Bucks Party Quotes

I was wallowing in a small, but beautifully decorated pity party, complete with imaginary streamers....

Ada: "Dude, nothing matters. You’re going to go to that Christmas party looking like a million bucks and you’re going to show that stupid whore who’s the boss

My tribesmen and I party deep into the night, drinking and dancing and going balls-to-the-wall, slap-yo-grandma buck-ass wild, just as the Chief had instructed. Also, I found out that the term “balls-to-the-wall” is not just a figure of speech here, and the drunken islanders and I spent a good portion of the evening just stumbling around the village, rubbing our nutsacks on various buildings and things

Cliché shouters, sloganeers, fashion-conscious pseudoidealists. Locusts attacking social causes with the wrong information and bogus solutions, their one legit gripe--the Sleepy Lagoon case--almost blown through guilt by association: fellow travelers soliciting actual Party members for picketing and leaflet distribution, nearly discrediting everything the Sleepy Lagoon Defense Committee said and did. Hollywood writers and actors and hangers-on spouting cheap trauma, Pinko platitudes and guilt over raking in big money during the Depression, then penancing the bucks out to spurious leftist causes. People led to Lesnick's couch by their promiscuity and dipshit politics.

Certainly there were obvious differences in policies between the various leaders, and an America run by a Bush, an Obama or a Clinton would have distinct contrasts. Those variables didn’t concern the secret elite rulers, however. As long as the Omega Agency and other clandestine groups ensured each administration sold out on the most lucrative issues – oil, banking, drug trafficking, arms sales – they couldn’t care less whether a political party poured a few more measly bucks into healthcare or schools.

Brie's grinning, but I doubt she's daydreaming about playoffs. Ten bucks says she's mentally creating the playlist for our first locker room dance party of the season.

I was at a party in Beverly Hills, and everyone in sports was there. Magic Johnson, Wayne Gretzky, Kareem. And I spotted my idol—Hank Aaron! I walked up to him and introduced myself. He said, “I know who you are. You made a great decision going to the USFL.” I was shocked. Then he leaned in and whispered, “Tom, you always have to get the money. Get the fucking money. Because they don’t care about you.” —Tom Ramsey, quarterback, Los Angeles Express

Mornings after sucked. Walks of shame were a necessary evil, but that didn’t mean I enjoyed shimmying back into the same trollop togs twice. I picked glitter out of my hair, then straightened my sequined top. I was officially decommissioning it. Multiple washings never quite managed to remove the lingering aura of bad decisions I made while wearing party clothes. My philosophy? Cross my fingers and hope for the most bang for the bucks spent later on new outfits.

Essentially, straightforward, honest, and clean is the only way to break up with someone and have you both leave with your dignity intact. {...} This takes a TON of vulnerability because this process is awkward as fuck and feels shitty to both parties involved, but I swear if you buck the fuck up and break up like a civilized person, in the long run, unless they're a psychopath or total dick, you'll keep your soul somewhat unscathed and their ego and heart not broken beyond repair.

Il y a une extase qui nous porte au point le plus haut de la vie, au delà duquel la vie ne peut s'élever. Le paradoxe est qu'elle se produit alors qu'on est - sans s'en rendre compte- pleinement vivant. Cette extase, cette inconscience d'exister appartiennent à l'artiste, saisi et projeté hors de lui même dans une nappe de feu; au soldat, pris de folie guerrière sur le champ de bataille, qui refuse de faire quartier. Elles appartenaient aussi à Buck, en tête de la meute, poussant le cri du loup, tendu vers la proie vivante qui fuyait à toute allure devant lui au clair de lune. Il exprimait ainsi le tréfonds de lui même, de cette partie de son être plus ancienne que lui, et qui remonte à l'origine des temps. Le flot de la vie le subjuguait, tel un raz de marrée; il était tout à la joie immense de sentir jouer ses muscles, ses articulations, ses tendons, qui n'avaient rien de la mort, débordaient de vigueur et de puissance, et trouvaient leur expression dans le mouvement, volant triomphalement entre les étoiles et la surface inanimée de la terre.

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Aditya is fond of his whisky but prefers to drink at home when he is with his family. Deepak loves Beck's and Heineken beer with his Sunday lunches. His evening preference is Johnnie Walker's Blue Label. He holds the glass but hardly drinks, only taking small sips every once in a while. A smart strategy, especially when he has to hop parties for networking. Ram doesn't drink. For Paresh, even tea is poison. Rajan finds beer too strong and, given a chance, will dilute it. Vinod, the 'original Brit' as some of his colleagues dub him, is always measured in drinking, like his steps while walking. They are all very different from one another; they have their whims, their fancies, their idiosyncrasies, but they have coexisted wonderfully well in professional harmony.

As it had turned out, assembling a crowd of sign-waving supporters for a Donald Trump campaign rally in Manhattan was a tricky task. A few days before the event, the billionaire’s team was reduced to putting out a casting call through a New York–based agency offering fifty bucks to background actors who were willing to wear Trump shirts, carry Trump posters, and cheer Trump on during his big announcement. (“We

The danger was that referendums might promote irresponsible government, in which ministers promised referendums for party purposes while disclaiming responsibility for the results. ‘The new doctrine’, Thatcher complained, was ‘to pass the buck to the people’.

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State wants the alleged techniques, presumably.” “I’ve been wondering about that,” Norman said. “I wonder if we do want them.” “How do you mean?” “It’s a bit difficult to explain … Look, have you been following television at all since you came home?” “Occasionally, but since the Yatakang news broke I’ve been much too busy to catch more than an occasional news bulletin.” “So have I, but—well, I guess I’m more familiar with the way trends get started here nowadays, so I can extrapolate from the couple or three programmes I have had time for.” Norman’s gaze moved over Elihu’s head to the far corner of the room. “Engrelay Satelserv blankets most of Africa, doesn’t it?” “The whole continent, I’d say. There are English-speaking people in every country on Earth nowadays, except possibly for China.” “So you’re acquainted with Mr. and Mrs. Everywhere?” “Yes, of course—these two who always appear in station identification slots, doing exotic and romantic things.” “Did you have a personalised set at any time, with your own identity matted into the Everywhere image?” “Lord, no! It costs—what? About five thousand bucks, isn’t it?” “About that. I haven’t got one either; the basic fee is for couple service, and being a bachelor I’ve never bothered. I just have the standard brownnose identity on my set.” He hesitated. “And—to be absolutely frank—a Scandahoovian one for the shiggy half of the pair. But I’ve watched friends’ sets plenty of times where they had the full service, and I tell you it’s eerie. There’s something absolutely unique and indescribable about seeing your own face and hearing your own voice, matted into the basic signal. There you are wearing clothes you’ve never owned, doing things you’ve never done in places you’ve never been, and it has the immediacy of real life because nowadays television is the real world. You catch? We’re aware of the scale of the planet, so we don’t accept that our own circumscribed horizons constitute reality. Much more real is what’s relayed to us by the TV.” “I can well understand that,” Elihu nodded. “And of course I’ve seen this on other people’s sets too. Also I agree entirely about what we regard as real. But I thought we were talking about the Yatakangi claim?” “I still am,” Norman said. “Do you have a homimage attachment on your set? No, obviously not. I do. This does the same thing except with your environment; when they—let’s see … Ah yes! When they put up something like the splitscreen cuts they use to introduce SCANALYZER, one of the cuts is always what they call the ‘digging’ cut, and shows Mr. and Mrs. Everywhere sitting in your home wearing your faces watching the same programme you’re about to watch. You know this one?” “I don’t think they have this service in Africa yet,” Elihu said. “I know the bit you mean, but it always shows a sort of idealised dream-home full of luxy gadgetry.” “That used to be what they did here,” Norman said. “Only nowadays practically every American home is full of luxy gadgetry. You know Chad’s definition of the New Poor? People who are too far behind with time-payments on next year’s model to make the down-payment on the one for the year after?” Elihu chuckled, then grew grave. “That’s too nearly literal to be funny,” he said. “Prophet’s beard, it certainly is! I found time to look over some of Chad’s books after Guinevere’s party, and … Well, having met him I was inclined to think he was a conceited blowhard, but now I think he’s entitled to every scrap of vanity he likes to put on.

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sparse hair, stressed features – he looked as if he’d unexpectedly been made leader of the Conservative Party, and hadn’t yet found a way of passing the buck.

Now that you understand the key players in ecosystems, here are the key principles of building an ecosystem. They are similar to the principles of creating a community discussed in chapter 8, “The Art of Evangelizing.” CREATE SOMETHING WORTHY OF AN ECOSYSTEM. Once again, the key to evangelism, sales, presentations, and now ecosystems is a great product. In fact, if you create a great product, you may not be able to stop an ecosystem from forming. By contrast, it’s hard to build an ecosystem around crap. DESIGNATE A CHAMPION. Many employees would like to help build an ecosystem, but who wakes up every day with this task at the top of her list of priorities? Another way to look at this is, “Who’s going to get fired if an ecosystem doesn’t happen?” Ecosystems need a champion—an identifiable hero—within the company to carry the flag for the community. DON’T COMPETE WITH THE ECOSYSTEM. If you want people or organizations to take part in your ecosystem, then you shouldn’t compete with them. For example, if you want people to create apps for your product, then don’t sell (or give away) apps that do the same thing. It was hard to convince companies to create a Macintosh word processor when Apple was giving away MacWrite. CREATE AN OPEN SYSTEM. An “open system” means that there are minimal requirements to participating and minimal controls on what you can do. A “closed system” means that you control who participates and what they can do. Either can work, but I recommend an open system because it appeals to my trusting, anarchic personality. This means that members of your ecosystem will be able to write apps, access data, and interact with your product. I’m using software terminology here, but the point is to enable people to customize and tweak your product. PUBLISH INFORMATION. The natural complement of an open system is publishing books and articles about the product. This spreads information to people on the periphery of a product. Publishing also communicates to the world that your startup is open and willing to help external parties. FOSTER DISCOURSE. The definition of “discourse” is “verbal exchange.” The key word is “exchange.” Any company that wants an ecosystem should foster the exchange of ideas and opinions. This means your website should provide a forum where people can engage with other members as well as your employees. This doesn’t mean that you let the ecosystem run your company, but you should hear what members have to say. WELCOME CRITICISM. Most organizations feel warm and fuzzy toward their ecosystem as long as the ecosystem says nice things, buys their products, and never complains. The minute that the ecosystem says anything negative, however, many organizations freak out and get defensive. This is dumb. A healthy ecosystem is a long-term relationship, so an organization shouldn’t file for divorce at the first sign of discord. Indeed, the more an organization welcomes—or even celebrates—criticism, the stronger its bonds to its ecosystem become. CREATE A NONMONETARY REWARD SYSTEM. You already know how I feel about paying people off to help you, but this doesn’t mean you shouldn’t reward people in other ways. Things as simple as public recognition, badges, points, and credits have more impact than a few bucks. Many people don’t participate in an ecosystem for the money, so don’t insult them by rewarding them with it.

A brick is what the aliens gave me to communicate with them. It’s easy to operate. Just go to a party, or any crowded location, place the brick on your head, and stand perfectly still until they open up lines of communication. If you talk to Egbok Wangor, tell him I want the twenty bucks he owes me—and I’ll even give you a twenty percent collector’s fee.


To get the most bang for your buck, drink your kefir right before bed, so the probiotics can settle in and have a colonization party. Less really is more. Yes, I have overdone it, and spent more time in the company of our porcelain friend than I care to remember.

In the case of Adam and Eve, the deeper truth is that it never happened, but it is always happening. It never was, but still is. It is both primitive and postmodern. The Bible is a Metaphor made up of metaphors, and the point is not to organize a search party to find a garden that never existed or Noah’s ark on a mountain in Turkey, so that we can “prove” that the Bible is true. Our calling is to graduate from a definition of truth that is too narrow and embrace the reading of scripture as sacred, normative poetry—not ancient journalism or objective history. This does not mean we stop “believing” the Bible. In this case, just think how timeless is the message of an archetypal woman duping a clueless, archetypal man and then passing the buck down to a talking snake!

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She looks calm enough, watching the buildings stream by out the window. But she doesn’t fool me. I know how unruly she is. I might have slipped a bridle over her head for the moment, but she’s going to try to buck me off again the moment she gets the chance. The crucial thing is to keep her in line during this party. After that, she can mutiny as much as she likes.

A hundred bucks says you won’t survive the full year in Bumfuck, Nowhere. No women, no parties. You’ll be back before Halloween.” “Oh, ye of little faith. There’ll be women, and the party is wherever I am.

When he arrived in Buffalo, two weeks before the election, the local Republicans were set to charge $25 for a picture of a handshake with him at a campaign event. It was a dismal gathering, men shuffling into a small, dim meeting hall and standing around the coffee urn. These were hardworking union guys—or they once were union guys. They were smokers. Veterans. In work shirts and work boots. They looked like America the way America looked in 1965, said Bannon, sentimental at the sight of his deplorables. “I’m not going to have these people pay twenty-five bucks for my picture,” Bannon told the event organizers. “My parents would go nuts.” Instead, he said he would pay the local party organization $25 for each picture and handshake.

What the current aura of disenchantment means for the future of American and world politics is uncertain. Will members of the public turn their backs on politics and turn to aesthetic appreciation, enjoying the comforts of religion, or building Shangri-las in their own minds?20 The post–World War II record-low voter turnout in the 2014 midterm elections might be one indication that Americans are washing their hands of even the most basic expressions of political engagement. But there are other indications that the legions of discontented do not reject the idea of progress as such and will not retreat from politics; instead what we are seeing is a rejection of liberal universalist visions of progress and the political programs associated with them. In a 2013 address before the Federal Assembly, Russian president Vladimir Putin declared that “attempts to push supposedly more progressive development models onto other nations actually resulted in regression, barbarity and extensive bloodshed.”21 Putin’s military incursions in Russia’s near (and not- so-near) abroad aside, increasing numbers of Westerners seem to agree with the sentiment of his remarks, punishing establishment politicians as “globalists” and rewarding inward-looking populists. From Brexiteers bucking the European Union to America-firsters looking to make their country “great again,” from supporters of the National Front in France to loyalists of the Party for Freedom in the Netherlands or the Freedom Party of Austria, nationalists are on the ascent, seeking progress for themselves and their compatriots on their own terms.

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Now, your own staff sold you out to the papers for a few bucks and the hatred between the parties was so deep, they could barely speak to each other in private much less be seen in public together. Each politician was after reelection and getting rich.

You’ve got a hot tip on a pony in the fifth race at Belmont and you’ve got an extra two bucks in your pocket and you wonder where to go. In Los Angeles you go south on Grand to Eleventh and straight across the street. On the corner, extending about sixty feet on down Grand, is the Ace Joke Shop. It seems a little big for one of those novelty stores, but you can buy matches that explode when you strike them, chair cushions that go pffffft, horribly, when you sit on them, and about nine hundred other gadgets to either enliven or ruin a party depending on your sense of humor.

wagon trains. Today, the West is still full of such places, creating an interesting political irony. Some of the most conservative, red-state bastions in America—Nebraska, Wyoming, Idaho—are the most park-rich states of all, with rodeo corrals, state fairgrounds, and free or inexpensive municipal campgrounds nearly everywhere. Untold millions in tax dollars were spent to build these national assets, and millions of dollars of public funds are spent every year to maintain them. The public corrals and parks measurably improve the quality of life and the local economies. But this region is also the Tea Party belt, where the central ideological pretense of the day is that government is the enemy and that every penny of taxes collected is a political crime.

Chief Van Alstyne,...” the elderly man said, shaking a fistful of papers, “…What do you offer to me and my wife that’s worth paying an extra two hundred dollars a year for?” The twenty-odd senior citizens crammed into the high-ceilinged room nodded along with the tirade. Russ briefly considered offering them a hundred sixty bucks each for their votes and then crawling back home to get some more sleep. Eight o’clock in the morning was too damn early to field questions from a bunch of Tea Party types.

No one asked you, boy,” Gawain said. “Get back with the other soldiers.”   Clark flinched, his shoulders climbing to his ears and his face falling. His gaze darted to Fallon and away as he took the dressing down.   “I asked him here,” Shea said, staring Gawain down.   He snorted but didn’t say anything, Fallon’s presence keeping him from voicing his opinion.   “I’ll just go, Shea. It’s alright. I should probably report back to see if they need any scouts.” Clark didn’t wait for a reply, turning his horse and sending it galloping back to the line.   She watched him go before taking a deep breath. She turned back around. Eamon and Buck watched her for a moment before giving the Rain Clan’s elder hard glances. He didn’t pay them any attention, probably deciding they were no worthier of being here, than Clark had been.   “You do the boy no favors by making him think he can break the chain of command,” Gawain said, his tone patronizing. “You won’t always be there to protect him.”   Shea’s hands tightened on the reins of her mount. It took considerable effort to bite back the words that wanted to escape her. Only the knowledge that Fallon might have need of this man kept her from the scathing retort she had forming.   In a coordinated movement, made all the more comical for it, Buck and Eamon stuck their tongues out and rolled their eyes before assuming their normal stone-faced expressions—the ones they wore around Trateri expedition leaders whom they found obnoxious.   Shea smothered the brief giggle the sight caused her. She schooled her face and gave them a nod of gratitude. She looked up and blinked, as she found herself pinned under the enigmatic gaze of Fallon. His eyes flicked to her two friends then back to her.   She held her breath, sensing a chastisement coming. He lowered one eyelid in an exaggerated wink before sticking just the tip of his tongue out and wrinkling his nose. This time she didn’t quite contain her laugh.   Fallon’s face was cool and implacable as Shea lost the battle and her chortles rolled out. The rest of the party besides Fallon, Eamon and Buck eyed her with concern, not seeing what she found so funny.   “If the Telroi could compose herself, perhaps we could get back to the business at hand,” Braden said.   “My name is Shea. I suggest you remember it.

So, you’re Shea’s cousin?” Buck asked as the fire crackled and popped. “You must have known her when she was young. Got any good stories?”   Shea lifted her head and glared at Buck. “What kind of question is that?”   He spread his hands and shrugged. “What? I’m just trying to make conversation. Get to know the other pathfinder in our midst. You’re always such a mystery. You can’t blame me for being curious.”   “I’d be interested to learn whether she’s always been this grumpy,” Eamon said.   “Grumpy? I’m not grumpy.”   “Oh yes, you are,” Trenton said. “You get this frown on your face, and then the next thing you know, you’re questioning how someone has survived in the world this long. To their face.”   “Wait, wait,” Buck said. “My favorite is when she asks if they were dropped on their head as a baby.”   “She still does that?” Reece asked.   “Yup, and this was when she was masquerading as a man and a scout. Asked the leader of a war party that, and then when he said no told him that was a pity, because maybe being dropped on his head would have knocked some sense into him.”   The rest of the group laughed.   “Did you really do that?” Fallon asked in a low voice next to her ear. Shea’s shoulders tried to reach her ears as she looked away. That was answer enough. A warm chuckle feathered through her hair. Shea rolled her eyes. Yes, laugh it up. In her defense, that man had wanted to take the warband right through a nest of gravers when she had specifically told him it was a bad idea. It wasn’t her fault that he’d gotten so upset at her words that he’d tried to prove her wrong and nearly ended up dead in the process.   They laughed about it now, but at the time Eamon had been furious over her insubordination. The only thing that had saved her tail, was that the man had been so shaken he had forgotten all about her insults. The nice thing was that he hadn’t questioned any of her advice for the rest of their journey.   She frowned. She could kind of see why they thought she was grumpy.

There is an expectation that a trip into the wilderness—even just for the weekend—entails certain risk not found in daily life. A good trip entails a lot of physical effort and teamwork. People expect to be able to cope with the usual demands of the wilderness, and, thus, they develop unusual coping mechanisms. Sometimes, however, for some or all of the people on the trip, events surpass standard coping mechanisms. Then a wilderness-style critical incident has occurred. A critical incident is almost any incident in which the circumstances are so unusual or the sights and sounds so distressing as to produce a high level of immediate or delayed emotional reaction that surpasses an individual’s normal coping mechanisms. Critical incidents are events that cause predictable signs and symptoms of exceptional stress in normal people who are having normal reactions to something abnormal that has happened to them. A critical incident from a wilderness perspective may be caused by such events as the sudden death or serious injury of a member of the group, a multiple-death accident, or any event involving a prolonged expenditure of physical and emotional energy. People respond to critical incidents differently. Sometimes the stress is too much right away, and signs and symptoms appear while the event is still happening. This is acute stress; this member of the group is rendered nonfunctional by the situation and needs care. More often the signs and symptoms of stress come later, once the pressing needs of the situation have been addressed. This is delayed stress. A third sort of stress, common to us all, is cumulative stress. In the context of the wilderness, cumulative stress might arise if multiple, serial disasters strike the same wilderness party. The course of symptom development when a person is going from the normal stresses of day-to-day living into distress (where life becomes uncomfortable) is like a downward spiral. People are not hit with the entire continuum of signs and symptoms at once. However, after a critical incident, a person may be affected by a large number of signs and symptoms within a short time frame, usually 24 to 48 hours. The degree or impairment an event causes an individual depends on several factors. Each person has life lessons that can help, or sometimes hinder, the ability to cope. Factors affecting the degree of impact an event has on the individual include the following: 1. Age. People who are older tend to have had more life lessons to develop good coping mechanisms. 2. Degree of education. 3. Duration of the event, as well as its suddenness and degree of intensity. 4. Resources available for help. These may be internal (a personal belief system) or external (a trained, local critical-incident stress debriefing team). 5. Level of loss. One death may be easier than several, although the nature of a relationship (marriage partners or siblings, for example) would affect this factor. Signs and symptoms of stress manifest in three ways: physical, emotional, and cognitive. Stress manifests differently from one person to the next. Signs and symptoms that occur in one person may not occur in another, who has responses of his or her own.

ALL RIGHTS RESERVED. No part of this book may be used or reproduced in any matter whatsoever without the written and signed permission of the author. All trademarked names are the property of their owner and are acknowledged by the proper use of capitalization throughout. OTHER ‘Game on Boys’ BOOKS Available on Amazon as eBooks or print books Game on Boys 4 can be read separately or part of a series FREE ebook Game on Boys 1:The PlayStation Playoffs(8-12) Game on Boys 2 : Minecraft Madness (8-12) Game on Boys 3 : NO Girls Allowed Game on Boys 5 : House of Horrors Game on Boys 6 : Galactic Zombie Other books by Kate Cullen FREE Diary Of a Wickedly Cool Witch : Bullies and Baddies(8-13) Boyfriend Stealer : Diary of a Wickedly Cool Witch 2 (8-13) Diary of a Wickedly Cool Witch 3 : Perfect Ten (8-13) Diary of a Wickedly Cool Witch 4 : Witch School for Misfits Lucy goes to the Halloween Party (Early readers) Lucy the Easter Dog (Early readers) Lucy's Merry Christmas Sammy McGann and the Secret Soup People (5-10) Follow KATE on TWITTER at Kate Cullen @ katekate5555 Or email gameonboysseries@gmail.com to receive email updates. (Copy and paste) Or visit her website for new books and giveaways Kate Cullen author website Contents 1. Wow 2. BYODD 3. Secrets 4. News 5. Brats 6. Santa 7. Wishing 8. Blocky 9. Monsters 10. Wolverine 11. Creepy. 12. Arachnophobia 13. Fartblaster 14. Superhero 15. Enderman 16. Teleporting 17. Lost 18. Potions 19. Scared 20. Spells 21. Fireworks 22. Homecoming 1. WOW You know how awesome Christmas is, and birthdays are sick as, Easter is just a big fat chocolate splurge, and even Thanksgiving is like pig-out insanity. Weekends are kinda cool too, but holidays are totally far out man. And when a new PS game comes out and they have a midnight release extravaganza at the game store, it’s like crazy time, coolness overload. All these things are the main reason I exist on this earth. Without all this stuff, life would just SUCK big time. But nothing, I repeat NOTHING comes close to the Christmas I just had. WOW! I repeat WOW! Where do I even start? This Christmas was a like a dream come true. Actually it was sort of like a nightmare too, if that makes any sense. A dream and a nightmare mixed up into one. Totally far out man. Totally gobsmacking, totally awesome, but totally freaking scary. So you’re probably thinking like I won a million bucks or something and then got mugged, or the owner of Sony PlayStation company sent me 1000 free PS games, and then the house got robbed at gunpoint. Or even better, the owner made me the new boss of the Sony PlayStation company. Yeah right! Like that will ever happen! In my dreams!! Although, after what happened, I’m thinking that absolutely anything is possible. 2. BYODD The last day at school before Christmas break was awesome. We had a BYOD day in the afternoon. The first part of the day we had to do all the boring Christmassy stuff like making soppy cards for our families, coloring pictures of Santa and doing boring word searches looking for words like (DER) ‘Santa, Christmas, present, jingle, stocking’. Like BORING. Capital ‘B’ Boring. Why can’t Christmas word finds have proper Christmas words like, console, iPhone 6, PlayStation games, Star wars, BMX, Nerf Modulous Blaster, Thunderblast, Star Wars darth vader vehicle, lego Star Wars Death star?

In his remarks about Father Gruner at the end of the June 26 press conference, Cardinal Ratzinger had also noted that Father Gruner was no doubt suffering from angoscia - the Italian word for extreme mental anguish. Cardinal Ratzinger obviously knew of the threat of excommunication, which would indeed cause angoscia in any faithful priest who loves the Church. But Father Gruner's plight is only emblematic of the plight of the Church as a whole in the post-conciliar epoch: a priest who has committed no offense against faith and morals is personally threatened with excommunication by the very head of the Congregation for the Clergy, while throughout the Church predators in Roman collars molest alter boys or spread heresy as their bishops move them from place to place or conceal their activities and protect them from punishment; and the Congregation for the Clergy does nothing. What is to explain this outrageous disparity of justice? There seems to us only one sensible explanation, based on what we have shown thus far: In the Catholic Church of the post-conciliar Adaption, the one unforgiveable offense, just as in Stalinist Russia, is to buck the Party Line. And Father Gruner had bucked the Party Line on Fatima.