The Record-Courier Faker "exposed" (continued):
http://www.recordpub.com/news/article/4711433

http://www.recordpub.com/news/article/4710521

Another attack by the Faker (this time insulting somebody's mother) at #1 of:
http://www.recordpub.com/news/article/4706506

99.

"The Silent Voice" posted by Nanny_Society at #1 (June 28, 2009):
http://www.recordpub.com/news/article/4617585

"The Silent Voice" posted by the fake Kent Sheetz at #4 (November 6, 2009):
http://www.recordpub.com/news/article/4705154

"The Silent Voice" written by Brian M. Ames of Portage County:

http://users.stargate.net/~bmames/silent.htm

The Silent Voice

A mighty army, 38 million strong,
To save a nation, but for wrong,
And the ease for which we long,
They are no more.

Lies for cries, we know our right,
And fill our lives with each delight;
Womb-bound children yearn for the light,
But death are given.

Frantic flames seek to efface
and turn to ash each new disgrace
and keep from sight the ghastly trace
of aborted joy.

As our strength begins to fade,
Our years move from light to shade,
The awful toll we can not evade,
God's work undone.

When we near the setting sun
And our course is almost run
We'll be alone in what we've done,
No one to care.

Then the silent voice will be heard,
Tongues long stilled pronounce each word,
"As we were dying, you deferred.
We cannot save you."

--Brian M. Ames

What are the economic consequences of the slaughter of 38 million innocents? In a normal working life each one would have earned about $28,000 each year, $1,120,000 each child, for a total of 42.5 trillion dollars. This is about 6 times the national debt. This, too, is a debt we have created that will be paid.

When will payment for this debt begin? Soon. Very soon. Now, twenty years after "legalization" of abortion, is the time when the murdered children would have started working. Each year for the next 20 years the payment will increase by 53 billion dollars. If we ourselves do not stop abortion, it will be stopped soon as our culture itself aborts; crushed under this staggering deficit. Our land will become as empty as our hearts as starvation, war, and disease reign unchecked. They will care little for our "rights"! No, not much longer... soon.

Learn about The Center for Bio-Ethical Reform

Music Crucifixus Etiam pro Nobis and poem copyright 1999, Brian M. Ames

Updated 9/15/99

http://users.stargate.net/~bmames/

***

A quick Google search shows that Mr. Ames has made a number of generous contributions to the Republican Party over several national elections as both "Brian M. Ames" and "Brian Ames" from zip codes 44240 and 44260.

Please note that Mr. Ames may alter or remove the contents of his website at any time. Or, I suppose, cry to the editor of this newspaper.

Fake "onesmallvoice" at #1 of:
http://www.recordpub.com/news/no_byline_article/4709035

Mrs. Exposer? Mrs. Society? Ship Hits the Sand?

I thought the Republican Party was supposed to be the party of personal responsibility. Or is that another Republican lie?

No offense to the honest Republicans out there.

Mrs. Exposer?

http://www.recordpub.com/news/article/4617585

http://www.recordpub.com/news/article/4705154

The Young Hacker Who Flew Past

This sad and tragic occurrence began thus:

THREE PERSONS, IN three different poses, were carrying on an animated conversation on the sixth floor of a large apartment building.

The woman, with plump beautiful arms, was clutching a bed sheet over her computer and its flatscreen monitors, forgetting that a bed sheet could not do double duty and cover the shapely bare power strip at the same time. The woman was crying, and in the intervals between sobs she was saying:

"Oh John! I swear to you I'm not guilty! He set my head in a whirl, he seduced me—and, I assure you, gained your username and password all against my will, I resisted""

One of the men, still in his hat and overcoat, was gesticulating wildly and upbraiding the third person in the room:

"Scoundrel! I'm going to show you right now that you will perish like a cur and the law will be on my side! You shall pay for using my login to recordpub.com! You reptile! You base hacker!"

The third in this room was a young hacker who, although not dressed with the greatest meticulousness at the present moment, wearing pop-bottle spectacles, bore himself, nevertheless, with great dignity.

"I? Why, I haven't done anything! I—" he protested, gazing sadly into an empty corner of the room.

"You haven't? Take this, then, you scoundrel!"

The powerful man in the overcoat flung open the window giving out upon the street, gathered the young hacker who was none too meticulously dressed in his arms, and heaved him out.

Finding himself flying through the air the young hacker bashfully buttoned his vest, and whispered to himself in consolation:

"Never mind! Our failures merely serve to harden us! Besides, I just backed up my postings on my USB drive." And he kept on flying downward.

He had not yet had time to reach the next floor (the fifth) in his flight, when a deep sigh issued from his breast. A recollection of the computer he had just left poisoned with its bitterness all the delight in the sensation of flying.

"My God!" thought the young hacker. "Why, I loved her computer, quad core and all! And she could not find the courage even to confess everything to her husband! God be with her! Now I can feel that she is distant, and indifferent to me."

With this last thought he had already reached the fifth floor and, as he flew past a window he peeked in, prompted by curiosity.

A young student was sitting reading a book, "Advanced C++ Programming", at a lopsided table, his head propped up in his hands.

Seeing him, the young hacker who was flying past recalled his life; recalled that heretofore he had passed all his days in worldly distractions, forgetful of learning and books; and he felt drawn to the light of knowledge, to the discovery of nature's mysteries with a searching mind, drawn to admiration before the genius of the great masters of words.

"Dear, beloved student!" he wanted to cry out to the man reading, "you have awakened within me all my dormant aspirations and cured me of the empty infatuation with the vanities of life, which have led me to such grievous disenchantment on the sixth floor—"

But, not wishing to distract the student from his studies, the young hacker refrained from calling out, flying down to the fourth floor instead, and here his thoughts took a different turn. His heart contracted with a strange sweet pain, while his head grew dizzy-from delight and admiration.

A young woman was sitting at the window of the fourth floor and, with a high-end game machine before her, was at work upon something.But her beautiful white hands had forgotten about work at that moment, and her eyes—blue as cornflowers—were looking into the distance, pensive and dreamy.

The young hacker could not take his eyes off this vision, and some new feeling, great and mighty, spread and grew within his heart. And he understood that all his former encounters with women had been no more than empty infatuations, and that only now he understood that strange mysterious word—Love. And he was attracted to the quiet domestic life; to the endearments of a being beloved beyond keyboard shortcuts; to a smiling existence, joyous and peaceful.

The next story, past which he was flying just then, confirmed him still more in his inclination.

In the window of the third floor he saw a mother who, singing a soft lullaby and laughing, was bouncing a plump smiling baby; love, and a kind maternal pride were sparkling in her eyes." I, too, want to marry the girl on the fourth floor, and have just such rosy plump children as the one on the third floor," mused the young hacker, "and I would devote myself entirely to my family, teach my children all my hacks, and find my happiness in this self-sacrifice."

But the second floor was now approaching. And the picture which the young hacker saw in a window of this floor forced his heart to contract again.

A man with disheveled hair and wandering gaze was seated at a luxurious writing table. He was gazing at a blue-screened monitor before him; at the same time he was writing with his right hand and, holding a revolver in his left, was pressing its muzzle to his temple.

"Stop, madman!" the young hacker wanted to call out. "Linux is so beautiful!" But some instinctive feeling restrained him. The luxurious appointments of the room, its richness and comfort, led the young hacker to reflect that there was something else in life which could disrupt even all this comfort and contentment, as well as a whole family; something of the utmost force—mighty, terrific…

"What can it be?" he wondered with a heavy heart. And, as if on purpose, Life gave him a harsh unceremonious answer in a window of the first floor, which he had reached by now.

Nearly concealed by the draperies, a young man was sitting at the window, sans coat and vest; a half-dressed woman was sitting at a computer in front of him, lovingly entwining her fingers on the keyboard and passionately logging comments on some unknown website…

The young hacker who was flying past recalled that he had seen this woman, known as The Liberal Exposer, out walking with her husband—but this man was decidedly not her husband. Her husband was older, with curly black hair, half-gray, while this man had beautiful fair hair.

And the young hacker recalled his former plans: of studying, after the student's example; of marrying the girl on the fourth floor; of a peaceful, domestic life, à la the third and once more his heart was heavily oppressed.

He perceived all the ephemerality, all the uncertainty of the happiness of which he had dreamed; beheld, in the near future, a whole procession of young men with beautiful fair hair about his wife, his computer, and himself; remembered the torments of the man on the second floor and the measures which that man was taking to free himself from these torments—and he understood.

"After all I have witnessed living is not worthwhile! It is both foolish and tormenting," thought the young hacker, with a sickly, sardonic smile; and, contracting his eyebrows, he determinedly finished his flight to the very sidewalk. Nor did his heart tremble when he touched the flagstones of the pavement with his hands and, breaking those now useless members, he dashed out his brains against the hard indifferent stone.

And, when the curious gathered around his motionless body, it never occurred to any of them what a complex drama the young hacker had lived through just a few moments before.

Kent Sheetz, yes, Liberal is very lucky to have KentCouncilWatch, we just call him Watch, for a friend. Watch is a former student I mine when I taught English composition at Wattsomatta U. a few years ago. Watch was one of my most brilliant students, although he was a bit quirky. He always had this overwhelming fear of birds. He is much better no thanks to the medication, he no longer goes into seizures at the mere mention of a raptor, but he still struggles.

I understand that his entire family calls him watch. It seems that when he was a child and when his parents asked what he wanted for Christmas he replied "watch". Well, he got his wish, they let him. So now he watches the Council but just doesn't get the thrill he used to. So if comes to your ears a low, dull, quick sound, such as Watch makes when enveloped in cotton, you'll know he is just hiding his anguish with that ski mask.

KentCouncilWatch, I've read this more times than "Sexy Sasha" has been nabbed, and putting aside the politics, I still find it clever and amusing.

Mrs. Exposer, your child is fortunate to have such a talented friend.