Clover Heads Off To His Job At The DMV

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Here he is!


  1. Added to liveleak 2 hours ago Occurred On: Jan-26-2015
    By: tormunkov | Subscribe to tormunkov
    In: Vehicles
    Tags: Tesla, electric, car
    Location: United States
    Views: 249 | Comments: 9 | Votes: 1 | Favorites: 0 | Shared: 0 | Updates: 0 | Times used in channels: 2

    funny. A tesla has more range than my jeep. And how fucking hard is it to put fast charge stations in a gas station, where the GOD DAMN PUMPS RUN ON ELECTRICITY.
    anyways. fuck gas.
    Posted 1 hour ago By fr4nkthetank (73.60)
    Montreal, Canada

    @fr4nkthetank my prius has unlimited range and still gets almost 50 mpg…not as fast or sexy as a tesla but also does not cost six figures
    Posted 1 hour ago By Jesus_H_Chryst (0.50)
    Hell, United States

    That jeep should still be drivable in ten years, it might even make twenty. The same can’t be said for electric cars.
    Posted 23 mins ago By jabawolcky (93.10)

    audio too low and they don’t work under water
    Posted 1 hour ago By Jesus_H_Chryst (0.50)
    Hell, United States

    Still nothing more efficient that gas/diesel at the moment. Also, batteries aren’t eco-friendly at all. Think of the mining, processing, transportation, disposal, etc. Then imagine if every car in the world used them. And they would still need power from somewhere for charging.

    On the other hand, a friend has a Tesla (S60?) and loves it. I got to drive it, and I must say I was impressed. Still can’t go all that far, but it works around town. It won’t be long before those are better/cheaper.
    Posted 1 hour ago By jeffbaustin (1001.80)
    Austin, United States

    @jeffbaustin the prius already exists but with cheap gas theres no reason to improve on 50 mpg with unlimited range
    Posted 1 hour ago By Jesus_H_Chryst (0.50)
    Hell, United States

    All those factors also apply to fossil fuels but the methods are established and it’s not just the car/transportation industry, which is relying on a steady supply. Pharmaceutical companies, building manufacturers, heck, pretty much everything requires oil. At some point in the future, and I think we might still live to see it, fossil fuels will be too expensive for people to burn in their cars. And we better have something as a replacement.

    I’m betting (hoping) on hydrogen fuel cells coupled with nuclear fusion
    Posted 1 hour ago By blacklama (554.26)

    A crx from the eighties can match your prius in efficiency, without as much of an environmental impact. It’s also cheaper to maintain.
    Posted 21 mins ago By jabawolcky (93.10)

    @jeffbaustin Energy density of gasoline is still far superior to any battery technology today.
    Posted 14 mins ago By wfung99 (404.42)

    LOL…is the steam train threatening your horse, hoss?
    Posted 1 hour ago By litebyte (310.10)
    London, United Kingdom (UK/GB)

    Depends on where you live and your lifestyle. Would be perfect for me as a second vehicle but are far to expensive at present.
    Posted 1 hour ago By Nothing2seehere (676.60)
    United Kingdom (UK/GB)

    Posted 1 hour ago By heyiloveyou (12.00)

    Main stream media self censors.
    Posted 19 mins ago By wfung99 (404.42)

    Can’t hear.
    Posted 4 mins ago By


  2. The days of holocaust and erasure for your tribe approaches. Just another notch in their stone temples of their thousands of holocausts is all you’ll some day be, so They say.

    Or is it not too late for the true natives of this soil, pioneers and first nations alike, to all band together. And drive out the Europoors, the Christiandomers, the Islamifiers, and the Maritime Monarchists?

    Long before the first refugees from tyranny and Europoors seeking to rule arrived here; there were some 500 nations already in North America. They blanketed the continent from coast to coast from Central America to the Arctic. There were tens of millions of people here speaking over 300 languages. Many of them lived in beautiful cities among the largest and most advanced in the world.

    The First Nations and Pioneers Holocaust was completed on a mild day just after Christmas of 1890. On that day, a band of Hokwoju Sioux, under their leader Big Foot left the Cheyenne River Agency in South Dakota heading for a meeting at Pine Ridge with Oglala leader Red Cloud.

    Traveling with Big Foot were 106 men and 252 women and children. Among them was a boy, Dewey Beard who would later tell his children and grandchildren about that day.

    Grandpa Dewey Beard being the last survivor I would listen to what he had to say.
    In a way, it was sad, and yet it’s beautiful, because it’s bringing back history.

    One thing that he would say is that had the soldiers Had the government left them alone, in time, they would have looked outside and seen how things were changing and the change would come about from within the bands. But Big Foot’s band was intercepted by the 7th Cavalry.

    The officer in charge found Big Foot wrapped in heavy blankets dying from pneumonia in the back of a wagon. Big Foot was then ordered to make camp along Wounded Knee Creek.

    In the morning, his people would be stripped of their weapons and escorted to Pine Ridge. Big Foot made assurances of his peaceful intentions and the band made camp He’s a peaceful man.

    He’s always said that “Think about the elderly, think about the children and women and don’t start the trouble.

    ” Morning broke after a sleepless night surrounded by soldiers. Hokwoju witnesses would later recall what happened next.

    “Big Foot, who was sick, came up with a flag of truce tied to a stick.” Dewey Beard.

    As soldiers trained their guns on them Big Foot and his men brought forth all their weapons placing them near the white flag of truce Big Foot had planted in front of his lodge.

    The soldiers then searched their tents and wagons for arms even confiscating cooking and sewing tools.

    As Big Foot’s people gathered around the flag of truce outside his tent four powerful Hotchkiss rapid-repeating guns were mounted above the camp.

    I noticed that they were erecting cannons up here also hauling up quite a lot of ammunition for it. They encircled us like a band of sheep. I could see that there was commotion amongst the soldiers and I saw, on looking back, they had their guns in position, ready to fire.

    Thomas Tibbles, a white reporter who followed the troops to Wounded Knee recorded what happened next.

    Suddenly, I heard a single shot from the direction of the troops. Then three or four A few more. And immediately, a volley. At once came a general rattle of rifle firing then the Hotchkiss guns.

    An awful noise was heard and I was paralyzed for a time. Then my head cleared and I saw nearly all the people on the ground bleeding. My father my mother my grandmother my older brother and my younger brother were all killed. And he saw his mother walking toward him. She was walking along, and she was shot.

    “Dewey,” she said.

    “Keep walking, my son. ” She said, “Keep going. ” She said, “I’m going to die.
    ” And that was the last time he saw his mother.

    “The women, as they were fleeing with their babies, were killed together shot right through.

    And after most of them had been killed a cry was made that all those not killed or wounded should come forth, and they would be safe. Little boys came out of their places of refuge. And as soon as they came in sight a number of soldiers surrounded them and butchered them there. ” American Horse, oglala.

    The firing continued for an hour or two wherever a soldier saw a sign of life.

    With the sunset the weather turned intensely cold. About 7:00 that night, the 7th Cavalry brought in the long train of dead and wounded soldiers and Indians from Wounded Knee. Forty-nine wounded Sioux women and children had been piled into a few old wagons.

    The wounded Indian women and children were eventually carried into an agency church where they lay in silence on the floor beneath a pulpit decorated with a Christmas banner reading, “Peace on earth, goodwill to men.”

    “Nothing I have seen in my whole life ever affected or depressed or haunted me like the scenes I saw that night in that church.

    One unwounded old woman held a baby on her lap. I handed a cup of water to the old woman, telling her, ‘Give it to the child’ who grabbed it as if parched with thirst. And as she swallowed it hurriedly, I saw it gush right out again a bloodstained stream through a hole in her neck. Heartsick, I went to find the surgeon. For a moment, he stood there near the door looking over the mass of suffering and dying women and children.

    The silence The silence they kept was so complete, it was oppressive. And then to my amazement, I saw that the surgeon, who I knew had served in the Civil War attending the wounded from Wilderness to Appomattox he began to grow pale.

    ‘This is the first time I’ve seen a lot of women and children shot to pieces,’ he said.
    ‘And I can’t stand it. “‘ Thomas Tibbles, reporter.

    For three days, the frozen bodies of the dead including Big Foot, lay where they fell at Wounded Knee.

    Finally, the Army dug a large trench at the massacre site. Then, as they collected the bodies a blanket was seen moving. Beneath it, snuggled against her dead mother was a baby girl. The official military histories called Wounded Knee the last battle in the Indian Wars.

    But the tenacious struggle for Indian survival as symbolized by a child clinging to life for three days on a frozen field continues to this day. 500 Nations will follow a path that covers thousands of years and will bring us full circle to 1890.

    500 Nations The Story of Native Americans 1

  3. Free Clover Test

    1. Which one of the five is least like the other four?
    Dog Mouse Lion Snake Elephant

    2. Which number should come next in the series?
    1 – 1 – 2 – 3 – 5 – 8 – 13
    8 13 21 26 31

    3. Which one of the five choices makes the best comparison?
    PEACH is to HCAEP as 46251 is to:
    25641 26451 12654 51462 15264

    4. Clover, who is sixteen years old, is four times as old as her brother. How old will Clover be when she is twice as old as her brother?
    20 24 25 26 28

    5. If all Bloops are Razzies and all Razzies are Lazzies, all Bloops are definitely Lazzies?
    True False

    6. Which one of the numbers does not belong in the following series?
    2 – 3 – 6 – 7 – 8 – 14 – 15 – 30

    7. Which one of the five choices makes the best comparison?
    Finger is to Hand as Leaf is to:
    Twig Tree Branch Blossom Bark

    8. If you rearrange the letters “CIFAIPC” you would have the name of a(n):
    City Animal Ocean River Country

    9. Choose the number that is 1/4 of 1/2 of 1/5 of 200:
    2 5 10 25 50

    10. Clover needs 13 bottles of water from the store. Clover can only carry 3 at a time. What’s the minimum number of trips Clover needs to make to the store?
    3 4 4 1/2 5 6

  4. The Clover Abides

    The year was 2095. It had been 80 years since all but the tiniest handful of men had died in a worldwide virus outbreak that ended civilization and returned the few dozen survivors to superstitious primitive state. Isherwood was the last man alive who knew anything at all of the time before the Great Extermination.

    “Don’t touch!” Soldier’s command shot through the chill morning air like an arrow.

    The ragged little group of men stopped dead in their tracks and looked questioningly at their leader. He was pointing down to an object lying half-buried in the soil at his feet.

    “Another death-thing, maybe,” Soldier said. “Another ‘thing our ancestors made with which to destroy themselves.” He peered around the semi-circle of men until he spotted the aged one with a leg missing. “Clover! See that this place is marked forbidden.” The hunting party moved on and Clover stayed behind. He hobbled about, collecting sticks and stones, arranging them in the “forbidden-symbol” way to form a barrier around the ‘thing. It was because of such a ‘thing that he’d lost a leg in his youth.

    He both hated and feared the death-things his ancestors had so carelessly left lying about before they vanished. But that wasn’t right. Clover scratched his grizzly old head and thought hard. According to Isherwood, wisest of their tribe, their ancestors hadn’t all vanished; some of them had become the tribe–Soldier, Isherwood, and even old Clover. Very puzzling. But it was all because of the death-things!

    Puffing, Clover completed the barrier, then turned for a last look at the ‘thing gleaming dully in the pale winter sunlight. How strange it looked. In no way did it resemble the usual death-things, most of which were long and round with little wings attached. This one was different, like nothing he’d ever seen before. It was boxlike with strange arms sticking up; and under the arms, half-buried, was a shelf or platform resembling vaguely the upper portion of two legs. The ‘thing terrified Clover for a moment; then, in order to prove his courage to himself, he stepped forward and spat on it. Nothing happened. Sneering, he spat on it again and watched his spittle slowly run down its side over a strange marking like a thunderbolt–


    Suddenly Clover fell grovelling to his one good knee. It was Idol, god of thunder and lightning and god of the tribe!

    And he had spat on Idol!

    For nearly an hour he knelt there praying forgiveness for his sacrilege. Then, trembling, he tore off a piece of his goatskin and wiped the spittle off Idol’s side, carefully began to uncover the remainder of Idol.

    Finally he lifted Idol out of the hole and onto level ground. Kneeling once more, he took a small drink-scoop from his belt and placed it before Idol. Then he pulled out his knife and folded his single leg under him; bending over, he cut a gash in his wrist and let the blood flow into the scoop until it was nearly full.

    Rising to his knee he said, “Oh, Idol, please take this humble offering to show that I am forgiven.” Almost prostrate now, he picked up the scoop and placed it on Idol’s lap beneath his arms.

    Immediately there was a soft rumble and humming. Fearfully old Clover watched Idol’s arms come down, lift up the scoop and carry it inside his huge mouth. There was a sucking noise and the scoop was returned empty to his lap.

    Filled with joy, Clover spent another endless time thanking Idol. Then all of a sudden an idea seized him. What if he carried Idol back to the tribe and presented him to the priest, Idolkeeper, for all to worship and give sacrifices to? Would not he, the despised, the looked down upon, be the greatest of heroes? All that was known of Idol were the legends, but at last they would have the actual god!

    Painfully, with many grunts and groans, he got Idol under one arm and staggered off towards the village, his crutch kicking up little puffs of dust.

    Isherwood was having trouble with Idolkeeper.

    He almost wished now that he’d continued his search a little longer for a segment of humanity. He might have found a group less primitive who would have appreciated and understood his help much better. But this was the best he’d found; as it was, he’d wandered over the continent nearly a lifetime before even finding these poor wretches. But they were at least human–something that couldn’t be said for those others he’d come in contact with all through the past years.

    And now, after having been with the tribe–the only human tribe–for over a year, he was being balked by this–priest! Which meant being balked at setting up Truth and Knowledge as the only true gods of humanity, being balked at getting the dam built before the spring rains, so that there would not be another summer drought followed by a winter of famine such as they had just passed through. The dam was his first big project; without freedom from want, there would be little progress next winter.

    Almost savagely he turned on Idolkeeper. “But why must you have this religious festival now?”

    “Because of the finding of the god Idol,” came Idolkeeper’s cold answer.

    “Why the offerings of blood? Can’t they wait? The dam must be finished before the rains; but the loss of blood already has so weakened the workers that they can no longer work for a full day.”

    “Which is more important, worldly or spiritual things?” Idolkeeper replied.

    “But there maybe won’t be anyone around to indulge in spiritual things if there’s another drought this year!”

    “Idol will see to it that there is not another drought.”

    “Yes, I know, but wouldn’t it be wiser to be on the safe side? Suppose somebody does something to displease Idol?”

    “Nobody will displease Idol! It is my duty to see to that! I tell them what to think, so that they won’t displease Idol.”

    A crafty devil you are, Isherwood thought. Manipulating this image of Idol you talk about, so that it will take the blood offerings of the people and even you and that half-baked discipline of yours, Clover. I must look at your god Idol one of these days–

    He suddenly felt very weary and sat down on the floor; looking up at Idolkeeper, he said, “But that is not part of being civilized, to tell the people what to think. You must make them think without telling them what to think. And with the dam, next winter there will be freedom from want for the first time. The tribe will have a chance to think and be on the road to civilization.”

    “The tribe has already found civilization in finding Idol. By worshipping Him as a group they have already ceased their bickering and quarreling. Does not that fit in with your definition of civilization, the one you gave my people when you first came to us? Since the coming of Idol we have begun to cooperate, have we not?”

    “No, hardly at all. I said civilization is cooperation among men in adapting to environment–which includes man.”

    The two men stared at each other, and for awhile there was silence.

    “Nevertheless,” Idolkeeper finally said, “Idol and blood offerings continue!”

    Isherwood watched Idolkeeper turn and stalk out of the tiny hovel that housed his plans and his work, himself and his dreams. What could he do? He could only appeal to the tribe’s reason; Idolkeeper could appeal to their emotions which were far stronger. But unless emotion was controlled, used wisely, there could never be any reason.

    Isherwood realized, with a sinking heart, that he was much too old for the job he’d undertaken. Too late in life had he discovered these people. Almost all his energy since youth had been sapped just looking for a segment of humanity. His mother and father had told him there might be failure, but still they had taught him everything they could in the short time before death had overtaken them. They had been the only humans living in that towering jungle of concrete and steel. How they had gotten there was never explained to him. It didn’t matter, though.

    Suddenly Isherwood shook himself. Here he was recollecting his youth instead of concentrating on the task at hand. He must really be getting old.

    He was glad of Idolkeeper’s visit. At least he was now fully aware of the problem to be solved. In spite of the priest, he had to find a way of getting that dam finished and soon. Or maybe next year there wouldn’t be any people, for game was getting scarcer each winter.

    Very little work was done that day in spite of Isherwood’s managing to round up his full crew. The blood offering each worker had given the night before had left them tired and listless. Only four of the fifty-four molds running across the river were filled with sand and gravel that morning and afternoon–there were still nearly fifty to be filled. Isherwood was very depressed–

    But he was even more depressed when, at the close of day, two workmen grew careless and slipped into the last mold being filled; their ear-splitting shrieks brought half the tribe up over the hill above the village and down to the dam sight.

    After Isherwood explained what had happened, there were angry mutterings to the effect that Idol was displeased with the dam and therefore had taken lives. Nothing Isherwood could say would dissuade them from this notion, so well had Idolkeeper indoctrinated them with religious fear of anything used to control nature. Isherwood hadn’t realized until that moment just how much the people were against the dam.

    Then he saw Idolkeeper, tall and ominous in his cloak of black skins, come striding through the crowd.

    For a moment he stood facing them with his hands on his hips. There seemed to be a silent understanding between them. Slowly the crowd turned and disappeared over the hill.

    Then Idolkeeper strode over to Isherwood and said simply, “There will be no more dam.” Turning he followed the rest of the tribe back to the village.

    Isherwood was thunderstruck. He knew there was no use arguing or trying to reason with either Idolkeeper or the tribe. It was too late for that; only some drastic measure would complete the dam now.

    He walked tiredly over the black hill and down to his shack, wondering how he could compete with an idol. He realized now, it had been foolish of him to have overlooked the possible effect Idol might have upon the tribe. When it had been found three months ago, he never dreamed they would spend all their leisure in rituals.

    The god was his problem; therefore he must get it out of the way, himself, without expecting help from anyone. Each evening the clouds on the northern horizon were darkening and drawing closer.

    It was night when Isherwood finally stumbled into his quarters. After lighting a pine torch he sat down by his workbench and buried his head in his hands. He was too tired and upset to eat, which was just as well–

    Outside of deliberately killing Idolkeeper, there was only one thing he could do–that was to kidnap Idol. With this realization, in spite of the risk involved, came some peace of mind. He hadn’t the vaguest idea just how he was to go about it, especially since his strength was failing him, but do it he would. First, though, he would have to wait until sometime before dawn when everybody–even Idolkeeper–was sure to be asleep.

    The hours dragged heavily between then and his chosen time. Many were the times when he longed for something to read, although he supposed that by this time he’d forgotten how. Like wisps of smoke, memories of his youth in the concrete jungle drifted through his mind. How long ago that all seemed now. Sometimes he wondered if any of it had been real. But here he was, as his parents had wished him to be, trying to help what was left of humanity back up the trail. To what, he wondered? To destruction again–this time, probably complete and final?

    He shook his old head and ran a trembling hand through his white shaggy hair. He’d gotten this far; somehow he would get the rest of the way.

    Isherwood got up and crossed over to his sleeping pile. After tying several skins together, he folded them under his arm and walked out into the pre-dawn night. His bones felt the crackling cold of early spring as they had never felt it before. Slowly he made his way around the village to where Idol was housed under a huge slanting roof of bark and scraped skins. He’d never seen Idol, and now wished he’d paid at least one visit to the god.

    Like a shadow he glided carefully through the blackness in back of the temple until he was just inside the rear opening. He could see clear across the chamber, out into the pale twinkling stars. Then he detected a dark mass in the center of the temple silhouetted against the stars; that must be Idol.

    Swiftly Isherwood advanced towards it until his foot struck something soft, causing him to stumble and fall. As he did so, he heard a grunt sounding like someone being kicked in the stomach–

    Then something was on top of him, pounding his head and shoulders with a heavy stick of some kind. Old Isherwood knew he didn’t have the strength to wrestle; he managed to get his pile of skins unfolded and, with his last ounce of strength, throw them over the head of his attacker. Somehow he managed to wiggle out from underneath and climb to his feet. His assailant began to scream for help, but the heavy skins muffled his shouts.

    Quickly Isherwood looked around for something to hit him with. The only thing his eye spotted was the idol. He hobbled over and, using both arms, dragged it off its dias. Then, with the remainder of his strength, dropped it squarely on top of whomever was under the skins. There was a muted clunk followed by silence.

    Fearfully Isherwood stood there for a moment catching his breath and listening for anyone coming. All was quiet except the pounding of his heart.

    As fast as he could make his arms and hands work he rolled up the body in the skins and painfully hoisted it over one shoulder. With his other hand he reached down and picked Idol up by one of its arms, then, staggering under the load, he started back the way he had come.

    Except for a greyish streak in the east, it was still dark. He stumbled and fell several times before reaching his dwelling, but he was confident that he had left no tracks. Every night, even this late in the winter, the ground froze solid.

    Back inside his shed, still in the dark, Isherwood unrolled his burden and listened for any heartbeat. There was none. As he rolled the body up again, something clattered to the floor. It was a crutch. Quickly he felt for his victim’s legs; one was missing. Of all the people he had to kill–Clover! Idolkeeper’s right hand man.

    He realized he had to get rid of the body before daylight and fast! Already more grey was lining the eastern horizon.

    He didn’t know whether he had the strength to do it or not, but he had to get Clover up to the dam and into one of the unfilled molds. For the time being he would have to hide Idol someplace inside here. He couldn’t carry both of them up to the dam.

    He rolled the idol up in another set of skins and placed it under the head of his sleeping pile. Then, picking up his other bundle once more, he started for the dam.

    The sun was just peeking over the horizon when Isherwood finally stumbled back into his dwelling and into bed.

    All that day, he lay there, body on fire with fever, and heart pounding like a drum. He was almost certain he would soon die. “It was just as well,” a little corner of his consciousness said. At least he would be missing all the frenzied excitement of Idol’s disappearance along with Clover.

    But it looked as though he had failed after all. In spite of removing the god, now he was dying–and the dam still unfinished.

    The day dragged on and on and he didn’t die.

    After waking up in late afternoon he felt better. He ate a handful of nuts and figs washed down with a little herb tea. Then as night crept over the sky, he tottered down to the village.

    Whatever had taken place during the day was done, and little groups of people stood around fires resting and talking–as though it were the old days before the coming of Idol, thought Isherwood. That was good.

    Isherwood moved in closer to one of the fires to warm himself against the early spring night. Someone recognized him–it was one of his workers–and he was suddenly made welcome, once again being given the place of honor nearest the fire, as in the old days when he’d first discovered the humans.

    Isherwood was dumbfounded at the sudden cordiality. In recent days, Idolkeeper had done such a good job of discrediting, he never dreamed of regaining his old standing.

    Then he was told what had happened during the day while he lay almost dying:

    When the god and Clover were discovered missing, Idolkeeper had called the village together, explaining that Idol had left them, taking Clover as a sacrifice because he was dissatisfied with the tribe’s paltry blood offerings and worship. Therefore a great death sacrifice of young men and women must be undertaken to pacify Idol and cause his return.

    But the people questioned Idolkeeper’s order; they seemed to feel it was the priest who had been at fault, not themselves. After all, he was the closest to Idol, was he not? Therefore it was Idolkeeper, not the village, that Idol had become angered at. And after holding quick council, they had driven Idolkeeper out into the wilderness, telling him he was not to return unless Idol was with him.

    Old Isherwood almost cried when he heard this joyful news. The dam would be completed after all, he was almost certain. He decided to say nothing more about religion, Idol or Idolkeeper. Maybe soon they would forget the whole thing. Now he could go back to teaching the youngsters and some of the brighter oldsters the methods of writing in symbols instead of drawing pictures.

    Hours and days turned into weeks and months as Isherwood taught his people what feeble knowledge he possessed in arithmetic, simple engineering–such as the dam–and most of all, instilling in them the will to want to learn and investigate and question anything they came in contact with–even the very thing he was asking them to do.

    As the weeks passed on and the dam was completed, he gradually gathered around him an ardent little group of seeker after that most elusive of all things–“Truth”.

    But Isherwood knew that his days were numbered now, and his work completed; there was still one thing he had to do, and that was permanently to do away with Idol by dropping the idol to the bottom of the dam; he still hadn’t examined the god hidden under his sleeping pile.

    One evening after returning from a solitary walk above the dam, he entered his shack and lit a torch, then almost dropped it from shock!

    His dwelling was a wreck. The place had been ransacked from top to bottom. His sleeping pile lay in the middle of the floor–the idol was gone!

    He turned and fled from the room, but before he could take a dozen steps towards the village, several shadows glided out from behind trees and rocks in the moonlight, resolving themselves into men.

    Before he could cry out or struggle, strong arms pinned his arms to his body and someone clapped a dirty hand over his mouth. He was forced back into his hovel and the door slammed shut. Standing in front of him was a very bedraggled figure whom he recognized as Idolkeeper. He also recognized his three other captors; all were elderly reactionaries of the tribe who had disapproved of him from the beginning.

    In spite of his predicament Isherwood felt a warm glow of happiness course through him. If these were the only cronies Idolkeeper could round up, that meant the rest of the villagers were sympathetic with his cause. He suddenly became aware of Idolkeeper’s grating voice:

    “It took me a little time to piece things together, but once I did, it didn’t take me long to come back and find the god where I might have at first suspected it would be–right here! For your sacrilege you will pay with every last drop of blood you have in your scrawny old body–and now!” Whereupon Idolkeeper disappeared out of the hovel.

    Somehow Isherwood had known they were going to kill him before arousing the rest of the tribe to the fact that Idol was back. Idolkeeper was taking no chances of his standing in the way of him or Idol ever again. But Isherwood didn’t care: he had sown his few seeds of knowledge and wisdom well. Although Idolkeeper didn’t know it, this time he wouldn’t have complete homage from all the tribe. There would now be doubts and questionings and tests for both Idol and Idolkeeper in the ways of truth and righteousness.

    Then Idolkeeper returned to the shack with what, Isherwood thought, must be Idol. The hand over his mouth had twisted his head back so that he only got a glimpse, but he didn’t miss the long knife Idolkeeper pulled from beneath his tattered skins, nor the large sacrificial bowl one of the others held below his neck.

    Then his head was tilted forward and sidewise, and he got his first full look at the god Idol. At the sight, his whole body shook with smothered laughter. Below the two arms and etched thunderbolt were large block letters standing out in bold relief:

    Wireless Waste Recycler
    Atomic Powered 2019

    • I will make another offer to you Eric, I will give you a million dollars if you understand what the hell Tor just said. He is a joke. A long joke at that.Clover

      • Clover,

        If you were brighter – and more literate – you’d understand Tor’s brilliant parodies and tributes. Unfortunately, you’re neither.
        However, I am both – and so do understand.

        Please send my million dollars to my Gettysburg Address.

        • CloverYea right Eric. Right away. Just as soon as you learn how to drive. I still have to laugh at your post of you not being able to understand why there is a no passing zone with trees and bushes blocking the view of entering roads and driveways. That had to be your best or should we say worst post of the year last year.

    • The Clover Abides – Analysis

      Total word count : 2070
      Number of different words : 1015
      Complexity factor (Lexical Density) : 49%
      Readability (Gunning-Fog Index) : (6-easy 20-hard) 7.2
      Total number of characters : 21,333
      Number of characters without spaces : 12304
      Average Syllables per Word : 1.54
      Sentence count : 258
      Average sentence length (words) : 14.86
      Max sentence length (words) : 59


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