For someone who grew up with 4 TV stations, this shit blows my mind. Back in the day, journalists hunted politicians for sport and they went absolutely nuts after Watergate. The rich have bought up all of our major communication systems.

I was shooting heroin and reading “The Fountainhead” in the front seat of my privately owned police cruiser when a call came in. I put a quarter in the radio to activate it. It was the chief.

“Bad news, detective. We got a situation.”

“What? Is the mayor trying to ban trans fats again?”

“Worse. Somebody just stole four hundred and forty-seven million dollars’ worth of bitcoins.”

The heroin needle practically fell out of my arm. “What kind of monster would do something like that? Bitcoins are the ultimate currency: virtual, anonymous, stateless. They represent true economic freedom, not subject to arbitrary manipulation by any government. Do we have any leads?”

“Not yet. But mark my words: we’re going to figure out who did this and we’re going to take them down … provided someone pays us a fair market rate to do so.”

“Easy, chief,” I said. “Any rate the market offers is, by definition, fair.”

He laughed. “That’s why you’re the best I got, Lisowski. Now you get out there and find those bitcoins.”

“Don’t worry,” I said. “I’m on it.”

I put a quarter in the siren. Ten minutes later, I was on the scene. It was a normal office building, strangled on all sides by public sidewalks. I hopped over them and went inside.

“Home Depot™ Presents the Police!®” I said, flashing my badge and my gun and a small picture of Ron Paul. “Nobody move unless you want to!” They didn’t.

“Now, which one of you punks is going to pay me to investigate this crime?” No one spoke up.

“Come on,” I said. “Don’t you all understand that the protection of private property is the foundation of all personal liberty?”

It didn’t seem like they did.

“Seriously, guys. Without a strong economic motivator, I’m just going to stand here and not solve this case. Cash is fine, but I prefer being paid in gold bullion or autographed Penn Jillette posters.”

Nothing. These people were stonewalling me. It almost seemed like they didn’t care that a fortune in computer money invented to buy drugs was missing.

I figured I could wait them out. I lit several cigarettes indoors. A pregnant lady coughed, and I told her that secondhand smoke is a myth. Just then, a man in glasses made a break for it.

“Subway™ Eat Fresh and Freeze, Scumbag!®” I yelled.

Too late. He was already out the front door. I went after him.

“Stop right there!” I yelled as I ran. He was faster than me because I always try to avoid stepping on public sidewalks. Our country needs a private-sidewalk voucher system, but, thanks to the incestuous interplay between our corrupt federal government and the public-sidewalk lobby, it will never happen.

I was losing him. “Listen, I’ll pay you to stop!” I yelled. “What would you consider an appropriate price point for stopping? I’ll offer you a thirteenth of an ounce of gold and a gently worn ‘Bob Barr ‘08’ extra-large long-sleeved men’s T-shirt!”

He turned. In his hand was a revolver that the Constitution said he had every right to own. He fired at me and missed. I pulled my own gun, put a quarter in it, and fired back. The bullet lodged in a U.S.P.S. mailbox less than a foot from his head. I shot the mailbox again, on purpose.

“All right, all right!” the man yelled, throwing down his weapon. “I give up, cop! I confess: I took the bitcoins.”

“Why’d you do it?” I asked, as I slapped a pair of Oikos™ Greek Yogurt Presents Handcuffs® on the guy.

“Because I was afraid.”

“Afraid?”

“Afraid of an economic future free from the pernicious meddling of central bankers,” he said. “I’m a central banker.”

I wanted to coldcock the guy. Years ago, a central banker killed my partner. Instead, I shook my head.

“Let this be a message to all your central-banker friends out on the street,” I said. “No matter how many bitcoins you steal, you’ll never take away the dream of an open society based on the principles of personal and economic freedom.”

He nodded, because he knew I was right. Then he swiped his credit card to pay me.

Nobody got anything to say about her reply?! She could have just ghosted him but instead gave an honest reply.

I would kill or die to see American reporters grow a fucking pair and hammer the questions home like this.

ahem

I LOVE dragonflies! Getting my first tat of one!

If a dragonfly locks onto your happy ass, you're meat. 95-97% hunt success ratio, highest of any animal on the planet. One shot, one kill. Strongest flying insect, with 4 independently operating wings. Watch one fly in slow mo. That is what Herbert had in mind when he wrote ornithopters into Dune. Your inner ear would boil if you could shuck and jive like that. They don't chase prey, they intercept prey. They aim for where the target is going to be. Their head is basically a giant, binocular eyeball, a 360° target-seeking combat package. Yeah, you read that right, 360° field of view. If you think you're sneaking up behind one, it's already seen you.

They do love them some mosquitoes, that's a fact. Not going to say our swampland in the boonies is mosquito free, but it's a swamp, it's loaded with dragonflies, and there ain't many blood suckers around. There's another swamp down the street where they fly non-stop mosquito interdiction. Plenty of bugs on the shoreline but paddle out 20', you're free and clear. My boys rule the airspace over water.

Anything smaller, which is to say, everyone else, is fair dinkums. They'll start horking down on what ever part first meets those monstrous jaws, alive or dead, no matter. Every watched one feed? Not for the faint of heart. Whatever space isn't taken by eyeballs, the rest is all mouth. Those jaws work as implacable, squared-off, champing vices. Pray they start with your head, because starting at your feet is all the same to them. Crazy nastyass dragonfly, dragonfly don't care, dragonfly don't give a shit.

The dragonfly you see is the adult, and adulthood is only a month of their lives. Before they begin ravaging the skies, they spend up to 2-years as nymphs, terrors of the sea, two full years of underwater murder practice before they get their wings. If you have the misfortune to share that environment, the pond is dark and full of terrors. They go straight from nymph to adult, pupation is for lesser arthropods like those pansy-ass butterflies, or, as the dragonfly sees 'em, "food".

Want to "pet" one? Hold very still, fully extend your arm and point your finger, they'll eventually use you as a helipad. Know any other insect that will do that? You can walk around with 'em, make finger guns, whatever, they'll hang. Like a dragonfly has anything to fear from us lowly primates. Woman across the street is a got damned dragonfly whisperer, got a dozen pics of her holding them. Here's one chillin' on my wife, rode half a mile upstream with us, our very own combat air patrol.

Notice Stephen King has never written about these monsters? Too scary. Chuck Norris crosses the street. Such perfect killers, evolution cranked out over 3,000 versions. There's one species down here that's coal black. Black eyeballs, black head, black thorax, black abdomen, black wing veins, one of the smaller models, think Kiowa helichopper vs. Hind. We got tactical smart missiles, phased plasma pulse rifles, RPGs, we got sonic electronic ball breakers! We got nukes, we got knives, sharp sticks... we got dragonflies!

And no, do not dare confuse them with the lesser damselflies. I mean, look at this idiot, eyeballs all stickin' out. Unlike the majestic dragonfly who rests with spread wings, prepared for instant combat, the damselfly folds up. Lazy little nitwits.

Want some? I buried an old trash can, filled it with water and plants from the local creek. Stole some pitcher plants and sundews as well, even my plants eat bugs. Had dragons in less than a week. We have two smaller "ponds" taking off nicely. Between the goldfish and newly imported dragonflies, mosquito larvae don't stand a hope in hell. Given their long underwater larval stage, I'm hoping to have my own air force two years from now.

"Dragon", it's right there in the name.

Anyway, I think they're kinda cool. Maybe we can talk about hummingbirds next? Anything but "cute", they're the most foul, cruel, and bad-tempered bird you ever set eyes on.

Why are we allowing this man to address Congress? And why did anyone show up?

Wasn't shocked until I saw the map. Holy shit! How was that roof/building outside the hard security zone?!

I am, at best, a mediocre shot and I'm no tactician nor a physical security expert. So I'd be looking at the area with a prejudice towards my own abilities. That shot would be tough for me, but doable even with irons.

The Secret Service has much to answer for.

Perpetual victim. Seen it. I call it Pretty Girl Syndrome.

"Everyone treats me like gold because I'm beautiful!"

And then she's shocked when anyone tells her to get bent.

The do start as circles! Bees spin on their butt laying the honeycomb. Mechanical pressure mashes them into hexagons.

Rage bait title, you ALL ate it up:

Ron Shaich, Panera Bread's founder and former longtime CEO, has stressed how important it is for management and members of the C-suite to empathize with their employees and better understand what can get their buy-in to the company's mission.

"No employee ever wakes up and says, 'I'm so excited. I made another penny a share today for Panera's shareholders,'" Shaich told Business Insider in an interview. "Nobody cares. You don't care whether your CEO comes or goes."

Oh god, The Onion is all in this time.

https://www.theonion.com/dying-gazans-criticized-for-not-using-last-words-to-con-1850925657

https://www.theonion.com/moderate-u-s-politician-believes-israel-should-only-ki-1850922234

Old guy here with some dad advice. Given that you're concerned, I assume you don't dress like this on the regular.

Wear it around, a lot, beforehand. Get comfortable so you act comfortable. Interviews can be nerve wracking enough without fidgeting because you aren't used to the clothes you're wearing.