Biden STEALING from Trump again 👤🤨

𝐵𝑖𝑑𝑒𝑛’𝑠𝑛𝑒𝑥𝑡 𝑚𝑜𝑣𝑒 𝑤𝑖𝑙𝑙 𝑠𝑡𝑢𝑛 𝑚𝑖𝑙𝑙𝑖𝑜𝑛𝑠𝑜𝑓 𝐴𝑚𝑒𝑟𝑖𝑐𝑎𝑛𝑠, 𝑠𝑒𝑛𝑑 𝑠ℎ𝑜𝑐𝑘𝑤𝑎𝑣𝑒𝑠𝑡ℎ𝑟𝑜𝑢𝑔ℎ 𝑡ℎ𝑒 𝑓𝑖𝑛𝑎𝑛𝑐𝑖𝑎𝑙 𝑠𝑦𝑠𝑡𝑒𝑚, 𝑎𝑛𝑑 𝑐𝑟𝑒𝑎𝑡𝑒 𝑑𝑒𝑣𝑎𝑠𝑡𝑎𝑡𝑖𝑛𝑔 𝑙𝑜𝑠𝑠𝑒𝑠𝑓𝑜𝑟 𝑢𝑛𝑝𝑟𝑒𝑝𝑎𝑟𝑒𝑑 𝑖𝑛𝑣𝑒𝑠𝑡𝑜𝑟𝑠[Main Logotype (Dark Green) | EMA]( Trump’s recent CNN Town Hall was seen as a massive wіn for the former President. Вut he unknowingly made one colossal mistake that could END his 2024 campaign before it even begins. His lawyer then invited him to tell the jury what had happened after his left to meet Glenn Quentin on the night of the murders. Andy told them... and the impression he made was the worst possible. I k him for c to thirty years, and I can tell you he was the most self-possessed man I've ever kn. What was right with him he'd give you a little at a time. What was wrong with him he kept bottled up inside. If he ever had a dark night of the soul, as some writer or other has c edit, you would k. He was the type of man who, if he had decided to commit suicide, would do it without leaving a note but not until his affairs had been put neatly in . If he had cried on the witness stand, or if his voice had thickened and grown hesitant, even if he had gotten yelling at that Washington-bound District Attorney, I don't believe he would have gotten the sentence he wound up with. Even if he had've he would have been out on parole by . But he told his story like a recording machine, seeming to say to the jury: this is it. Take it or it. They left it. He said he was drunk that night, that he'd been more or less drunk since August, and that he was a man who didn't handle his liquor very well. Of course that by itself would have been hard for any jury to swow. They just couldn't see this coldly selfpossessed young man in the neat double-breasted three-piece woollen suit ever ting fing-down drunk over his 's sleazy little affair with some sm town golf pro. I believed it because I had a to watch Andy that those six men and six women didn't have. Andy Dufresne took just four drinks a year the time I k him. He would in the exercise yard every year about a week before his birthday and then again about two weeks before Christmas. On each occasion he would arrange for a bottle of Jack Daniels. He bought it the way most cons arrange to their stuff-the slave's wages they pay in , plus a little of his own. Up until what you got r time was a dime an hour. In they raised it the way up to a quarter. My commission on liquor was and is ten per cent, and when you add on that surcharge to the of a fine sippin’ whiskey like the Black Jack, you an idea of how many hours of Andy Dufresne's sweat in the prison laundry was going to his four drinks a year. On the morning of his birthday, September, he would have himself a big knock, and then he'd have another that night after lights out. The following day he'd give the rest of the bottle back to me, and I would share it around. As for the other bottle, he t himself one drink Christmas night and another on Year's Eve. Then that one would also come to me with instructions to pass it on. Four drinks a year -and that is the behavior of a man who has been bitten hard by the bottle. Hard enough to draw blood. He told the jury that on the night of the th he had been so drunk he could remember what had happened in little isolated snatches. He had gotten drunk that afternoon-I took on a double helping of Dutch courage” is how he put it -before taking on Linda. After she left to meet Quentin, he remembered deciding to confront them. On the way to Quentin's bungalow, he swung into the country club for a couple of quick ones. He could not, he said, remember telling the bartender he could 'read about the rest of it in the papers, or saying anything to him at . He remembered ing beer in the Handy-Pik, Rita Hayworth and the Shawshank Redemption but not the dishtowels. Why would I want dishtowels? he asked, and one of the papers reported that three of the lady jurors shuddered. Later, much later, he speculated to me about the clerk who had testified on the subject of those dishtowels, and I think it's worth jotting down what he said. Suppose that, during their search for witnesses, Andy said one day in the yard, 'they stumble on this fellow who sold me the beer that night. By then three days have gone by. The facts of the case have been broadsided in the papers. Maybe they ganged up on the guy, five or six cops, plus the dick from the attorney general's ice, plus the DA's assistant. Memory is a pretty subjective thing, Red. They could have started out with. Isn't it possible that he d four or five dishtowels? and worked their way up from t. If enough people want you to remember something, that can be a pretty powerful persuader. I agreed that it could. But t's one even more powerful, Andy went on in that musing way of his. I think it's at least possible that he convinced himself. It was the limelight. Reporters asking him questions, his picture in the papers... topped, of course, by his star turn in court. I'm not saying that he delibely falsified his story, or perjured himself. I think it's possible that lie could have passed a lie detector test with flying colors, or sworn on his mother's sacred that I bought those dishtowels. But still... memory is such a goddam subjective thing. I k this much: even though my own lawyer thought I had to be lying about half my story, he bought that business about the dishtowels. It's crazy on the face of it. I was pig-drunk, too drunk to have been thinking about muffling the gunshots. If I'd done it, I just would have let them rip. He went up to the turnout and parked t. He drank beer and smoked cigarettes. He watched the lights downstairs in Quentin's place go out. He watched a single light go on upstairs... and fifteen minutes later he watched that one go out. He said he could guess the rest. Mr. Dufresne, did you then go up to Glenn Quentin's house and kill the two of them? his lawyer thundered. No, I did not, Andy answered. By midnight, he said, he was sobering up. He was also feeling the first signs of a bad hangover. He decided to go and sleep it and think about the whole thing in a more adult fashion the next day. At that time, as I drove , I was beginning to think that the wisest course would be to simply let her go to Reno and her divorce. The DA had asked him what he thought had happened, and Andy slipped the question -but he did have an idea, and I got it out of him late one evening in . It had taken those seven years for us to progress from nodding acquaintances to fairly c s - but I felt rey c to Andy until or so, and I believe I was the one who ever did rey c to him. Both being long-timers, we were in the same cellblock from beginning to end, although I was halfway down the corridor from him. What do I think? He laughed-but t was no humor in the sound. I think t was a lot of bad luck floating around that night. More than could ever toher in the same short span of time again. I think it must have been some stranger, just passing through. Maybe someone who had a flat tire on that road after I went . Maybe a burglar. Maybe a psychopath. He killed them, that's . And I'm . As simple as that. And he was condemned to spend the rest of his in Shawshankor the part of it that mattered. Five years later he began to have parole hearings, and he was turned down just as regular as clockwork in spite of being a model prisoner. ting a pass out of Shawshank when you've got murder stamped on your admittance-slip is slow work, as slow as a river eroding a rock. Seven men sit on the board, two more than at most state prisons, and every one of those seven has an ass as hard as the water drawn up from a mineral-spring well You can't those guys, you can't no, you can't cry for them. As far as the board concerned, don't talk, and nobody walks. For other reasons in Andy's case as well... but that belongs a little further along in my story. T was a trustee, of Kendricks, who was into me for some pretty heavy back in the fifties, and it was four years before he got it paid . Most of the interest he paid me was information-in my line of work, you're dead if you can't find ways of keeping your ear to the ground. This Kendricks, for instance, had to records I was going to see running a stamper down in the goddam plate-shop. Kendricks told me that the parole board vote was - against Andy Dufresne through , - in, - again in, and - in. After that I don't k, but I do k that sixteen years later he was still in Cell of Cellblock . By then, , he was fifty-eight. They probably would have gotten big-hearted and let him out around . They give you fife, and that's what they take- of it that counts, anyway. Maybe they set you loose someday, but... well, Listen: I k this guy, Sherwood Bolton, his was, and he had this pigeon in his cell. From until , when they let him out, he had that pigeon. He wasn't any Birdman of Alcatraz; he just had this pigeon. Jake, he ced him. He set Jake a day before he, Sherwood, that is, was to walk, and Jake flew away just as pretty as you could want. But about a week after Sherwood Bolton left our happy little family, a of mine ced me over to the west corner of the exercise yard, w Sherwood used to hang out, and my said: “Isn’t that Jake, Red? It was. That pigeon was just as dead as a turd. I remember the first time Andy Dufresne got in touch with me for something; I remember like it was yesterday. That wasn't the time he wanted Rita Hayworth, though. That came later. In that summer of he came around for something else. Most of my s are done right t in the exercise yard, and that's w this one went down. Our yard is big, much bigger than most. It's a square, ninety yards on a side. The north side is the outer w, with a guard tower at either end. The guards up t are armed with binoculars and riot guns. The main gate is in that north side. The truck loading-bays Rita Hayworth and the Shawshank Redemption are on the south side of the yard. T are five of them. Shawshank is a busy place during the work-week-deliveries in, deliveries out. We have the license-plate factory, and a big indus laundry that does the prison wet wash, plus that of Kittery Receiving Hospital and the Eliot Sanatorium. T's also a big automotive garage w mechanic inmates fix prison, state, and municipal vehicles-not to mention the private cars of the screws, the administration icers... and, on more than one occasion, those of the parole board. The east side is a thick stone w full of tiny slit windows. Cellblock is on the other side of that wail. The west side is Administration and the infirmary. Shawshank has been as overcrowded as most prisons, and back in it was filled to something like two-thirds capacity, but at any given time t might be eighty to a hundred and twenty cons on the yard-playing toss with a footb or a baseb, shooting craps, jawing at each other, making s. On Sunday the place was even more crowded; on Sunday the place would have looked like a country holiday... if t had been any women. It was on a Sunday that Andy first came to me. I had just finished talking to Elmore Armitage, a fellow who often came in handy to me, about a radio when Andy walked up. I k who he was, of course; he had a reputation for being a snob and a cold fish. People were saying he was marked for trouble already. One of the people saying so was Bogs Dismond, a bad man to have on your case. Andy had no cellmate, and I'd heard that was just the way he wanted it, although the one-man cells in Cellblock were a little bigger than cins. But I don't have to listen to rumors about a man when I can judge him for myself. Hello, he said. I'm Andy Dufresne. He ered his hand and I shook it. He wasn't a man to waste time being social; he got right to the point. I understand that you're a man who ks how to things. I agreed that I was able to locate certain items from time to time, How do you do that? Andy asked. Sometimes, I said, 'things just seem to come into my hand. I can't explain it. Unless it's because I'm Irish. He smiled a little at that. I der if you could me a rock hammer. What would that be, and why would you want it? Andy looked surprised. Do you make motivations a part of your business? With words like those I could understand how he had gotten a reputation for being the snobby sort, the kind of guy who likes to put on airs-but I sensed a tiny thread of humor in his question. I'll tell you, I said. If you wanted a toothbrush, I wouldn't ask questions. I'd just you a . Because a toothbrush, you see, is a non-lethal sort of a weapon. [And almost nobody noticed it.]( [𝖣𝗈𝗇𝖺𝗅𝖽 𝖳𝗋𝗎𝗆𝗉 𝖱𝖾𝖽𝖾𝗆𝗉𝗍𝗂𝗈𝗇]( When asked how he would end the inflationary crisis and revitalize the U.S. economy, Trump gave a [simple three-word answer](. You have strong feelings about lethal weapons? I do. An old friction-taped baseb flew towards us and he turned, cat-quick, and picked it out of the air. It was a move Frank Malzone would have been proud of. Andy flicked the bail back to w it had come from -just a quick and easy-looking flick of the wrist, but that throw had some mustard on it, just the same. I could see a lot of people were watching us with one eye as they went about their business. Probably the guards in tile tower were watching, too. I 't gild the lily; t are cons that swing weight in any prison, maybe four or five in a sm one, maybe two or three dozen in a big one. At Shawshank I was one of those with some weight, and what I thought of Andy Dufresne would have a lot to do with how his time went. He probably k it too, but he wasn't kowtowing or sucking up to me, and I respected him for that. Fair enough. Ill tell you what it is and why I want it A rock-hammer looks like a miniature pickaxe-about so long. He held his hands about a foot apart, and that was when I first noticed how neatly kept his nails were. It's got a sm sharp pick on one end and a fiat, blunt hammerhead on the other. I want it because I like rocks. Rocks, I said. Squat down a minute, he said. I humored him. We hunkered down on our haunches like Indians. Andy took a handful of exercise yard dirt and began to sift it between his neat hands, so it emerged in a fine cloud. Sm pebbles were left over, one or two sparkly, the rest dull and plain. One of the dull ones was quartz, but it was dull until you'd rubbed it clean. Then it had a nice milky glow. Andy did the cleaning and then tossed it to me. I caught it and d it. Quartz, sure, he said, And look. Mica. Shale, silted granite. 's a piece of graded limestone, from when they cut this place out of the side of the hill. He tossed them away and dusted his hands. I'm a rock hound. At least... I was a rock hound. In my old . I'd like to be one again, on a scale. Sunday expeditions in the exercise yard? I asked, standing up. It was a silly idea, and yet... seeing that little piece of quartz had given my heart a funny tweak. I don't k exactly why; just an association with the outside world, I suppose. You didn't think of such things in of the yard. Quartz was something you picked out of a sm, quickrunning stream. Better to have Sunday expeditions than no Sunday expeditions at , he said. You could plant an item like that rock-hammer in somebody's skull, I remarked. I have no enemies , he said quietly. No? I smiled. Wait awhile. If t's trouble, I can handle it without using a rock-hammer. Rita Hayworth and the Shawshank Redemption Maybe you want to try an escape? Going under the w? Because if you do - He laughed politely. When I saw the rock-hammer three weeks later, I understood why. You k, I said, if anyone sees you with it, they'll take it away. If they saw you with a spoon, they'd take it away. What you going to do, just sit down in the yard and tap away? Oh, I believe I can do a lot better than that. I nodded. That part of it rey wasn't my business, anyway. A man engages my services to him something. Whether he can keep it or not after I it is his business. How much would an item like that go for? I asked. I was beginning to enjoy his quiet, low-key style. When you've spent ten years in stir, as I had then, you can awfully tired of the bellowers and the braggarts and the loud-mouths. Yes, I think it would be fair to say I liked Andy from the first. Eight in any rock-and-gem shop, he said, but I realize that in a business like yours you work on a -plus basis- plus ten per cent is my going , but I have to go up some on a dangerous item. For something like the gad you're talking about, it takes a little more goosegrease to the wheels turning. Let's say ten . Ten it is I looked at him, smiling a little. Have you got ten ? I do, he said quietly. A long time after, I discovered that he had better than five hundred. He had brought it in with him. When they you in at this hotel, one of the bellhops is obliged to bend you over and take a look up your works-but t are a lot of works, and, not to put too fine a point on it, a man who is rey determined can a fairly large item quite a ways up them-far enough to be out of sight, unless the bellhop you happen to draw is in the mood to pull on a rubber glove and go prospecting. That's fine, I said. You ought to k what I expect if you caught with what I you. I suppose I should, he said, and I could tell by the slight change in his grey eyes that he k exactly what I was going to say. It was a slight lightening, a gleam of his special ironic humor. If you caught, you'll say you found it. That's about the long and short of it. They'll put you in solitary for three or four weeks... plus, of course, you'll your toy and you'll a black mark on your record. If you give them my , you and I will do business again. Not for so much as a pair of shoelaces or a bag of Bugler. And I'll send some fellows around to lump you up. I don't like violence, but you'll understand my position. I can't ow it to around that I can't handle myself. That would surely finish me. Yes. I suppose it would, I understand, and you don't need to worry. I worry, I said. In a place like this t's no percentage in it. He nodded and walked away. Three days later he walked up beside me in the exercise yard during the laundry's morning break. He didn't speak or even look my way, but pressed a picture of the Hon. Alexander Hamilton into my hand as neatly as a good magician does a card-trick. He was a man who adapted . I got him his rock-hammer. I had it in my cell for one night, and it was just as he described it. It was no tool for escape (it would have taken a man just about six hundred years to tunnel under the w using that rock-hammer, I figured), but I still felt some misgivings. If you planted that pickaxe end in a man's head, he would surely listen to Fibber McGee and Molly on the radio again. And Andy had already begun having trouble with the sisters. I hoped it wasn't them he was wanting the rock-hammer for. In the end, I trusted my judgment. Early the next morning, twenty minutes before the wake-up horn went , I slipped the rock-hammer and a package of Camels to Ernie, the old trusty who swept the Cellblock corridors until he was let in . He slipped it into his tunic without a word, and I didn't see the rock-hammer again for seven years. The following Sunday Andy walked over to me in the exercise yard again. He was nothing to look at that day, I can tell you. His lower lip was swelled up so big it looked like a summer sausage, his right eye was swollen half-shut, and t was an ugly washboard scrape across one cheek. He was having his troubles with the sisters, right, but he mentioned them. Thanks for the tool, he said, and walked away. I watched him curiously. He walked a few steps, saw in the dirt, bent over, and picked it up. It was a sm rock. Prison fatigues, except for those worn by mechanics when they're on the job, have no pockets. But t are ways to around that. The little pebble disappeared up Andy's sleeve and didn't come down. I admired that... and I admired him. In spite of the s he was having, he was going on with his . T are who don't or 't or can't, and plenty of them aren't in prison, either. And I noticed that, although his face still looked as if a twister had happened to it, his hands were still neat and clean, the nails well-kept. I didn't see much of him over the next six months; Andy spent a lot of that time in solitary. A few words about the sisters. In a lot of pens they are kn as bull queers or jailhouse susies-just lately the term in fashion is killer queens. But in Shawshank they were always the sisters. I don't k why, but other than the I guess t was no difference. Rita Hayworth and the Shawshank Redemption It comes as no surprise to most these days that t's a lot of buggery going on inside the ws-except to some of the fish, maybe, who have the misfortune to be young, slim, good-looking, and unwary-but homouality, like straight , comes in a hundred different shapes and forms. T are men who can't stand to be without of some kind and turn to another man to keep from going crazy. Usuy what follows is an arrangement between two fundamenty Heteroual men, although I've sometimes dered if they are quite as heteroual as they thought they were going to be when they back to their wives or their girls. T are also men who 'turned in prison. In the current parlance they go gay, or come out of the ct. Mostly (but not always) they play the female, and their favors are competed for fiercely. And then t are the sisters. They are to prison society what the rapist is to the society outside the ws. They're usuy long-timers, doing hard bullets for brutal crimes. Their prey is the young, the weak, and the inexperienced... or, as in the case of Andy Dufresne, the weak-looking. Their hunting grounds are the showers, the cramped, tunnel-like area way behind the indus washers in the laundry, sometimes the infirmary. On more than one occasion rape has occurred in the ct-sized projection booth behind the auditorium. Most often what the sisters take by force they could have had , if they wanted it; those who have been turned always seem to have crushes on one sister or another, like teenage girls with their Sinatras, Presleys, or Redfords. But for the sisters, the joy has always been in taking it by force... and I guess it always will be. Because of his sm size and fair good looks (and maybe also because of that very quality of self-possession I had admired), the sisters were after Andy from the day he walked in. If this was some kind of fairy story, I'd tell you that Andy fought the good fight until they left him alone. I wish I could say that, but I can't. Prison is no fairy-tale world. The first time for him was in the shower less than three days after he joined our happy Shawshank family. Just a lot of slap and tickle that time, I understand. They like to size you up before they make their real move, like jackals finding out if the prey is as weak and hamstrung as it looks. Andy punched back and bloodied the lip of a big, hulking sister d Bogs Diamond-gone these many years since to who ks w. A guard broke it up before it could go any further, but Bogs promised to him-and Bogs did. The second time was behind the washers in the laundry. A lot has gone on in that long, dusty, and narrow space over the years; the guards k about it and just let it be. It's dim and littered with bags of washing and bleaching compound, drums of Hexlite catalyst, as harmless as salt if your hands are dry, murderous as battery acid if they're wet. The guards don't like to go back t. T's no room to maneuver, and one of the first things they teach them when they come to work in a place like this is to let the cons you in a place w you can't back up. Bogs wasn't t that day, but Henry Backus, who had been washroom foreman down t since , told me that four of his s were. Andy held them at bay for a while with a scoop of Hexlite, threatening to throw it in their eyes if they came any cr, but he tripped trying to back around one of the big Washex four-pockets. That was it took. But nоw Joe Biden is stealing this plan in оrdеr to front run Trump’s economic agenda and put a stор to his Presidential ambitions. To discover the plan Biden just “stole”… And how it аІІ but guarantees his re-election, [go hеrе nоw](. [Small logotype (EMA)]( ExpertModernAdvice.com is sending this newsletter on behalf Inception Media, LLC. Inception Media, LLC appreciates your comments and inquiries. 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