Volume 11: Part 1- Moenia Prima: Tuesday, September 20th, 3:28 P.M.

Tuesday, September 20th, 3:28 P.M.
A brisk wind whips around the roof of the high rise I find myself on, adding coldness to a dark day, a dark day the mid-afternoon sun is powerless to make lighter.  The rooftop is cold and dark but the offices of the charity housed in this building are darker.  The doors are fractured and only hanging on by a thread.  Every speck of glass is shattered.  Spread out on the floor, papers, clothing, and backpacks are torn to ribbons, everything inside those offices just looks destroyed.  I couldn't find a trace of Delany in this building.  I don't know if that's a good thing or a bad.
Hato Shurtleff

Volume 11: Part 1- Moenia Prima: Tuesday, September 20th, 12:10 P.M.

Tuesday, September 20th, 12:10 P.M.
Usually in the morning I am awoken by my alarm clock, the sound of which hits you like somebody hitting you in the forehead with a ballpine hammer.  I'd like to be awoken by music or talk radio.  However, as I've said before, there aren't any stations with music I like anymore and racist talk radio is not the best thing to experience first thing in the morning.  I would have liked to be awoken by the sweet smell of the overnight rainfall.  That is not what woke me up this morning.  Instead, I was awoken by my Dad knocking on my bedroom door.
While wiping the blurriness from my eyes, I said, "Yeah."
"Sorry I woke you up, but I need to tell you something."  There was a serious tone in Dad's voice, which is unusual for him.
"What is it?"
Dad came in and sat on the edge of my desk.  Dad taking this position and looking at me the way he did also said to me that Dad was being serious.  "Your Mom and I have decided to leave town.  We've had enough.  Belle's had it with this town for a while, and after yesterday, I- I just- those fucking savages."
"I know Dad, I know."
Dad took a moment to compose himself then continued.  "I wanted to ask you if you wanted to come with us.  You don't have to, but I'd make your Mom really happy if you did."
I thought about it for a moment.  "Where are you two going?"
"Dha Chathair, at first.  Depending on the situation there, we might stay there or move on to another city.  I really don't know, your Mom and I only decided to leave Moenia Prima this morning."
The prospect of moving to Dha Chathair appealed to me, much more than staying here.  However, the more I thought about it the more I thought of Sparra, Wanda, and Delany.  Admittedly, I thought more of Delany than anyone else.  I just couldn't bear the thought of abandoning them in this city.  We've helped each other so many times with so much trivial bullshit, isn't it most important to help each other now?
I sat up in my bed and said, "Dad, I like the idea of going to Dha Chathair, but I can't go just yet.  I want to check with Delany and Sparra and Wanda and see if they want to go too."
Dad was disappointed to hear this.  "Hato, I understand.  Your Mom's not going to be happy, but it might take some time before she's capable of being happy again."  Dad got up from my desk and slowly started making his way toward my door.  Before he left my bedroom, Dad turned back to me and said, "Just remember to take care of yourself.  I'll be damned if those people are going to take another son from me."
"I will."
After that bit of reassurance, Dad left to go pack things up.  I got showered, dressed, and tried calling and emailing my friends.  I got no response.  My next course of action was to go to where I thought my friends would be: The charity Delany works for, the DFPS facility Sparra works at, and the strip club where Wanda performs at.  As I was leaving the house, I passed Sakoshi's room.  Sitting on the floor in the middle of Sakoshi's room on the verge of tears with one of Sakoshi's stuffed animals in her hands was Mom.  Seeing Mom in that state, that overwhelming feeling of sadness, compelled me to at least stay and see my parents off.  I wasn't going with them, but perhaps seeing that I was safe as she left Moenia Prima would set my Mom's mind at ease.
The morning was spent trying to cram the car full of as much stuff from the house as we could.  Mom spent most of the time gathering pictures and photo albums, making sure to save every picture of Sakoshi she could find.  Dad was more concerned with saving the computer, books, and his finely aged single malt Scotch.  While we were doing this, the radio was on, tuned to the radio station with all the blatantly racist political talk shows.  Mom really didn't want to listen to that station, but Dad was adamant, saying, "We need to know where the mobs are so we can escape safely."  I didn't know what Dad meant by that, so I listened to the radio to hear what they were saying.
"Eleven minutes past the hour here on your independent news leader.  Now it's time for a check of the top news of the hour.  News headlines brought to you by Kalimba brand sausage products.  For that good, wholesome, old fashioned flavor, look for Kalimba brand sausage products in your grocer's freezer.  Kalimba.
"Overnight, several opfer owned or operated businesses, meeting places, and churches were ransacked by verbrecher vigilantes.  A letter sent to The Charlie Mason Show, purporting to be from one of the vigilantes, reads as follows:
We are doing that which is right.  We are protecting that which is moral.  We are doing that which those that are sworn to protect us refuse to do.  We are eliminating the criminal element from Moenia Prima.  We are eliminating opfers.  We know the truth, that all opfers are complicit in the unchecked crimes that go on in this city.  We will not rest untill all opfers are cleansed from Moenia Prima, and, as we move forward, the country of Dolore as a whole.
"The Moenia Prima Police Department has not responded to these acts of vigilantism, nor to the accusations circulating in the mainstream media sources that members of the MPPD are among the participants in these vigilante acts.  More on this story as it develops.
"In other news..."
After hearing that story I called and emailed my friends again, this time with more urgency.  This time I emailed then, not because I wanted to leave Moenia Prima with them, because I wanted to know if they were alive.  As my messages were being sent through the magical airwaves and I was in the family room helping Mom put the last of the photo albums in a box, another report came on the radio.
"Looking at national headlines, in an update from this morning, the vigilante groups that ransacked opfer owned business overnight appear now to be targeting opfer families in their homes.  Reports are sketchy at this point, but several news outlets are reporting fatalities as a result of this groups actions..."
"Shit," Dad exclaimed as he heard this report.  "We gotta get out of here.  Bella, grab the radio and that box you're carrying.  Hato, go around and make sure the windows and doors are locked, then slip out the back into the tall grass.  If you're really staying here, that's the best place to stay hidden.  I'll go out and start the car."  Dad then opened the front door and then immediately closed it.
Mom asked, with a heavy sense of dread in her voice, "Solanin, what was it?"
Dad turned around and looked at Mom and I.  He looked more afraid than I've ever seen anyone be afraid in my life.  "There's a group of verbrechers down the street walking this way.  They're carrying baseball bats, machetes, and assault rifles."
"Oh God no."  The terror my Mom was feeling was evident in her voice and on her face.
I sprung to the front window to confirm what Dad had seen.  "Shit!  What are we going to do?"
Dad cleared the emotion from his face and took action.  "Hato, if you really are staying in this city, you need to leave this house now.  Use your osher training and you should be fine.  Belle, we're getting in the car and leaving, now."
Mom was still afraid.  "We can't just drive through that mob, they'll shoot us before we get through.  They'll kill us."
Dad was still resolute.  "They'll kill us if we stay here.  If we get in the car, we take the chance that they suck at hitting a moving target."
After I was done confirming the mob and analyzing the safest routes to my first destination, Delany's work, I stepped away from the window.  "Mom, I'm sure you'll be fine.  When my friends and I get to Dha Chathair, I'm sure I'll find you."
Tears began welling in my Mom's eyes.  I kissed her before making my way for the back door.  Just before we left doors at opposite ends of the house, my Dad said to me, "Son, I know you'll survive this."
I replied, "I know you will too."  I pray that what we said will come true.
Hato Shurtleff

Who Is A Plug

Not A Volume 11 Plug, I Swear
Over the past couple of months, I've been making my latest book, Volume 11, available for free on my website, www.Redertainment.com.  This was done by way of blog posts.  If you subscribed to the RSS feed on my website, every Tuesday and Thursday morning you would receive a small section of Volume 11.  Over time the story of Volume 11 will be told through my website.

There are many different reasons why I chose to pursue this distribution method.  One of them is that I like the concept of a story being told over time.  Unless you decide to buy Volume 11 in it's entirety, if you want to experience this story you have to wait for it to be unveiled to you.  In my mind there is one flaw with this distribution method: I am not actively writing this story.  Volume 11 is already written in it's entirety.  I do not plan to change or alter this story as visitors to my website read it.  In this way, this distribution method for Volume 11 produces a stale product.  This is why I find Who Is John McAfee so interesting.
John McAfee is the former head of McAfee security who distanced himself from his company, and the computer industry in general, and fled to Belize to purify bath salts.  On November 12th, John McAfee was accused of murder, and is currently on the run from the police.  Recently a blog popped up being written by John McAfee himself.  Remarkably, this website is still being updated with new material.  The entries consists of posts about John McAfee's attempts to evade the law, as well as posts about the people and culture of Belize.  These posts are intensely personal and are, at times, difficult to read.
The reason that I find Who Is John McAfee so interesting is that this story is still being told.  Who Is John McAfee is not a stale product, it is still living and subject to change.  There is a sense that an end to this story is coming, but the reader does not know when this end is going to happen.  As a consumer of this product, there is a part of me that wants to continue reading this story for a very long time, but there is another part of me that wants it to come to an end.

This Is A Volume 11 Plug

She looks so peaceful.  So serene.  So beautiful.  It's too bad that this won't last much longer.  Eventually this peace will break, and, if it's anything like before, everything will slide into shit.

Volume 11: Available on Kindle for $1.

Volume 11: Part 1- Moenia Prima: Monday, September 19th, 11:15 P.M.

Monday, September 19th, 11:15 P.M.
I don't know how to describe what happened today.  I don't.  I hesitate to begin doing so.  However, it's important for there to be a record of what happened, who did it, and how it was done.  I write this in the hopes that somebody finds this.  Somebody who will do something about this.  Somebody who cares.
I started my workday doing my usual rounds.  Taking out garbage, filling the toilet paper rolls, making sure the teachers had enough magic markers and erasers, usual shit.  As I did so, I noticed something about the students of Moenia Prima Elementary School #1.  A lot of the children of verbrecher are gone.  Where before, on the blacktop outside the school there was an even amount of children who's skin tone matched the blacktop and those who's skin tone didn't.  Now nearly all the children resemble the blacktop.  I do not consider this a good sign.
At lunchtime, I made the rounds again, taking the opportunity to empty the trashcans of the individual classrooms while the kids were out at lunch.  I could say that I do this to make my job easier at the end of the day, but that's not true.  Cleaning out the trashcans in the middle of the day gives me an opportunity to talk to Valerie, an opportunity I relish.  When I got to Valerie's classroom, she was looking out the window facing the playground.  I'd make a comment about Valerie's figure but I'm not up for it right now.  I was replacing the liner in the trashcan and leering at Valerie's ass when she noticed I was there.
"Oh, hello Hato."
"Hello Miss Membantu."
"You know, if you keep on calling me Miss Membantu, I'll have to start calling you Mr. Shurtleff."  Valerie said this with this kind of flirty smile that I'd never seen on her face before.  I found this smile to be strange yet intriguing, but I didn't want to acknowledge it as such.
"What are you looking at?"
"I was looking at the kids playing outside.  I'd like to be out there, but since Allen got hit in the head with that kickball, all us teachers have been pulled off the playground."
"Oh really?  It's a shame that happened then."  When I said this, I smiled in the way people do when they're lying.  Valerie recognized this smile.
"You threw that kickball at Allen, didn't you?"
"No.  I'm just saying that whoever did it, probably someone young and semi-good looking, must really, really regret throwing that kickball at Furficer's head, then getting away with it."  Valerie then punched me in the shoulder in a way that was more playful than violent.  After hitting me, Valerie's attention went back to the playground.
"Have you noticed the amount of absent students lately, Hato?"
"Yeah, I noticed that today.  Is there something going on that I don't know about?  Some kind of verbrecher holiday or something?"
"Not that I know of, but this does remind me of something I heard about on VBNS."
"VBNS?  What's that?"
"The Velas Broadcast News Service.  It's this big, highly respected international news service.  I heard a story about a phenomenon called verbrecher flight going on in Amcan.  Supposedly, in areas where once there was a pretty even mix between races, many families of verbrecher descent have been leaving their homes for areas with a higher predominance of verbrechers.  I wonder if that's what's going on here."  What Valerie said had gone completely over my head, so I said what I usually say when that happens.
"Hmmm.  Intriguing."  Then my eye caught something on the playground.  "Hey, what's going on there?"  What I saw was a group of verbrecher kids swarming on an opfer child.  There was easily five or six verbrecher children kicking, punching, and spitting on a single opfer child.  Valerie opened the window to yell at them.
"Hey!  You kids knock that off!  Hato, go out there and break that up."
Then I saw something else that caught my attention.  "Looks like Mr. Furcifer's on his way to do that."
Mr. Furcifer was walking toward the situation like a man with a purpose, tapping a wooden pointing stick he was carrying on the ground as he did so.  When Mr. Furcifer got to the group of attacking children, he shoved them aside.  Mr. Furcifer ordered the verbrecher children to stop attacking the lone opfer child.  Mr. Furcifer then began addressing the verbrecher children.  Thanks to Valerie opening the window, we could hear what he said clear as a bell.
"What do you kids think you're doing?  Attacking this child, kicking and punching him in a swarm like that.  Is this what you were taught at home?  Is this how you were taught to deal with a situation like this?"  Mr. Furcifer then took his wooden pointing stick and held it high in the air.  "This is how you deal with rancid, filthy, grotesque, freton trash."  Then he whipped the opfer boy, who was laying on the blacktop in obvious pain, across the face with his wooden pointing stick.  Then he whipped him again.  Again and again and again.  Mr. Furcifer whipped the boy untill he drew blood.  Then he just continued to whip the boy.
Valerie could hardly watch what Mr. Furcifer was doing.  She turned away and started muttering to herself.  I couldn't turn away.  I was in shock.  It felt like some sort of surreal absurd nightmare.  I kept on blinking, hoping that what I was watching wasn't real, that it wasn't happening.
Mr. Furcifer continued to whip the boy.  Slowly his wooden pointing stick became stained with the blood he was drawing with every strike.  As he continued on in his brutality, Mr. Furcifer began teaching.  "You see this boys?  The way that I'm focusing on this freton's head?  There are two reasons I do this.  First of all, it disorients the victim.  The multiple strikes to the head causes a dizzying sensation, an effect amplified by the loss of blood.  Secondly, notice the amount of blood being lost, much more than a simple cut on the knee or forearm.  A cut to the head causes more blood to spill forth than on any other location on the body.  Other than the obvious effects that blood loss can have, this has a visual effect to it.  The people who view this attack, either during or after it's completion, will feel a sense of disgust.  Therefore, not only do you rid the world of another piece of freton opfer filth, but you also send a message to others in a very impactful way."
The boy being attacked had long since stopped moving before Mr. Furcifer ended his lesson.  I don't know what point Mr. Furcifer was trying to make with his actions, and I don't care to figure it out.
After recess ended, and all the kids had gone back to learning, it was my task to clean the playground.  This now included cleaning up the boy.  I set out to do this before the school nurse could attend to him, remembering my Dad's experience with his arm.  A light drizzle began as I stepped onto the blacktop.  As I approached him with my cleaning supplies in tow, I turned the child over and saw his face.  It was Sakoshi.
I've spent the hours since thinking endlessly about what happened.  I think about it, over and over, every detail of it, every second that elapsed, all of it just playing out on an endless loop in my mind.  I don't just think of what Allen did, what the swarm of kids did, what Valerie did, I think about what I did.  I think about how I did nothing.  How?  How could I just do that?  How could I fucking do that?  How could I just stand by and watch as that motherfucker killed my brother?
As I looked down on my brother, laying still as still can be on the blacktop, I didn't know what to do.  My first instinct was to call the cops, but knowing their blatant bias, I was sure they'd blame me, arrest me, and throw me in jail, never again to see the light of day.  I thought of calling Dad at work, but all that would accomplish is to pass off the problem to another person.  I knew Mom was at home but I didn't want her to go to school to find out her baby boy was dead.  If Mr. Furcifer whipped a boy to death as a teaching exercise, what would he do to a woman who'd attack him because she sought revenge?
I did the best thing I thought to do.  I didn't feel completely comfortable with it, but I didn't feel comfortable with anything I thought to do.  I gingerly picked up by brother, held him in my arms like I was carrying the most fragile thing in the world, then began walking home.  Walking home in a slowly intensifying rainstorm.  As I walked home, what I encountered made me feel more uncomfortable.
Every home I passed had one person in it if not more.  Each person came out of their home to see me carrying my brother home.  Each person, either silently or vocally, condemned me for what I was doing.  "Oh my God."  "I can't believe that."  "How can he be so garish?"  "Parading his kill like that?"  "I'm surprised he didn't kill a verbrecher."  "Such typical opfer behavior."  Each of those comments hurt me.  This hurt me not just because of what they were saying but who was saying them.  These people claim to be such moral, upstanding people and yet they readily and easily hurl condemnation.  Doesn't their religion teach them not to be judgmental, to not hold that kind of hatred in their hearts, to have compassion for others, to have infinite love?  This experience was made only worse by the fact that I was walking home in a heavy downpour.
Mom was talking on the phone when I arrived at home.  I don't blame her for her reaction, no one can.  She spent the time it took for Dad to get home crying while she held Sakoshi in her arms.  Mom continued crying after Dad got home, but him arriving gave Mom somebody who was capable of consoling her.  I couldn't console Mom.  I was too busy trying to shut out the world with death metal.
Dad gave me the task of calling the churches to arrange services for Sakoshi.  Not knowing exactly what to do, I just called up Father Goodman.  "Hello, is Father Goodman there?"
"This is he."
"Hello Father, this is Hato Shurtleff."
"Ah, yes my son.  How can I help you?"
"Well, I- I think we're, my family that is, is going to be- um- needing the church building place soon."
"Cause my brother, Sakoshi- um- Shurtleff, is-"
"Hato, I don't think the church house is going to be available for a while."
"I just ran out of the church trying to escape a group of verbrechers with weapons.  I'm not hurt, but I don't want to think of what they're doing in the house of God."
"O- Okay."
"I'll make sure to get with your father once we've set up a place of worship.  May God's blessing fall upon you and your brother, Sakoshi,.  God bless."
After that I called around to several other faiths to see if they could help.  The people who I talked to either in a round about way told me to go fuck myself or directly told me to go fuck myself.  These calls were bad, but at least they were better than the conversation I had with Father Goodman.
Mom eventually cried herself to sleep, which left Dad and I sitting in the kitchen, occasionally glancing at Sakoshi's body in the living room.  When I told Dad I couldn't find a church to provide a proper burial for Sakoshi, Dad just sighed and put his head in his hands.  Dad looked as exhausted and unsure of what to do as I was.  He sat in that position for a long time before saying to me, "Come on, we'll deal with this ourselves."  Dad told me to go out to the garage and get a pair of shovels and some of the ground tarp that we laid down when we built Mom's garden.  Dad picked out a place near the edge of the property, about as far away from the house as you can get, where I began to dig as Dad wrapped Sakoshi in the ground tarp.  Once he was done, Dad joined me in slowly and carefully carving a place for Sakoshi to lie in, a space that slowly filled with the still falling rain.  Not a word was spoken as we did this.
I'm sitting beside Sakoshi's bed as I make this entry.  I can see Sakoshi just as he was on Friday, trying to get to sleep as the noise continued around him, noises emulated by the soft pelting of the continuing rain.  I'm remembering all the times I gave my brother shit about anything and am beating myself up for it.  I'm such a shitty brother.  How could I do all those things to him?  Oh shit.  I ditched Sakoshi this morning to swing by Valerie's house.  What if this is my fault?  Goddamn it.
There's something else that's bothering me, something that I might actually be able to resolve.  What did Father Goodman mean when he said he had just escaped from a gang of verbrechers with weapons?
Goodnight, if that is as all possible.
Hato Shurtleff

Volume 11: Part 1- Moenia Prima: Monday, September 19th, 6:09 A.M.

Monday, September 19th, 6:09 A.M.
I told Mom today that I had to leave early for work today because there was a project I needed to work on.  That was a lie.  I wanted to do something that if Sakoshi was walking to school/work with me I couldn't do.  I haven't done this in a while and I wanted to do it again.  This morning I tried to use my osher skills to spy on Valerie.  Unfortunately, she was gone before I got into position near her house.  Damn.
I thought I'd listen to more talk radio because, as before, there are no good music stations anymore.  The Roland Black Morning Show was on and it pissed me off.  I don't know if Roland and Charlie Mason and the other hosts on this station are intentionally saying inflammatory things to get enrages opfers to listen, but if they are it works.  Here is what infuriated me today.
"We're back here live from Broadcast Central.  I am Roland Black, and now news.  A story finally getting some legs in the mainstream press, weeks after we in the independent media first reported it, is the case of Ledisi Finn.  This is the shocking case of a public sexual assault committed by the opfer criminal Ledisi Finn.  This is the case that went totally ignored by the office of City Attorney Mitch Nadler before the independent media started reporting on it.
"Well now the City Attorney is, at long last, springing into action.  Nadler's office announced yesterday that they are launching an investigation into this incident involving this lurid opfer criminal.  My question is why is the City Attorney investigating this case?  Ledisi Finn is guilty.  That is a fact.  Ledisi Finn's guilt is as certain as the well established fact that all opfers possess a reptilian brain.  So why investigate?  If Ledisi Finn is guilty, why bother with an investigation?  We should punish him now.
"What punishment is befitting a crime like this?  What punishment is befitting a man like this?  What punishment is befitting an opfer criminal like this?  I remember, when I was a child, hearing a story about a man such as Ledisi Finn.  A sick man, a perverted man, a man unfit to live in human society.  This is a man that seemed to, time and time again, slip through the fingers of the criminal process.  However, this man could not slip through the fingers of the community.  This man could not slip through the fingers of the good, moral people that surrounded him.  The community took matters into their own hands and hung this perverted man in the middle of town square as an example that justice will always prevail.
"Now, I'm not saying that a group of people should go out and lynch Ledisi Finn, but what I am saying is how much more of this can we take?  At what point do the good, honest, moral people of Moenia Prima begin to stand up for themselves?  When are we going to stand up against this opfer criminal menace?
"We'll be right back after a check of weather and traffic.  This is The Roland Black Morning Show.  Stay tuned."
So instead of insisting the government go after a guy for a simple accident, Roland Black wants to see the guy get lynched.  Isn't this a beautiful country?
As I was walking along, listening to the radio, I noticed something I think is troubling.  As I passed by the houses of the people who live by Moenia Prima School #1, most of whom are verbrecher, I noticed people closing their blinds, shutting their drapes, and glaring at me from inside their homes.  There was even one guy who, when I passed his house, walked out to his front porch, holding a shotgun in his right hand and a clenched fist in his left.  This man stared at me, following me with every step that I took, untill I was out of his sight.  This is very strange.  I've never seen people be this openly hostile to me.  It's rather unnerving.
Hato Shurtleff


A Letter From Rodger Red
Good evening.  Good evening to all who have followed the messages put out by the Redertainment Corporation Of America.  It has been some time since I have crafted a message to be disseminated by this corporation, but I have been busy dealing with other issues.

Last year, an issue came up that was of paramount importance to me.  The future of the Redertainment Corporation Of America was in peril, and a steady political mind was needed to ensure it's future.  For this reason, I worked on the campaign of Willard Mitt Romney.  Unfortunately, that campaign did not go as I expected it to.  God did not see it necessary to put the correct man in the place where he could do the most good for his chosen land.  As a result, the Redertainment Corporation Of America is still in peril.

This longtime period of peril has put a lot of strain on the employees of the Redertainment Corporation Of America.  Some employees have reacted to this stress well.  I am especially proud of the fine work put out by Julia Diana Bobbi.  I am ashamed by the unproductive work of my alcoholic grandson, Hunter Red.  Seriously, does that guy no nothing about producing product that makes money?

It was my plan to, with the ascension of Willard Mitt Romney, to bring the Redertainment Corporation Of America in full force.  However, since the ascension was thwarted by the moocher class, those plans have now had to change.  As a result of those changes, I have chosen a new man to be in charge of the Redertainment Corporation Of America.  That man is Gregory F. Rayburn.  I have faith that Gregory will lead the Redertainment Corporation Of America to newer heights never before seen to envisioned.

Finally, as a parting message, I leave you with the great words of a great man:
"We think that a powerful and vigorous movement is impossible without differences "true conformity" is possible only in the cemetery."

Goodnight, and God Bless
Rodger Red
November 15, 2012

A Letter From Hunter Red
The letter that appeared above was delivered to The Official Offices of The Redertainment Corporation Of America on Thursday, November 15th.  After a year of never showing up in the offices, Rodger Red announced that he was stepping down as President of The Redertainment Corporation Of America, and allowing Gregory F. Rayburn to take his place as President.  However, that move was quickly stopped.

There are two reasons who this move was stopped.  One: Gregory F. Rayburn already had a job.  Gregory F. Rayburn stopped having that job the following day, but, still, he had a job.  Two: Corporations do not work in the way that Rodger Red think that they do.  You cannot just give somebody the job of President of a corporation.  Instead, the board of directors must vote on a President, and the board of directors at The Redertainment Corporation Of America did not vote Gregory F. Rayburn to be the new President.  In fact, they never even took a vote on whether Gregory F. Rayburn would be President.  Instead, The Official Board Of Directors of The Redertainment Corporation Of America voted another man to be The President, C.E.O., And Demigod Of The Redertainment Corporation Of America.
Me.  I, Hunter Fucking Red, am now The President, C.E.O., And Demigod Of The Redertainment Corporation Of America.  All hail me.

Volume 11: Part 1- Moenia Prima: Friday, September 16th, 11:14 P.M.

Friday, September 16th, 11:14 P.M.
With the hatred spewed by that talk show host still resonating in my mind, I tried getting to sleep.  I say tried because I've been lying in bed for over two hours and I'm still awake.  It's hard to get to sleep when you can't get the memories of someone's heated words out of your mind.  It's harder when you are hearing somebody's heated words presently being said.  Two somebodys.  Specifically, Mom and Dad.
Dad came home today with a deep cut in his arm.  He was bleeding, the wound wrapped with the sleeve of his dress shirt, but not treated any more than that.  As she was treating it, Mom started raggin on Dad about how his bravado was causing him not to take care of himself properly.  Dad stopped Mom almost instantly when she started in on that.  It turns out that Dad had tried to get his arm looked at right after one of his co-workers stabbed him with a pen.  Dad had gone to the ER to get treated and was promptly told to get out.  No, to be more exact, Dad was told to "Take his freton ass and get the fuck out."
This is what spurred the argument Mom and Dad are having right now.  They held off on it untill they thought Sakoshi and I were asleep, but once they thought we were, it was on.  I've never heard them argue like this.  The way they are arguing concerns me.  It also concerned someone else.  I was lying in my bed in the dark, straining to hear the muffled sounds from the kitchen, when I saw a small sliver of light pierce the darkness.  I arose to look at the source of the light, the slowly opening door to my bedroom.  There was a figure in the light, a figure that slowly made its way, quietly and cautiously as he can be, to the foot of my bed.  Finally, the figure spoke.  "Hato?  Are you awake?"
I addressed the figure.  "Yes, I am Sakoshi.  Are you okay?"
"No.  I hear Mom and Dad out there.  They're yelling at each other, and I can't sleep."  I could barely make out my brother's face, but I could see that he was sad and very tired.
"Come on, let's get you to bed."  I picked up Sakoshi and took him back to his room.  I tucked him into bed, gave him one of the stuffed animals Mom had given him, and stayed with him untill he fell asleep.
As I sat in a chair next to Sakoshi's bed, I could hear something Dad said.  "Don't worry.  Situations like this come and go.  Eventually, people will find their minds and peace will be restored.  We just have to persevere.  We can't let the racists win."  It's nice to say things like that, but when you feel threatened, when you do not feel safe, when you are physically attacked in a place you should feel safe, things change.
Hato Shurtleff

Volume 11: Part 1- Moenia Prima: Friday, September 16th, 4:35 P.M.

Friday, September 16th, 4:35 P.M.
I'm walking home from work right now and I am so fucking exhausted right now.  I never knew how completely draining work is untill now.  I am physically drained, mentally drained, emotionally drained, even my drain is drained, whatever that means.  I am walking the streets of Moenia Prima slower than I ever have before.  I could collapse and fall asleep at any moment.
As I'm slowly, slowly, making my way home, I'm listening to talk radio on my Hipster.  I would listen to music but there really aren't any stations that play music I like.  Most of them play that kind of bubble gum pop shit that I find positively revolting.  I listened to the Charlie Mason Show today.  I don't know why.  The guy is such a blatant bigot.  Here is an actual conversation he had on his show today.
"Six minutes past the hour here in Broadcast Center, this is The Charlie Mason Show, and I am your host Charlie Mason.  Later on today, we've got conservative lawmaker Patton Robeson.  He'll be here to discuss his much talked about economic stimulus proposal.  That's later on in the show today.
"A news story making the rounds today is the case of Ledisi Finn.  This is a story making the rounds on the independent press, not the mainstream press. The mainstream press is completely ignoring the case of Ledisi Finn, but I, along with the other members of the independent press, are the only ones dedicated to bringing you the truth.
"Ledisi Finn is an opfer, and, like nearly all of the opfers in this country, Ledisi is a criminal.  Ledisi's criminal record is no different from any of the other opfer slime that plague our city.  His arrests include so called petty offenses, loitering, trespassing, and criminal harassment, but also includes theft, breaking and entering, and assault.  Ledisi Finn is an opfer criminal.  A born and bred opfer criminal.
"On September 10th, a crime was committed of a sexual nature.  A crime was committed by opfer criminal Ledisi Finn.  Ledisi was at Ree's restaurant, he was dining at that restaurant.  How he was able to pay for his meal is unknown, but one can draw conclusions from Ledisi's criminal past.  Also dining at Ree's was Rachel Tamblyn.  Miss Tamblyn is a sweet, angelic young woman who was eating dinner with her friends.  Without provocation of any kind, Ledisi threw a pitcher of ice cold water on Rachel Tamblyn, on her blouse, on her chest.  The lurid motivation for this act should be clear to anyone familiar with the reptilian opfer mind.  Ledisi threw the pitcher of water on the chaste, innocent Rachel Tamblyn so he could see her breasts!
"Ledisi claims the incident, the crime, was an accident.  The opfer claims that he accidentally ran into a waiter, who spilled the pitcher he was carrying at the time onto Rachel Tamblyn.  I am confident that you, my loyal and good listeners, recognize that statement for what it is.  More opfer lies spread by a lying opfer criminal.  The bigger problem is with the judiciary, the office of the man sworn to uphold the law in Moenia Prima, City Attorney Mitch Nadler.  His office is refusing to take action in the face of this opfer crime against the good, moral people of Moenia Prima.  Nadler's office is convinced that this vile incident was an accident.  Nadler's office has bought into this opfer criminal's lies, lies typical of an opfer, lies Nadler's office should be, not only aware of, but also strong enough not to fall for.
"It's eleven minutes past the hour, The Charlie Mason Show will be back after this."
That is what I listened to today.  I listened to a talk show host demonize a person for spilling a pitcher of water on someone.  Are you kidding me?
Hato Shurtleff

Red Is Not Happy

This is Bob Murray.  Bob Murray is responsible for this:

Bob Murray, in my opinion, is responsible for the death of nine people in relation to the Crandall Canyon Mine Disaster.  Bob Murray's company, Murray Energy, received a small fine in response to the Crandall Canyon Mine Disaster.  Bob Murray, in my opinion, has never truly been held to account for what he and his company and the deaths that he and his company are responsible for.

On Friday, Bob Murray did this:

As an atheist, I do not believe in Hell.  However, as it fits how I feel about this "man", I will say this: Bob Murray is a disgusting person and I hope he rots in Hell.

You know what disturbs me about this story?

"It was the third rape so far this year on county buses that annually carry millions of people."

The third?  This was the third rape to occur on an LA County bus this year?  Three?  What is wrong with people?  And why didn't anybody do anything while this assault was going on?  What is the excuse?  Why?

I need something.  I need something to help pick up my spirits.  I don't think spirits will help me life my spirits.  Not this time.  There may be only one thing that can help me.  One thing, one man, one superbly talented performer.

I feel much better now.

Volume 11: Part 1- Moenia Prima: Wednesday, September 7th, 9:08 P.M.

Wednesday, September 7th, 9:08 P.M.
This afternoon, I was on the roof of the school clearing off some of the leaves, trash, and general gunk that have blown up there.  Also on the roof was a collection of balls.  Basketballs, baseballs, footballs, kickballs, tetherballs, all sorts of balls covered with all sorts of grime.  It was my intention to take these balls off the roof and clean them up so the kids could play with them again.
While I was up there, I looked down on all the children at play.  Nothing out of the ordinary, just your regular collection of children enjoying being out in the warm sun.  Watching over these children were their teachers, all standing together against the wall of the school, all talking and slowly consuming their soda or cigarette.  Nothing out of the ordinary.
Included in this group were Mr. Furcifer, looking as fierce and evil as ever, and Valerie, looking as beautiful and angelic as ever.  The group of teachers were talking about what they thought was the disgraceful way the kids were playing.  Specifically the fact that the verbrecher children and the opfer children were playing together.  Mr. Furcifer was leading the discussion, peppering the word freton in his comments about the children, while Valerie stood as the only teacher in the group who had no problem with how the children were playing.  Her comments were quickly shot down and she was roundly insulted by the rest of the group, the worst insults coming from Mr. Furcifer.  I was listening to this entire conversation as it happened.  The teachers were trying not to talk so loud that the kids could hear then, but, as I sat on the roof directly above then, I could hear them clear as a bell.
Sakoshi was playing basketball with his friends while I was busy cleaning the roof of the school.  My brother plays the game pretty well, a fact that disturbed Mr. Furcifer.  He thinks the only way that any opfer does well at basketball is because they warp the game in their favor.  Furcifer would rather people bet back to the "basics" as opposed to the way people actually play.
After finishing his can of Libe and tossing it on the ground for me to inevitably pick up, Mr. Furcifer started walking over to where Sakoshi and his friends were playing.  Sakoshi had just used his talent with ball handling to blow past a defender on his way to the basket.  My brother had just left the ground, poised to perform a delicate fingerroll, when Mr. Furcifer shoved him to the ground.  Sakoshi fell to the ground in a heap, cracking his head on the concrete.  Mr. Furcifer then started yelling at him.
"You impudent freton!  All that hucking and jiving you do.  Why can't you fretons stay on the damn ground like a good moral person.  I don't know what kind of opfer bullshit you get at home, but here, at my school, you will cut off all that useless-"
That is when Mr. Furcifer stopped his rant.  He didn't stop because one of the teacher had interrupted him, or Furcifer had felt that he had said enough.  Allen Furcifer stopped ranting because he was hit in the head with a kickball.  An old, dingy, slightly deflated kickball.  A kickball that fell nearly straight down on top of Mr. Furcifer, coming down only slightly on the side of his head facing the school.
Now, I'm not saying that I was responsible for this ball hitting Mr. Furcifer.  Wait, yes I am.
Hato Shurtleff

Volume 11: Part 1- Moenia Prima: Monday, August 29th, 12:58 P.M.

Monday, August 29th, 12:58 P.M.
            Today is the first day of work for me, and what a great day it is!  (Sarcasm Emoticon)  I walked to work/school today with Sakoshi because I love my brother and Mom made me.  On our way, we picked up some of Sakoshi's friends.  Some were verbrecher, some were opfer, but none of them really cared.  I could tell that one of Sakoshi's verbrecher friend's parents were concerned that a tall older opfer was walking with a pack of kids, but became less concerned when they learned I was Sakoshi's brother.  Still concerned, but less so.
When I got to work/school, I noticed how the kids were playing together.  Playing games, skipping rope, climbing on jungle gyms, talking, laughing, doing all the things together.  There were no racial lines amongst these children, everyone played with everyone.
If only this can be maintained.  If only we, as adults, can be ignorant to the differences between us.  Even better, to not have to be ignorant, to not even be aware that differences exist.  How great that would be.
I just read that long sentence again.  "Sakoshi's verbrecher friend's parents".  That seems like a bit too jumbled of a description.  It's right for who I'm talking about, but I feel the need to find something more succinct.
Hato Shurtleff

Class Misdirection 2012

Political Misdirection
There are ads out there.  It feels as if they are always there.  Always are, always were, always.  It's gotten to the point where I feel as if I have seen them all.  i know I haven't, but the ads are so similar that if you've seen five or six of them, you've seen them all.
I've gotten to the point where I have started to ignore them.  Sure a lot of effort is being put into them and people's effort should be appreciated, but I don't care.  The ads are as irrelevant to me.  They make no impact, no impression, nothing.  They are just there.
The ads have affect the decision I have made, in as much as I want so much to be rid of them that I have chosen the one with the ads that have been least ubiquitous.  Sure the ads for this have been increasing lately, but I've made my decision now.  My decision can change in the future, but I have to choose something and I have to choose now.
This Tuesday, as I make my way through the dreary landscape that I have placed myself in, I will choose something.  Something rather than nothing, but something which may yet have the effect of nothing.
Heineken 2012.

By the way, the reason that I have been posting this video, every week for the past couple of weeks, is purely political.  To me, this is Mitt Romney.  To me Mitt is the kind of rich person who sees everyone who is not at their level as a burden on themselves.  I feel that this is a mindset that holds not just about the poor, but all people who are not at the social and economical level that he is that.  This is the kind of person that I do not want in charge of anything.  Not my politics, not my financial affairs, not my public affairs, not my private affairs, nothing.

Volume 11: Part 1- Moenia Prima: Sunday, August 28th, 9:06 P.M.

Sunday, August 28th, 9:06 P.M.
Today was my last day of freedom, although how much freedom can you experience when you have no money?  This day felt like the last day of summer vacation before leaving to endure the drudgery that is school again.  This feeling was probably enhanced by the fact that, starting tomorrow, I'll be going to the same school I went to as a kid.  Sigh.
I spent the day hanging out with the family, as is the fate I seem to be consigned to.  That's what happens when all the apartments in your city are out of your price range, forcing you to live with your parents.  At least the food is good.  Real good.  Then again, with as long as it takes my Mom to make Sunday dinner, it would be a waste of effort if it wasn't good.
About the time Mom started dinner, she sent Sakoshi and I down to the cellar to get the giant cooking pot she uses, plus some potatoes and various spices.  I used to be able to carry Sakoshi up the stairs from the cellar in that pot.  Now I'm preoccupied with preventing him from squeezing through the hole that leads outside.  Dad and I put up boards to cover up that hole, but Sakoshi just seems to find a way to wiggle his narrow ass through.  I usually just give Sakoshi a couple of potatoes and tell him to go throw it at Mom upstairs.  Mom doesn't like having random things thrown at her, but she likes Sakoshi doing things that don't ruin his good church even more.
I poked my head around the door just in time to see Mom scold Sakoshi.  "How many times have I told you not to throw things at me?"
Sakoshi looked at Mom, his big glassy eyes filling up with tears, and said, "But Hato told me to do it."
I stepped into the kitchen and did what any responsible big brother should do.  "No, I didn't.  I told you to give the potatoes to Mom, not throw them at her."
Mom swatted Sakoshi on the ass and sent him outside to terrorize Dad.  I put the big pot on the stove then went to join my brother, the whole time trying not to smirk as I did so.  When I got outside, Dad was nowhere to be seen.  The only people I saw were Sakoshi, still smarting from his swat and calling out for Dad, and Grandpa Meiko, lying in a chair under the elm tree catching a nap before dinner.  I was about to call for Dad when I saw him crouched in the high grass about to throw a small pebble at Sakoshi.
"You know, Sakoshi was just scolded for doing that.  You probably shouldn't encourage him."
My statement grabbed Sakoshi's attention.  I was expecting a pebble to gracefully fall on my brother's head at that moment.  Instead, the pebble fell on me.  When he saw this, my brother threw his hands up victoriously and said, "Got him!" at which point my Dad emerged from the tall grass, snatched Sakoshi up, and retreated with him into the grass.  I laughed a little bit before I realized what Dad was doing.
I was about Sakoshi's age when my Dad started my osher training.  Dad started this training when he and I went into the short grass behind our house.  Dad began demonstrating to me how to stealthily move in an environment and how to throw small pebbles to draw somebody's attention away from you.  I knew that Sakoshi was about to do what I was doing at his age: Throwing pebbles at Grandpa.
Knowing what my father was doing, I thought I'd help in his training.  I quickly climbed up the tree and laid myself flat on one of the branches of the elm tree, specifically the one providing Grandpa Meiko shade.  I spotted Dad and Sakoshi in the grass and mimed back that Grandpa was still asleep.  Dad signaled that he understood the message while Sakoshi stuck him tongue out at me.  Dad gathered some small pebbles, got Sakoshi's attention, then lofted one pebble in the air.  The pebble flew high into the air, tumbling ever so gently, eventually falling straight down on Grandpa's forehead.  Bullseye.
The pebble woke Grandpa right up.  He popped up, looked around, then saw me lying on the tree branch.  "What're you doing up there, boy?"
"Nothing much.  Just laying up here in this tree."
"Did you drop something on me?"
Now Grandpa was getting annoyed.  "Don't pull that on me.  You dropped something on me, didn't you?"
"What do you think I dropped on you?"
"A pebble?"
"A pebble?"
"Yes, a pebble!"  Now Grandpa was getting frustrated.
"Grandpa, if I was going to drop something on you, I would shake this branch and make all the leaves fall delicately on you untill you wake up covered head to toe in leaves.  That would be funny."
Grandpa shot me an annoyed look, the one you can only convey when you get old, and laid back down, intending to sleep.  Dad and Sakoshi were very amused by the exchange they just saw.  Sakoshi was so amused that he nearly broke his stealth.  Dad then continued to demonstrate how to throw pebbles by targeting Grandpa's stomach, then his knee, then his chest, shoulder, belt buckle, and finally the toe of Grandpa's shoe.  Every falling pebble impact caused Grandpa to sit up and fruitlessly look for the source of the pebbles.  Not being able to find the person responsible infuriated my Grandfather, as did me flaunting my innocence by looking down on him from the tree branch, my arms and open hands freely dangling beneath me.
Finally Dad was done having his fun demonstrating and gave Sakoshi a chance to try.  Sakoshi took a pebble in his hand, practiced the motion several times, took a deep breath, then ran through the grass, right up to Grandpa, screaming as he did so, then threw the pebble at him once he got next to him.  I knew Grandpa was already mad, so I was curious how he would react upon finding what he thought was the source of the falling pebbles.
Grandpa Meiko got up out of his chair and glared at Sakoshi.  Sakoshi looked up at Grandpa Meiko, his big glassy eyes shimmering in the summer sun.  The two stared at each other, neither one changing their expression, for some time.  Finally Grandpa began to smile warmly at Sakoshi.  Grandpa wasn't smiling because Sakoshi cuteness had gotten to him.  That wasn't the case at all.  Grandpa was smiling because the staredown had allowed me enough time to get in position.  I had lowered myself down from the tree branch, landed on the ground without drawing attention, and crept up right behind Sakoshi.  Grandpa's smile was just reaching its widest when I got right beside Sakoshi's ear and yelled, "Boo!"
Sakoshi was startled by this, amusingly startled.  Grandpa, Dad, and I got a good hearty laugh out of Sakoshi's reaction.  Sakoshi was mad at first, but eventually found amusement in the situation.  Even Mom found humor in this as she stood by the window watching this all develop.  We were all about done laughing when Mom called us in for dinner.  We went inside, Grandpa gave a nice blessing, and we all started digging in.
Lately Mom's been trying to get her family to talk while they are gathered around the dinner table.  Not talk with our mouths full, she's very adamant that we not do that, but talk and converse with each other so that we can grow closer as a family.  Mom usually takes this opportunity to tell me that she has seen Delany that day.  Mom is a receptionist at the building that rents to the charity Delany works for.  My Mom swears that this is a complete coincidence.  I think either Mom put herself in this situation deliberately or it's an act of God.  Considering the trial I just went through to get a job, I doubt God likes me enough to do such a thing for a good reason.
Dad talked about work at the Dolore Federal Archives, although I don't know why.  Dad's work at the Federal Archives is pretty mundane and never really changes much.  Pickup document, identify document, find where in the database to put the document, input the document into the database, type type type type type type type type type type type type type type type type type type type type type type type type type type type type type type type type type, place document in finished folder, go to next document.  The only way my Dad's job would be interesting is if he read the document he's inputting, but doing that would decrease his productivity which is bad.  Lame.
Grandpa Meiko is retired.  That's it.  That's all.  I don't know why Mom is so insistent on Grandpa being active.  Grandpa doesn't have to do anything so he doesn't.  What's the problem with doing nothing?
Sakoshi is excited about going back to school tomorrow.  He's got new school supplies, new clothes, new shoes, a new backpack, all sorts of new things that Sakoshi is poised to tear up, demolish, or otherwise ruin tomorrow.  This isn't my thinking my brother is a little terror.  I know Sakoshi will do this because I did this exact same thing on a yearly basis.
Finally, the conversation turned to me when Grandpa asked me, "Hato, how are things going?  Have you been able to find work?"
I took a second to swallow what I had been eating and replied, "Yes.  I start tomorrow actually."
Grandpa was delighted to hear this.  "Good."
Sakoshi, still beaming with excitement said, "Hato's going to work at my school."
Grandpa was intrigued by this.  "So, Hato, you've taken up the noble work of teaching."
I corrected my Grandfather's, my words dripping with cynicism as I did so.  "No, not that I look down on teaching, but an opfer would never get a job like that in this climate."
My Grandfather picked up on my cynicism.  He's never liked my cynicism before and doesn't like it now.  "Hato, what do you mean by that?"
At this point I just started to vent.  It may not have been the best thing for me to do, especially with Sakoshi present, but I did it.  "It's just, with the whole deal of being rejected from every college I applied to, spending months looking for a job, and only getting a job because a friend of the family pulled strings for me, it convinced me of something.  This is something that's not just true of me but of a lot of people.  The verbrechers are out to get us.  All of us.  All of them are out to get all of us.  That's why I couldn't find a good job.  That's why I'm going to be pushing a mop in an elementary school starting tomorrow."
Grandpa listened to what I had to say.  He took it all in, took a deep breath, and responded.  "Hato, it may appear that all verbrechers are prejudiced against us, but that is not the case.  It's only a small boisterous minority amongst the verbrecher that are that way.  You having to do grunt work is not due to you being opfer, it's due to you not having experience.  When I started working, a long time before you or your father were born, I started off doing grunt work, and I, like you, did not like doing it.  The reason why I did it is because I knew that if I worked hard and had an eye single to my goal, things would get better.  And, sure enough, they did, and they will for you too, Hato.  You just have to persevere."
I listened to what Grandpa Meiko had to say and it made me feel somewhat better, even though I disagree with part of it.  I disagree that feeling of prejudice are only held by a small boisterous minority of verbrechers.  I believe the amount to be much higher.  At the very least, a small amount is boisterous, while a large amount are okay with letting it happen.
Hato Shurtleff