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Archive for the tag "municipal elections"
The municipal elections
The municipal elections have come and gone. The votes have been counted. The talking heads have talked and are still talking. Why do I add to the verbiage by writing this? Partly to see if events bear it out.
The results show that the ruling African National Congress (ANC, aka "the ruling party") is losing support. One image keeps coming back to me: the Windhoek carnival in 1970. Namibia was then under South African rule, and they had a float procession through the streets of the city. One of the floats had a lot of chairs falling off the back, with the words "We are losing seats". The National Party had been in power for 22 years, as long as the ANC has been in power now, and it seemed like an eternity. And for the first time since 1948 the NP had lost ground in an election, losing some seats, and showing reduced majorities in others.
Think of all the things that had happened — the Suppression of Communism Act, the Defiance Campaign, the Treason Trial, the Sharpeville Massacre, the Sabotage Act, the 90-day Detention Act, the Terrorism Act. By comparison the ANC is still blaming its own failures on apartheid, and subjectively yes, our democratic constitution and the like seem quite recent. But 22 years after coming to power the ANC, like the National Party at the same stage, is losing seats.
But though those 22 years of National Party rule seemed like an eternity, we weren't even halfway. There were another 24 years to go before freedom came.
The ANC has lost control of a number of municipalities, and has a precarious hold over a few others. The exact picture isn't too clear. One major difference was that back in 1970 the media told us exactly what was going on — how many seats the NP had lost, and by how much its majority had been reduced in others. The reporting in this election has been much more vague.
The biggest opposition party, the Democratic Alliance (DA) has gained a bigger proportion of the vote, and interprets this as a gain in support. I am not so sure. While the proportion of ANC voters has decreased, the absolute number has increased.
The Economic Freedom Fighters (EFF), which was formed only 3 years ago, failed to gain control of a single municipality, but they were happy with the result. Indications are that their support mainly came from supporters of other parties that had broken away from the ANC, like COPE and Agang, which had destroyed their own chances by leadership struggles and infighting. The Inkatha Freedom Party (IFP) regained some lost ground in the heart of Zululand, indicating that voters there had tried the ANC, had not been happy with the result, and gone back to the IFP.
The DA worked hard to get their supporters to vote, and the percentage poll was higher in DA wards than in ANC wards. Some ANC spokesmen attributed this to the weather. DA supporters interpreted this as a win, but the DA didn't win many wards in traditional ANC areas. I do know some former ANC voters who voted for the DA, but not enough to make much difference. The main difference was that many ANC voters simply abstained, and not because of the weather, as the spin doctors would like us to believe. The DA didn't win, but the ANC lost. Even though the ANC controls more municipalities than all other parties combined, it controls fewer than before, and that is a loss. The question is, can the ANC recover from the damage inflicted on it by Zuma and his cronies before the abstainers seek an alternative political home? And can the opposition parties attract the abstaining ANC voters, because they don't seem to have done so yet?
Some have criticised South Africa's electoral system, saying that the proportional representation system means that MPs are accountable to party bosses and not to the electorate. That is true, but in the municipal elections there is a mixture of proportional representation and constituency systems, which combines the advantages of both. A pure ward system would have favoured the ANC, and it is proportional representation that gives the smaller parties a voice. In Tshwane, COPE had two city councillors in the old council, and will have one in the new council, even though they didn't win a single ward. For all its faults, the proportional representation system does allow minority views to be heard.
The biggest question arising out of the 2016 local governmentl elections is whether the ANC can repair itself in time for the 2019 general election. Deputy President Cyril Ramaphosa thinks it can — ANC not arrogant, self-serving, says Ramaphosa | IOL:
African National Congress deputy president Cyril Ramaphosa on Friday said, unlike what many South Africans think, his party was not an arrogant, self-serving political organisation.
"The ANC, as opposed to what many people may believe, they think we are arrogant, self-centered, self-serving and I would like like to dispute all that by saying we are a listening organisation," Ramaphosa told a scrum of reporters at the ANC desk in the IEC's results operations centre in Tshwane.
But Ramaphosa himself demonstrated the ANC's arrogance and failure to listen — Gauteng e-tolls here to stay | News | National | M&G:
Gauteng's e-tolling system is not going anywhere. In fact, motorists will need to settle outstanding e-toll fees before their vehicle licence disks can be issued when up for renewal.
Announcing the new e-tolls dispensation, including price reductions of up to 50% and compliance measures, Deputy President Cyril Ramaphosa said the new dispensation was about addressing the concerns raised by people in the province of Gauteng and beyond.
But what the people wanted was not reduced toll fees, but the abolition of toll roads altogether. The ANC leaders like to blame apartheid for our problems, but toll roads were introduced by the apartheid government in the 1970s to pay for the invasion of Angola, and the ANC has retained and expanded the system in spite of objections. This is a clear example of the ANC not listening.
Toll roads are not the only issue, of course, but they are a particularly clear example of the ANC's arrogance and refusal to listen.
There was an even more powerful demonstration of this when, at the final results announcement by the Independent Electoral Commission, four young women stood in in silent protest front of the stage where President Jacob Zuma was making his speech, and leading members of the ANC women's league went ballistic, demanding that the security people and the Defence Minister do something about it.
Silent protesters at President Jacob Zuma's speech at the IEC's final election results meeting
The silent protest was brilliant, and perhaps summed up the whole election and the reasons for the ANC's loss of support. It was far more effective than burning twenty buses and innumerable tyres.
But the response of leading women in the ANC demonstrated once again the ANC's arrogance and refusal to listen — SUNDAY TIMES – "You sold us out!" furious ministers tell Mapisa-Nqakula over Khwezi protest:
Furious ministers Nomvula Mokonyane, Lindiwe Zulu and Bathabile Dlamini were seen by the Sunday Times confronting Defence Minister Nosiviwe Mapisa-Nqakula over what they saw as a serious security breach. The four women protesters, dressed in black, stood silently in front of the stage carrying placards as Zuma spoke.
The protesters, who included student activists Simamkele Dlakavu and Naledi Chirwa, staged the protest to mark 10 years since Zuma was acquitted on a charge of raping a woman who became known as Khwezi. The women all had IEC accreditation tags that identified them as part of the EFF election team.
Today is National Women's Day, and the reaction of these women to the protest shows that any resemblance between the ANC Women's League today and those who marched on the Union Buildings sixty years ago is not merely coincidental, but quite delusional. The watching world could see the arrogance and the failure to listen for themselves.
As one of the protesters said, "Tomorrow they will be singing wathint' abafazi wathint' imbokodo (you strike the women, you strike the rock), yet they touched and violated us in front of everyone" (Woman in Zuma #Khwezi protest speaks out | IOL)
Posted in history, politics, society, South Africa, South African history and tagged ANC, LGE2016, local government, municipal elections, protest, Women's Day | Leave a comment
Tshwane burns: Mbeki's unheeded warning
Back in 2007 we listened to President Thabo Mbeki's speech at the national conference of the ANC at Polokwane. We listened to it avidly all the way home all the way home from church on Sunday. It seemed much better than most political speeches, not full of platitudes. Now the Rand Daily Mail website has republished it, and I quote one of the bits that made a vivid impression on me at the time, so vivid that I can still remember where I was at the time, driving north on the N1 passing the mint and driving under the old Johannesburg/Pretoria Road bridge Mbeki's chilling warning in 2007: A virus is eating up the ANC from the inside | Politics | RDM:
I would like to cite a vitally important observation our Secretary General made in his Organisational Report to our 51st National Conference, five years ago.
He said: "We have also reported to the NGC (held in 2000), on the challenges being in power has on the structures of the movement. We found that the issues dividing the leadership of some of our provinces are not of a political nature, but have mainly revolved around access to resources, positioning themselves or others to access resources, dispensing patronage and in the process using organisational structures to further these goals.
"This often lies at the heart of conflicts between (ANC) constitutional and governance structures, especially at local level and is reflected in contestations around lists, deployment and the internal elections process of the movement. These practices tarnish the image and effectiveness of the movement.
"The limited political consciousness (among some of our members) has impacted negatively on our capacity to root out corrupt and divisive elements among ourselves. For the movement to renew itself as a revolutionary movement, we have to develop specific political, organisational and administrative measures to deal with such destructive elements."
Nelson Mandela also drew our attention to this challenge when he opened our 50th National Conference in 1997. Among other things he said: "One of these negative features is the emergence of careerism within our ranks. Many among our members see their membership of the ANC as a means to advance their personal ambitions to attain positions of power and access to resources for their own individual gratification.
"Accordingly, they work to manipulate the movement to create the conditions for their success."
Far from heeding the warning, the ANC national conference rejected Thabo Mbeki, ended his presidential term early, and elected as its new president Jacob Zuma, who encouraged the very tendencies that Mbeki had warned against.
The problem Mbeki warned against has manifested itself in the 2016 municipal elections, where people protesting against the official ANC candidates have sometimes become violent, and the protests have been accompanied by the burning of buses and other vehicles, and the looting of shops, especially those owned by foreigners.
News24 reports burning and looting in Tshwane townships
As one news report put it Looting, burning of buses continues in some Tshwane townships – As it happened | News24:
Protests that began on Monday evening over the announcement of Thoko Didiza as the ANC's Tshwane mayoral candidate continued throughout Tuesday. The situation became so volatile that by the end of the working day, commuters were left stranded as buses and taxis lessened their services in fear of violence.
How all this happened in the case of the City of Tshwane is spelt out in this article TRAINSPOTTER: The murder of an Ordinary Member, the anointing of Thoko Didiza, and the battle for the soul of Tshwane | Daily Maverick:
The story goes like this: ordinary branch members had handed over a list of three names to the Regional Executive Committee, which, in order to fulfil its constitutional obligations, duly handed the list over to the PEC. The committee perused the list, and found that Sputla's name was noticeably absent, while deputy mayor Mapiti Matsena's name was written in day-glo orange. (Not the day-glo orange part.) As for the other two members, the ANC was keeping shtum. Regardless, none of the names was acceptable, because signing off on the list would have meant entrenching the factional divide, resulting in the upgrade of a long simmering conflict into a full-blown nuclear war.
Shitting themselves, the PEC axed the list.
Time to sniff around for a parachute candidate. The name floating around Tshwane on Sunday belonged to a member of parliament named Thoko Didiza, a former Mbeki protege turned Cabinet minister who submitted her resignation to the ANC's new president in the fateful year of 2008. (See: battles, factional.) She nonetheless regained her parliamentarian job in 2014, was well liked, and had a general air of competence about her. According to the ANC, she even harboured vague ties to Tshwane, which is to say that she was born in Durban.
Presto: the perfect fly-in candidate.
The notion of Didiza shifting resources out of the hands of those who had semi-patiently waited for them greatly displeased ordinary members of the regional structures, many of whom were gathered outside the Tshwane Events Centre on Sunday night. Shots were fired. Bullets hit male human beings. Several were injured, one "passed away", to use the ANC's euphemistic term for internecine murder.
The whole article is worth a read. It describes exactly how we got into the position that Mbeki warned against. The big question is, how do we get out of the hole that Zuma's ANC has dug for us?
Around the time of the previous municipal elections in 2011 there were "service delivery" protests in various parts of the country. We went on holiday at the time, and passed through several towns where such protests had taken place, and in some cases the reason for the protests was obvious. One of the towns was Balfour, where the roads were all in poor repair (and they still were last year, when we passed through it again).
Back in 2011 the remedy seemed obvious — revive the civic organisations that flourished in the 1980s, and put up candidates who would drive the under-performing councillors out. That would be far more effective than singing songs and burning tyres in the hope that someone else would notice and do something.
But this is something different. These are not popular protests of ordinary people dissatisfied with underperforming city councillors. If the Daily Maverick article is right, these are rival factions fighting for the right to underperform in order to be able to skim off the cream for themselves. This is rival factions within the ANC protecting their own vested interests.
And if that is the case, it won't be easy to stop it.
Twenty-five years ago there were turf wars in KZN between the ANC and Inkatha in the run-up to the first democratic elections in 1994, and more than 700 people were killed. It stopped when Inkatha agreed at the last minute to take part in the elections, and its leader was given a role in the Government of National Unity. Back in those days the ANC was led by people who wanted to liberate the country, and part of that was the desire for ubuntu, to get the people working together and sharing power to build the nation. The aim was to exclude no one, and include as many people as possible.
But when the ultimate object is to gain power to control resources for one's own benefit, then there can be no compromises for the sake of the greater good, because the main object is not the greater good, but the good of a small group or faction. The aim is not to be inclusive, as it was back in 1994, but rather to be exclusive, because the more there are participating, the less there is available for those who want to control it for their own benefit. And it was those who wanted it that way who had gradually infiltrated and wormed their way into ANC branch structures who got rid of Mbeki. I doubt if many of them played any part in the liberation struggle.
And people who encourage the destruction of municipal property are hardly suitable candidates to be elected to look after it — people who make comments like this, for example SUNDAY TIMES – 'We will burn the whole of Pretoria if needs be': an ANC regional executive committee source' who asked not to be named' appeared to contradict this' saying: "This new mayor is being imposed on us. We didn't ask for her and we wont accept her. We will burn the whole of Pretoria if needs be."
Can you imagine him presiding as mayor over a council meeting held under an awning in the gardens next to the burnt-out shell of the city hall? Is that really what he wants? Is that the sort of person anyone would want to vote for?
As for what one can do about it, I don't know. The only thing I can think of is to rotate the municipal councillors and mayors by voting for a different party in each election, so that they don't stay in office long enough to get their snouts in the trough. Vote for the EFF or the DA, and hope that together they will outnumber the ANC, but that neither has an absolute majority. That way they'll be watching each other like hawks for the slightest misstep, and that would be to the benefit of ordinary citizens.
Posted in crime, politics, society, South Africa and tagged municipal elections, riots, Tshwane burns, violence | Leave a comment
Protests about local government elections
Some strange things are happening with people protesting about the local government elections, and apparently, according to news reports, threatening to boycott them.
More than 30 cars torched during Durban riots:
eThekwini Metro Police spokesman Superintendent Sbonelo Mchunu had said on Monday that the protests had been sparked by "disgruntled people who were not elected".
Many of the protesters were wearing yellow African National Congress T-shirts emblazoned with the face of President Jacob Zuma.
The area is ward 34 and it is understood that those protesting are unhappy with the selection of candidates for the upcoming local government elections on 3 August 2016.
Protests of that kind made sense in the apartheid era, when most people didn't have a vote. They make little sense now, when people do have a vote. It seems that we need a lot of political education in democracy.
If you are not happy with people who have been nominated, don't block roads with burning tyres and cars and threaten to boycott elections. Nominate the people you do want. That's how democracy works. Don't protest, organise! Where are the civic organisations of the 1980s now that we need them?
The news reports have been confusing and less than informative.
On one hand, it sounds as though people are disgruntled because one party (in this case the ANC) has parachuted in candidates for local ward elections from elsewhere.
If that is so, the remedy is for local people to nominate their own candidates and campaign for them, reviving civic organisations if necessary.
On the other hand, there is a possibility of a more sinister scenario that cannot be excluded — that people with vested business interests in being elected have sought nomination and lost. Unfortunately there are such people. In the USA this is called pork-barrel politics, and it is quite possible that some businessmen, unhappy that the candidates they could influence were not nominated, stirred up mobs to protest. That happened quite a lot in the xenophobic riots of a few years ago, where local businessmen, thinking that foreigners were undercutting them, incited mobs to attack foreigners. People like that, of course, will have no interest in forming civic organisations or nominating "people's" candidates — they want candidates they can buy and control.
The headline of the article may have been more alarming than what actually happened: More than 30 cars torched during Durban riots: Zwane said that five people were arrested on Monday after protests that had seen the torching of more than 30 cars, most of which had been dragged from scrap yards, and a number of lorries.
I hope that the media fully report the trial of those five people, so that we can get a better i8dea of what was really happening and who was behind it. In the same way, I hope they fully report the trial of the people arrested in connection with the recent burning of schools in Limpopo. I find it hard to believe that a community would deliberately try to damage their children's future in such a way. Tenderpreneurs, on the other hand, faced with the possibility of having to deal with municipal councillors who were not in their pockets, might well incite people to do so.
Posted in media, politics, South Africa and tagged boycotts, local government elections, municipal elections, nominations, political education, pork-barrel politics, protests, riots, tenderpreneurs | Leave a comment


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Tag: 12 days of christmas
Twelve Months 'til Christmas (Part 12)
~~December 24th~~
"How do I look?"
"Handsome as always, daddy," John said, and with a few grunts, he adjusted a strap of Stanta's harness, making sure it ran from shoulder to the central ring along the most handsome line. He smiled up at Stanta, and even though it wasn't the first time he'd seen it, when Stanta smiled back at him with that odd warmth of his, he found it difficult to contain the strange joy it gave him every time. He turned away and blushed, but Stanta had wrapped both arms around him and pulled John into his chest, his snout turned towards one of his daddy's musky pits, and he felt his piggy cock jump as the smell.
Stanta had been exhausted when he'd finally returned to the house, and John had spent the next few days focusing on caring for him, and as the days of recovery wore on, Stanta found himself surprised by this strange boarman, and the strength he exuded. Had that always been there? He wasn't quite sure. He'd spent so much time wrapped up in his dreams and plans of vengeance for the last year that he hadn't quite allowed himself the chance to feel much of anything else. But something had happened, and everyone could feel it. The world didn't seem quite so dark any longer.
If Timmy had had any mind left, he might have recalled his surprise at the light's selection of Stan the year before. He had expected the light to choose someone from a more conservative bent, and certain it's choice of Stan had been that on the surface, but now, he would have seen something different. The light wasn't searching for conservatism, the light had been searching for balance, and it seemed to have found it.
John pushed away from the hug with a snort, Stanta reached for his hard piggy cock, but John shook his head. "It'll still be here when you get back, daddy–you have a job to do!" He shoved Stanta towards the door, and he gave a booming laugh which rang through the dark night outside. The elves were running to and fro on the runway, double checking manifests, looking at last minute changes to the various naughty lists Stanta had drafted up over the last year, detailing men all over the world who would need to some form of punishment for a whole variety of reasons this coming trip. Petey was in the thick of it, shouting orders, and he looked frustrated that Stanta wasn't already in the sleigh, the reindeermen prancing eagerly, Rudolph's cock erect and shining bright in the flurries of snow.
Still, he pulled John close and gave the pig one last, long kiss. He'd offered to help John return to his more normal form already, but he'd refused. "I'd rather get something as a Christmas present, daddy," he'd told him, "Make me into something fun next year, that we can both enjoy."
Stanta still hadn't quite decided on what that was going to be, but he had quite a few ideas rolling around in his head. But one thing he knew he'd never be able to change was the fact that, after all of this, John had finally become a man–a son–that he loved, deeply, and without reservation, and without some silly love gun to make it happen.
Indeed, the gun had been sealed away down in the basement of the house, along with the hundreds of other dangers previous Santas and the elves had faced over the eras. The urinals–and the remaining eggs–were sealed away as well, and that one even deeper and tighter than the rest. Marty would have laughed, knowing that his strange, failed creation had caused so much havoc over the last year, though he would have found no joy knowing it was the fruits of his own labor which had brought his rebellion to an end, at last.
Stanta climbed up into the sleigh, and found his list, excitement stirring at all the names on his list, and this year, all of them in red! Yes, that old Santa, who'd revelled in giving gifts to boys and girls all over the world was gone now–the world would now hear tales of a new Stanta, who punished evil men all over the world, one who spread sex and mischief in his wake at every turn. It was a whole new Christmas, really, and with the crack of a whip, the reindeer took off down the runway and into the sky, towing the sleigh behind, leaving Petey and John beside one another on the runway, the elves cheering and celebrating around them.
"I never did get to thank you properly, Petey," John said, "If you hadn't found me that night, in the snow, I don't know what I could have done without you."
"Give yourself a bit of credit," Petey said in reply, "Still, if you really want to thank me, I have a few suggestions."
With a laugh, John picked the elf up in his arms and carried him off into the workshop, the elves clustering around them, tearing off each other's leather pants and harnesses for a night of revelry. Christmas had returned, Christmas was reborn, Christmas was a miracle–one they hoped would last for centuries to come.
~~~THE END~~~
wesleybracken8258 Uncategorized Leave a comment January 6, 2017 4 Minutes
~~November 7th~~
It took John a few days for his mind to pick up speed again, and for some of the changes inflicted on him by Santapig to regress–though he had a feeling he wouldn't truly be back to normal anytime soon. The pendant around his neck no longer shown as brilliantly as before, when it had caught every bit of light and every eye in a room–the metal seemed tarnished, almost like it had become muddied. Any longer with the pig, under his sway, and the pendant may have lost all of it's luster, leaving him trapped.
Petey had to keep up appearances, and so it took a few more days for him to bring enough supplies that they could unlock the door and enter the room. The late fall snows had been flowing in through the window, and everything was coated in a soft layer of white. Carefully, they dusted the dry flakes from the urinal, and began collecting the eggs, wrapping them carefully to keep them from breaking, and placing them in a case. Petey's one concern about the plan was that there simply wouldn't be enough eggs, but there turned out to be an ample supply. Petey would have preferred a chance to study the specimens and learn more about them–how they functioned, and more importantly, what sorts of defenses one might raise to prevent…infestation. But they had no time, and any further experimentation would have raised further suspicion, as well as exposed both Petey and John to further risk.
Lenny had been conducting meetings in a small conference room with several other of his closest associates several times a week. They were actively plotting a broader takeover of the system, focusing on ousting Petey. He'd avoided any direct attack thus far by simply feigning ambivalence, and allowing Lenny and his crew to do as they pleased, but he, and many other elves, could see that Lenny was drunk on power, and was endangering Christmas further. Stanta was now little more than a gimp slave, dressed all in rubber, always at Lenny's heel, ready and eager to do whatever his love ordered. He spent much of his time chained down in the workshop, Lenny ordering the elves to abuse him, ensuring that Stanta was being properly conditioned to enjoy it–and need it, of course.
The addictive cum had originally been Petey's idea, in fact, when he'd been collaborating with Marty, at the beginning. He had, of course, synthesized an antidote which had been administered to all of the elves, but he was the sole guardian of the formula. This, Lenny could not stand, because without love, the only thing tethering Stanta to his control now was his newfound addiction. Petey also didn't dare trust the formula with anyone else, and kept it only in his mind, and that, even more than his willingness to cooperate with Stanta, was the reason he bore a target on his back, and the reason Lenny needed to be dealt with.
And so, Petey and several of his close confidants snuck into the vents, and huddled over the conference room, until Lenny and his friends entered, with Stanta in tow. That was the true sticking point. Thankfully, when Stanta wasn't in use, Lenny kept all of his holes sealed with a special mask and buttplug. Without testing, Petey couldn't know if that was enough to keep him safe or not…but he could hope. Once the business of abusing Stanta had finished, and he'd been sealed up and business had commenced, the elves dropped the literal bomb down onto the table–smoke bombs first, followed by an exact number of eggs shattered on the table.
They couldn't see, through the smoke, to know if their plan had worked. They could certainly hear screams, as the strange, rubber bugs found their newest hosts and infested them. The smoke cleared ten minutes later, and the last of the elves was shuddering as the rubber began to coat them–whether the mask and plug had been enough to protect him, or whether he'd just gotten lucky, it was never known, but where Lenny and his lieutenants had, minutes before, been laughing and plotting their seizure of power, there were now five urinals attached to the wall, ten toilets adhered to the floor, and Stanta, chained to the wall, trying to call out to his love through the mask.
Petey found the love gun in Lenny's workshop, and used it to undo the spell of love over Stanta's mind–only then did they dare release him from the chains holding him. If he had gotten free and seen what had happened to his lover…chances were good that no elf would have been safe. Instead, Stanta was disgusted with himself, appalled with his behavior, and surprised, more than anything, to find Petey and John, together, standing over him. Petey took one further step, to demonstrate his good will–he provided both Stanta and John with the same immunity to elf cum they all enjoyed–further levelling the playing field. Then, together, they went out into the workshop, John carrying the hard rubber toilet which had been Lenny, and dropped it to the floor of the workshop, and the elves all stared at Stanta, at his cold, furious eyes, but he steeled himself.
"The ones who deserved to be punished have been dealt with, as you can see. I desire no further conflict between Stanta and the elves. I implore you: let justice stand here, let no one seek further revenge, in the…spirit of Christmas."
The sincerity could only be proven in time, but everyone in the room knew that there were larger stakes to be dealt with–Christmas was now only a month and a half away, and the existence of all of them hung in the balance, just as it did every year. Stanta did his best to show his good spirit, and even though the nights turned dark, and the winds colder than ever, everyone could feel a Christmas spirit warming the workshop which many had thought gone forever. Christmas, was back, and everyone was rejoicing without even realizing it.
~~October 28th~~
He needed to do something, right? He couldn't just…stay here. John was plowing Santapig's ass, but the action was rote at this point. At least with his fifteen inch pig cock buried in a hole, the desperate desire to fuck receded enough to allow him a chance to think, but lately, even that was becoming difficult. The long summer days had returned to a more natural day and night cycle, and now the days were incredibly short–just a few hours at a time. His mind felt similar–John was descending below a horizon of the mind. At first, he'd worried that he'd be subsumed by "Claude", by some personality dictated by Santapig, but the reality was turning out to be far worse. Whatever magic had restored the previous Santa's mind, over the last month is was clearly beginning to fade. Santapig barely spoke any longer, and his appearance was devolving further, his snout and tusks longer, hide thicker, and he rarely walked on two legs any longer. This change in him had, in turned, affected his desires, and John too, was changing.
The room had no mirror, but from where he was standing he could see a transparent reflection of his head and torso in the window, and he no longer…looked particularly human. Even the features of Claude had begun to fade, and he was looking more like a stocky, brutish boar–even his hands and feet were beginning to curl up, the nails of his fingers growing back up along the fingers, threatening to become true trotters. He turned away from the window, and over to the other wall, where the urinal was…where the eggs were still growing. They hadn't burst yet, but the outside had become translucent, and he could clearly see things squirming around inside of them. They looked like bugs of some strange variety, and given what they were coming from, he had few doubts regarding what they might do to someone they found once they hatched. He was trapped between the beast he was becoming and the strange things growing–one or the other would finish him off if he didn't leave, but how? The door was locked, and the window didn't open, but maybe…maybe if he wasn't too far gone, he could still try and talk some sense into him.
It hurt to do so, but he hauled his cock free, feeling that scratching, aching voice start up in his mind again, that desperate desire to fuck, and Santapig looked over one shoulder. "Not finished–keep fucking!" he said in his guttural voice.
"No–No, we have to get out of here, we can't stay here. We have to get out," John said. It wasn't the first time he'd tried to talk to the pig about this, but all signs indicated that this attempt would go as poorly as the others. Already, his hand was lining his massive cock back up with the hole, hungry to back inside him…but he fight harder, and stepped back, turning to the door, pounding on it with his fists. "Dad….Dad! Please, I know…you told me to stay, but please, you have to let me out now!" Again, this wasn't his first attempt at rousing his father, but that too, had proven fruitless.
"Stupid boar–boar only good for fucking! Now fuck!" Santapig said, and at the words, John felt the amulet around his neck warm up again, his mind…draining further than it had already, and a stupid grin spread across his face. Yeah, he did need to fuck–what had he been thinking? But still, he hesitated, trying to grasp at the straws of his mind–but it was too long for the pig's preferences. "I said fuck!" Santapig said, and got off the bed, stomped over, grabbed John by the shoulders and threw him at the wall beside him. He collided with it hard enough that one of the eggs hanging from the urinal snapped off, dropped to the floor and shattered. Something resembling a centipede coated in shiny black and yellow rubber uncurled itself, and began slithering it's way across the floor towards John, who stepped away. Santapig tried to get in his path, but John just grabbed him and threw him behind him, his heart aching at what he was doing, but he…wasn't going to become one of those things.
Santapig stumbled forward, snout open–the creature sensed him, and leapt. As he fell, the thing shoved it's way into his mouth and down his throat, the tail in unfurling into a funnel with sharp hooks that embedded themselves around the pig's mouth, as he struggled for air on the ground. After a minute, the creature erupted from Santapig's asshole, swiveled for a moment, and then drove into the floor, dragging the pig down with it and anchoring it in place. The remaining changes…took several hours. The funnel began to secrete a rubber solution which began to coat the pig's body–from the look on his face, and judging by how much cum he shot, the experience must have been…quite pleasurable, but from the outside, John could only watch on it horror as his facial features were sanded down, his back bent back at an impossible angle, arms and legs adhered to the body until all that remained was a standing toilet, ready and eager to be used. And for the first time in months, John was also alone.
His mind returned quickly, and he realized that the obvious step was to simply break the window. He did so and managed to squeeze his way out into the cold snow, before returning to the house through the back door, searching for Stanta, but the house was empty–and seemed to have been empty for quite some time. Worried that the worst might have happened, the pig crept to the workshop and investigated, and saw his father dressed as a rubber gimp, bound to the floor of the workshop, as a line of elves waited to use his mouth either as a cumdump or a urinal. The anger he felt surprised him. He hadn't expected to ever care that much about this man, and yet…he did, and seeing him there, like that, it gave him an glimmer of an idea–but how would he even manage to do something like that?
"You must be John."
He spun around, and found himself facing a wiry elf. He didn't know what to say, other than stammer, but the elf calmed him.
"My name is Petey. I did some…investigating around the house, and noticed your situation. I wasn't going to intervene unless you managed to escape. You can see that…Stanta is in a bit of a bind. It isn't, in my opinion, the best option, but unless we can get rid of the elves supporting Lenny, it's the situation we will have to endure. You can return to the house, if you'd like. As long as you don't interfere, I can guarantee you a measure of safety and comfort. But if you'd like to…resolve the situation you can see in the window, we can discuss a few plans I've drawn up."
"No, I have a plan. Come with me," John said, and he led Petey back to the window, hoisted him up so he could see the remains of the room, and explained the outlines of his idea.
"Ah, yes…poetic, and feasible," Petey said, "If you invite me in for tea, we can see about making it happen."
Twelve Months 'til Christmas (Part 9)
~~September 14th~~
In their early meetings, Lenny made it clear where he stood, regarding the last few years struggles for power in the north–that, while he held Stanta in relative contempt, so long as he considered the elves to be equals and they continued their joint work towards reshaping the world in this new image, then he was perfectly willing to accept the majority of Petey's proposals regarding detente between Stanta and the elves. Timmy, he said, in delivering the love gun to John, had acted recklessly, and alone. Petey concurred on that point, and while Stanta had tried to pry deeper into some sort of understanding regarding why Timmy had acted so rashly, neither Lenny or Petey would–or even could, give an answer. Of course, Timmy's love for Marty had been well known, but none of them could have known about that chance encounter on the porch, and the deep longing that it had awakened in Timmy. His actions had never, really, been aggression towards Stanta, but only the hope that John could replace the love which had never been requited.
Stanta did not particularly trust Lenny at all, and even towards Petey, who did his very best to demonstrate his good intentions, his paranoia demanded caution. Still, production continued apace–and Stanta knew that if Lenny was planning something, either with or without Petey's assistance–it would strike on his yearly ride around the world or immediately afterward, when he was at his most vulnerable. This meant, that if he was going to secure himself, he would need to strike first. Stanta had no real desire to put either Lenny or Petey out of commission, of course–in fact, the two of them, despite their deep philosophical disagreements, were both able managers and generally cooperated on the floor. Their interests were aligned after all–both sought to secure the future well being of the elves, and keeping Christmas alive was the only way to do so, but their sizable long term disagreements could be set aside, now that Christmas was mere months away. Stanta, however, couldn't afford to wait. He needed to know now if he was facing a threat, and so he retrieved the love gun once again.
Lenny would be his target. After all, if there was a plot against him, Lenny would be leading it in any case, whether Petey was colluding or not. If Lenny revealed that Petey was a pawn of his, then Stanta would deal with him as well, but this was the reasonable first step. Lenny, this particular evening, left the workshop to discuss logistics with Stanta while Petey managed the floor, and Stanta was surprised that an opportunity had presented itself so readily. He hadn't quite anticipated that Lenny might have already made preparations against a first strike. When he leveled the gun at the elf and fired, intending to make the small man fall deeply in love with him, the pink ray slammed into some invisible force surrounding the small elf, and bounced right back at him. Before Stanta could do anything, he felt emotion overwhelm him, the gun dropping to the floor as he stared at Lenny, at the love of his life, weeping slightly at the sight of him, horrified, now, at his own attempted betrayal.
In fact, Lenny had been true to his word. He'd promised Stanta that so long as he allowed elves equality, then nothing would happen. However, his shield charm had been in place for just such a possible act on Stanta's part, since he'd already revealed himself as someone who preferred striking first. Lenny's main surprise was that Stanta had resorted to the same trick twice. He made the large man get down on his knees and crawl over towards him, kiss his leather boots and properly apologize, and then Stanta got his first taste of elf cock, and their magic, addictive semen. After Lenny had sampled both holes, and found a collar and lead for his loving pet, he led the large man through the snow back to the workshop. Petey saw them enter, and his jaw dropped at the sight.
"See? I told you the fucker was going to try something," Lenny said, tugging Stanta in front of him, "Tried to hit me with Timmy's love gun."
Petey sighed–he'd been worried something like this was going to happen. He'd talked Lenny out of trying any tricks of his own, but in turn, had promised him that should Stanta try anything first, then "that fat ugly pig", as Lenny called him, was going to get what was coming to him.
"Just make sure he can still fly the sleigh, please," Petey said.
"Oh, I will–I think Stanta here will do anything for me, right?"
"Yeah Lenny, please–can…can I have some more cum please? I can't believe how good that shit tasted before," Stanta said, the tone…meek and quiet, compared to the brutish shouting the elves had grown accustomed to on the workshop floor.
"Don't worry, you'll be getting plenty of that. Why don't you crawl around the floor, and beg some of the elves for theirs? It would make me very happy to see you do that, you stupid pig."
"R-Really?" Stanta said, "Ok! I…I really want you to be happy Lenny, I really do."
"Don't use my name cunt–you address us all as sir, understand?"
"Yes sir, sorry sir," Stanta said, and the crawled off to the nearest elf, who he politely asked for his cum. Petey just watched the sorry sight, but he still felt relieved. Christmas would survive, at any rate, and if that took maintaining a lovesick, cumdump Stanta, then so be it.
~~September 6th~~
The previous three months under the literal whip of Stanta, producing toys non-stop under the summer sun, may sound hellish to an outsider, but a substantial number of elves felt a sensation of relief. After all, they had all spent centuries under similar conditions, often worse than this. The previous years of relative freedom and control now felt like some strange fever dream, and to them, Christmas was once again returning to it's proper order. But for a second camp, those who had tasted freedom, control, and self-determination for the first time, bristled. They were the ones who created the toys, and Stanta was never intended to be more than a delivery boy, a human elevated by the elves who ought to serve at their whim, not the other way around.
This tension was clear to Stanta, even before his final encounter with Timmy several months prior, and was also why he hadn't yet bothered to free John from his cloistered tryst with Santapig–he himself didn't feel safe so long as there was a chance that the elves might choose to align themselves against him once more. His time as taskmaster in the workshop was not only spent ensuring production remained on schedule, of course–he was also gathering information, attempting to tip the scales in his own favor, ahead of the elves election. To begin with, a sizable majority of the elves had been furious at him, for whatever he might have done with Timmy, but he could also sense a large reservoir of nostalgia within the group, which he tapped into–maintaining a firm hand, pushing them and encouraging them, reminding them of what a proper santa could do, pulling from examples their own history, which he had culled from the library. He had made progress–the faction of elves who no longer desired to oppose him, who saw a way forward driven by cooperation and mutual understanding was growing, but on the eve of the vote, even he wasn't sure he had done enough. He, as a non-elf, was barred from the meeting, which took place on the floor of the workshop. The elves mulled about, and fell silent, waiting for the first elf to stand on a table and announce their candidacy.
No one was surprised when Lenny was the first to clamber up onto a table, and announce to the room his desire to be elected head elf. Many had been surprised when Marty selected Timmy as his second in command, and not Lenny, who had been most eager to put Santa under his new boots. He gave his speech, urging a hardline against Stanta, and the attempt to establish the equality, if not the dominance, of the elves once more. This shocked many of them, to hear the goal stated so bluntly. No one got up on a table after he finished, and some were worried no one desired to contest him at all, but at last, a second elf climbed on a different table–Petey.
Where Lenny was thick, muscular and hairy, with a full beard and rough, hard demeanor, Petey was lean, tall, and considered to be one of the more intelligent elves on the workshop floor. He had emerged early on as a supporter of detente–and in his speech, he redoubled Lenny's call for equality, but pushed in a different direction, towards self-sacrifice, for a new world, for the sake of Christmas itself. No one else threw their hat into the ring, and the elves began to sort themselves, gathering into two camps around each table. The votes were tallied, and to everyone's shock, it was a perfect tie–something which was unprecedented. Rule books, bylaws, and histories were consulted, but there was no plan in place to resolve a tie. The two camps pleaded with one another, trying to flip one vote, but no elf wanted to become the true deciding factor. And so, it was decided that, for the time being, the two of them would have to serve in the position together, and Lenny and Petey, together, trapsed through the summer snow to Stanta's home, where the man was waiting to hear the results of the elves deliberations. The rest of the elves, eyeing one another with suspicion, all returned to their own positions, and resumed their labor.
The meeting with Stanta was short, and the two head elves returned to the workshop after an hour, and the two of them made a surprisingly good team, though no elf was blind to the wary looks the two were casting one another across the room. Back in his house, smoking his pipe, Stanta deliberated the situation himself. Even he had expected Lenny to win by a substantial margin, and that he too, would need to be dealt with. But with a vote this close, the short, stocky elf was now the one thing standing between him, and a chance at peace with Petey at the helm. He went to his room, and found the love gun. He would give it a few weeks, to see how things developed, but he had a feeling Lenny would have a change of heart about Stanta very soon. Very soon indeed.
wesleybracken8258 Uncategorized Leave a comment December 30, 2016 4 Minutes
~~June & July~~
Summer at the North Pole was an odd kind of misery, particularly for those who hadn't experienced it before. The sun never set, it only traced a strange, wavering path in a circle around the sky, never quite rising fully, and certainly never setting close to the horizon. It made every day blend together, particularly because sleep was largely impossible. As immortals, the inhabitants' bodies had entered their own kind of perpetual state, with no need for the basic necessities which had governed their entire lives before. Now, their bodies had no need for anything, and with the sun never setting, sleepiness never came, leading to a strange twilight of the mind, the sensation that this was a day doomed to last forever.
For the workshop, this strange mania was necessary–from the month of May to September the elves largely worked non-stop in the omnipresent sunlight, producing nearly all the toys and gear for the next Christmas in those few bright months. It was a time for Stanta and the head elf to be near constant presences on the workshop floor, but with the sudden, unexplained disappearance of Timmy, that left the entire task of guiding the elves to Stanta himself. Of course, all of the elves knew what must have happened to Timmy–even if they didn't know the details. The last several years of strife led them all to presume Timmy's plan of subjugating Stanta had failed, or backfired, and he had been taken out of commission as well. It was lucky, in some ways, that their new Stanta possessed a strong authoritarian streak, or production would have been derailed entirely–they likely would have never made their yearly quota. This was complicated by the fact that Timmy, in a breach of protocol, hadn't bothered to name another elf to act in his place should something happen to him–this meant that the elves would need to hold elections for a new head elf, but they were barred from doing so until 90 days had passed, placing the election date in early August.
Inside the house, a different sort of hell was emerging for John. Despite having dealt with Timmy, his father still had not returned to free him from his forced cohabitation with Santapig, and he was quickly learning that the effects of the mirror pendant he was wearing only grew more intense with sustained contact. His only way of juding the passage of time in the room, without the presence of night, was to try and keep track of each time to sun passed through the single window in the room, shining across the increasingly filthy room each day, where the two men spent nearly every moment fucking. Santapig was insatiable, and clearly, his mind had been relatively shattered by his experiences over the past few years. He insisted on addressing John by the name Claude, and would grow violently angry should John try to assert his true identity to him. But to make matters even more confusing, the pig harboured deep, emotional sentiment towards both of the Claudes in the room–John was certain, in fact, that the pig loved the strange urinal on the wall far, far more than he could ever love him.
The pig insisted the urinal be fed–he claimed that he could hear when it was thirsty, and he would milk Claude's cock into the thing's funnelmouth, demanding that he piss for him, demanding that he feed his lover, demanding that he feed himself. John found his own mind beginning to warp–at first, he thought it was simply the fact that he was trapped with this insane pigman as some form of Stockholm Syndrome, but he became convinced, with time, that it was largely the doing of the amulet. He was, it would seem, still changing. Each time Santapig grew unhappy with him, or dissatisfied with his performance, John would change a bit more. He wasn't even sure that the pig was aware of what he was doing to him–at least, he never mentioned it, but as the months wore on, John noticed that as his mind was beginning to twist, his body was shifting slowly as well.
His cock was the first thing he noticed. First, it was massive–after all Santapig, despite his control over the entire relationship, had remained a resolute bottom in bed. He demanded constant satisfaction from John, and in turn, found himself in a state of constant horniness, needing to fuck at all times to even be able to think about anything else. But he noticed, soon, that at some point his cock had ceased to be human, and had taken on the same corkscrew shape as the pig's. He noticed other shifts as well–increased muscle mass, short tusks pushing out from his mouth as his skull began to form a snout. He was becoming the same sort of monstrosity as Santapig, and worse, he…liked it.
His mind was slowing. He didn't need to worry about anything, really. He just needed to be Claude–or half of Claude, really. He could never be complete, he knew that, somehow. He too, found himself developing an odd attraction to the urinal, but rather than wanting to care for it, he found himself…mourning it, somehow. Trapped within that rubber, was himself, a piece of himself he needed to reclaim in order to be complete. He could only ever really be Claude's body, but his soul was there, deep inside, and the loss he began to feel was indescribable, even as he desperately tried to tell himself it was deeply irrational. It was in late July that John noticed something else–the urinal…something was happening to it. Around the base, where the body adhered to the wall, strange bulges had appeared–and more began to appear as well, all over the surface. Once, he felt one of the bulges stir, as though something inside it was alive. In his strange midsummer dream, he felt an odd sense of joy–part of him, it was alive, there, in these strange mounds of rubber. They continued to grow, however, and alongside the joy was a constant dread. They were eggs–he knew that, somehow. He also knew, that he didn't want to be in this room when they hatched.
~~May 3rd~~
Timmy stood in the room, where Stanta had invited him to hold their weekly progress meeting, wondering what, exactly, this was concerning. It was rather unorthodox for them to meet in Stanta's house, and not on the floor of the workshop, where production was ramping up, so they could discuss various bottlenecks and production issues on several new toy lines the elves had developed. But he'd insisted. Stanta wasn't even in the room at the moment–he'd ushered Timmy in, and the left, puffing on his pipe, saying he'd forgotten something. It was…suspicious, to say the least.
Stanta returned a moment later, bearing a large animal crate with him–and there, in the crate, Timmy could clearly see the small pig which until a year and a half ago had been Marty. He kept his face as cold as he could, desperate to not let any tell-tale emotion seep through. He didn't think Stanta would have been able to get any information from either pig of that strange urinal, but he couldn't be certain of anything. "As you recall, back in January, I confiscated some…curiosities from the elves' workshop," Stanta said, "I can't say I've had much luck discovering much about what had happened in there. That said, I can say with some certainty that the larger pig is likely my predecessor, and this little piggy here is an elf. Am I correct in my assessment?"
He knew he couldn't lie, but that certainly didn't mean he needed to provide the entire truth, either. "That's…correct." Stanta set the crate on the floor, a few feet from where Timmy was standing. He concentrated on Stanta instead. "Is there something you'd like to discuss about that?"
"Why wasn't I told about this?"
"Because it didn't deem it relevant. The previous Santa was unable to serve, and I needed a replacement. Informing you at any stage of any of your predecessor's…eventual fates would likely have deterred you from taking the position. No Santa lasts forever, and the only things which can dispose of immortals are…generally harsh. You can understand why I'd be reluctant to share that information with you."
"That's a rather cold calculation, Timmy," Stanta said, "You do seem to have a penchant for sneaking behind people's backs, and laying traps." With that, Stanta pulled the love gun from small box he had on a table, and examined it. "This, for example. Given to my boy. Why in the world would an elf such as yourself give him something like this?"
Timmy wasn't quite sure what to say. He'd assumed John simply hadn't worked up the courage to use the gun–he hadn't imagined that Stanta would have gotten his hands on it instead.
Still, Stanta didn't need an admission of guilt. "You know, I did learn a bit about who this little piggy is, from a friend. You had such…passion for him. Why don't we melt that cold, manipulative heart, and divert your attention to something a bit more warm, eh?"
"No! Wait, just give me a chance to explain!" Timmy shouted, but Stanta had already leveled the gun at him, coating Timmy with it's soft pink glow. Holding down the trigger, he dragged the beam over to the boar who had been Marty, connecting the two of them together. He held the beam solid for a moment, making sure Timmy's feelings would be sufficiently intense, and then released the trigger, allowing Timmy to move and think again.
Well, try to think, at least. He had to do something, he couldn't let Stanta get away with this, but those concerns were overwhelmed by something else–by Marty, by that pig. How could he have been so cold? Marty was still in there, and he'd tried to deny it so much, but he couldn't anymore–he still loved him, even more than he had as a elf. With a whimper of need, he scrambled for the door to the crate, opened it, and dragged the pig out, trying to embrace it, but the pig seemed…uninterested.
"Oh goodness, I seem to have set the gun to 'unrequited', silly me," Stanta said. "Also, I can assure you Marty there doesn't have much interest in elves–I have a feeling that if you want that little pig to love you, it's going to require a few…changes, Timmy. Still, I'm more than happy to help," Stanta said, walking towards Timmy, where he was trying to kiss the pig, and the pig was trying to shove him off with his trotters.
"Please…" Timmy said, but even he wasn't sure whether it was asking Stanta to give him his free will back, or asking him to change. In any case, Stanta took his plea as the second, and laid his hand on Timmy's head. His body began to shift immediately, his slender frame piling on layer after layer of fat. Timmy felt his mind dulling, his rationality draining away and allowing his love to become a single-minded drive, as his feet and hands became trotters, his clothes shredding apart as he grew out of them, and with the last flickers of his mind, he realized something else. He didn't look like the same kind of pig as Marty–while Marty was a hairy, muscular boar with a huge cock, Timmy was soft, hairless and flabby, with four rows of teats running down his belly. Worse, he felt his cock and balls shrink until they were just nubs, and a new, gaping pussy opened up below them. Marty took one sniff of Timmy's new cunt, and could tell this sowboi was in heat–Timmy was more than happy to go onto all fours, and allow his new boar to mount him, driving in deep, the pleasure washing all of his other concerns away.
~~April 26th~~
He'd fucked up–he knew that. But the simple fact was, John hadn't been able to take it anymore. He…wasn't even sure who he was anymore. It was the middle of March, when his father had picked up a renewed interest in John, after close of a month of paying him almost no attention at all–and from that first day, when he'd taken on a new form…John had known something was different with Stanta. He had never been particularly jolly, of course, but when he'd laid eyes on John that next time, he'd become an old painpig–obese, coated in metal, hair and tattoos, begging for pain and abuse. But inside–unlike the last times–John had still been inside there, and Stanta had known it, had taunted him with the knowledge that he knew John was in there and he didn't care. That he wanted him to suffer.
John couldn't think of anything he'd done to deserve such treatment, and in fact, he hadn't been guilty of anything at all–but punishing him had been convenient. After his discussions with Santapig, Stanta had been furious. Furious with Timmy. Furious with that little pig who had been Marty. So furious in fact that, with Santapig watching gleefully, he'd destroyed every remnant of Marty's old self still residing in that pig body, as Santapig had requested. After all, Timmy didn't have to know what he'd done to use the pig as leverage, if he needed it, and having any chunk of Marty still hanging around was much too large a risk for him. So furious at himself, for being sucked into this entire mess, for bringing his son here, the son he'd always hated. It wasn't surprising that, after a few weeks of that treatment, John had snapped.
Pushing through the persona, he'd gone for the love gun Timmy had left him, and threatened his father with it. He hadn't pulled the trigger, however, and Stanta had, after disarming him, beaten him even harder, and made John tell him everything that had happened, leading up to him getting the gun, and he had–everything about his strange encounter with Timmy on the porch, and the gift left the next day for him. After Stanta was satisfied, he'd locked John in this room again, where he was still sitting, weeks later. He'd returned to himself at this point, close to a week ago, now, but his father hadn't returned to check up on him. So here he was, naked on his small bed, wondering what, exactly, his daddy would do to punish him–because that was the one thing he was certain would happen.
But today was different than the other days–today, he heard the lock on the door falling away–apparently his isolation was over, and his punishment was about to commence. He braced himself for whatever he might become when Stanta laid eyes on him after opening the door–he was certain it wouldn't be anything good. But it wasn't Stanta who opened the door. Instead, John found himself looking at a massive pigman, standing upright on two trotter-like feet, staring at him with tiny dark, greedy eyes, and with a lurch, he felt his body shifting around him.
A pig? Who in the world was this? He remembered seeing Stanta bringing those two pigs back with him from the workshop months ago, but…what in the world had he done to them? Was he going to become a pig too, thanks to the amulet? He looked down at himself, expecting the worst, but was somewhat surprised to see that he wasn't losing his human features. He was shrinking slightly, and growing a sizable gut coated with white hair, with a thick white beard as well. He himself looked a bit Santa-esque, but he wasn't Santa–his name…his name was Claude?
It was similar to what had happened when Timmy had seen him on the porch–he wasn't simply assuming a form, he was assuming an identity along with it–one which was…slightly warped, it seemed, as his cock engorged itself, growing over a foot long and as thick as a two liter bottle, the pigman (Santa, his new mind told him, but this pig couldn't be Santa, could it?) started drooling at the sight. "I've…*grunt* missed you more than I even realized," the pig said, walking into the room and embracing John, "Claude…fuck, I thought I'd lost you forever."
"Shut up you pig–I've missed you too, and that hole of yours," John heard himself say, and then shove the pig over the side of the bed, lined his huge cock up with his hole, and slid into him with a long shudder of pleasure, and…and love. Not true love, some strange, warped desire that was close enough to fill in the void, but one which felt…so dirty, to him. John fucked the pig's filthy hole, disgusted by the sensation, but the pig was pushing back, eager to be filled to the brim. John looked over and saw Stanta in the doorway, watching the scene with a stony face, waiting for them to finish–which took about half an hour. John slid out after he'd shot a massive load of cum deep into Santapig's bowels, and then the pig whirled around, got down and started cleaning off the massive cock, grunting and snorting while he did, and John looked to his father. "Dad, I–"
"John, you made a mistake, but not an unforgivable one. But my friend here…has been very helpful to me, over the last month or so, and he deserves a reward. That's going to be you, for the next several months."
Stanta walked over, and put a finger to his son's lips. "You're still mine–don't forget that. He's merely…borrowing you, right pig?"
There was a disgruntled sound made around John's big cock, and he felt it bob, as Santapig nodded, reluctantly.
"I have business to settle, and I can't have you getting in the middle of it. Once it's settled…" he paused, "I'll try harder too. I promise. To be the father for you I never was. But for now, I need you to do this, for me, understand?"
John nodded. All in all, it wasn't that bad, right? He got a cute piggy ass to plow whenever he wanted, right? He was less enthused, when Stanta made them move into Santapig's room with that…creepy urinal attached to the wall, but he knew, without a doubt, it could have been much, much worse.
12 Months 'til Christmas (Part 4)
~~March 12th~~
Stanta had named them Big Pig, Little Pig, and Urinal, for lack of better names. He hadn't been quite sure what, exactly, he was going to do with them all once they were at him house–in all honesty, he'd been more interested in keeping them out of the elves' hands since they had seemed so interested in keeping them away from Stanta. The question then, was: Why? What in the world was so dangerous about two rutting pigs and a urinal in a messed up workshop that it had been worth locking them all up inside? He'd had a pretty good guess, after the first week–it didn't have anything to do with what they were–it was about who they all had been.
Stanta, after all, had been recruited under rather quick and shady circumstances. It begged the question of what, exactly, had happened to his predecessor. Timmy hadn't mentioned anything about him to Stanta, not that he'd really thought to ask much, either. In any case, he didn't think he could really trust Timmy to deliver him the truth anyway. That meant he'd just have to try and figure out what happened himself–but thankfully, he seemed to have two eye witnesses right here in the room with him. Well, three–but Urinal didn't have enough of a mind remaining to even try reviving. Whatever had happened to him, there was no fixing it. For the two pigs, however, there was hope, and after a couple weeks of research in the library he'd found in the house, he thought he'd give it a try.
All that was left, then, was to decide which pig he wanted to talk to first. Chances were, Little Pig was an elf. It was probably the elf who's workshop had been boarded up by the others. Big Pig was a…bigger curiosity. Chances were, Big Pig was the previous Santa…but that brought up some concerns. If the last Santa came back, would he want his old position back? Stanta had read through the contract, and found that even if an old Santa returned, he wouldn't have any claim to his old position–unless something happened to Stanta in the meantime, which made him unable to perform his duties. In any case, he'd need to be careful, but the risk, in his mind, was worth it. If he was going to figure out what was going on up here, he'd need the story straight from the Santapig's mouth–assuming that was, in fact, who this pig was.
He grabbed Little Pig by the collar and dragged him over to a small cage, locking him up. Big Pig wasn't very happy about that–but the fucker wasn't ever very happy without a cock inside him. Still, maybe with more of a mind, he'd be able to control himself a bit better. Stanta laid his palm on the pig's forehead, like the book had instructed, and felt the pig freeze. Stanta focused–it was a lot harder fixing things in someone's head than it was breaking them, and he also didn't want to fix too much. Still, he started unravelling the pig in him, letting the human surface again–and much to Stanta's surprise, some of the man's physical form began to revert as well. The full pig snout retracted until it was much shorter, with a mostly human mouth capable of speech, his trotters becoming somewhat functional hands, the bones in his body shifting until he could, with some effort, push himself up and balance on his back trotters. Big Pig shook his head, and looked around–then looked at Stanta. "Well fuck–guess that means I'm out of a job then."
So that was one suspicion confirmed. Stanta shrugged, "I'd offer to give it back, but I'm growing a bit fond of it, I must say. The name's Stanta."
"Alright, and to what do I owe the pleasure? Last I remember, I was…it was Christmas? What year is it?"
"Fuck, seriously? It's been over a year? Those little, manipulative fucks!"
Stanta waved a chair into exist, behind Santapig, as he figured he'd be calling him from now on, and motioned for him to sit. "I think I'd like to hear your story, if you don't mind."
Santapig sat down, and crossed his flabby arms. "Yeah? But then you have to do something for me. I want you to find Claude for me."
"Claude? Who's Claude? Is that the other pig?" Stanta said, looking over at the small one squealing in the cage.
Santapig shook his head. "No, that's fucking Marty. Do whatever the fuck you want with him…just don't…let him fuck me anymore. I feel dirty enough already. No, Claude was my…Mr. Claus. They couldn't just send him away, not as an immortal. So he has to be here somewhere."
Stanta looked over at the urinal, another piece of the puzzle sliding into place. "I think…I may have found him already."
Santapig followed his eyes to the urinal hanging on the wall, where the tail had reattached itself to the pipes in the walls. His eyes went wide, and he got up from the chair and went over to him. "No…No, it can't…You can't be fucking serious! Bring him back!"
He shook his head. "There's nothing left. It was…messy, whatever happened to him."
Santapig clung to the Urinal for a bit, trying to deny it, but…but he could tell. The face was featureless, but he'd rested his head on this chest enough times to recognize it, rubber coated or not. "You can't trust them. Not for a moment. Not after what they did to me–to us. And him!" He said, whirling on Little Pig in the cage, "I want him gone. Dead, banished, I don't care. He's the one who did all of this, who started all of this. As long as he's here, you're never going to be safe."
Stanta considered a moment, but told Santapig he'd wait until he'd heard his story. So they sat down, and he learned what had happened the prior years, ever since Marty had decided to take matters into his own hands and change Christmas forever. One thing Stanta knew, was that he wasn't safe–not nearly. Especially with Marty here, and Timmy as head elf. The pig was right–he'd have to dispose of him at some point–but if Timmy still harbored feelings for him, then he might also be leveraged. In any case, he should try and make the first move. If he did nothing, then he'd only be playing defense–and the elves had proven themselves…rather capable of dealing with Santas so far. It was time for Santa Claus to be back in charge around here, and Stanta figured he was just the one to make that happen.
~~February 20th~~
John was on the back porch of the house, naked as usual, but not feeling the cold wind against his skin. Not thinking about much at all, really, just…remembering. Thinking back, to that first night, with his…father…
It was so confusing, trying to understand what had happened. His father had died last year, hadn't he? And yet, when that strange, fucked up Stanta had appeared in that house, with him and his brothers…he'd known, somehow, that this man was his father. Stanta hadn't wanted to talk about this, the few times John had managed to clear his head enough to bring it up. Usually John didn't have much attention for these sorts of things, because the pendant around his neck had kept him rather…preoccupied.
That first week or so, while the elves had been resting, he'd remained his father's innocent little cub the entire time. Everything had felt so new, and exciting, and while Stanta had enjoyed it for a few days, he'd grown bored with his inexperience, and begun pushing him harder and further than that persona (John wasn't sure that was the right word, but it was the one he'd used to separate out the various forms he'd taken over the last two months) had been able to take. Finally, disgusted by him, Stanta had dumped him in a back guest room and told John that he didn't want to lay eyes on him until he was back to himself. At first, John–as that cub–hadn't known what he meant. He tried to get out, but Stanta had locked him inside. John had worried he might starve, but the gift of immortality made that a laughable concern. So he sat, alone, and felt himself begin to return, bit by bit. The pendant, it seemed, would maintain a persona once created, but if he was alone, he would slowly revert back to his original body and mind–thankfully.
Once he was normal again, Stanta had been willing to see him again–and this time, he was the same cub…somewhat. Just much, much more experienced. Tattoos all over his body, cock permanently locked and pierced, he'd desired nothing more than to serve his daddy's every perverse whim, but Stanta had tired of that even faster–and when John had been sent back to the room, he'd returned to himself faster as well.
In this way, he'd begun to discover some of the rules of the amulet. If Stanta saw him when he was normal, he'd change into whatever he desired at the moment. The longer he was in a persona, the longer it took him to return to normal, once he was isolated. Figuring this out, at least, helped him feel like he had a measure of control, even though he had none at all.
He'd been through a few other personas at this point–all of them equally unsuccessful, and he was back to himself, now, for a moment. Stanta no longer locked him in the room, but he'd told John he wasn't ready to see him yet. In fact, he hadn't seen Stanta much at all, the last few weeks, ever since he'd come back from the workshop with those two pigs and that rubber thing, and taken them down into the basement with him. So here he sat, perfectly comfortable in temperatures of thirty below, staring into the endless dark of winter (well, there was a peek of sun now, but just a peek) above the arctic circle, wishing he could stop loving his captor. Wishing he knew what Stanta wanted. Wishing he could just be…perfect, for him.
In the wind, he didn't hear the crunch of footsteps approaching around the side of the house–an elf. It didn't occur to him to be concerned, when he saw the small figure, until he felt the amulet heat up, signalling a change. A new rule then: when he was normal, he'd change when anyone saw him, not just Stanta. He felt himself shrinking–much more than when he'd become that cub–until he was about three and a half feet tall, but with substantial muscle and a short full beard. The elf came closer, stopped like he recognized him, and his jaw dropped. John knew his name, somehow–Timmy. And he…his name was…Marty? His head felt fuzzy, like it usually did, when under the amulet's effects, especially at first–he beckoned Timmy closer, and said, "I…never meant any of those things I said, Timmy. I always wanted you–so come…come and get it…"
Timmy did. The two of them fucked on the back porch for nearly two hours, until they'd both come multiple times, and John's head began to clarify slightly, and he could pull away. Timmy, too, stepped back, cheeks flaring red, unable to believe what he'd just done. He'd…known that this wasn't Marty, but fuck, just seeing him there…
"I'm sorry, I didn't…" Timmy started to say.
"Don't. It's alright. I wanted you to," John said, "I mean, I…it's this amulet. Stanta is forcing me to wear it, I can't really…stop."
"I just wanted to introduce myself is all. I suppose this was a bit more than an introduction," Timmy said, "I'm Timmy."
"Right–the…second in command, right? I'm M–…John…" He said, finding it very hard to get his real name out, and not say "Marty" instead.
Timmy looked at him a bit odd. "No I'm head elf."
"Oh I thought I was…" John said, and then realized his memories had gotten crossed, and shook his head. "Sorry, I can't always…separate these thoughts apart. Who is Marty? Is he another elf?"
"I…don't really want to talk about it," Timmy said, "I just wanted to make sure you were settling in alright, but it looks like…do you need help?"
John shook his head, "No, I…I want him to love me. It's complicated. Just…just let us be. You should leave, and let me change back. If he finds out someone else changed me, he'll want to know who, and you might not want him asking those things. He's…already suspicious of you."
Timmy was more than happy to get back to the workshop, trying to sort out what had just happened. He thought he'd set Marty aside. He thought he'd been able to forget about it, but apparently he was never going to be over it. But could…could he really…be Marty? Did it really matter? He could be whatever Timmy wanted him to be, couldn't he? Timmy hadn't really gone there to simply introduce himself, after all–he'd been looking for information, or a weakness…and he may very well have found one.
The next day, John returned to the porch, no longer Marty–that one had only lasted a few hours, but it was…strange. He'd…known things, about that elf. Things from his own mind, and he still knew them. Not all of them good things, either. But there, on the stoop, was a wrapped present, with his name on the tag. He opened it, and found a small toy gun inside, and a short note. A love gun, apparently. John took it inside and stashed it in his room. He couldn't use something like that, could he? No…no, that would be…wrong. But his father had made him fall in love with him–was it really so unjust if he returned the favor?

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Plants: Be all you can be!
Home » News Articles » Plants: Be all you can be!
For plants on a military training site, getting run over by an assortment of hefty, wheeled or tracked vehicles is all in a day's work. But, the Army has a secret weapon for restoring and revegetating these sites when training maneuvers are over.
The military has enlisted the help of a team of Agricultural Research Service plant geneticists, led by Kay H. Asay, to develop training-resilient plants. Now in its sixth year, the project is based at the ARS Forage and Range Research Laboratory in Logan, Utah. It is funded by ARS and the Department of Defense's Strategic Environment Research and Development Program, Washington, D.C.
Asay and colleagues are developing improved lines of native and introduced grasses. The new plants are better able to withstand trampling by soldiers and grinding and crushing by vehicles. Military training installations are some of the most intensively used lands in the United States.
Several of the Logan varieties are among the best performers in tests at the Yakima Training Center in central Washington, and Fort Carson, south of Colorado Springs, Colo. The findings from these sites should be applicable to many other military bases throughout the West.
At Yakima, Snake River wheatgrass has been the top-performing native grass. Logan scientists are working to make it even more resilient. Meanwhile the scientists are working at Fort Carson to improve native western wheatgrass. Other work at Fort Carson is yielding a promising blend that combines the Logan lab's RoadCrest crested wheatgrass and the lab's Bozoisky Russian wildrye with the Army's mix of natives like slender wheatgrass, Indian ricegrass, sideoats grama and lovegrass.


Microsoft's modern operating system Windows 10 is already been optimized by default. But, few things happen with every windows user is going very common. Windows performance and speed are the most common problem of users, especially for Windows 7 users. You can't blame Microsoft for the speed problem in Windows 10, because the issue may persist due to the PC's hardware or installed software.
Sometime when a PC is running too many programs at once in the background, it may freeze the entire PC for some seconds or minutes. It also cause, because of the old hardware components consist in your PC, like low RAM memory, old Processor and less Storage.
The minimum PC requirements for Windows 10 is 1 gigahertz (GHz) processor, 2GB RAM and 16GB Hard disk space, but it's not guaranteed that Windows 10 runs faster in minimum requirements. Software is the most common reason of slow Windows PC, let's read how to optimize Windows 10 speed and performance permanently.
Windows 10 started available as an upgrade and millions of people upgrade their old windows system to the latest Windows release. But, the problem when you upgrade the Windows to the new version is some extra old Windows files and folders left on the hard drive. Clean installation of Windows 10 works much faster than upgrade installation, and you should perform a clean custom installation using a Windows 10 ISO.
Backup your programs, data and files from the Windows drive (C:). Clean Windows 10 installation will format the entire Windows drive (C:), after that data cannot be recovered. Bootable USB is a much faster way to install Windows 10 in minutes.
If you're facing slow boot in Windows 10, there must be the problem with the startup programs. When the PC boot into windows, all startup programs begin launching automatically without your permission. It makes your experience with the Windows feels slow, and you got some headache.
You should only allow the Antivirus software to launch on the Windows startup, and else programs should be disabled. I'am not sure the average programs run during the boot in Windows, but you can check your PC's enabled and disabled startup programs from Task Manager (Ctrl+Shift+Esc) > Startup. Disable all programs, excluding Antivirus software.
Tools like CCleaner helps optimize Windows system by cleaning unnecessary files, temporary files, cached data, unused files, invalid registry and free up hard drive space. But, a Disk cleanup utility in Windows 10 helps removes a variety of system files that you no longer need. Go to Administrative Tools, launch Disk Cleanup utility and select a drive.
Never give more weight over a single drive partition, try to divide data equally in each drive excluding Windows drive. Never store files and other such data in the Windows drive (C:), it may down entire system performance.
While it comes to install a free software from the internet, you don't believe some other unknown software may automatically install in the Windows system. Some sites serve their own download client, lets users install software directly from the client. But, those clients are worse and they continuously run in the background.
Pirated software and cracks can infect your Windows system or slow down the entire system performance. Check background running programs from the task manager (Ctrl+Shift+Esc) and know which program is eating too much resource from your PC.
Right click over unnecessary or unknown programs, end the task and uninstall other such programs from This PC > Computer > Uninstall or change a program.
Multitasking is one the great feature in Windows 10. Window snapping and new virtual desktop using the task view button is not really harm your system speed. But, running too many programs at once in Windows 10 and switching each another smartly will impact to PC's performance.
It's good to multi-task in the modern generation, but also think about your system hardware and configurations. Running multiple high graphic software at once may impact your system speed.
Running multiple Antivirus software and too much tabs in a web browser will slow down the entire Windows 10 speed. Don't take virtual desktop feature like huge multi-tasking, it was made to change the way we work.
Windows 10 uses few visual effects and animations for the appearance and performance. By default, Windows 10 choose visual effects that best for the computer, but still there are lot's of effects are being checked. Open System (Windows key + x and select System) > Click Advanced system settings > Go to Advanced tab > click settings in Performance. Now, you can see the list of animations currently enabled. Select Adjust for best performance and save to make Windows system work faster.
Never run several programs at once.
Never store personal files in the Windows drive.
Never save large files on the desktop.
Review startup programs once in a month.
Uninstall unknown and unnecessary programs.
Boot scan your PC once every month.
Clean temporary files and recycle bin manually every day or week.


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20 Questions with Author Bridget Harrison
September 11, 2006 by Amanda
Bridget Harrison opened up about her dating life for all the world to see in a column for the New York Post. Now the Brit-born Harrison has gone one step further and published her memoirs, Tabloid Love, in which she details what went on behind the scenes. Feisty, funny and honest, Harrison details life on the dating circuit as if she were the readers' best friend.
Now back in London, steadily dating an old friend, and working on a new newspaper project, Harrison took some time to answer the PopGurls 20 Questions.
1. For all the would-be newspaper reporters out there – what about the job is the most difficult?
News reporters are daily reacting to unpredictable and constantly changing events. Your job is to approach people who are often having the worst day of their lives, or are in extreme situations, and to get them to say interesting and informative things about what is happening to them. From the survivor of a horrific car crash, a mother who has just lost a child, a pensioner who has won the lottery, you have to approach each person with confidence and win them over. The key is to have an understanding of people, to be direct and up front with them to gain their trust, and never take "no" or "no comment" for an answer. The other key is to never give up and to leave no corner unturned, or avenue unexplored, whatever the story you are covering.
2. When you decided to make journalism your career, were there things about the real-world experience that weren't what you thought they'd be?
The real word experience was far more unpredictable and in some cases distressing than I imagined. I also didn't realize how quickly I would become hardened to real-life situations. When on a story you have to become ruthless. It's all about getting the "money quotes," and the people involved in some ways become dehumanized. For that day and that story they become a means to an end. The clever – and brutal – thing is not to let them realize that.
3. As a news reporter, you've been in situations that perhaps weren't the safest for you, personally. As a dating columnist, what's the sketchiest situation in which you found yourself?
I've ended up more drunk than I should be, wildly making out with guys in their apartments before thinking 'actually I don't want to have sex, I rather feel like going home.' If any of these guys had turned nasty I would have been in danger of date rape, but I think news reporting teaches you to get a read on situations – and people – quite quickly. You learn to live on your sixth sense about the situations you are getting in to.
4. What piece of fan mail (or hate mail) did you receive during the course of your dating column that will always stay with you?
One of my favorites was from a guy who emailed to say 'you are so shallow you would drown in a puddle' which he followed by 'I shall be in the Mercury Lounge at 8:30 pm on Wednesday, why don't we meet for a drink.' Getting fan mail was the best bit of my job – it made me feel very connected to real peoples' experiences and taught me never to get too indulgent when re-telling my own stories.
5. What's the most common piece of dating advice people come to you for?
It's always 'when should I call this guy?' or 'how do I play things in the early stages of a relationship?' I tell women to play ridiculously hard to get, but also to have good manners, to avoid endless emailing and texting and to pick up the phone if they want to make an arrangement. I hate the concept of game playing but the truth is, men will always come running if you act like you're so busy they'll be lucky to get a slice of your exciting time.
6. Describe the difference between writing for a daily newspaper and writing a novel. Do you call upon different sets of skills? Did you find yourself racing to the end of your memoir as if you were under a shotgun deadline?
Having newspaper experience certainly helped me write my memoir. They always say the most important thing about writing is keeping going. Once you stop and start worrying about every tiny sentence or description, or get self-conscious, you get hellish writer's block and you don't get anywhere. The same goes for writing news stories. On a daily deadline the first thing you learn is that you have to get something down on paper at speed – and you can worry about finessing it later. The difference between the two is mainly about the length and keeping a narrative going over 120 thousand words rather than 500! But my three mottos in writing are a)to try to say complicated things simply, not to write simple things in a complicated way; b) to write how I would speak and c)to not hide things from the reader. The moment you lose your honesty you lose the good will of the reader who, after all, is taking time out of his or her precious life to read your stuff.
7. Tabloid Love is a memoir that's been classified in many reviews as Chick Lit. Do you think that classification had an impact – positive or negative – on book sales?
I'm very happy with being called Chick Lit, it's a hugely popular area of publishing and although tons of men have loved my book too, it is about a woman's experience so it is Chick Lit. I do however think the genre has been given a bad name by publishers throwing out books which are lame imitations of more successful ones, which aren't nearly as well written or well observed. You can't beat a great Chick Lit, but there are some terrible ones out there too.
8. Were all the real-life dates and friends who turned up in the book aware they would be part of it? Were any of your relationships put in an uncomfortable situation when you decided to write this book?
It is tough telling your friends and past loves they're going to turn up in a book and obviously most were slightly concerned about the outcome. Each time, I sent them the bits they were in to read and promised I would change anything they really hated. But in general I tried to make sure the joke was on me and although some very private moments in my life ended up in the book, I made sure none would cause humiliation for those involved. Some had bits about them changed so that even if they knew who they were, the rest of the world would not. I was also lucky that most were very excited I was writing a book and generously wanted me to do well, rather than worrying about their own parts in the memoir. I think if the book had been panned rather than getting some fantastic reviews, it might have been tougher.
9. Have readers been surprised that your love life didn't wrap up nice and tidy at the end of Tabloid Love?
Lots of readers have written to me wanting to know what happens next. But the point was to write a book that was real and so it didn't have a schmaltzy – she meets a guy at the end so it's alright – ending. Real life isn't like that, but the uplifting bit is knowing that if you have a good attitude it doesn't matter whether you are single or married, or whatever. It's your relationship with yourself that is key.
10. Which other Bridget are you most fond of being compared to? Have the Sex in the City comparisons gotten old yet?
Sex and the City and Bridget Jones's Diary are both brilliant pieces of writing and I will always be absolutely flattered by the comparison. But my book is different – it is a memoir, not fiction, and it's for a different generation of women. So hopefully it will be judged on its own merits too.
11. Your book release party ended up in Gawker. How does this seemingly glitzy paparazzi-stalking existence stack up to the existence you hoped to grow into when you were younger?
My book release party probably looked a lot more glamorous than it was, it was mainly full of old friends from the Post and of course my mum and dad! I think in reality my life is as down to earth as it always has been. You can be a star in New York for a night, but to me it's about normal people reading and liking my book, because that's what I am!
12. New York Post "insiders" have popped up in articles about your novel, claiming your editor ex-boyfriend wasn't pleased with his portrayal in Tabloid Love. Are these so-called "insiders" for real, in your experience? Or are they tabloid inventions designed to stir things up?
It's definitely a bit of both. As I said earlier, it is hard telling past loves that you plan to put private moments between the two of you in a book. Of course both my exes featured in Tabloid Love had reservations and truth be told, if they'd had the choice they would probably have opted not to be in a book. But they've both been incredibly generous about Tabloid Love, they've wished me well and have been glad for me that I've had the privilege and opportunity to write a book – which many people don't have.
13. Any news on Tabloid Love being optioned for TV or the big screen?
None as yet. It is being looked at in LA, but I didn't write the book to cash in on a movie deal. I wanted to write a truthful account of life as single 30-something woman in the modern day. Truly, I'd rather normal people who buy the book in book shops or on Amazon love it than a bunch of movie executives in LA. But of course if someone did option it I wouldn't complain!
14. You've recently started dating a longtime friend. Have you found the transition from one relationship path to another daunting at all?
Not in this case, as we hadn't seen much of each other as I was in New York and he was in London.
15. Do you think that your new relationship benefits from not being part of the life you shared with readers in the New York Post?
Yes. There is no doubt that putting a relationship in a column puts extreme pressure on it. To write a good column you have to be absolutely truthful. It's very hard to be loyal to readers and your privacy at the same time. I don't recommend trying to do both.
16. Singer-songwriter Lisa Loeb moved from LA to NYC to find her own Mr. Right – and film a reality show for E! If you find yourself single again, would you ever consider exploring the dating culture in cities outside of New York?
Now having spent a lot of time in London recently, I find the dating situation fascinating. Brits are a lot less direct than New Yorkers. You could spend all night sipping tea at a guy's house wondering if he's going to make a move. But I'm happy to retire and let someone else explore that!
17. Speaking of reality shows, you were featured occasionally in WE's Single in the City during the first season. Did you learn anything about dating from the experience?
I learned that to be good on camera you have to be self- effacing and genuine. They are also great qualities to display on a date.
18. Tell us about the project you're working on now.
I'm currently in London helping the launch of a free new newspaper for News Corp called thelondonpaper which will be distributed on the streets of London in the afternoon. I'm deputy editor and it's a fantastic opportunity to craft a paper that really relates to Londoners' lives. Having worked at the Post I've been very well trained to relate to all aspects of life in a big city – so it's great to be able put all that experience into a newspaper for London. And yes, there will be lots of dating in there!
19. Are there journalists whose careers you'd like to emulate?
I think the best journalists are those who can write incredible, moving color stories from war zones and crisis situations across the world – reminding us that that behind every news headline there are real people in real situations. The more sensationalist and "A.D.D." TV news becomes, the more important it is that these great writers redress the balance. Alas I don't think I'm up to it myself!
20. Do you buy the prediction that the Internet will kill the newspaper as we know it?
No. I think no matter how much instant news people get over the web, they still enjoy mulling over a newspaper, be it on the subway, over the breakfast table or curled up with a hangover at the weekend. I do think more and more newspapers will go free – in Spain now there are five free newspapers, and the phenomenon is sweeping across Europe and taking hold in the US. New York already had Metro and AM New York. There will always be room for great newsprint writing, as long as writers and editors stay in touch with subjects that are relevant to readers' lives.
Tagged With: 20 questions, author, interview


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text:
Q: How to obatain the following one to one function? $$ f(x,k) = y$$
$$x<=k$$
$$x,k \in R$$
$$y \in [0,1]$$
The domain of the function would be $x$ to $k$ and the range would be $0$ to $1$. such that for $x=x$ the $y=0.0$ and for $x=k$ , $y=1.0$, the value of $y$ increases with $x$. How to obtain such a function

A: Rewriting your question as a monotonic function from $[j,k]$ to $[0,1]$ with $f(j)=0$ and $f(k)=1$ where $j \lt k$, then $$f(x)= \dfrac{x-j}{k-j}$$ does this simply

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