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Human Trafficking 1

Ever wonder why nothing is done?  About the border? About illegal immigration?

Do you really believe that illegal aliens are entitled to be in America?

Do you really believe that illegal aliens are entitled to all the benefits that American citizens are entitled to? Entitled to all the programs that American citizens are entitled to? Are they entitled to vote? Hold public office?

Are they entitled to Social Security, the same Social Security that elderly American citizens have paid into all their lives? To free public housing? To food stamps? To the same medical care that American citizens avail themselves of after paying the premiums and after paying for Medicare all their lives? To get this for free without even being here legally? (Not talking about emergency care at an emergency room.)

Do you really subscribe to the notion the Democrats would have you believe that they really, really think that all people are equal and worthy? Do you really subscribe to the notion that the Democrats actually care about these people? About you? (If you remember, they turned down Trump’s DACA offer, a better offer than they proposed, simply because it came from Donald Trump.)

Said yesterday, from the movie: Well, pick your pill. “You take the blue   pill—the story ends, you wake up in your bed and believe whatever you want to believe. You take the red   pill—you stay in Wonderland, and I show you how deep the rabbit hole goes. Remember: all I’m offering is the truth.”

Do you get skeptical about the border problem? About other things?

Think nothing is done because it’s about money? About those rich capitalists who just want that cheap labor?

Think it’s about power? About those Despicable Dems who would offer anything to the illegals so they will flood into this country and ultimately vote Democratic?

Well, these are all real questions, questions each of us have to answer for ourselves, questions most of us answer depending upon the pill we’ve taken according to the choice as stated above.

One thing we rarely hear mentioned is the abuse heaped upon the women and female children crossing the border. Studies show that about 30% of females are sexually assaulted in one form or another and 10% are raped. These are accepted estimates,  conservative ones. It is difficult to get complete statistics because most cases of rape and sexual abuse go unreported.

The President and Vice President are criticized for mis-reporting statistics, as is the Director of Homeland Security. Personally, I have issue with the fact that rather than looking at the problem of sexual abuse and trafficking of children, the argument is over correct statistics. Or, the argument becomes political rather than about the issue itself.

Fact of the matter is that human trafficking worldwide is a about a 150 billion dollar business, second or third in value of all criminal enterprises. The third in the top three is counterfeiting and its value is hard to assess accurately. First is drugs.

Possibly one of the big reasons we hear so little about what’s going on at the border and about this part of the problem is because of the dollar value involved.

Again, depending on which pill you’ve swallowed and then upon what you want to believe and how you view things,  you will draw your own conclusions.

One thing is for sure. There are certain big, big money criminal interests with deep, deep pockets that have a vested interest in not solving our border crisis. These interests are deep into the exploitation of human beings. They want the problem downplayed,  kept silent, swept aside.

And so it goes.

More to come about child trafficking particularly here in the United States. A new series will begin shortly.

bw 2nd 100 cover

Coming in a few weeks

and

By Peter Weiss

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kitchen-4

Bill remembered the green room. It was a bathroom. He sat in the bathtub of that bathroom for just about eight hours straight, looking at the green walls and saying “Wow, look at the green.”

Wasn’t his first trip. Wasn’t his last trip.

His first trip happened on his way to the Filmore East to see one of the best rock concerts of all time. Heading through the Midtown Tunnel they popped purple-dot acid.

Where they parked, they had to walk past a police precinct to get to the theater. Stand up straight, he thought. Stand up straight they both thought, Bill and his best friend. His best friend was into music and knew they had to go to see this show.

Stand up straight.

As they passed the precinct building they both cracked up and couldn’t help themselves from laughing so hard they almost peed their pants. Only way Bill could stop himself was to reach in his shirt pocket for his cigarettes. But that pocket was like miles away from his hand.

By the time he’d passed his friend a cigarette and put one in his own mouth they were well beyond where the cops were. Safe. Home-run. But the match, he struck it and it was sooo far from his mouth.

Goddamn.

Where the hell is my mouth?

Where the hell was the cigarette?

Green room. Bathroom. Annabelle. Naked. She was tripping too and she wanted to get laid.

There were others in the house as well, and the cats, for real, they had found a mouse. The mouse was alive. They were playing with it, not attempting to kill it.

Later, out from the tub, he and Annabelle found the cats in the kitchen, one cat on either end of the room. They were batting the mouse to each other, watching it slide across the linoleum floor. By this time the mouse was near-dead.

“Get undressed.” Annabelle stood before him. Bill sat in the tub fully dressed. He was just looking at the green walls saying over and over, “Look at the green.”

Not able to get him to do anything, Annabelle disappeared. She came back a moment later.

Bill had no clue as to when, what time it was or how much time had elapsed. Now she wore heavy, hooker make-up. Her lips were so red all he could think about was watching her put red lip marks on the green paint. She was wearing his shirt, open, sleeves rolled up, and high-heels. She was smoking a joint and passed it to him.

The first hit on the joint shot him into the stratosphere. The second and third hits just kept him up there.

She also had a bottle of wine. She reached out for him to give her back the joint, which he did. She handed him the wine and he drank from the bottle.

“Kiss the wall,” he said. “I want to see lipstick lips on the wall.”

“I want some,” Annabelle said.

“Kiss the wall.”

“I got a better idea.”

She stepped into the tub and sat on the rim. She let the shirt settle on either side of her spread legs. She spread her legs far as she could. In her shoes, the open shirt and the fiercely red lipstick, she sat there before him.

“Rise and Shine and give God your glory, glory!” She sang.

From another room heavy rock music blasted out. Then the three others in the house found them as they were in the bathroom. Annabelle would have taken care of her needs with them—all of them at once for how messed up she was—except they were gay.

That was a whole other story.

“Get lost,” she said to them. “I’m getting me some.”

After they left the green room, she leaned in and lifted up Bill’s T-shirt. She planted a full red-lipstick lip imprint on his belly just below his chest.

bw 2nd 100 cover

Coming in a few weeks

and

By Peter Weiss


bw 2nd 100 cover

 

Coming next month on Amazon, the second in the series, the second hundred Bill Wynn outtakes.

By Peter Weiss


wysiwyg not

What they tell you you’re seeing is not what is. Or, WYSIWYG Not.

No, there’s no constitutional crisis.

No Trump is not medically or psychologically unfit for office.

No, Trump has not been more secretive or more obstructionist than other presidents.

No, Trump has not abused the constitution or his power.

No. What’s really going on and what they, the Despicable Dems and their mainstream media puppets, want you to believe is really going are two vastly different things.

No, that boy who stood his ground was not aggressive. He took no aggressive actions, made no forward steps toward anyone.

No, a MAGA hat is not a symbol of white supremacy.

And on and on, WYSIWYG Not.

The adage is that when you a point a finger at someone, three fingers are pointing back at you.

What it is.

No, a special prosecutor who stacks his team with all political opponents of the subject is not unbiased and fair-minded.

No, a special prosecutor who purposefully leaves his report such that the political opposition can continue to use it against a subject even though the report shows the subject did not do what accused of is not an apolitical report.

No, Comey is not a patriot.

No, the Steele dossier was not what it’s claimed to be.

No, Hillary did not tell the families of the people who died in Benghazi the truth.

No, Susan Rice was not telling the truth on TV when she talked about Benghazi being caused by a video.

No. She lied when she said it wasn’t organized terrorists.

No. The mainstream media is not unbiased.

No. Freedom of speech does not exist any longer on college campuses when they stop conservatives from speaking.

No. Kavanaugh was not presumed innocent   until proven guilty   by the Democrats .

No. The Democrats were not interested in more information to determine whether Kavanaugh was telling the truth.

No. They are not interested in more information regarding the Mueller report. (If they were, they’d read the less-redacted version, 99.9% un-redacted). None of the Democrats have read it.

WYSIWYG Not.

No. We are not seeing what really is.

Oh, I know. Those of either side who have drunk that side’s Kool-Aid think the other side is all wet. Think the other side is all wrong. Think their side is moral and virtuous and the only side truly interested in the betterment and well-being of our country.

Well, pick your pill. “You take the blue   pill—the story ends, you wake up in your bed and believe whatever you want to believe. You take the red   pill—you stay in Wonderland, and I show you how deep the rabbit hole goes. Remember: all I’m offering is the truth.”

Just be careful. One side is going around saying it speaks the will and wants of the American people and some other things to the effect that God is not political but if He were He wouldn’t be a Republican. That’s the side that endorses abortion even after the baby is born.

WYSIWYG Not!

By Peter Weiss


kitchen-4

“You gonna be okay?”

Mary and Bill were in the storeroom. Mary closed the door behind them and they both sat down, Bill on a stack of canned vegetable cases, Mary on a stack of stewed tomatoes cases. They were next to each other.

“I’m good.”

“Did you know you were feeling her up?”

“Sort of. Not like I was feeling her up.”

“Like what then?”

“Not like this.” Bill turned and reached to Mary. He put his hand on her bosom and intimately touched her, a clearly sexual motion. Then he took that hand and moved it down to where he could slide it up her dress from the bottom.

“We got things to do,” Mary said.

“What are you gonna do when I leave here?” Bill asked.

“When you leaving?”

Mary stood up. Bill stood up with her and kissed her. He held her tight to him.

“Up to me, I’d never leave. I’d just stay here and be with you.”

“And Bea and everyone else.”

“Only you mean something.”

“Then stay away from those new girls.”

“I’m a stay away from everyone but you. I love you.”

“What you say, boy?”

“You heard me.”

“Say it again.”

“I love you. You love me?”

“Yes. That’s the problem. How you think I feel when you go with Bea or Lorraine or them others?”

“I know,” Bill said.  “I’m cutting most of it out, piece by piece.”

“I hope so.”

“Dinosaurs dancing,” said Bill.

“You just saying you love me cause you’re on drugs?”

“I’m saying it cause it’s true.”

“It’s not the drugs?”

“I’m on drugs. I know I’m on drugs. I keep telling myself I’m tripping so I know where I’m at and don’t lose it. But I know what I’m saying when I tell you I love you. I didn’t mean to and I didn’t want to and I didn’t ask to come to this place. But like I said, if it was up to me, I’d just stay here with you.”

Mary kissed Bill. She kissed him so hard she thought their lips would stick together. She pressed herself against him, tight, promised herself some things she wasn’t ready to articulate yet, things she knew she would do before boy’s girl graduated and boy was off somewhere where she might never see him again.

“I want you to take me to the Upper Room,” she said.

Bill kissed her more, fondled her as they hugged and kissed.

“We have some stuff to bread and some things to start getting ready for tomorrow and the day after.”

“Dinosaurs still dancing,” Bill said.

Mary starting gathering things, one of them a huge bottle of bread crumbs which she handed to Bill. She gave him other things too and when his arms were full she picked up some things for herself to carry and they left the storeroom.

She followed him up the stairs. As they turned into the kitchen from the hall, Lily was waiting with a dupe in hand.

“Ordering,” she said.

Bill put the things he was carrying in the back on Mary’s station. Then he came around front. “Next time just spear the dupe and hit the bell,” he said to her.

“I wasn’t sure what to do since no one was here.”

Bill looked around. Bea wasn’t in the kitchen either. Only ones there were the dishwashers.

“Next time, that’s all you have to do. If you hit the bell, someone will come. Whoever it is will be able to get you your order going.

Lily smiled at Bill. “Maybe I just wanted to see you,” she said.

“Well, here I am. Every bit of me.”

“Well, here I am,” Lily said. “Every bit of me too.”

Bill looked her over before he read the dupe. She saw him looking her over.

“You like?” she asked.

By Peter Weiss


kitchen-4

Bill was sitting on his milk cases. He was all messed up. Actually he wasn’t messed up, he was just tripping his brains out, which meant that he was seeing and doing things on multiple levels, as he thought of it. Others watching him might certainly have thought differently of it.

He had asked Brooklyn to bring him a beer and when she came out into the hall with it, he said, “So where in Brooklyn you from?”

She said “Flatbush.”

He said, “My mother was from Flatbush. My father was from Canarsie. My Uncle Sam lived in Prospect Park.”

“So you know Brooklyn.” Not thinking much of it, Brooklyn sat down opposite Bill, on Bea’s lettuce cases which were now about even in height with the two milk cases on which Bill sat.

“Not really. I grew up in Queens. We just went to Brooklyn when we were visiting and pretty much that was when I was a young kid. I didn’t go there much as an a grownup kid or an adult.”

“Your loss.”

Brooklyn was conscious of Bill staring at her. At first she shifted where she sat a bit, but then she just looked at him and wondered, like, what-the-hell. Then she asked him what he was looking at.

Bill didn’t say anything. He leaned forward on the milk cases and reached out toward her, to her blouse on her bosom. Without hesitation, he fingered the material of the blouse on her breast.

Brooklyn didn’t know what to do, what to say. She looked deep in his eyes and said “You like what you’re feeling?”

“The spider,” Bill said. “It’s multi-colored and whispering to you.”

“Well, I should get back,” Brooklyn said. She was completely weirded-out, but she didn’t get up right away. In fact, she leaned in closer toward Bill so he could feel her more easily. “You always feel-up the new waitresses? Is it a thing?” she asked.

Only as she said this did Bill become conscious of the fact that in effect he was feeling her up. The spider was on her breast and he was, according to what was happening in his acid-brain, touching that spider. It was whispering to him. Pet me. Pet me.

So despite now being somewhat aware of where his hand was, he continued feeling her up, petting the spider. “It’s okay,” he whispered softly. “I’ll keep you safe.”

Mary found them like this. She came out to the hall on her way down the stairs to get some things from the store room. She took it in, looked at it for what it was.

“He’s tripping,” Mary said to Brooklyn.

“You mean on acid?” Brooklyn asked.

“That’s what I mean,” Mary said.

“They let him trip here?”

“Tommy don’t know. But if he did, he wouldn’t say anything. Boy got to put up the dinner.”

“The spider’s soft,” Bill said. “And I know it’s on your tits,” he said to Brooklyn. “Maybe you ought to spread your legs and let me see what’s up there.”

“Maybe I ought to get back out to the dining room.”

“Come on, let me see if his friend’s up there.” Bill laughed. He started to reach for her there with his other hand, but Mary stepped in the way.

“Come on,” Mary said to Bill. “You can see if the spider’s up my legs in the storeroom.”

She took Bill’s hand and pulled him so he stood up. Standing between him and Brooklyn, Bill had to stop feeling her up. Brooklyn did not hesitate and quickly stood. She stepped behind Mary and out into the kitchen on her way back to the dining room.

“What’s the matter with you, boy?” Mary asked.

By Peter Weiss


disfluency_logo

There’s no such thing as equality. We talk about it as if there is, but really there isn’t.

Think about it. Everyone’s DNA is different. Everyone’s fingerprints are different and distinct. No two of us are exactly alike, not even identical twins although they are the closest.

These days, the Democrats talk about us as if we are all equal, meaning the same. These days what’s really going on is a sort of dysfluency, actually more like a distortion of our language, or, if you will, a twisting of it, a perversion of it.

Those trained in linguistics, law, politics, journalism, and other disciplines, use our language nowadays like con men. Of course politically correct would be con women, con people, con persons.

Or those Democrats, our illustrious majority party in the House of Representatives, aided and abetted by the bulk of the mainstream media, nowadays use our language to con us into believing things that really aren’t so. Oh, you might think so, you might even want to think so. But certain things just aren’t, period.

I taught in the Bronx, New York for about twenty-two years. For most of that time I taught at least one class per semester in forensics. I taught it in both high school and college. Needless to say, those classes were about language, how it can be used or abused. And of course they were about argument, debate, the first premise of which is looking fairly at all sides of a proposition.

These days, our language is being abused by the Democrats and their abuse is supported by the major part of the mainstream media. We hear all kinds of things we know are ridiculous, positively ridiculous, and we are asked to believe them on faith. We are told things we know don’t apply to the real world we live in and we are told they do apply, that we should simply take it on faith from those leading us that they really do apply.

Go back to Nancy Pelosi’s “you’ve got to sign it to see what’s in it.”

Really?

Go into a bank with a mortgage that you yourself have written for your own home and ask the bank officer to sign it so he can see what’s in it.

Need I say more?

Nancy Pelosi and the Democrats say a wall isn’t necessary and that they would tear down the walls. Look in front of Nancy Pelosi’s house. There’s a big, beautiful wall.

Will she tear down her wall? They don’t even want the President to send illegal immigrants to their communities in sanctuary cities.

So I used to take four high school students and put them in a group. I used to tell one that s/he worked really hard and earned a thousand dollars in salary but that everyone else in the group had not worked and had no money. So in that Obama-like, Democrat-supported sense of equality, that one student had to give each member of his group two-hundred fifty dollars.

Done. They were all equal.

A month goes by and that same student has earned another thousand dollars. But one member of the group spent all his/her money on drugs, another spent all his/her money on things for him/herself, and the third member sat home and watched TV laughing at the fool who trudged off to work.

Again that one hard-working member of the group had to make equality.

What do you think was the response?

The Democrats, aided and abetted by the bulk of the mainstream media want us to believe we’re all equal. In fact, we are all different.

Language.

The Democrats and the their mainstream media puppets purposefully obfuscate things. Equality and equality of opportunity are two different things.

Do you really believe, per those wonderful Dems, the world is going to end in twelve years?

By Peter Weiss



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