So I’m leaving tomorrow for a family ski trip. I’ll check in at night most likely but will generally be pretty busy. I will get around to reading everything I am tagged in it just might take me longer than normal. I love you all!
On a random WHY note; today I fell walking a dog during work and landed on my butt pretty hard and upon getting ready for bed I checked and I somehow actually managed to bruise my ass. I didn’t think it was possible but it totally happened. Right before I get to sit on a plane for several hours and then spend the next 5 days skiing and sitting on cold chair lifts, it’s going to be great.
with the FAHC can be wildly beneficial; so long as you play by their
rules. So long as you pay your dues, defer to Ramsey and fulfil your
promises, so long as you remember that for all their wicked laughter
the Fake’s do not play around when it comes to threats. When it comes
to debts. If you don’t produce what you owe, if you fall behind, try
to deceive or slink out of the city, you’ll quickly find yourself
hosting an unwelcome visitor.
FAHC have three key enforcers, three heavyweights who enact the
majority of the crew’s dirty work. There are others, of course, some
that come and go, some that have other roles, but all of Los Santos
recognise these three. The guard dogs, the brawlers, the muscle; the
violent core of an inherently dangerous crew, they keep order,
deliver punishment, deal with any who grow more problematic than the
FAHC are comfortable with.
they merely accompany one of the others, shadow Ramsey to a meeting
or the Frontman to a deal, they’ll be silent warning, visible
promise; so long as everything goes to plan they are no danger,
unnecessary unless they aren’t. If they come alone though, if one
comes knocking all by himself, shit is about to hit the wall and
nothing you do or say can stop it. There’s no telling which enforcer
will show, and there is great debate surrounding which of the three
is the worst, which is the one you should pray to avoid.
Vagabond is a popular option, the obvious choice for worst of the
worst; no one want’s to open the door and see that skull grinning
back at them. Nobody wan’t to explain their shortcomings to the
boogieman of Los Santos, to the mercenary who’s said to have no
mercy, who’s said to have no restraint, whose lust for death is
curbed only by the wishes of his master. Everyone’s heard the
stories, everyone’s seen the aftermath; the Vagabond is not a man to
be taken lightly.
quietly, privately, some have admitted that when it comes to a
shakedown, to a threat and a nasty reminder rather than an actual
punishment, a visit from the Vagabond might not be the worst Ramsey
has to offer. There’s something meticulous in the Vagabond, something
endlessly patient; it’s an unspeakably horrifying quality in a
killer, but not quite such a bad thing in an enforcer. He’s
terrifying, yes, and if he actually plans on carrying through there
is no escape, but in terms of deadlines and ultimatums at least he’s
upfront. At least he’s clear; there are rules to interacting with the
Vagabond, and so long as you abide by them you won’t attract his ire.
He’ll fulfil Ramsey’s wishes to the letter but so long as you keep
your head down and your nose clean that’s as far as he will go.
is not always the case with the Fake AH Crew’s resident short fuse;
Jones, Mogar, rage incarnate, the walking personification of
destruction. If Jones is sent to knock some heads together there is
absolutely nothing stopping him from throwing in a few broken bones
for free. As loyal to the boss as the Vagabond but where the
mercenary seems willing to carry out orders as requested, Jones likes
to embellish on them. There is no overstating the volatile nature of
the mans temper; Jones can jump from complete calm to irrevocable
rage in the blink of an eye, can seem utterly reasonable one moment
and irrationally furious the next.
fully capable of unexpected bouts of tolerant patience Jones has no
time for perceived idiocy, no sympathy for broken promises. He is, in
a way, a man of honour and once you’ve lost his respect there’s no
coming back. Even those he leaves unscathed may not escape unmarked;
like a dog with a bone his disdain will follow you, a dark blot noted
by all who fear his wrath. He might not have the same reputation as
the Vagabond, might not swing the same flavour of danger, but stories
of his temper are no less prevalent, warnings against pinging his
radar no less profound. If Jones turns on you not even your gods will
there’s Dooley, Little J, the newest of Ramsey’s attack dogs. Based
on looks alone he seems like he could be trouble, compact but visibly
strong, handling his weapons with practised ease, but unlike Jones or
the Vagabond Dooley always comes in smiling. Comes in with a slap to
the shoulder, a friendly chat, some commiseration over the
difficulties of the job. It’s easy enough, after that, to think that
he’s a light touch. To think Ramsey’s newest enforcer lacks the
presence of his partners, lacks their eager viciousness, to think he
is easily the best of the three to have turn up at your door.
for all that banter Little J is no less committed to his crew, no
less judgemental of your disappointing display, no less
breathtakingly ruthless. When the Vagabond brings up your failings he
gets begging. When Jones sneers at your incompetence he gets excuses.
When Little J asks about the complications you had, friendly and
understanding and naively inexperienced, you’ll open right up. You’ll
spill your fucking guts, and he’ll let you. He’ll listen and nod in
all the right places, he’ll smile like you’re buddies and you’ll be
so sure you’ve gotten away with it that you’ll fail to notice the way
he never let go of your shoulder. The way he never stepped out of
your space. You’ll keep digging your own grave right up until his
hand tightens and shoves you into a wall, until he holds you there
effortlessly despite your struggles, until he leans in close and
explains just how badly you’ve messed up. There’s no room for excuses
now, not after you’ve admitted everything, no chance to change your
story; all you can do is nod, is agree, is promise and grovel and
plead, say whatever it is you need to say before Dooley is satisfied.
He’ll step back then, let you go and straighten your shirt, clap you
on the shoulder as he turns to leave, still chattering away like
nothing happened. Still smiling like you’re buddies.
great debate about which of Ramsey’s enforcers is the most
intimating, which would be the worst option to find knocking at your
door. Its a conversation with no resolution, an eternal loop; they
argue about the worst, because god knows which of the three is the
best. God knows which could be called relief, called merciful. They
argue about the worst, all knowing exactly what the answer is.
Knowing nothing could trump a visit from more than one, nothing could
be more dangerous, more worthy of abject terror. If Ramsey sends a
pair of his enforcers things are guaranteed to get nasty, things are
guaranteed to get wildly unpleasant, but even two cannot compare to
all three. If all three come knocking there is no escape, if all
three come knocking the game is up, your run is over. It’s overkill
to the extreme, the rare combination of raw threat, blinding rage and
subtle menace so powerfully unnecessary it can only be a message. If
the Fake’s key enforcers come knocking the very best you can hope for
is to be the one chosen survivor left to spread the word.
I cannot believe it. 20 years ago, Gillian Anderson and David Duchovny walked down the Golden Globes' red carpet hand in hand, won the best actor and actress awards, having a drink while doing an interview after...Those were the days and I missed them. -_-
The weirdest thing about those Incongruous Southern Accents Outside of the South is that it’s *not* entire families speaking with them. As often as not, it’s just one person… their parents don’t speak that way, neither do their siblings or classmates or friends.
I’ve known this one kid since his mom was pregnant with him. Both parents born and raised in the North, both with General American Midwestern accents. This kid has lived in the same house in the suburbs his entire life, and yet… this child sounds like a cross between Huckleberry Hound and Gideon Gleeful.
but listen to me. wait. it’s not all third party voters, it can’t be. yes, it was irresponsible and ridiculous for so many to vote third party this year, but it can’t be just them. what about the fact that the fbi investigation closed THIS WEEK? that they REFUSED to let it go earlier? that this is the first election without the voting rights act? i know we’re angry, so angry about cases like florida, but there are other factors here there have to be
I have ruined my family and it's because of Dan and Phil
Here I am, in the back seat of the car traveling home from a Vegas weekend minding my own business, watching some videos wasting my data as you do. When I look over and literally my two cousins and my aunt are all watching DAN AND PHIL
SEPARATE VIDEOS OF DAN AND PHIL
WHAT EVEN. WHAT.
WE’VE JOINED A CULT. WE’VE SUCCUMBED TO THEIR BRITISH MIND WASHING WAYS