It would appear that Mr. Cosby will finally face justice. I say appear, because I’m quite sure that the appeal process will be long, slow and tedious. Given his poor health, it’s also entirely possible that he’ll spend his remaining days either free or at least under house arrest with an ankle monitor. The judge also ordered that Cosby undergo a “sexually violent predators assessment.” Odd; wasn’t he found guilty of sexual assault? What wasn’t violent about drugging his victim to unconsciousness and penetrating her without her consent? No consent and no consciousness for cripes sake. I kind of believe the jury already told you he was violent; what other nuance in the law do you need to qualify the horrific attack on Ms. Constand in any other way? And what the hell difference does it make? He committed an egregious act against another human being and if he had done so gently, however in the hell that would occur, he would have committed the same act that would have impacted her life in the same way. Criminal rights, you see. Maybe, just maybe, he should get some relief because we deemed his act to be non-violent. That’s beyond disgusting.

Come sit on the lap of America’s dad…

I keep hearing the term “America’s dad” thrown around quite a bit. Really? I don’t think I caught his show more than twice. Sorry, wasn’t for me. And I wasn’t quite into his comedy albums, preferring to mortify my parents with Cheech and Chong or Richard Pryor. Maybe he skewed to a different demographic than the one I had occupied; I only recognized him as famous for “I Spy” or “Fat Albert”, two shows I would only watch as background distraction. I was more of a “Looney Tunes” kind of guy.

I’ll never understand how anyone can treat others with such utter disregard; what mental depravity must one have to perpetrate this crime, or any crime for that matter, on any other human being? What was the ultimate motive here? Did a man who had enormous wealth see this as something else he was entitled to do? I’m sure it’s all about conquest in some way; but what are the spoils when your “conquest” is a lifeless, unconscious, defenseless young female? How in the hell could that not make you leap from the balcony after looking at yourself in the mirror?

What I’ve always wondered about these types of crimes is how they could continue to go on for so long quite unimpeded; no, actually progressing and becoming more frequent and daring? Especially around men of such notoriety that they can hardly step outside without people shooting pictures with telephoto lenses while paparazzi scribes hound them for answers about this or that issue of great import. It’s very simple and equally disgusting; they had help.

Whether it’s America’s Dad, Harvey Weinstein or Roman Polanski, there are a great number of hanger-ons and wannabees feeding off of these men like Pilot fish around sharks, hoping to catch any morsel of fame or importance for themselves that might slip from the jagged teeth of the powerful predator. These are people of such limited self-esteem and dignity that they are willing to dive into a crowd of fans to pick out the one attractive young target that their hero had asked them to acquire. From the agent who arranges the “audition” in the hotel suite, the “personal assistant” who arranges the transportation for the target, the drug-dealer physician supplying the “extra” meds or the secret service agent who is willing to sneak her through the back door, it’s quite implausible that not one of these types of people in the orbit of these so called-icons were aware of this in any fashion, large or small.

Okay, hold your fire; I’m not saying that these folks are complicit. Well, hell yeah, I actually am and if that makes you uncomfortable, pound sand. It isn’t intended to lessen the responsibility or guilt of the criminal either. And I’m not saying that we should be responsible or held accountable for the actions of others. But what about our own actions here? You may not have carried the unconscious female up to the hotel suite of your hero, but you were willing to continue to arrange those venues and types of meetings, all the time convincing yourself that the rumors and complaints, however frequent and increasing, were the work of some disgruntled starlet or spurned lover. You never questioned the patterns or the huge number of disgruntled starlets and spurned lovers because you wanted desperately to believe in the greatness of the man or worse, you were willing to give him a pass because that’s what “men of his stature do.”

You may be thinking about how hard it would have been to speak up, put your job, your livelihood and career aspirations on the line. Sorry, my sympathies lie elsewhere; with the young ladies who woke to find their panties at their ankles with no recollection of the evening, fighting for years after that to be heard or suffering in fear from the power of the shark and the parasites that feed from his cast-offs; your desire to suck up quite likely made it all possible.

We’re far too willing to put too many people on pedestals and we’re greatly astonished and disappointed when they fall from grace; not because they disappointed us really, but because we disappointed ourselves. It becomes quite depressing when we claim that we never threw the stones, although we carried them by the bucketful. Until we stop fantasizing about the greatness of others for things like their fame or their wealth, we’ll continue to be plagued by men such as Bill or Harvey, people whose narcissism is nourished by those unwilling or unable to do the right thing always, no matter the cost.

Bear in mind that it will never cost you as much as it has already cost women like Andrea Constand.


At last check, little Alfie Evans was hanging on for dear life at Alder Hey Hospital. His parents have lost their bid to bring him to Italy for treatment, a last ditch effort perhaps but alas, we’ll never know the outcome. The same doctors who said he would quickly stop breathing and quietly slip away when they removed his life support four days ago have decided it would be best to just end the little guy’s suffering by letting him slowly asphyxiate; a fate and an ending I’m quite sure none of the nitwits on the UK’s highest court would wish to endure personally. The European Court of Human Rights also declined to intervene, telling you all you need to know about human rights in the European Union.

who gets to decide?

When does one become so cold and indifferent to the suffering of others that you could literally stand by and watch this child suffer this death? I can’t grasp the concept here; someone needs to help me understand. I’m absolutely serious. We go to great lengths to sustain those who have robbed us, assaulted us, beaten us, raped us, and murdered us; yet we declare that this child needs to die; it is our will. On strictly moral and ethical grounds, of course.

To start with, we have socialized medicine to consider here; is Alfie diagnosed with a degenerative brain disease or not? Should it matter to anyone outside his immediate family? Only in the sense that hey, you’ve got to understand that there are limited resources available and we can’t be wasting time and money on an individual with no hope for survival. That’s the reality of it my friends. This is what the citizens of the UK have chosen; this is what they want. It’s all part of the comfort and trust they place in the hands of those they never meet, never see, never speak to, who ultimately get to decide who is and is not of any value to the citizenry at large. On strictly moral and ethical grounds, of course.

And so we have a political structure that wishes to intrude into the private lives, rights and decisions of its citizens. It’s one thing to decide that you’re not willing to foot the bill; quite another to say, “and because we don’t wish to foot the bill, you’re not allowed to go anywhere else on the planet either. You see, we don’t want you to prolong his suffering and he should pass with dignity.” Again, on strictly moral and ethical grounds, of course.

This has always struck me as odd; I have friends, dear friends, who have repeatedly crossed the border to the very same country that they crap on on a daily basis over how selfish we Americans are, how narrow minded, how this, how that, only because they needed that MRI quicker than 7 months from now, or their government funded knee replacement was denied or their next dental appointment is not approved for another 3 months. (Chew on the other side…) Odd, as I said, because socialized medicine is rationing, pure and simple, and it benefits no one; least of all those who continue to support it all the while endeavoring how to get around it. And in all of these countries, you can hear the same stories of shortages here or there, shortages of beds, shortages of diagnostic tools, of doctors, nurses, drugs, bedpans, and toilet paper for goodness sakes… And you have bureaucrats insisting that you have rights and freedoms, no more or no less than your neighbor but oh, by the way, we decided today that you’re going to have to die laying on a gurney in the hallway, gasping and wheezing because we don’t really think you’re worth the money and we don’t have a room for you to expire in anyway.

So just what is the appeal of socialized medicine and how the heck does it work? If it’s about cost, why can’t the UK just let the parents take their son to Italy; it will cost the UK nothing to not condemn this child to death. A bonus if he passes away out of the country; a sort of morbid “told ya so” from those who erroneously thought he would pass quickly, even after not being able to diagnose him in the first place. So maybe it’s not about money.

Maybe it is about compassion and morality and ethics and all of the other flowery words they use to stir up emotion and belief in the system. Again, is it really moral, ethical, compassionate, whatever buzzword you want to use to persuade the easily persuaded, to allow this child to suffer this slow, agonizing death when another country, another group of doctors elsewhere believe they can offer hope? Isn’t that what real compassion is? Is this about professional, or national pride? If it costs you nothing, if there is a chance that you might be wrong, doesn’t this child, any child, any human deserve that chance?

No, he doesn’t deserve a chance. You see, it doesn’t matter that it will cost them nothing to let his parents try; it is, and always will be about controlling the population; controlling their citizens by restricting their rights to make decisions about their health and the health of their loved ones. And, it’s about the superiority of government power and position over parental rights. Ultimately, governments that should be inferior and responsible to their citizens, get to have the final say over your life, your death, and that of your children. And you willingly gave them that power. Not only are you decent and caring for the common good; you’re quite moral and ethical too. That is until you drive across the border for that crown that’s been bothering you.

I don’t expect this little boy to live much longer. I’m not a doctor and have no idea what his true prognosis is. I don’t quite believe that anyone truly does. We may not fully know what his ailment was until he’s autopsied. But the cause of his death will surely be the heath care system that has more to lose by his recovery than by his passing. No, not a doctor; a father. And like many others, one who would be doing everything I could to save my son or daughter if I were in that position. And I would look for guidance from our doctors and get down on my knees and beg for clarity from above. And at some point, I too would decide that I cannot allow my loved one to suffer any longer.

As a father, that is not only my right; it is my burden. It should not belong to someone who can only value the life of my loved one on the basis of the color in his ledger.

Where does Anti-gun provocateur David Hogg’s future lie? What future can one imagine for a young, passionate, outspoken defender of only the rights he wishes others to have, you know such as opaque backpacks? Where does he go from here? One wonders; does he have another fifteen minutes; will he eventually end up on the ballot somewhere in the country; or will he eventually bore the impatient left in their quest to destroy the constitution and eradicate rights which they are not entitled to give or take? I’d say that history will show us, but I’ m afraid that history isn’t Mr. Hogg’s strong suit anyway.

yes David, to some the guy in the tank is the hero…

David certainly has the “freedom of speech” thingy down, though. For future reference David, that would be the amendment immediately preceding the one you are hell bent on making sure others can’t have. But that’s as it should be. Sorry, everyone in the country has the right to their opinion, and if they think it through, they’re also entitled to the fall out from that opinion, whether ill conceived or wildly popular. Oh, and also for future reference; without the first, the second doesn’t exist and vice-versa. Think it though, if you have the time between exercising your first amendment on CNN.

Funny, that little caveat about fall-out from one’s opinion; it seems that some animals are more immune or at least inoculated from it than other animals. (Sorry for the poetic license, George). If the left doesn’t agree with your disagreement, they’re all about destroying you for it. Just ask Mrs. Ingraham. Maybe she crossed a personal line calling young “David the warrior”, “whiney.” And as the left is always wont to do, they mobilized under the guise of the “egregiously wounded” and decided they must silence the errant right wing miscreant lest she pollute other young minds with an opinion contrary to the ones the left wishes to indoctrinate others with. We can’t have dissenting opinions when a champion of the left is exercising his first amendment principle. That’s not how it was to taught to David anyway. No, he’s from a generation that was taught that they are always right, wise, entitled to be heard, to be followed and any indication of dissent is pure hatred. Last I heard however, Mrs. Ingraham had seemed to weather the fusillade somewhat unscathed.

Does Laura Ingraham have any less right to her personal attack on David Hogg than David Hogg has to personally attack law-abiding members of the NRA? Maybe Ingraham should have called him a “pathetic f***er” and she too would have gotten a free pass. Or just maybe she’s actually too dangerous to take on in the public square. I’ll leave it to you to do the math. But math, like history, is probably not another strong suit of Mr. Hogg.

No, quite the contrary, Mr. Hogg is going to continue to be exploited until the bloom is off his rose, to abuse another phrase. He’s still quite useful to the left because at the same time that he’s a strong voice for the ultimate goal of disarming America, he’s yet still a child and should be protected from those who may seek to call him out on his immaturity. No, you see, when the left doesn’t want to debate you, they avoid it all together by claiming that those strong independent voices who are your betters, are really diminished in some way, in need of protection, able to speak their minds at will with no regret or repercussion, let alone having to defend their positions. It’s the victim class played out ad nauseam and those least aware of it are the David Hoggs of the world who wish to be taken seriously and at face value, all the while being propped up by those who truly believe that they cannot manage on their own.

Of course, David is at that point in his life that most of us pass through; when we’re quite sure that we know more than our parents ever did, those old, gasping geezers.

Of course, history lesson here too David; when you’re busy remarking that When your old-ass parent is like, ‘I don’t know how to send an iMessage,’ and you’re just like, ‘Give me the f*cking phone and let me handle it.’ “Sadly, that’s what we have to do with our government; our parents don’t know how to use a f*cking democracy, so we have to”, it may help you to ponder just who conceived, designed and manufactured that wonderful little gem of capitalism that has you so worked up in the first place. Oh, and for the record, there are an awful lot of people who know much more about democracy than you do; some may be willing to speak with you about why we’re a republic. Sadly, there are also those who will never be able to educate you unless you’re willing to sit at their gravesite and ponder deeply into the headstone of someone who had rather die to secure freedoms than to rant profanities on YouTube in an effort to steal those liberties from others

Holy Crap, did that make your parents proud? For some reason, one would imagine it did. After all, the video was pulled from YouTube (remarkable in itself) because they deemed that it was bullying. How dare they. Didn’t they get the memo that you’re just a kid? Now I’m friggin’ confused; do we boycott YouTube for pulling the video of “David the kid” or do we boycott “David the giant slayer” because he’s a bully?

In the end, Mr. Hogg will continue as long as he has an audience and there’s certainly no shortage of those willing to demand that innocent people relinquish rights that others have willingly died to preserve. But this fight will remain, with or without David Hogg, until citizens of this country take up arms against each other, because there are those willing to die for their rights that are not granted by the government or by David Hogg. And there may very well be those who are willing to die to take those rights from them.

David, you may have to arm yourself first. I hear the NRA has some great gun safety classes, by the way.

I thought I was ready for this. Still, I sat in the car and pondered the finality of it all, forcing the pain back down to where it was manageable, to where it belonged; underneath the hitches in my breath, wiping the fog from my eyes. She passed a week ago; surely I was over this by now. Surely not, I guess. We’ll see, I thought, and bounded out of the car and through the large white imposing wooded doors to the main office.

I would ask for you back, but that would prove how selfish I truly am.

The young tech at the counter recognized my face; she was the one who gave us the grieving room the week before. “Here to pick up little Sadie?” she asked sweetly. “Yup,” was all I could get out before I cleared my throat and managed to smile back at her. “Wait here a second and I’ll go get her,” she said, and disappeared between the swinging metal doors to the back of the clinic. She was gone only a few minutes, re-appearing with a small retail-like paper sack with handles, which she set gently on the counter in front of me. Kinda pissed me off instantly; marketing logo, right smack in the middle of the bag that held the remains of my loved one. Geez, is it always about marketing, all the dammed time…crass.

I reached into the bag and retrieved the lovely carved wooden box; gave my stomach a stab. The staff had also included a sympathy card, which I purposely left un-opened lest I go all wobbly in front of the young technician. Something else was in the bag; a smaller plastic bag with a hard, disc-shaped object. I pulled it from the crematoria-marketing bag and flipped it over to get a look; it was a plaster casting of her tiny little paw-print. At that point, I had no say in the matter; wobbly be dammed, the sobs came in great heaves and I had to put my hands to my face to try to get a grip. All my glory, all two-hundred and forty pounds of fifty-five year-old manliness, bawling uncontrollably over the passing of a six pound hairball generator that shared my life for twelve years. Now, all I had left were her remains in a pretty, carved oak box, a plaster casting of her paw, and a sympathy card from the staff, all thoughtfully packed in a wonderful carry-all bag neatly emblazoned with the logo of the crematorium right on the side.

It took me a good five minutes to gain my composure once I got back to the car. I really didn’t think it would hit me again so hard. Just a week ago, I held her tiny head in my hands as she became quiet, a head no bigger than a large walnut, looking deceptively larger due to the wonderful coon-coat she wore. I watched and listened as the life ebbed away from her little body and buried my face in her ridiculously soft neck as I had done many times while she was alive; only this time, she didn’t struggle to break free. The last thing I could do before I gave her to the doctor was kiss her one last time and close those hauntingly big beautiful eyes. And like that, she was gone; the little shit left her paw-prints all over my heart, dammit.

Like the animals who passed through my life before her, Sadie was quite the enigma. She was more the kid’s cat, if cats are really ever “owned” by anyone. She was quite timid, but very loving and dedicated to her younger human companions. She’d run past me with suspecting eyes; maybe I could get her interested in chasing toys on a string every so often but she always roamed to be within short distance of the girls. Usually, she could be found at the foot of one of their beds. She would occasionally yap and chat at me however, as Maine Coons are apt to do and I think her quiet aloofness was really all a front; just a way to capture our hearts with her feigned indifference, her lie exposed by the volume and ferocity of her own purring.

I wondered the last time I lost a pet; why would I do this again? Was this all worth it? To those who have never loved an animal, maybe those of us who do are quite nuts. Maybe. Could be. It sure feels that way today. I still can’t reach into the bag and look at her paw-print and for the life of me, I can’t tell you why. But I can tell you this; I have never been disappointed by any of the animals I have had in my life. I have never been lied to by any of them, have never been asked to be anything other than “there,” never been expected to be something I am not or may never be. And they have shown me a love that wasn’t measured by bank accounts, the car I drive, and the clothes I wear, the positions I took or the opinions I had. Very few can say there are humans in their lives that love them with the same pure devotion.

So once again, I find myself quite melancholy over the passing of a dear furry friend; much of it the result of the pain I see in the eyes of my daughters and wife; the ridiculous feeling that maybe somehow I could have protected them from this. But protecting them would have meant being firm and keeping to my words when I initially said, no pets. A way to keep them from having to go through this? Yeah right. A way for me to avoid having to go thorough this more likely. But in the end, I would have denied them a love in their lives that they would rarely see, a chance to see the real beauty in life because of that love, and yes, experience the pain and cold, hard ache of having it taken away.

So my little Sadie now joins Sneakers and Cousey roaming the grounds of heaven where, one would assume, the litter box is always clean, the balls of yarn are large and soft and where there’s always a nice patch of sun-warmed grass to stretch out on and spend the better part of infinite days until we get to hold them all just one more time. Until then, I’ll avoid the paw-print and pictures for a while at least until I can do so without the tears running down my face. And I’ll thank God for the privilege of having yet another of his wonderful creatures roam though my house as they captured my heart, knowing full well that very few of us are really worthy of their devotion; yes, all this for an animal. All this for my little Sadie.

And yes, I would do this all over again.

Somewhere, way back in the corners of my mind, I have the news images of Berkley in the 60’s, all tie-dyed and sandaled, maybe the occasional whiff of something not quite exotic but not quite legal. Students and their professors had all come together to protest Cal Berkley’s ban on political activities; back then it was the free speech movement (FSM), and this was sometime around 1964. And of course, this was pre-dated by activities in the late fifties (before my time), such as the creation of SLATE, a Berkley student party committed to stopping nuclear testing and capital punishment as well as other issues. And in 1960, students from Berkley were simply rinsed from the steps of city hall in San Francisco by powerful fire hoses as they protested the hearings of the “House Un-American Activities Committee.” Imagine, if you would, a university outlawing strips of common areas where students once passed out flyers and pamphlets, signed others up for petitions and to their cause. The heavy hand of the Berkley administration had put a stop to these activities, prompting sit-ins and arrests, but the students and professors were the heroes of free speech. In the 60’s.

required on the syllabus..

I was extremely young then; the son of a military man, with older siblings who were intensely watching these events unfold. In any case, we were the typical democrat-leaning family, our shrine to Saint John of Camelot adorned with more lit candles than Mother Mary had on hers. And like many of that time, we were consumed with the rise of communism and radical communists in the party we were part of. Neither of my parents were political animals of any sort. If it was good enough for Walter Cronkite, it was okay for them; until they had to watch young communists and radicals openly struggling for a right that both of my parents deeply believed in. A right that was plain and easy to understand in the language of the constitution. It became even more difficult when the radical violence of the left reared its ugly head, bombings by the “Weather Underground” and the execution of policemen around the country. The new heroes of the left were people who were openly espousing the destruction of the country, to be replaced by the benevolence of socialism. “The more things change,” I guess…

Over several decades, the truth would come to my parents, both unable to grasp the blatant lies and utter hypocrisy of the political system, still embarrassed to own up to the different campaign signs gathering dust in the far dark corner of the garage. Unfortunately, that same awareness and nagging guilt over finally admitting to the hypocrisy of it all is sadly missing today. Here we are, 2017 and we’re watching left wing groups torch communities, not just at Berkley, while this time it’s the professors and students burning, looting, and swinging deadly bike locks and spikes designed to injure police horses, all in the name of not having to hear something that they disagree with. Full circle; now college administrations with the blessings, the support and at the vocal requests of those on campus and those behind the lecterns, are stampeding over the students passing out flyers in the commons while dictating that the only place that free speech is allowed is some tiny, designated corner of the campus where the weeds don’t even grow. Decades after I watched the left fight what I believed to be the good fight, they are now fighting violently to take it all back, a do-over if you will; “sorry about that free speech thing, ya know; my bad.” My, how the left likes to use the term progressive. Well, at least they have a sense of irony, if lacking a measure of shame, guilt or self-awareness.

I watched as the violence was misreported, purposefully, this summer. I caught a small snippet of a masked foot soldier of the left explaining that violence is to be the new normal, expected since we were “going to take things away from people.” Taking food from the mouths of those who worked for it, in order to redistribute it to others however, wasn’t the taking he was concerned with. Nor was the taking of hard-earned tax dollars used to purchase medical insurance, again given to those who had none, through no fault of those from whom the taxes were immorally confiscated. No, he was concerned that he wouldn’t get his; warning that those who were “entitled” to the fruits of others weren’t going to stand idly by and have their government-pirated booty denied to them. My mind kept wandering back to the old black and white crime shows where the mask-wearing hoodlum springs upon the unsuspecting victims in a dark alley, weapon in hand, admonishing his prey to “hand over your wallet and no one gets hurt.” The new heroes of the left, wielding a bike lock in lieu of a snub nose.  In 2017.

Can it be anything more than a willful ignorance on the part of those swinging the bike locks and smashing the windows of their own universities? How can you stand for the “rights of the oppressed” by wearing a Che tee-shirt, knowing that Che executed those he disagreed with, including blacks and gays? Maybe your gender fluidity professor never went into great detail about the history of Che or even how the anarchists who were part of the National Socialist German Workers Party sought the same type of “free speech” codes you are now violently agitating for. Yup, you’re emulating Nazis. Maybe it’s not willful ignorance after all; many of those roaming the streets, organized by global interests, have been indoctrinated their whole lives to believe that its their right to take from others, that they only don’t have something because it’s been denied them by others. And like those anarchists in Germany, they too will be cast aside once power is consolidated. Socialism isn’t for the governed; it’s for those who govern. Ask those who crawled under the barbed wire of the Berlin wall, or those intellectuals murdered by Mao, or for God’s sake, pick up a dammed paper and read how people are eating their own pets in Venezuela.

The first amendment says nothing about your emotional well-being; flowery speech that tells you you’re a “great kid,” or that “you can be anything you want,” or “you’re beautiful no matter what anyone says” isn’t what the founders were trying to protect; although that’s what you’ve been taught since your government sponsored day-care. Your participation trophies support your infallibility. But we don’t need to explain that anymore do we? We are beyond that now. Now, they seek to control what you say; what you think; what you don’t say; and even whether or not you’ve said it correctly. You now have to denounce anything they wish denounced or you’re supporting that position. And you need to denounce it quickly. You need to use the proper pronouns, although at any given moment, no one is sure which of the 60 plus new ones they’ve created is correct. If you’re a person of color, your position needs to be correct or you’re not really a person of color. If that litmus test isn’t racial, nothing is. And you must toe the line if you want to be considered a “womyn,” lest you have your pink knitted pussy hat taken from you. No worries, there are plenty of men willing to stand in for any woman who doesn’t cut it; they just need to feel that way.

Anything else, anything not approved by the left is hate speech. I didn’t even bother to put that phrase in quotes. There is no such thing as hate speech. Bite me. The pendulum swings, as it always must, and in the future, hate speech will be decided by others who scream louder and are far more violent than you are now. And chances are, you’ll be on the wrong side, begging for your own “free speech rights.” The term hate speech is nothing more than the sharpened stick of political correctness.

I’m not quite sure that these violent leftist, from BAMN, BLM or Antifa have any idea what the hell their desired outcome is. Who can blame them? We just spent the last generation convincing young women that every man is evil; every one of them is a rapist, while we now publicly shame her for not sharing a bathroom with them. And really, I’m having great difficulty understanding your vision of a pluralistic utopia that’s based on violence-induced uniformity of thought. This is the logic that’s running rampant in the streets of our cities; it’s poisoning the halls of academia. And whether they like it or not, it’s the left that supports this; they fail to disavow it in a timely way, with the right pronouns, and that can only mean that they defend it and support it.

You know, I meant that sarcastically but it doesn’t really seem that far fetched after all…

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