"She had broken a Texan law that makes it a crime to miss more than 10 days of school in a six month period, according to local news

When she recently missed classes again, he issued a summons and had her arrested in open court when she appeared." - src

So yeah, that judge is an Asshat for what he did, but the fact there is a law for missing school in Texas is even worse.

Comment hidden because you are ignoring dag. (show it anyway)

I take your point. Why did I think Nazism was an atheistic movement? Too much Fox News maybe. I am ashame.>> ^LarsaruS:

>> ^dag:
^Shiny makes a good point - Hitler, Stalin, Pol Pot - the biggest baddies of the 20th, we're all atheists. Might it be that extremist ideologies of any kind are the problem?

Actually Hitler was Catholic. He was a warrior of Christ. In a speech from April 12, 1922 and published in his book My New Order, Adolf Hitler explains his perspective on Jesus Christ:
My feelings as a Christian points me to my Lord and Savior as a fighter. It points me to the man who once in loneliness, surrounded by a few followers, recognized these Jews for what they were and summoned men to fight against them and who, God's truth! was greatest not as a sufferer but as a fighter.
In boundless love as a Christian and as a man I read through the passage which tells us how the Lord at last rose in His might and seized the scourge to drive out of the Temple the brood of vipers and adders. How terrific was his fight against the Jewish poison. Today, after two thousand years, with deepest emotion I recognize more profoundly than ever before the fact that it was for this that He had to shed his blood upon the Cross.

I am now as before a Catholic and will always remain so.
- Adolf Hitler, to General Gerhard Engel, 1941
Just thought you should know.

>> ^dag:

^Shiny makes a good point - Hitler, Stalin, Pol Pot - the biggest baddies of the 20th, we're all atheists. Might it be that extremist ideologies of any kind are the problem?


Actually Hitler was Catholic. He was a warrior of Christ. In a speech from April 12, 1922 and published in his book My New Order, Adolf Hitler explains his perspective on Jesus Christ:

My feelings as a Christian points me to my Lord and Savior as a fighter. It points me to the man who once in loneliness, surrounded by a few followers, recognized these Jews for what they were and summoned men to fight against them and who, God's truth! was greatest not as a sufferer but as a fighter.

In boundless love as a Christian and as a man I read through the passage which tells us how the Lord at last rose in His might and seized the scourge to drive out of the Temple the brood of vipers and adders. How terrific was his fight against the Jewish poison. Today, after two thousand years, with deepest emotion I recognize more profoundly than ever before the fact that it was for this that He had to shed his blood upon the Cross.


I am now as before a Catholic and will always remain so.
- Adolf Hitler, to General Gerhard Engel, 1941

Just thought you should know.

SREDNI VASHTAR

Conradin was ten years old, and the doctor had pronounced his professional opinion that the boy would not live another five years. The doctor was silky and effete, and counted for little, but his opinion was endorsed by Mrs. De Ropp, who counted for nearly everything. Mrs. De Ropp was Conradin's cousin and guardian, and in his eyes she represented those three-fifths of the world that are necessary and disagreeable and real; the other two-fifths, in perpetual antagonism to the foregoing, were summed up in himself and his imagination. One of these days Conradin supposed he would succumb to the mastering pressure of wearisome necessary things---such as illnesses and coddling restrictions and drawn-out dulness. Without his imagination, which was rampant under the spur of loneliness, he would have succumbed long ago.

Mrs. De Ropp would never, in her honestest moments, have confessed to herself that she disliked Conradin, though she might have been dimly aware that thwarting him ``for his good'' was a duty which she did not find particularly irksome. Conradin hated her with a desperate sincerity which he was perfectly able to mask. Such few pleasures as he could contrive for himself gained an added relish from the likelihood that they would be displeasing to his guardian, and from the realm of his imagination she was locked out---an unclean thing, which should find no entrance.

In the dull, cheerless garden, overlooked by so many windows that were ready to open with a message not to do this or that, or a reminder that medicines were due, he found little attraction. The few fruit-trees that it contained were set jealously apart from his plucking, as though they were rare specimens of their kind blooming in an arid waste; it would probably have been difficult to find a market-gardener who would have offered ten shillings for their entire yearly produce. In a forgotten corner, however, almost hidden behind a dismal shrubbery, was a disused tool-shed of respectable proportions, and within its walls Conradin found a haven, something that took on the varying aspects of a playroom and a cathedral. He had peopled it with a legion of familiar phantoms, evoked partly from fragments of history and partly from his own brain, but it also boasted two inmates of flesh and blood. In one corner lived a ragged-plumaged Houdan hen, on which the boy lavished an affection that had scarcely another outlet. Further back in the gloom stood a large hutch, divided into two compartments, one of which was fronted with close iron bars. This was the abode of a large polecat-ferret, which a friendly butcher-boy had once smuggled, cage and all, into its present quarters, in exchange for a long-secreted hoard of small silver. Conradin was dreadfully afraid of the lithe, sharp-fanged beast, but it was his most treasured possession. Its very presence in the tool-shed was a secret and fearful joy, to be kept scrupulously from the knowledge of the Woman, as he privately dubbed his cousin. And one day, out of Heaven knows what material, he spun the beast a wonderful name, and from that moment it grew into a god and a religion. The Woman indulged in religion once a week at a church near by, and took Conradin with her, but to him the church service was an alien rite in the House of Rimmon. Every Thursday, in the dim and musty silence of the tool-shed, he worshipped with mystic and elaborate ceremonial before the wooden hutch where dwelt Sredni Vashtar, the great ferret. Red flowers in their season and scarlet berries in the winter-time were offered at his shrine, for he was a god who laid some special stress on the fierce impatient side of things, as opposed to the Woman's religion, which, as far as Conradin could observe, went to great lengths in the contrary direction. And on great festivals powdered nutmeg was strewn in front of his hutch, an important feature of the offering being that the nutmeg had to be stolen. These festivals were of irregular occurrence, and were chiefly appointed to celebrate some passing event. On one occasion, when Mrs. De Ropp suffered from acute toothache for three days, Conradin kept up the festival during the entire three days, and almost succeeded in persuading himself that Sredni Vashtar was personally responsible for the toothache. If the malady had lasted for another day the supply of nutmeg would have given out.

The Houdan hen was never drawn into the cult of Sredni Vashtar. Conradin had long ago settled that she was an Anabaptist. He did not pretend to have the remotest knowledge as to what an Anabaptist was, but he privately hoped that it was dashing and not very respectable. Mrs. De Ropp was the ground plan on which he based and detested all respectability.

After a while Conradin's absorption in the tool-shed began to attract the notice of his guardian. ``It is not good for him to be pottering down there in all weathers,'' she promptly decided, and at breakfast one morning she announced that the Houdan hen had been sold and taken away overnight. With her short-sighted eyes she peered at Conradin, waiting for an outbreak of rage and sorrow, which she was ready to rebuke with a flow of excellent precepts and reasoning. But Conradin said nothing: there was nothing to be said. Something perhaps in his white set face gave her a momentary qualm, for at tea that afternoon there was toast on the table, a delicacy which she usually banned on the ground that it was bad for him; also because the making of it ``gave trouble,'' a deadly offence in the middle-class feminine eye.

``I thought you liked toast,'' she exclaimed, with an injured air, observing that he did not touch it.

``Sometimes,'' said Conradin.

In the shed that evening there was an innovation in the worship of the hutch-god. Conradin had been wont to chant his praises, tonight be asked a boon.

``Do one thing for me, Sredni Vashtar.''

The thing was not specified. As Sredni Vashtar was a god he must be supposed to know. And choking back a sob as he looked at that other empty comer, Conradin went back to the world he so hated.

And every night, in the welcome darkness of his bedroom, and every evening in the dusk of the tool-shed, Conradin's bitter litany went up: ``Do one thing for me, Sredni Vashtar.''

Mrs. De Ropp noticed that the visits to the shed did not cease, and one day she made a further journey of inspection.

``What are you keeping in that locked hutch?'' she asked. ``I believe it's guinea-pigs. I'll have them all cleared away.''

Conradin shut his lips tight, but the Woman ransacked his bedroom till she found the carefully hidden key, and forthwith marched down to the shed to complete her discovery. It was a cold afternoon, and Conradin had been bidden to keep to the house. From the furthest window of the dining-room the door of the shed could just be seen beyond the corner of the shrubbery, and there Conradin stationed himself. He saw the Woman enter, and then be imagined her opening the door of the sacred hutch and peering down with her short-sighted eyes into the thick straw bed where his god lay hidden. Perhaps she would prod at the straw in her clumsy impatience. And Conradin fervently breathed his prayer for the last time. But he knew as he prayed that he did not believe. He knew that the Woman would come out presently with that pursed smile he loathed so well on her face, and that in an hour or two the gardener would carry away his wonderful god, a god no longer, but a simple brown ferret in a hutch. And he knew that the Woman would triumph always as she triumphed now, and that he would grow ever more sickly under her pestering and domineering and superior wisdom, till one day nothing would matter much more with him, and the doctor would be proved right. And in the sting and misery of his defeat, he began to chant loudly and defiantly the hymn of his threatened idol:

Sredni Vashtar went forth,
His thoughts were red thoughts and his teeth were white.
His enemies called for peace, but he brought them death.
Sredni Vashtar the Beautiful.

And then of a sudden he stopped his chanting and drew closer to the window-pane. The door of the shed still stood ajar as it had been left, and the minutes were slipping by. They were long minutes, but they slipped by nevertheless. He watched the starlings running and flying in little parties across the lawn; he counted them over and over again, with one eye always on that swinging door. A sour-faced maid came in to lay the table for tea, and still Conradin stood and waited and watched. Hope had crept by inches into his heart, and now a look of triumph began to blaze in his eyes that had only known the wistful patience of defeat. Under his breath, with a furtive exultation, he began once again the pæan of victory and devastation. And presently his eyes were rewarded: out through that doorway came a long, low, yellow-and-brown beast, with eyes a-blink at the waning daylight, and dark wet stains around the fur of jaws and throat. Conradin dropped on his knees. The great polecat-ferret made its way down to a small brook at the foot of the garden, drank for a moment, then crossed a little plank bridge and was lost to sight in the bushes. Such was the passing of Sredni Vashtar.

``Tea is ready,'' said the sour-faced maid; ``where is the mistress?'' ``She went down to the shed some time ago,'' said Conradin. And while the maid went to summon her mistress to tea, Conradin fished a toasting-fork out of the sideboard drawer and proceeded to toast himself a piece of bread. And during the toasting of it and the buttering of it with much butter and the slow enjoyment of eating it, Conradin listened to the noises and silences which fell in quick spasms beyond the dining-room door. The loud foolish screaming of the maid, the answering chorus of wondering ejaculations from the kitchen region, the scuttering footsteps and hurried embassies for outside help, and then, after a lull, the scared sobbings and the shuffling tread of those who bore a heavy burden into the house.

``Whoever will break it to the poor child? I couldn't for the life of me!'' exclaimed a shrill voice. And while they debated the matter among themselves, Conradin made himself another piece of toast.

mmmmmmmmm... bibley!>> ^dag:

Well if you're going to summon @shinyblurry - you need the right incantation. Mecca lecca high, mecca hiney ho!>> ^shuac:
I can't wait for shinyblurry to come and tell us why vicarious redemption isn't immoral. Or how vicarious redemption isn't at all like scapegoating (assuming scapegoating is bad). Or how the term "vicarious redemption" doesn't really apply to Jesus (assuming vicarious redemption is bad).
Basically, anything to do with Christianity is good. And any and all criticism of it is bad.
^ That's what I can't wait for shinyblurry to come and do.
And quote scripture. That's my favorite.

Comment hidden because you are ignoring dag. (show it anyway)

Well if you're going to summon @shinyblurry - you need the right incantation. Mecca lecca high, mecca hiney ho!>> ^shuac:

I can't wait for shinyblurry to come and tell us why vicarious redemption isn't immoral. Or how vicarious redemption isn't at all like scapegoating (assuming scapegoating is bad). Or how the term "vicarious redemption" doesn't really apply to Jesus (assuming vicarious redemption is bad).
Basically, anything to do with Christianity is good. And any and all criticism of it is bad.
^ That's what I can't wait for shinyblurry to come and do.
And quote scripture. That's my favorite.

I'm not sure what kind of quest I'll have to preform for the pervy looking old hermit to learn the "Summon Army of Children" spell, but I'll probably feel dirty afterwards.

>> ^ReverendTed:

Pause at about 4s, then summon your best southern drawl for: "Well it looks like the Duke boys got themselves in a real mess this time."


pause and press 3

* doublepromote this comment!>> ^ReverendTed:

Pause at about 4s, then summon your best southern drawl for: "Well it looks like the Duke boys got themselves in a real mess this time."

Pause at about 4s, then summon your best southern drawl for: "Well it looks like the Duke boys got themselves in a real mess this time."

The first video features a white woman in a crowd of white people. She singles out a lone black woman and then proceeds to bully and berate her. She makes it clear that these attacks are done in the name of her country and the white race, which is a cruel way to insinuate that she has the approval of the rest of her countrymen and fellow white people on that tram.

>>> That's a pretty bold assumption on your part. You believe she thought the orwellian serfs would back her up somehow? She is surrounded by Black people on that train--including one that could choke her or cut her throat from behind--and for good measure, there's a woman wearing a burqa in the background. It is more likely she had some mental disability, putting her kid in danger.

Thankfully someone stepped in and called this woman's bluff, which served to change the tenor of this exchange from a tense game of intimidation to a lone racist babbling nut.

The guy in the second video BEGINS his exchange as a lone racists babbling nut. He is a single black man in a crowd of white people.

He shouts out terrible things that he obviously has no intention or ability to carry out. No one takes him seriously. There is no bullying and no tension. People are laughing at him.

>>> Watch it again. There are other Black people on the train. And the nut's targets are not laughing. At all.

>>> Once again, you're making assumptions of questionable merit. First, you can't tell the level of someone's combat experience merely by sight, and if he's truly crazy he'll be immensely strong. Second, he's holding a glass bottle. He could've just as easily struck the woman to his left, with or without breaking the bottle first.

>>> Trying to summon up stormfront as a scary demon is laughable. Compare their ranks, which I assume aren't close to a few thousand, to the budgets and memberships of the NAACP, ACLU and Southern Poverty Law Center.

You may believe you're "calling me out" and that's fine, you have every right to speak up. Individuals and group behaviors we can debate all day. However, the elephant in the room, with his buttocks spread across both videos, is the fact the French nutball was not condemned--by anyone--for his antics and there were no police looking for him after the fact.

You can be against intolerance or indifferent to it, but not selectively intolerant.












>> ^dystopianfuturetoday:

Let me break this down.
The first video features a white woman in a crowd of white people. She singles out a lone black woman and then proceeds to bully and berate her. She makes it clear that these attacks are done in the name of her country and the white race, which is a cruel way to insinuate that she has the approval of the rest of her countrymen and fellow white people on that tram. Thankfully someone stepped in and called this woman's bluff, which served to change the tenor of this exchange from a tense game of intimidation to a lone racist babbling nut.
The guy in the second video BEGINS his exchange as a lone racists babbling nut. He is a single black man in a crowd of white people. He shouts out terrible things that he obviously has no intention or ability to carry out. No one takes him seriously. There is no bullying and no tension. People are laughing at him.
Context matters. If I say 'I'm going to kill you' in a dark alley with a gun pointed to your head, it means something very different than if I say it after you accidentally spill coffee on my new shirt.
The above video has been bouncing around the hate cesspools of the internet - like Stormfront - in an attempt to show parity between these two very different events; parity between an empowered bully and a powerless fool.
Now you could have framed this as 'hey look at this crazy drunk racist guy, what an idiot' and you would have had no problems, but that's not how you chose to frame it, and as a result, this post didn't go that well for you. I'd rather not have to call you out like this. It's obviously upsetting to you. But when racial issues that resonate with the Stormfront crowd also resonate with you, you might have problems. Sort yourself out.

Aquaboy! Summon the giant squid!

I will put this forth:
A God is the absence of imagination.

The universe is queerer that we can imagine, putting the label "God" on something as mysterious as Origin or Meaning, even, dumbs it down and again obfuscates the term with the straight forward crazies.

What kind of non-contradictory way of existence are you imagining? I have yet to see any implication of any form of God really, the world explains itself quite fine without one, so why try to invent one?

>> ^GeeSussFreeK:

Big words to shrink down my overly verbose explanations, damned if you do, damned if you don't.
Existing outside existence wouldn't make sense, but existing in a different way does. I don't exist in the same way a computer program exists, without running a program I can construct its logical here's and there's. I suggest a "computer programmer" sort of metaphysical explanation as one of a near infinite number of non-contradictory ways a "god" could exist. It is also likely he not exist. For me, the jury is out, but I like to not rule things out or mock them when they are still on the table, even if I can't show one way or they other...perhaps even especially then. Many of Einstein's great ideas can be traced back to the "wacky" metaphysics of Schopenhauer, but who knows what even greater "wackiness" awaits us behind discoveries next great door...the imagination tingles with anticipation. Like Popper suggests, great theories are born from great imaginations, the once impossible becomes possible with the changing of the guard of certain theories of physics or the like. I would suggest that dreamers have made the bold leaps in science more than the lab tech. Strick adherence to testing and retesting still leaves us lacking in the truly creative ways to construct them and bind them together.
O wait, hijacked again. I liked the part in the video where people posted annotations in a very cruel way to mock a person who had the best of intentions, it reminds me of something I have seen somewhere else before?!
>> ^gwiz665:
You're just saying big words to sound smart now, obfuscating the transreal statements with vagueries and doubletalk like a true soothsayer.
You are essentially saying we are dreamed up by the being that exists outside of existence. That sorta disproves itself, doesn't it?
>> ^GeeSussFreeK:
>> ^gwiz665:
If he defines what "God" is, then I'll happily disprove it. If I have to define it as well, then I'll just do an easy one: Creationism. False. There, disproved.

What about a being of multidimensional time considering the platonic relationship of transfinite ideas, and thus, summoning all existence? That the ordinals and cardinals of it's maths are the thing we call existence?
O wait, this is a funny video. I farted, hehehehe.

Big words to shrink down my overly verbose explanations, damned if you do, damned if you don't.

Existing outside existence wouldn't make sense, but existing in a different way does. I don't exist in the same way a computer program exists, without running a program I can construct its logical here's and there's. I suggest a "computer programmer" sort of metaphysical explanation as one of a near infinite number of non-contradictory ways a "god" could exist. It is also likely he not exist. For me, the jury is out, but I like to not rule things out or mock them when they are still on the table, even if I can't show one way or they other...perhaps even especially then. Many of Einstein's great ideas can be traced back to the "wacky" metaphysics of Schopenhauer, but who knows what even greater "wackiness" awaits us behind discoveries next great door...the imagination tingles with anticipation. Like Popper suggests, great theories are born from great imaginations, the once impossible becomes possible with the changing of the guard of certain theories of physics or the like. I would suggest that dreamers have made the bold leaps in science more than the lab tech. Strick adherence to testing and retesting still leaves us lacking in the truly creative ways to construct them and bind them together.

O wait, hijacked again. I liked the part in the video where people posted annotations in a very cruel way to mock a person who had the best of intentions, it reminds me of something I have seen somewhere else before?!

>> ^gwiz665:

You're just saying big words to sound smart now, obfuscating the transreal statements with vagueries and doubletalk like a true soothsayer.
You are essentially saying we are dreamed up by the being that exists outside of existence. That sorta disproves itself, doesn't it?
>> ^GeeSussFreeK:
>> ^gwiz665:
If he defines what "God" is, then I'll happily disprove it. If I have to define it as well, then I'll just do an easy one: Creationism. False. There, disproved.

What about a being of multidimensional time considering the platonic relationship of transfinite ideas, and thus, summoning all existence? That the ordinals and cardinals of it's maths are the thing we call existence?
O wait, this is a funny video. I farted, hehehehe.