about what happened. It looks like my statement is consistent with David’s. But some other statements are very different.”

“Yeah, Franklin warned me about that yesterday,” Roger said.

“I don’t know what’s going on. The school tried to make me sign a statement that made David look like a monster. I refused. That’s when I went to the police and gave them my statement.”

“What do you mean, making David a monster?” Roger asked.

“I can show you the statement they wanted me to sign. It’s awful. It’s all lies. I got suspended for refusing to sign it, but I’m not going to throw David under the bus. Never. He’s a great kid. He got beat up by eight kids. The principal did nothing to help him. If I didn’t go down there and try to break it up I don’t know what would have happened.”

Any reservations Roger held about Ms. Mateo’s credibility were gone now. “Thank you,” he said. “Thanks for looking out for David.”

“No problem, sir. I want kids to be kids for a change. They don’t need to be involved in grown-up things. They need to be kids, doing kid things. Mr. Thompson?”

“Yeah.”

“I’d like to see David, if that’s okay.”

“See David? Yeah. Sure. When?”

“When you think it’s okay. I don’t want to disturb him if he’s not ready.”

Roger thought about David’s condition. “Why don’t we see how he’s doing tomorrow? I know it’s Saturday, but he’s supposed to be sleeping a lot until the headaches subside.”

“That’s fine. I don’t have any plans tomorrow.. Or Sunday, except for mass. Will you call me when you think he’s ready?”

“Of course. This number?”

“Yeah. That’s my cell phone. If I don’t answer, just leave a message.”

“Okay. I will. Thank you. Thank you for protecting him. And I know you were just doing your job when this all started. I don’t blame you at all.”

“Thank you, Mr. Thompson. That makes me feel better. Please tell David I am thinking about him and praying for him. I’m going to light a candle for him.”

Roger wasn’t Catholic, but he knew lighting a candle for someone is a pretty big deal for Catholics. “That’s wonderful, Ms. Mateo. Thank you. it means a lot.” And he was serious. Her words, her call, meant a lot to him in that moment.

“David will be thrilled to see you.”

“Me, too. Talk soon.”

“Bye.”

“Bye.”

After the call, Roger remembered meeting all of David’s teachers in August. Natalie was there, too, of course. The teachers that Natalie liked, Roger didn’t. And the teachers that Roger liked, Natalie didn’t.

Ms. Mateo was one of the teachers Roger liked.

“You just thought she was hot,” Natalie said of Ms. Mateo.

“No,” Roger said. “She really seemed to like David. And she’s friendly. But, yeah, she’s pretty, too.”

“She’s like twenty-two, Grandpa. Get over it,” Natalie told him.

“She’s closer to twenty-eight or twenty-nine. She just looks twenty-two,” said Roger. “But I’m happily married.”

Natalie looked at her husband. “Maybe you are,” she said. “Maybe.”

“Who was that?” Natalie asked. Roger didn’t notice when she walked into his office.

“David’s teacher,” he said. “The one who broke up the fight. Ms. Mateo.”

“What did she want?” Natalie said.

“She wants to see David.”

Natalie looked at her husband for a few seconds, then turned and started to leave. “I hope you said no,” she said as she walked down the hall.

How am I going explain this, Roger thought.


to be continued

This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, businesses, places, events and incidents are either the products of the author’s imagination or used in a fictitious manner. Any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, or actual events is purely coincidental.

Study: Kellogg’s Products Deadlier Than Cigarettes?

Reading Time: 2 minutes

Kellogg sells mostly simple carbohydrates in the form of breakfast cereal and snacks. Their ad agencies make you think their foods are wholesome and safe. They’re not. They’re mostly simple carbohydrates (grains and sugar) that produce a glycemic shock when eaten. And foods that produce glycemic shock seem to be deadlier than cigarettes. At least that’s the suggestion from a recent study at the University of Texas.

The study of 2,000 lung cancer patients and 2,500 people without lung cancer should raise concern. Tony the Tiger might pose a greater threat to your kids than Joe Camel ever did. Via WSAZ Channel 3:

Researchers looked at 2,000 patients with lung cancer and 2,500 without.

They say non-smokers whose diets had a high glycemic index were more than two times more likely to be diagnosed with lung cancer than non-smokers with a low one.

Dr. Oz says, “A high glycemic index means that the sugar in whatever food you’re eating rushes into your bloodstream because it’s not cobbled together with fiber that would naturally hold it together in your gut.”

Here’s more from CNN>

And from the American Diabetes Association, here are examples of foods with a high glycemic index:

High GI (70 or more)

  • White bread or bagel
  • Corn flakes, puffed rice, bran flakes, instant oatmeal
  • Short grain white rice, rice pasta, macaroni and cheese from mix
  • Russet potato, pumpkin
  • Pretzels, rice cakes, popcorn, saltine crackers melons and pineapple

See more at: http://www.diabetes.org/food-and-fitness/food/what-can-i-eat/understanding-carbohydrates/glycemic-index-and-diabetes.html#sthash.MigP2Hzv.dpuf

And here’s a longer list of glycemic indexes for products, including many Kellogg products from Harvard.

Granted, Kellogg isn’t the only company that packages glycemic poison as wholesome health food. I’m singling out Kellogg because Kellogg has singled out people like me for a hate and acrimony campaign of epic proportions.

Kellogg donated nearly $1 million to Black Lives Matter.

Kellogg pulled advertising from Breitbart News.

Kellogg Foundation funds efforts to destroy True the Vote.

And Breitbart chronicles a whole list of Kellogg and Kellogg Foundation crimes against America.

And Kellogg says terrible things about a lot of Americans who probably eat their poison.

Breitbart provides a convenient list of Kellogg’s potentially deadly products. Before you reach for any of these, you might consider the healthier alternative of a cigarette.

UPDATE: Here’s great wisdom from Ace of Spades.

Some of Kellogg’s brands:

  • Kellogg’s Frosted Flakes®
  • Kellogg’s® Nutri-Grain®
  • Pop-Tarts®
  • Rice Krispies®
  • Cheez-It
  • Kashi
  • Eggo®
  • Frosted Mini-Wheats®
  • Cocoa Krispies
  • Morningstar Farms
  • Famous Amos
  • Kellogg’s Corn Flakes®
  • Kellogg’s Honey Smacks® cereal
  • Corn Pops®
  • Mother’s Cookies
  • Keebler Company
  • Smart Start®
  • Froot Loops™
  • Kellogg’s Raisin Bran®
  • Low Fat Granola
  • Fruit Flavored Snacks
  • Apple Jacks®
  • Cracklin’ Oat Bran®
  • Mueslix®
  • Smart Start®
  • Smorz
  • Kellogg’s Raisin Bran®
  • Krave
  • Crispix®
  • All-Bran®
  • Apple Jacks®
  • Crunchmania

A lot of these things are toasted. Like Lucky Strikes.

If you want to know why Americans are so fat, it might be because governments and doctors have been lying to you about what to eat, especially when it comes to carbohydrates and cholesterol. Possibly because companies like Kellogg pay them to lie to you? It’s called lobbying, and Kellogg’s done a ton of it since 2012 according to OpenSecrets.org. How many studies have they suppressed?

Kellogg’s stock is down, and it’ll probably go lower. Especially when people start to realize Kellogg’s products could be killing their kids. Awful.

trump-63-696x377

Trump Transformed the Presidency Already

Reading Time: 2 minutes

Tonight, Donald Trump delivered what will become the new standard of presidential oratory in Cincinnati, OH. President-elect Trump thanked Ohio voters for a landslide victory in the state with a barnburner of a speech that rivaled his most animated and colorful rally speeches during the 2015-2016 campaign.

The art of the speech will never be the same.

Frequently breaking from prepared remarks, Trump attacked the dishonest media, mocked a leftist reporter who cried when Hillary lost, and reminded voters, “Folks, how many times did we hear this? ‘There is no path to two-seventy.'” Most memorably, the next President asked the audience to keep a secret: he’s nominating General James “Mad Dog” Mattis for Secretary of Defense.

For many Americans who supported Trump, this was the speech we’ve wanted to hear for more than a generation. Trump proved that he will remain the fiery, honest, politically incorrect leader that won the Republican nomination and the White House.

Some will say the President-elect did not seem presidential. They miss the fact that Trump has redefined what presidential means. People on the left will find fault in anything Trump does or says. We all know they are not honest players. But to the millions of people who wonder what kind of president Trump will be, tonight we learned: a straight-shooter who enjoys the job.

This Cincinnati speech will go down as one of the most significant speeches in American history. Not because of the content, but because of the delivery and the messenger.  Academic, stilted speechifying is dead, at least for the next generation. Political speaker will have to sound sincere, authentic, risky, and pleasant. Trump has created a new standard.

That new standard also extends to content. Before his Cincinnati speech, Mr. Trump spoke to the worker at a Carrier air conditioner plant in Indiana—workers who owe their continued employment to Mr. Trump’s campaign promise. As Dilbert creator and persuasion expert Scott Adams blogged:

I’ll say this again because it’s important. We’re all watching closely to see if President Elect Trump has the skill to be president. And while you watch, Trump and Pence are pulling off one of the most skillfully executed new CEO plays you will ever see. Remember what I taught you in the past year: Facts don’t matter. What matters is how you feel. And when you watch Trump and Pence fight and scratch to keep jobs in this country, it changes how you will feel about them for their entire term. This is a big win for Trump/Pence disguised as a small win.

Fifty days before taking office, Trump is already delivering on campaign promises to the working people who elected him. He is proving himself true to his work. And the stock market is responding. All four major indexes have set all-time records on consecutive days for weeks. Everybody believes America is about to become great again.

This is going to be a transformational presidency. Pay attention. You won’t see anything like this again in your life, I don’t care if you’re two years old. You won’t see this again.

Civil War: Chapter Eleven

Reading Time: 4 minutes

Roger Thompson had completed his checklist. He’d learned from Jack Murphy, his friend and attorney, that the police sergeant seemed cooperative.

With his tasks out of the way, he knew it was time to deal with his wife, Natalie.

Natalie and Roger didn’t see eye to eye politically. Natalie described herself as a progressive. Even though they rarely discussed politics, Roger knew Natalie was politically active before they got married. She worked a lot of referendum campaigns in college and after. And she usually voted Democrat.

Roger, on the other hand, was a disinterested Republican. He voted Republican when he bothered to vote. Which was about once every four years. If he got around to it. He found Trump amusing and avoided conversations about the race.

Natalie and Roger did not talk politics with each other. They’d reached an agreement during the 2004 election to stop trying to convert each other. But that didn’t keep politics out of their home. Both Natalie and Roger dropped subtle hints about “the right way to think” to their son, David.

David was never much of a talker. Teachers had described him as “quite,” “studious,” and “sensitive.” He had a few school friends before fifth grade. But his best friend, Kyle, hadn’t been around in weeks. Maybe months.

David played basketball and baseball but wasn’t destined for a travel team in either sport. At least, he wasn’t the best player on his teams. But maybe eleven-year-olds haven’t reached their athletic peaks.

Natalie and Roger both saw that David had inherited most of his personality from dad.  And, it turned out, most of his politics. But that could change over time, time. Who can tell with kids?

Roger shut the door to his office and walked toward the kitchen. He wasn’t hoping to find Natalie, but he knew he needed to.

“How’s David?” he asked his wife.

“Okay,” she said. She was emptying the dishwasher.

“I talked to Jack.”

Nothing.

“Are you mad at me?” he asked.

Bang! Natalie dropped a pot on the floor. “Why? What did you do?”

“So, ‘yes.’”

“Look. No, I’m not mad at you. I’m mad about all of this. The election. The school. All of it.”

Roger, being both an engineer and a salesman, weighed his options. “Well, I don’t think we can win a lawsuit against Trump and Hillary. And, besides, they didn’t give David a concussion. That was eight boys under the supervision of a school principal.”

Natalie went back to her dishes. “I know.”

“Do you think that Flanders woman and those kids should be disciplined?”

Natalie spun around. “Yes, they should be punished. If what David said is true, that woman should be fired. She should be banned from going within five hundred feet of a school or playground, like a sex offender.”

She returned to the dishwasher. “I just wish David would have thought about defending Trump. He should have known that would set people off.”

Roger began to wonder which team his wife was playing for. Was she blaming David for getting beat up?

“David did nothing wrong, you know,” Roger said.

“What’s that supposed to mean?”

“Well, you’re starting to sound like you think he asked for it.”

Natalie stopped for a moment and looked out the window over the sink. “No. I don’t believe in violence. I love my son. I just wish he’d kept his mouth shut.”

His conversation with Natalie was going nowhere he wanted to visit, Roger walked quietly out of the kitchen and up the stairs to check on David.

“How are you today?”

“Good. Tired. Headache,” David said.

“I’m sorry, David. I wish I could have protected you from that.”

David lifted a corner of the washrag that covered his eyes. “I’ll be alright. Other kids have had worse. It’s part of growing up.”

David was just parroting Roger’s normal reaction to David’s setbacks, but Roger was proud to hear him say it, anyway.

“Has mom talked to you about the incident?”

“Yeah. She said I need to be more sensitive around oppressed people. She said Ms. Mateo was right. That saying Trump’s not a bad guy is a threat to some people, and they have a right to defend themselves.”

Roger’s heart sank. “What do you think,” he asked.

David squirmed in bed for a more comfortable position. Then he said, “I think people need to worry about their own actions more and about what other people say less.”

“Your mom loves you, David. She wants Ms. Flanders and those boys punished. Maybe that teacher, too.”

“No!” David said. “Ms. Mateo didn’t do anything. She pulled those dudes off me. She was only doing what she had to do. Don’t get her in trouble, please.”

Roger had been to Parents’ Night at the beginning of the year. He’d met all of David’s teachers. He hadn’t tried to picture them until David’s defense of Ms. Mateo, but now he remembered her.

“She’s the pretty one?” he asked.

David fought back a smile, but it broke through. “Yeah.”

Roger laughed. “Okay, so, did she really help you, or is she just too hot to rat out?”

David laughed. “No, she really helped me. And what she told me in class, she was reading straight out of some instruction manual. She told us the mock election was required by the school district and we had to vote.”

Roger wanted to ask more about Ms. Mateo, but he decided to ask something else instead. “So, why did you vote for Trump?”

“Because I like him. I think he’s funny. And I didn’t want to lie.”

More pride.

Roger patted David’s leg and said, “I have to make a few phone calls, sport. Bang on the floor if you need anything.”

“Okay. Thanks, Dad.”

“I love you, David. I’m proud of you.”


to be continued

This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, businesses, places, events, and incidents are either the products of the author’s imagination or used in a fictitious manner. Any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, or actual events is purely coincidental.

Donald Trump: America’s Work-craft Carrier

Reading Time: 2 minutes

Donald Trump ran on a promise to bring American jobs back to America. And to make America great again. Even though his presidency is still two months away, he’s already delivering.

Ford is staying. Apple is looking to move iPhone assembly to the USA. And, last night, Carrier announced it will keep 1,000 job in Indianapolis.

America is #WINNING again. 

When Donald Trump railed against Carrier Air Conditioner’s decision to move over 1,000 jobs to Mexico, the fake news media mocked and ridiculed Trump. Here’s what Wall Street Journal’s Barry Wood wrote:

Workers losing Indiana factory jobs deserve to be more than political pawns

And Time Magazine mockingly wrote:

Trump cast all woes as the fault of free-trade agreements. “You’re losing your jobs. You’re losing your income,” he said blaming in turns Mexico, China, India and Vietnam. “I’m bringing the jobs back. I’m bringing the jobs back. I’m bringing them back from China. I’m bringing them back from Mexico,” he repeated time and again with no credible policy beyond his persona.

Maybe “his persona” is all we needed.

Meanwhile, market and consumer euphoria over Trump’s win has lifted all major US stock indexes to all-time record highs for all-time record numbers of days.

It’s like Reagan all over again

Via the Time Vault from December 1, 1980 as the Dow flirted with 1,000 for the first time in its history:

Says Kenneth Rolland, an executive vice president of New York’s Chemical Bank: “People think a Reagan Administration will cut Government spending and institute tax reforms that will stimulate investment and savings. Investors believe that the climate will be very good for financial assets like stocks.” Adds Investment Strategist David Bostian of Bostian Research Associates: “In March you could not convince people that the Dow would ever go above 800. Now you cannot tell them that it will drop below 950.”

While the fake news world of CNN, New York Times, and, especially, the Washington Post continues to spread lies about Trump and his voters–lies intended to incite violence among stupid young people–Donald Trump is checking off his campaign promises. Ahead of schedule and under budget.

For Trump, America is the new Wollman Ice Rink project.

It’s time to realize that the work-craft carrier Donald J. Trump is about to make America great again. 

 

Civil War: Chapters Nine and Ten

Reading Time: 8 minutes

Chapter Nine

“Elizabeth, I’m going to be out of the building the rest of the day. You have my cell. Vice-principal Johnson is in his office.”

Elizabeth had a mouthful of Goldfish and could only grunt. But she wrote a note herself and nodded furiously at her boss.

Nancy Flanders left the building.

Forty-two minutes later, Flanders was parked and walking into the lobby of modern, glass and stainless steel building. The building had no names on the side. The slate floors of the lobby had no markings. There was no receptionist, only a kiosk with a touchscreen that Flanders manipulated. When she was done, shiny, steel elevator door opened to her right, and Nancy Flanders stepped in.

The elevator took Flanders to the fifth floor and opened into a large, nameless office suite. A vestibule with four doors. Flanders walked directly to the second door from the left, opened the door, and walked in.

“What’s the problem?” said the bald man behind a marble desk.

“An incident at school, Max. And I screwed up.”

“We’ll see. What happened?”

“One of those little racists said he supports Trump in class. Our teacher followed the protocol. The Tiger Team did it’s job, just like we thought.”

“It doesn’t sound like there’s a problem to me,” Max said.

Flanders looked down at her hands. “First, I told the kid’s father things I shouldn’t have. I didn’t follow the plan. It all happened faster than I was prepared for.”

Max raised his left eyebrow. “What else?”

“The teacher isn’t cooperating. At all.”

Max turned his chair to look out the window. “What’s the teacher’s name?” he asked.

“Amanda Mateo,” Flanders answered.

“Hispanic?”

“Yes.”

“Married?”

“Single. Twenty-eight or -nine.”

“Children? Family in the area?”

“No children. I believe her family is in LA, but I’m not sure.”

“Send me her file. What’s the kid’s name?”

“David Thompson. Fifth grader. His parents are together. Roger and Natalie.”

“Send me their stuff, too,” Max said.

“And there’s a cop who seems uncooperative. A Sergeant. Mike Franklin.”

“Is that all?  What about the Tiger Team?”

“Don’t worry about them.”

“I’ll let you know how to proceed. Don’t do anything until you hear from me. Nothing by email. Check Dust every half hour but do not allow the app to post notifications on your phone.”

Flanders stood to leave. “Max, one more thing. We have to do something about these parents. They’re the ones indoctrinating their kids into privilege and racism. That should be our bigger goal. We have to eliminate parents.”

“Thank you, Nancy.”

“Good afternoon, Max.”

An hour later, Nancy told herself “that feels better,” as she pulled into her garage below her condominium. But she knew she was lying to herself.

Chapter Ten

Amanda walked into the Peet’s Coffee at 2:14 p.m. The only cop in the place was easy to spot.

“Sergeant Franklin?” she said.

“Ms. Mateo,” he answered, rising out of his booth.

“Don’t get up, please,” she said.

“Have a seat. What would you like? I’ll get it for you.”

“You don’t have to do that.”

“I insist. And I’m good at getting coffee orders right.”

“Okay. Let me see.” Amanda screwed herself around to look a the coffee board. “How about a triple, venti, half sweet, non-fat, caramel macchiato?”

“This is Peet’s,” Franklin said.

“Okay. Same thing, only large instead of venti.”

“What was it again?”

“Triple, large, half sweet, non-fat, caramel macchiato,” Amanda said.

Franklin repeated it back. “Triple large half-pint, non-fat . . . coffee.”

Amanda grinned and rolled her eyes, slid out of the booth and walked toward the counter with Mike Franklin following. Another man in another line of work might have missed Amanda’s glance at Mike’s left hand. But Mike’s a trained observer.

“Sorry. By ‘any coffee order,’ I meant black and bitter, blonde and bitter, black and sweet, or blonde and sweet. You know, coffee,” he explained.

Looking back at Mike, still smiling, Amanda said, “Which one am I?”

Mike thought about it. Amanda was definitely a latt´e. Black hair, impossibly perfect brown eyes, a hint of natural blush in her cheeks, perfect teeth that gleamed. Mike wondered why she became a teacher instead of model. He considered his options and said, “I’m on duty, ma’am.”

Amanda turned to the barista. “Triple, large, half sweet, non-fat, caramel macchiato.”

“Triple, large, half sweet, non-fat, caramel macchiato,” the barista repeated, loudly. “Can I get your name?”

“Amanda.”

“Amanda,” he yelled. “Six thirty-two,” he said.

Mike Franklin already had his credit card out.

“Thank you,” Amanda said.

“I feel better now, so thank you,” Mike told her.

They returned to their booth where Mike’s blonde and bitter waited.

“Do all the teachers look like you these days?” he asked.

“I thought you were on duty,” Amanda said.

Mike smiled. “I’m just being thorough.”

Amanda Mateo was the kind of teacher boys fantasize about. Maybe not fifth graders–and maybe that’s why she teaches the little kids. Amanda might cause problems walking into a high school classroom.

“Yes. Most of the teachers are around my age if that’s what you mean. And mostly women. And this is California, so a lot of Latinas. And how old are you?”

Boom! That hurt. Mike Franklin turned forty-six two months earlier. He’d been on the police force 24 years and was eligible for retirement after 25. “I’m forty-six,” he answered with the sincere detachment of a trained, professional witness.

“Forty-six,” Amanda repeated. “So . . . you were like a sophomore or a junior when I was born?” she said with a giggle. Her giggle was cute enough to soften the blow to Mike’s ego.

Franklin thought about that age difference and decided it was time to change the subject. Before he could he speak, a barista yelled ‘Amanda, macchiato!’ Mike jumped up to retrieve her drink from the counter.

“Thank you,” she said. “So why did we have to meet at Peet’s? Or did you just want to show off your macchiato ordering skills to a much-younger teacher?”

Mike made a mental note flirting and said, “I wanted to hear your side of the story in a less intimidating environment. Police stations tend to make people forget important things and remember things that didn’t happen.”

“Okay,” said Amanda. “My story. Okay. First, I am not political. At all. And I don’t think eleven-year-olds should be worrying about presidential elections. But the school district sent out a policy directive that we had to hold this mock election yesterday. It was all very scripted. They wanted to identify kids who support Donald Trump for some reason.”

“Did the policy say that?”

“Not exactly, but that was the whole point. We held the election, open ballot, then had to ask every student why they voted the way they did.”

“And Mr. Thompson voted for Trump?” Franklin asked.

“Yes.”

“And you asked him why?”

“Yes. He say something like ‘I don’t think Trump’s so bad.’”

“Not exactly fighting words,” Mike said.

“I know. But the curriculum required me to read a statement verbatim to students who said they supported Trump. I did. And I sent him to the principal’s office.”

“You sent him to the principal’s office because he voted for Trump in a mock election.”

“Yes. That was part of the curriculum. It’s cruel, really. I had to tell him that supporting Trump is a hate crime or something, and hate crimes are punishable by suspension or expulsion. Then I had to remove him from the room according to our building’s policy. Our policy is that kids removed from a classroom for conduct go directly to the principal’s office.”

“Did the Thompson kid put up a fight or something?”

“No. He looked scared, but he didn’t say anything. He just got up and left the room.”

“Okay. Then what happened.”

“It was almost the end of the period when this happened. About five minutes later, the bell rang. When the kids opened the door, I could hear a commotion, so I stepped out into the hall. I could see a scuffle by Ms. Flanders’ office, so I ran down there.”

Amanda was suddenly on verge of tears. “I’m sorry,” she said as tears streamed down her cheeks.

Mike grabbed a handkerchief from his pocket. “Here. This is perfectly clean,” as he handed it to Amanda.

She chuckled through her tears. “Really? A handkerchief. You sure you’re only forty-six? Ha ha. Thanks.”

“You’re welcome,” he said.

“So, when I got down there, David was on the floor trying to cover up. Eight boys were kicking and punching and calling him racist and white privilege. Half of them were white, too. And Nancy Flanders, the principal, was just standing there with this sick grin watching all this.”

“Flanders didn’t try to break it up?”

“No.”

“And the Thompson kid wasn’t fighting back?”

“No. He was beat up. Holding his head. Curled up trying to get under a chair. It was horrible.”

“What did you do?”

“I screamed, ‘knock it off,’ and started pulling the boys away. They would just go back at it. There were too many for me.”

“When did it end?”

“I don’t know, honestly. I think Nancy said something. The boys all marched into her office, and I helped David up to the chair. The police showed up pretty quickly.”

“Did you give a statement to the officers yesterday?”

“No.”

“Why not?”

“As soon as they showed up, Nancy told me to go home.”

“And you did?”

“Yeah. I know, I shouldn’t have. But I was a wreck. That poor baby.” Tears started again, only softer this time.

“And no one contacted you about a statement today or last night?”

“No. Well, not exactly. Nancy wanted me to sign this statement today.” She pulled the wrinkled, folded statement from her purse and handed it to Franklin. He read it like he was trying to decipher an ancient love potion written in Cyrillic alphabet.

“This isn’t anything like what you just described.”

“I know. That’s why I wouldn’t sign it. I grabbed it off Nancy’s desk and got out of there. I wanted to give my statement directly to the police.”

“Okay. Sorry. I should have met you at the station. I didn’t realize how different your story is from the others.”

“The others?”

“Yes. Flanders, the office staff, some of the students. They told a very different story to the officers who arrived at school yesterday.”

“Like, how?”

“Like, they said you provoked David and encouraged him to assault the other students.”

Amanda felt a fire erupt in her cheeks.

“How am I supposed to believe you?” Mike Franklin asked.

“I don’t know,” Amanda said. “But I love kids. I would never, ever tell a student to hurt another student. Everybody who knows me knows that.”

Mike looked at her beautiful brown eyes and tried not let her looks influence his judgment. But he was fighting a losing battle.

“I believe you,” he said. And he felt absolutely no shame in saying it.

Amanda let her head drop into her open hands. She gave Mike a muffled “thank you.”

“Besides, the Thompson kid’s story is pretty close to yours. That’s between us. But now I’m going to need you to swear an official statement of what you witnessed. Do you have time?”

“Yes. Anything.”

“Okay. Have you been in contact with the boy’s family?”

“No. I tried to call last night, but they didn’t answer,” she said.

“Okay. I’ll get you in touch with them. You two need to talk. And you might need to talk to their lawyer.”

Amanda didn’t like dealing with lawyers, but she said she understands. “I want to help them.”

On the way out of the Peet’s, Amanda grabbed Mike’s arm. “One more thing. About the boys who beat him up. I worry about them, too. Something caused them to behave that way, and I don’t think it was anything David said or did. They’re just babies, too.”

“I understand. We’ll look into that.”

“Are all cops like you?” Amanda asked.

“Ruggedly handsome and witty? No. Just me.”

“I meant humble,” she said.


to be continued

This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, businesses, places, events and incidents are either the products of the author’s imagination or used in a fictitious manner. Any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, or actual events is purely coincidental.

Bastardizing Trump

Reading Time: 2 minutes

Jill Stein has raised nearly $7 million in an effort to overturn election results in Wisconsin, Michigan, and Pennsylvania. She has no chance of winning any of those states, and Hillary Clinton has joined Team Stein.

So what’s the point?

Apparently, Stein and Clinton want the recounts to miss their December 19 deadline. December 19 is the Constitutionally mandated Electoral College vote. If the recounts are incomplete on the 19th, voters in Wisconsin, Michigan, and Pennsylvania will be disenfranchised, no candidate will have 270 electoral votes, and the election will be thrown to the US House of Representatives. Once the 19th passes, the recounts will stop in all states. Wisconsin, Michigan, and Pennsylvania will go down as a draw. As if no one voted in those states. Via ZeroHedge:

As Edward Foley, an expert in election law at Moritz College of Law at Ohio State University, pointed out to the Milwaukee Journal Sentinelelectors from around the country have to meet by December 19th to cast their electoral college votes.  To the extent recounts in WI, MI and PA have not been completed by that time, which experts assign a high probability that they will not, there is a chance that the electoral votes from those three states wouldn’t be counted leaving neither candidate with the required electoral votes to win the presidency (electoral count would be Trump 260 versus Hillary 232).

Because Republicans control the House, there’s a better than 99% chance they would elect Trump. So why all the recount effort?

Because: optics.

The left wants to de-legitimize Trump. They hope to combine the popular vote with the fact that a Republican House elected Trump to make the whole thing look like a scam. The same way Thomas Jefferson and John Quincy Adams became President. But the Soros-controlled media (Washington Post, New York Times, CNN, MSNBC, CBS, ABC, NBC, etc) will beat Americans over the head with illegitimacy. They want to make Trump’s presidency a bastard.

If the people of Wisconsin, Michigan, and Pennsylvania want their votes to count, they better make sure the recounts complete by December 19.

Civil War: Chapter Eight

Reading Time: 3 minutes

Nancy Flanders sat perfectly still. Amanda Mateo fidgeted and rocked. Between lay a false statement and a pen.

Amanda spoke. “I won’t sign that. I’ll write my own report. I should have spoken to the police yesterday. I’ll write my statement and give it you right now. But I’m not signing that,” pointing toward the statement on the desk.

“That won’t be necessary. I’m afraid I’ll have to place you on suspension until the board reviews your case.”

“What? What case?”

“My statement makes it perfectly clear. You encouraged your student, David Thompson, to use hate speech towards students of color. You stood by while he physically attacked Hispanic and African-American students in your classroom.”

Amanda’s brows squeezed down until they nearly hit her cheeks.

“You are crazy!” she said. “There were thirty witnesses. No one’s going to believe that.”

Flanders wore a grin that said, “silly girl.” The grin infuriated Amanda.

“Go ahead. Submit it. And I’m submitting mine. We’ll see.”

Amanda grabbed the false statement from Flanders’ desk as she exploded out of the tiny chair and out the door. She ran down the hall to the main doors, groping in her purse for he car keys. She flung open her door, started the car, and drove out of the parking lot as fast as she considered safe.

When she rolled to stop at a red light almost a mile away she first noticed the tears that had dripped on her shirt and the snot that clogged her nose.

“Oh. My. God!” she yelled. “Oh my God!”

Amanda drove fast but she wasn’t heading home. She’d passed the turnoff that she took every night. She was just driving. She just wanted to get away.

She’d been driving aimlessly for thirty minutes when a thought occurred. She pulled into a convenience store parking lot and dragged her phone from her purse.

“Hey, Siri,” she said. After the beep,”Santo Domingo Police phone number.”

“Is this an emergency?”

“No.”

“Let me see. I found the non-emergency number for Santo Domingo, California police. Would you like me to dial it for you?”

“Yes.”

“Okay.”

Amanda waited for the process to complete.

“Santo Domingo Police. Sergeant Baker. How may I help you?”

“Hi, my name is Amanda Mateo. I’m a teacher at Briarhaven Elementary School. One of my students was involved in a fight yesterday. I was a witness to the incident, but my principal sent me home before the police took my statement. I’d like to make a statement.”

“Can you come down to our headquarters? I can give you directions.”

“Yes.”

The desk sergeant gave Amanda the address, and she punched the address into the Waze app on her phone.

“Thank you. I’ll be there in about a half hour. Who should I ask for?”

“Ask for Sergeant Mike Franklin. I’ll tell him you’re coming.”

“Okay. Thank you.”

“Anything else I can help you with?”

“No, thank you. Bye bye.”

“Good bye.”

Amanda put her phone in the cup holder of her car and followed the directions from Waze. But she didn’t get far before her phone rang. She pulled over to answer it, though she didn’t recognize the number.

“Hello?” she said.

“Hello. Amanda Mateo?” asked a man’s voice.

“Speaking,” she answered.

“Hi, Ms. Mateo. I’m Sergeant Mike Franklin with the Santo Domingo Police Department. I’m sorry to bother you.”

“No problem. Thanks for calling.”

“Listen, Ms. Mateo, I know you’re coming in to give a statement about the incident at school yesterday. Would you mind if we meet somewhere else? I can come to you. I texted you earlier, but I guess you didn’t see it.”

Amanda pulled the phone away from her so she could scan her messages. There is was.

This is Sgt. Franklin, SDPD. I’d like to talk to you about an important police matter. Pls call me at this number. Thx

“You don’t want me to come to the station? What’s going on?” Amanda asked.

Franklin let out a long breath. “It’s complicated. I can explain when we meet. There’s a Peet’s Coffee on El Camino Real. Do you know where that is?”

“Yes,” she said.

“Would you mind meeting there? I’ll be in uniform.”

“Sure. Okay. When?”

“How soon can you get here?” he asked.

“About twenty minutes?”

“That’s fine. I’ll be waiting for you.”

“Okay. On my way.”

Amanda hung up, entered the new destination in Waze, and took off wondering why the cop wanted to meet outside police headquarters.

“This is getting too weird,” she whispered. “Too fucking weird.”


to be continued

This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, businesses, places, events and incidents are either the products of the author’s imagination or used in a fictitious manner. Any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, or actual events is purely coincidental.