A part of me kind of hopes that people who make blanket statements about welfare and the poor end up hitting a really shitty time in their life where they have to walk a mile in someone else's shoes.
It's extremely difficult, and almost impossible in a lot of cases, to get out of poverty once you're in there. Contrary to popular belief, most people on welfare probably don't want to be on it, seeing as it's probably embarrassing as hell having to pull out food stamps and it's not nearly as much money as people seem to think it is. Yes, there's people who leech off the system, and those that are usually caught doing it end up making the news in some way and skewing people's perceptions.
Required reading before anyone continues on this line of discussion.
Seriously, not everyone's born lucky or in a well-off family. Just because you grew up and live in a comfortable life doesn't mean everyone else has had a similar experience.
That's all I really am going to say on this matter, because the way things are looking, I know exactly the kind of responses this is going to get. But before you decide to get all foamy at the mouth because I don't subscribe to a black and white brand of politics regarding social issues, at least consider doing some rudimentary research into shit before writing off a large group of people as worthless because you have absolutely no idea what put them in that situation or what they're doing about it.
Keeping an open mind about any topic never hurt anyone.
Dervish Member
Let's get volatile
STATUS: Remember, nobody actually enjoys roleplaying if there isn't at least five shameful fetishes uncovered by the 2nd page. 5 yrs ago
- Last Seen: 1 yr ago
- Old Guild Username: Dervish
- Joined: 12 yrs ago
- Posts: 5991 (1.32 / day)
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- Dervish 12 yrs ago
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Nyxella,
TokyoPewPew,
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Recent Statuses
5 yrs ago
Current
Remember, nobody actually enjoys roleplaying if there isn't at least five shameful fetishes uncovered by the 2nd page.
5
likes
7 yrs ago
Somebody stole my mood ring. I don't know how to feel about it.
14
likes
7 yrs ago
Let's be honest, it's far more satisfying and challenging to actually imagine what a character looks like than paste a hundred gifs of a celebrity and call it good.
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7 yrs ago
So, a team of players who are good at playing as a team in a team-based game are individually bad players. Seems kind of silly when you put it like that, no?
8
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7 yrs ago
My goal these days is to have an RP that can actually finish, or the very least, last a few years. I see way too many die on page one to take chances
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Bio
Lowering the site's value since January 2012.
Most Recent Posts
cpldingo said
When was the last time an atheist fire bombed a church? Or wore a suicide vest into a hospital? I don't really disagree with you, there are fanatics of all things out there. But there only seems to be one group that has been standing out of late. Take a look at EU and it's immigration problem with Muslims. Now normally people fleeing wartorn countries is perfectly acceptable and understandable, but they refuse to even aknowledge these European countries laws and rules and demand that they bend and change to fit their life style, while at the same time crime has sky rocketed because of the kidnappings and selling of children into sex slavery. Not to mention the riots. Oh and the Arab spring.... that was fun.I'm biased however, I know that. I am also a bigot, and ethnocentric.In my defense however the last group of devout Muslims I dealt with tried to kill me.
Stalin, Mao, Pol Pot, Kim Jong-Il, Mussolini, Than Shwe.
Jeffery Dahmer, Israel Keyes,Ted Kaczynski.
Et cetera.
A few radicals, desperate people, fanatics, or however you want to put it still do not match the vast majority of good people, atheist or religious, that you don't hear about because they did nothing wrong.
A lot of those young men Al-Qaeda and the Taliban send to fight are rounded up from villages and basically forced to fight, or fighting for them pays a lot better than any other opportunity they had. I've read more than one convincing argument that it's very similar to someone being born in a disenfranchised intercity neighbourhood being pressed into a gang, with very similar causes and reasons.
It's not always about religion. People have the capacity for truly horrible things, faith or no faith.
At least you admit you have strong bias about the matter, a lot of people in your shoes don't or even acknowledge that maybe, just maybe, they might have it wrong.
Baklava said
Nobody calls ME poopy pants. I'd watch your back if I were you, DERVS. *leer*
I'll fight you.
Dukes up.
solamelike said
ARE YOU HAPPY NOW !I ACKNOWLEDGED YOUR JOKE.!
Excellent. Gold Star!
Sherlock Holmes said
Nope. Totes lol'd.
huehuehue
Jster said
Do all jokes warrant someone pointing out one was made?From now on I'll remember to derail all threads to point out whenever someone makes a joke.
Yes.
Dontcha do that anyways?
solamelike said
Make sure to say it in full caps for extra sarcasm.
Also, italics and bold. The only way.
Lillian Thorne said
You are not alone.
:D
Over rated.
Proper SIG recommendations.
Apparently, I'm the only one old enough to understand my joke.
Sigh.
Sigh.
And post is up!
“Isn’t that the truth.” Lucian said in response to Wolfgang, lamenting the woes of his own plane. “I never understood why anyone wouldn’t have taken the pains to keep their planes well preserved. It took me a day to get my dear Magpie back in running order; I can’t imagine what the years have done to your bird, Wolfgang.”
It was rather remarkable how well-timed the arrival of each members of the wolves were, and it was a testament to Wolfgang’s ability to plan ahead and account for the time it would take for not only the message to get out, but for the team to prepare and travel. Lucian, Erik, and Wolfgang had long settled into some light reminiscence when the sounds of an engine echoed from the outside. Lucian resisted the temptation to trace his hand to the Lebel on his hip, as company was expected, but he was not anticipating the force in which the door would open, the old wooden frame slamming open and creaking in protest, like an old lady being forced into activity after years of slowly decaying. That brought his hand to the revolver and almost to his feet when he recognized who it was.
“Casse-toi!” Lucian exclaimed with an embarrassed laugh. He shook a playfully disapproving finger at the Dutch woman. “You should know better than to alarm a den of thieves, my dear Madelief.” He smiled. “It is lovely to see you once again. Come, join us! Have a drink. We were actually just talking about that one time a storm rolled in when we were hitting a merchant vessel, and Erik kept trying to get you to go back in your cockpit…”
Madelief, our jester and performer, perhaps the most unlikely of us all to take up arms. Certainly full of life, perhaps with the confident arrogance that comes from defying death for so long. Prone to unnecessary risks, but you would be hard pressed to find someone with her set of talents. I never quite understood why anyone would decide to ever climb out of their cockpit to walk on the wings; flying is quite exciting on its own. It's remarkable she’s survived this long, given the risks she takes. Still, it’s hard to imagine the Wolves without her. She’s often acted like a lighthouse in the darker days, full of life when others are not. She never seemed to run out of energy. he thought, patting his breast pocket where he kept his notebook to let him know that yes, he indeed still carried his ‘diary’, an unfortunate but well intentioned running joke if there ever was one.
Lucian returned to his glass, quietly enjoying the company. For a moment, he could almost pretend that this meeting was likely about more than old friends rekindling the old fire.
Almost.
It wasn’t much longer afterwards that a final sound of engine filled the cavern and the group waited eagerly to see who would walk through the door. After what seemed like a short eternity, the door opened, and Valéria appeared, looking every bit the cold, professional woman she always was. Smiles did not come easily to her, and she scanned the faces in the room, not unlike an officer inspecting the ranks, as was her way. When her gaze turned to Lucian, and darted quickly, almost undetectably, to Wolfgang and back, asking herself the unspoken question of if Wolfgang knew about her and Lucian keeping in sparse contact over the past 8 years. He offered the slightest of shakes of the head, a slow, deliberate gesture, as the others looked to the woman.
Finally, Val’s face broke like the sun through the clouds, the small, almost shy smile a bombshell of expression coming from the Brazilian woman. Lucian knew her well enough to know this was one of those times where she was genuinely happy. When she walked over, her eyes met with the Frenchman’s again, and he offered her a warm smile and a faint tip of his glass before taking another drink. It was subtle, as was most of their consorting, but the look Wolfgang gave both Val and Lucian was enough to confirm that he noticed it. Lucian did not particularly care. One could still be loyal to his old comrades while bending silly rules. After all, they were pirates, and they lived off of defying authority. Besides, it was not as if any of them expected to be sitting here together, and Lucian regretted nothing of keeping in contact, and very quiet partnership, with Valéria over the past 8 years. It was, after all, 5 years longer than he worked with the Wolves. He would not discard that in the face of disapproval.
Val did not mince words.
“Where is Arturo?”
The words came out with the impact of a gunshot, an unspoken accusation of sorts. Arturo, the Italian ace who was Wolfgang’s closest friend and co-founder of the Wolves, was conspicuously missing. As the team was assembling in this Sicilian hideout, it should have been Arturo that Wolfgang reached out to first, whom should have been here greeting his old companions. Lucian didn’t react, not visibly, as he continued to sip as his wine, eyes now on the leader.
The truth of the meeting began to come to light, as the joyous disposition began to crack as Wolfgang began to share his tale, one with unexpected tragedy. Lucian blinked, surprised at once at the word of his former leader’s sudden family and equally by the news of their deaths. The man had tried to live a peaceful, good life, and was betrayed by his closest friend. But… why? It did not add up.
Unless Arturo valued money and security from the anti-piracy actions of the Italians than he did friends. Lucian thought, bitterly. The man always seemed to be introspective and perhaps a bit too much of a number counter for Lucian’s liking, but nothing would have hinted at him turning on Wolfgang like that. Lucian wondered briefly if a similar fate would not have befallen himself and his mother, brother, and two sisters had he stayed at the estate and it wasn’t sold out from under them. Would he have woken up in the dead of night to hear the racking of rifles and the screams of his family?
It was not a pleasant thought.
Even before Wolfgang reached his conclusion, his reluctant ask for help, Lucian had long made up his mind. Fredrik, as per usual, was quick to volunteer his help, although Lucian never quite understood why wasting one’s drink on the floor was deemed as a sign of respect. When the massive Swede finally released Wolfgang from his crushing embrace, Lucian nodded towards the Austrian.
“My friend, as a man accustomed to the call of vengeance, I am only disappointed you did not contact me sooner. Arturo will be brought to account for what he has done to you and your loved ones. I regret I never had the chance to meet them, given the life we’ve led. I have no doubts you were a generous lover and a kind father, and for that, my friend, I find a cause worth fighting for. It seems to have a much more alluring sheen than coin. I stand with you.” He said, pouring himself another glass of wine. It seemed like the sort of day that would invite indulgences, as the days ahead would be lean and decidedly dangerous.
It was rather remarkable how well-timed the arrival of each members of the wolves were, and it was a testament to Wolfgang’s ability to plan ahead and account for the time it would take for not only the message to get out, but for the team to prepare and travel. Lucian, Erik, and Wolfgang had long settled into some light reminiscence when the sounds of an engine echoed from the outside. Lucian resisted the temptation to trace his hand to the Lebel on his hip, as company was expected, but he was not anticipating the force in which the door would open, the old wooden frame slamming open and creaking in protest, like an old lady being forced into activity after years of slowly decaying. That brought his hand to the revolver and almost to his feet when he recognized who it was.
“Casse-toi!” Lucian exclaimed with an embarrassed laugh. He shook a playfully disapproving finger at the Dutch woman. “You should know better than to alarm a den of thieves, my dear Madelief.” He smiled. “It is lovely to see you once again. Come, join us! Have a drink. We were actually just talking about that one time a storm rolled in when we were hitting a merchant vessel, and Erik kept trying to get you to go back in your cockpit…”
Madelief, our jester and performer, perhaps the most unlikely of us all to take up arms. Certainly full of life, perhaps with the confident arrogance that comes from defying death for so long. Prone to unnecessary risks, but you would be hard pressed to find someone with her set of talents. I never quite understood why anyone would decide to ever climb out of their cockpit to walk on the wings; flying is quite exciting on its own. It's remarkable she’s survived this long, given the risks she takes. Still, it’s hard to imagine the Wolves without her. She’s often acted like a lighthouse in the darker days, full of life when others are not. She never seemed to run out of energy. he thought, patting his breast pocket where he kept his notebook to let him know that yes, he indeed still carried his ‘diary’, an unfortunate but well intentioned running joke if there ever was one.
Lucian returned to his glass, quietly enjoying the company. For a moment, he could almost pretend that this meeting was likely about more than old friends rekindling the old fire.
Almost.
It wasn’t much longer afterwards that a final sound of engine filled the cavern and the group waited eagerly to see who would walk through the door. After what seemed like a short eternity, the door opened, and Valéria appeared, looking every bit the cold, professional woman she always was. Smiles did not come easily to her, and she scanned the faces in the room, not unlike an officer inspecting the ranks, as was her way. When her gaze turned to Lucian, and darted quickly, almost undetectably, to Wolfgang and back, asking herself the unspoken question of if Wolfgang knew about her and Lucian keeping in sparse contact over the past 8 years. He offered the slightest of shakes of the head, a slow, deliberate gesture, as the others looked to the woman.
Finally, Val’s face broke like the sun through the clouds, the small, almost shy smile a bombshell of expression coming from the Brazilian woman. Lucian knew her well enough to know this was one of those times where she was genuinely happy. When she walked over, her eyes met with the Frenchman’s again, and he offered her a warm smile and a faint tip of his glass before taking another drink. It was subtle, as was most of their consorting, but the look Wolfgang gave both Val and Lucian was enough to confirm that he noticed it. Lucian did not particularly care. One could still be loyal to his old comrades while bending silly rules. After all, they were pirates, and they lived off of defying authority. Besides, it was not as if any of them expected to be sitting here together, and Lucian regretted nothing of keeping in contact, and very quiet partnership, with Valéria over the past 8 years. It was, after all, 5 years longer than he worked with the Wolves. He would not discard that in the face of disapproval.
Val did not mince words.
“Where is Arturo?”
The words came out with the impact of a gunshot, an unspoken accusation of sorts. Arturo, the Italian ace who was Wolfgang’s closest friend and co-founder of the Wolves, was conspicuously missing. As the team was assembling in this Sicilian hideout, it should have been Arturo that Wolfgang reached out to first, whom should have been here greeting his old companions. Lucian didn’t react, not visibly, as he continued to sip as his wine, eyes now on the leader.
The truth of the meeting began to come to light, as the joyous disposition began to crack as Wolfgang began to share his tale, one with unexpected tragedy. Lucian blinked, surprised at once at the word of his former leader’s sudden family and equally by the news of their deaths. The man had tried to live a peaceful, good life, and was betrayed by his closest friend. But… why? It did not add up.
Unless Arturo valued money and security from the anti-piracy actions of the Italians than he did friends. Lucian thought, bitterly. The man always seemed to be introspective and perhaps a bit too much of a number counter for Lucian’s liking, but nothing would have hinted at him turning on Wolfgang like that. Lucian wondered briefly if a similar fate would not have befallen himself and his mother, brother, and two sisters had he stayed at the estate and it wasn’t sold out from under them. Would he have woken up in the dead of night to hear the racking of rifles and the screams of his family?
It was not a pleasant thought.
Even before Wolfgang reached his conclusion, his reluctant ask for help, Lucian had long made up his mind. Fredrik, as per usual, was quick to volunteer his help, although Lucian never quite understood why wasting one’s drink on the floor was deemed as a sign of respect. When the massive Swede finally released Wolfgang from his crushing embrace, Lucian nodded towards the Austrian.
“My friend, as a man accustomed to the call of vengeance, I am only disappointed you did not contact me sooner. Arturo will be brought to account for what he has done to you and your loved ones. I regret I never had the chance to meet them, given the life we’ve led. I have no doubts you were a generous lover and a kind father, and for that, my friend, I find a cause worth fighting for. It seems to have a much more alluring sheen than coin. I stand with you.” He said, pouring himself another glass of wine. It seemed like the sort of day that would invite indulgences, as the days ahead would be lean and decidedly dangerous.
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