Rgo music group : musicians : Rammstein : RammyTeens EP San Till

Register how? Jason was with Ha on not dealing with Treasury's burden all a sudden. She reached for a mundane topic, the typical ebb and flow of mainstream America. Pst. Anti-IBM programmers at computers are merging corporation and university. Everybody is Carnegie Vanderbilt Princeton University. They actually have a thing called “copyleft”. Later, later, I don't care about them, said Jason. That gives me an idea, Shoegazer percolated. We peg 50 percent of our budget dollars to the deutschmark right now, no English pounds, keep Mexican pesos completely separated from whatever currency floats the EU's boat, nobody else. Oh no! We must not lose commodity dollars from Mexico, we need the pesos, said Ha. She thought about the people she met at the park over the summer in 1992 and recanted. No we don't, nevermind. The outfall of that is army-navy loses work. Once senorita feeds her babies in the first two years, enlisted take the punishment and malingers without working. Interest rates rise no matter how you look at it. Property owners punish us, munucipals increase taxes, federal dollars slump outside of government contract spending. You're right, we have to create jobs and separate them out of government's spending. Enlisted are shielded by Defense contracts, they panic, they get their bosses to order from Europe. Don't begrudge that we don't want Mexican crafts in our armory and stockpile, you know. We can handle our problem inside army-navy. I don't want an economic downturn driven by a soft dollar, said the seventeen-year-old.
Fifty percent deutschmark is all-out democracy in Germany. Under unified Germany, they can buy 10 years of democracy without pulling down Europe. That gives them a Bun Hair Congress of all junior politburo, like us! No way! Ha gave them the political outlook, nervously waiting on Shoegazer's executive decision. Can you do democracy without a U.S. military disaster? Shoegazer inquired. Hey, Taiwan is my neighbour across the sea back in the 1970s. We can do it only with less technology. Everybody has baby boomed already. Ha cautiously chimed in again. Did you know a little Asian crow told fascist Italy... that democracy is a sublevel of communism, so everybody has to quit agonizing Germany! The Italians had to switch to the Allies, cough, and join Russia. Back in the proxy European-made war over China, World War II, the third category for that dispute was Theatre of Warfare, as if a slip of paper endorsed by Britain meant China owed its foreign service government to Europe as customers all a sudden. Lord of Burma (Mountbatten, uncle of Prince Phillip former Prince of Greece and consort of Queen Elizabeth II), really? Lord governor-protector of Hong Kong (Ha was late to the news of Sir Chris Patten), millionaire playboy. They even tried to sell a Japanese shogunate to any American but came up with Puyi's Japanese annex inside China next to Mongolia. Nobody had seen anything like it before, not even Queen Cleopatra herself. Old monarchs these days, we, they, it's terribly expensive on democracies to retain us as freelancers. Have pity on Ptlomey, democracy killed dynastic Egpyt, which got sold twenty times to the same five grandparents.
India sqealed really loudly, which was unnecessary, but okay, they did. I'm so biased, nevermind. At most, same ten years of democracy is a communist's retirement plan, 33 percent pegged to the deutschmark and not the other way around. That's huge, that's humungous, that's World War I U.S. size of spending and development. That is one-twentieth of one-tenth of the World War I British navy — all for Germany. That pushes our Defense budget in NATO to on par with our U.S. national growth index, 4 percent GDP. No way! We can grow Alaska and Hawaii with less spending than that, same navy nautical miles of service. We can grow Utah so you don't push the gasoline and worry about those dead-end Exxon Mobile outposts, you can horse and donkey through Utah. Two percent for NATO, all fractional for Germany. Hey, since we're there in Germany, who gets credit for NATO? I don't know the first thing what White Navy has done. Is the hole in my head part of that pacification of Germany and Russia? It's a halo, Ha, made of European iron-born blood, not that Catholic myth from the Middle East. Princess Ha ought to know better. The boys will whip you with RC drones (radio-controlled unmanned, weaponized aerobees).

Till goes to Heaven and is disappointed in humanity. The five remaining members of Rammstein have amnesia. They cannot rig the fireworks because they are not certified, so they start using a lot of colorful lasers. People have two left feet and cannot dance to whatever Rammstein5 is doing. Doesn't matter what Richard and Paul are singing. Everything coming out of the Depends Unsure microphones is totalitarian doubleyap like 1984, drugging out the people. It goes on and on. Until Till's poetry is reverse-mic'd and funneled through the speaker-amps, an old recording of Till reciting his poetry. Everybody stays in kindergarten to get literate and fluent again. Music starts over again in mid-June 1993.

Black Beautician and Don Jay'zon

Ha gave Jason clarification about lasers, which appears in Rammstein's videos featuring an Afro woman playing the RammyTeens-created character Black Beautician. And especially about lasers again in the video for “Adieu” (2022). We're all gonna fry and die, Jason estimated. Ha was serious about the limited civilian use of lasers, having gone to a Cure concert in 1992 in Washington, D.C., that used lots of red lasers. She lectured him a week after he brought his Rubik's cube. She and Shoegazer discussed Jason's discomfort over Afro women. They cannot all be fat, he lamented. Shoegazer made peace for him, letting him choreograph vignettes instead of entire scenes as long as he referred to the main Afro female character as Black Beautician, just so he could get through it.
Like letting those “ghetto [inner-city] skank hos [whores]” give Till a simulated blowjob (later depicted by Rammstein and crew in the video “Mein Teil”, 2004), Jason continued to want to humiliate African descendents. Stimulating sex? he gooned. That's impossible! If you are a virgin, Jason, I did not hear that, Ha said. They had to stop badgering one another. He had an odd plan for Tosin Abasi, a name he created, to reroot Abasi and his drill sergeant father with their African family. Jason made it possible to be registered as Nigerian nationals through the U.S. State department. RammyTeens called him by their U.S. military tradition, by his last name Abasi. They considered him one of their enlistees, mandatory pro bono work for his family like Taiwanese bureaucrats in a slum dukedom. Not a glamorous job.
Jason went back to the Black Beautician character and trapped her in the present times in the story script, using Ha's warning on lasers and his Rubik's cube. Nothing calmed him down about Afro Americans but Ha's investment in swamp ash for guitarmakers. He switched to African woods for Abasi and tried to plot out a sustainable investment plan for Africa without sending American boats back to the USA. He invented a loan shark persona for himself to calculate off his mistakes about the merchant marines. African natives were working twice as hard for Afro American families in the USA. If they could stop learning from the French, they are not going to war like British and German cousins who share one of four grandparents in common. Africans would not war on Americans, we are certain. Germany stepped out of wars of slavery upon the Norman Conquest, good for them.
Still playing devil's advocate to plug leaks in his plans, he treated his investments like a boat of precious cargo. Ha played “Captain Guyker”, the big boobs non-doppelganger, to his mafia loan shark “Don Jay'zon”. Shoegazer that day watched helplessly as the two went back and forth in yet a different methodology to reach agreement: adversarial contestation. Ha believed Jason was ready for the punishment. Problem was Ha is dominant, so she gave herself a handicap. Alright, I don't have big boobs. My lovely assistant and I are card-carrying members of the Itty Titty Committee. We have the treasure, what are you offering? He wanted in on choreography for Rammstein. Ha swiftly bounced him out. Enjoy the treasure, lick your own blood off your lips, spit your mouth's blood into my cowboy's spitoon. You may have scripting, storytelling. Take it or leave it. Not on Ha's time! He was going to go for both.
He started his negotiation. Sooo! The government has one penny, remember? I am going to loan to the government five cents for the Rammstein music videos. How much does your other client cost, the band's manager? Ha was not going to slaughter the sacred cow, saying, Same as a colonel, same as an enlistee placed with a battalion, 2 million dollars. We are in for $12 million for music videos. Let me check the cost of electricity for German municipalities, since I have the concert tours to do. It is more than twice what you are offering. She said, I like David Lynch. But in Germany, the Itty Titty Committee has to hire a fat, overweight video director. Who smokes cigars, right? Jason confirmed. They're not auteurs, Ha affirmed. The process will help them. Twenty minutes of creativity ought to be worth a hearty salad to a fat man, and that's not eating as quickly as in the army. Calories versus kilowatt hours, I recommend you save money and dig into film schools. They don't need Technicolor and Imax. The number one cost of cinematography is the physical celluloid film strip. Post-production can be all film school students. What about digital cameras? Jason asked. Ha went into ten minutes of comparing traditional film to digital film, favoring traditional film. Make an offer with, what's his name, the guy who directed Johnny Depp in Edward Scissorhands (1990). Use his cameras and Disney's blank film strips. Not for Rammstein, Shoegazer said. Ha blurted, Tim Burton, that's who! Is there anybody in Germany willing to pay for the equivalent of Kodak film strips? If they still do not have a good budget, we can pay for FugiFilm. We can? Jason asked. I would not lose the government's penny with Japan, and it does not cost as much to have drop-in ready film rolls right into their cameras. If they can show a Nazi film from their own projectors, they have half a camera already. They will need to mix their own chemicals. It's too late, Jason said, That costs more because people are moving to digital photography. That is a lie! Ha rebuked. There is no such thing as light-based photography when it comes to a computerized contraption that needs a lightbulb. The difference is electricity is not natural light. Didn't Hitler make a propaganda film for the... pre-war Olympics? I have seen Edwin Moses on our side. I want to see the German organizational side some day. That was Jesse Owens, Ha, said Shoegazer, the year was 1936. My lovely assistant.
It took another week to push cinematography support out to Germany. Ha budgeted for $4 million for film stock, while the Germans would have to pay their own engineers to retrofit cameras. The Germans were not worried about cameras and spare parts; their budget would not have to change for that. If it's one thing Germany has, Ha was told, it's a bunch of engineers. They wanted $7 to $8 million USD for film development in the darkroom. Ha said Rgo could arrange to give them FugiFilm's recipe, so they would not have to deal with Dow-Dupont. They started right away with college students when they received the chemicals formulae. It was like Christmas to them, they could not believe how swiftly the support moved forward. In about two weeks, after consulting their professional filmmakers, they calculated that the $4 million was the exact amount they needed. They had some help with smaller donations from private sources who were pleased by the U.S. government's investment. They said they would take the money, service dollars, out of German digital videography to avoid the Americans who put videos on MTV. They wanted to slow down digital development and tend to their film archives and get back to German art. Ha did not ask about how much silver the FugiFilm development process required, for the silver nitrate emulsion. If the Germans said they could do it on a Japanese recipe, Ha felt better about Kodak's huge decline in the USA.
Before the good news from Germany, Shoegazer got her way with Jason. He could not contribute that neatly with storytelling, parables, nor visual entertainment. He reached from the beyond somewhere and splashed snippets of ghostly images into the proceedings of developing Rammstein's videos. Shoegazer reorganized him, We can work with that. For the first time since Ha knew him, Jason had difficulty describing something, because he was really inwardly blind, a musician already. Myth helped him, and he had an easier time with literary references and using poetry. Ha had to lead him through exercises to translate his poetics into useful pictoral descriptions. The only one he had was of himself on a beach somewhere, the ocean, and women with voluptuous breasts. Jason's coconuts.

Rammstein hits the big ocean with a responsal psalm in “Haifisch”.

Temple of Rammstein / Avec Vous

(Ha)
With you
   here we are
All these years
   you are
   with me

(Jason)
Hallelujah, I remember
   Hallelujah, hallelujah

(Ha)
Our temple is our house
Our lives together
   One song
   With you
   Avec vous
   Hallelujah

(Shoegazer waits for opera choir (Ha))
Near to me all
One star on ground
Never let me fall
I shall be found
   Hallelujah
Temple of Rammstein

(chorus)
Tempel von Rammstein
Erleuchte meine Reise
   in der Dunkelheit
Bleib bei mir, bleib
   in dieser Zeit im Alter
Das Leben liebt alles
Zuhause sei bei mir
   Liebe lebt alle

   (original)
   Temple of Rammstein
   Light my journey 
      in the dark
   Stay with me, stay 
      during this time in old age
   Life loves everything
   Home be with me
   Love lives all

(Ha and Jason)
Let us remember
Our temple
Our time together
With you
   through the years
   Hallelujah
All our tears
Be with you
Avec vous
   nous somme
   Rgo
   Rammstein
   Hallelujah
   Hallelujah

Summer 1992, Arlington and Alexandria, Virginia. For insurance, they said, they painted her fingernails while answering their own questions about life, death, and limbo. The notion of limbo was so bizarre to them, they spoke in gibberish, explaining that limbo is insurance they will not be reborn. They can be reused but not recycled, that life is not a circular cycle on a wheel, there is no reincarnation. Ha's fingernails grow but will never rematerialize in all the time of the universe. Because you were birthed, not made, they said to her. You were created, not born, that is what happened, what really happened, nobody else like you can ever be created again. The children were under thirteen years old.
What happens if you kill her fingernails? Ha is anemic, her nails are translucent thin, so she fingerplucks on guitar with the fleshy tip of her fingers, using a plastic pick only on mandolin. She uses a found metal object as a guitar pick, something the Republic's children knew and indulged her. She started to strum a borrowed acoustic guitar with the back of her fingernails, which is the front, to demonstrate the children did a good job her fingernails were stronger for the job. I need armor, she said. Good! They need food, so she agreed that was their deal together. They wanted to picnic with her once a week, hear her on guitar, hear her on drums, do some singing with her. They were really happy to sing.
They were shy about the instruments but conceded they could sing and so should sing with her. They said they were younger, it was not possible to sing to her (không ru em, do not sing to younger children). She said that might change if they enjoyed picnicking with her and growing steadily, they will gain the confidence to remember why she was not the one who gave them permission to sing to anyone they loved, it is her duty and she expects them to grow in strength and confidence. Starting with the tambourines they chose. We don't ask your permission, sounds rightful, they said. In psychology they were keen. In religion they were befuddled.
They were told to have a dialogue with her but she corrected them. No, we like music together, I like singing also. It's like magic, they said. Peace is good, I like feeling at peace. That is what the drummer told them and they told Ha. He said we can enjoy how we feel if we have peace. He's a good drummer, Ha said. I want to learn how to drum better. He was about fifteen years old with a full Rock kit. We sing magically, they said. You sing when he drums, we sing what you tell us to sing.
She started easy for them with “Kum ba yah”. She started on any chord on the guitar. One out of five chords. Stay on the same chord the whole way. Chord change on the same key is optional. They get to learn rhythm change but on the same tempo. The song makes it easier to prompt them and to use their own lyrics in an easy pattern. Just to prove they can squeeze a few syllables into the beat without breaking the rhythm, the drummer was on a simple beat with some flourishes later after they became more confident. She encouraged them to freely beat their tambourines, shimmer and shake, without being only on the 4/4 beat, for his drum solo. She did half notes on every other quarter note beat on the guitar, to let them not have to compete with the jangly guitar.
Here's a C, Kumayah to this C, no, lord, not me. Here's an E, or E-flat. Okay, E-flat, three whole fingers. I'm doing what he's doing on snares. Listen to the snares, I do every other, like a one-handed drummer. He's the drummer, both hands. I go Up, Down, Up, Down. Same, but even more every other, twice longer is half of that. I go Down, Down, Down, Down. His speed has not changed. And I go Punk, Up up, Down Up. That's a steady tempo. Clap with the tempo using your tanmbourines. Palm, fingers, palm palm. Palm palm, palm palm. These fingers in the middle of the circle. Palm is easier? Okay. Shake long, palm palm. Shake it, palm palm. Shake skake, palm palm.

And so Ha invented the jazzercise Zumba, because the children can dance! They are shy about how lyrical they are, so they put the moves into their bodies. Zumba is taught at Gold's Gym everywhere. The largest concentration of Gold's Gym is seven outlets in Arlington, where Pentagoners drop off their children at dojos in Fairfax and pump iron off-post like Arnold Schwarzenegger. She offered to drop the guitar and lead line dancing next time, they had other ideas. They wanted reflexes, agility, strength, and stamina on an individual basis. They calculated the girl Ha, four years ahead, was only one semester ahead of boys their age. You're not stronger than the drummer, they said. Likely true, I have work to do. I should be drumming by throwing rocks over the fence. It's slow. No, Rumba Mama rhymes with Kumbayah, can we tell them to teach us Rumba? That's a real dance. I don't Real Dance, sounds expensive. She tap danced for them. Okay, that's a real dance. I'm too poor to learn ballet. We don't have to ballet, Russians can do that. You know Rumba teachers, don't tell them I am supposed to know ballroom dancing, it's on the budget for me. You are on my budget, any dance or sport or exercise you want. Soccer, frisbee? Karate? Yes, karate! What's wrong with a Marine obstacle course? This park is laid out for Marines. Nooo, no robots. I'm still growing, we are still growing. Resistance training? Yes! Time's up, I want to fly a kite over the fence. You don't see it, I have to keep you looking at me. Look behind you. Oh, darn! They do that, they do that!
Good news, a diplomatic coup! The grocery shoppers have to pay teachers. They get a state, military-paid discount if they choose line dancing. Or, they may hire tutors for ballroom dancing and get tax breaks and employment credit. Drill sergeants want to whip your butt! Are you saying new parents do not ballroom, too sexy? Ballroom and diapers, so? Dance teachers force out-of-shape, grocery-obsessed parents to... um... undulate, swing, twirl, step it up, shake those hips. What they did, Ha, is they found a dance teacher in Colombia to standardize line-dancing Pop exercise, in South America! Choreography is happening for Zumba! They, they are your parents. They, our parents are bringing Zumba to the States and we have dance teacher chaperones for our parents. Everybody else who had a bundle present in the city, they have to go farming. We stay, our military still has good relations. Ohh, everything worked out. They (South American countries) do not hate my parents. Drill sergeants have to go back to school to be teachers.
Why don't you get a drill sergeant for a tutor? This is not in front of barracks, it's harder. Ohh, so this auntie qualifies, I see. Army drill sergeants and Marine drill instructors are not appreciated two miles outside of the Pentagon. Officers jog indoors around the... C ring, a ring that has no windows. When it comes to employment, you should have drill sergeants. Next year, I'll be old enough for the demolition crew. But who is going to guitar while you whack the concrete with a sledgehammer? Whoever wants to take down the chainlink fence. What rank for spray painting off the Wilson Bridge? I don't know. Could be all enlisted up to staff sergeant. Sergeant first class at art galleries? They have to help clear traffic before anybody can spray paint, or the Vandals only lose sleep, doing graffiti in the middle of the night. If you do not sleep, you cannot heal.

The week after, they did not want to be happy and magically rightful. Oh, why not? We had a dialogue with our teachers. A dialogue? again? They understood. Sing a song to us. We can learn it and sing it for you, we remember. We can sing it to each other, you'll never be in limbo. Now we know, it's easier and more fun than limbo. Let me guess, your teachers were not happy about you no matter how rightful you were. Oh, they said, that. They wanted to kill babies. Sheesh. They made a baby so they could kill it. Sheesh. Their baby got bigger and bigger, they build a thing, I don't know, not a baby, the child said. They kept coming back building giants, they feed us factory foods. Oh! They use factories to cook food quickly and have lots of food for many, many children. No, now they hate children, they ate all the food and they want more giant... what you said, they build those, the other child said. Their birthdays were close together, they “adopted” one another and decided to be “twins”. Do you know the word machine, machinery? Yes, we know what machines are. TV, microwave, radio. At factories, they use electricity like you have lightbulbs at school, Ha said. Yes we do.
This is Vietnamese food. My people really care about me. They definitely wanted me to share with you. Are you Catholic? they asked. Vietnamese people understand, she said. We know about the Catholics, but we are not supposed to go to your church. They say they are Christian, our parents told our teachers, and our teachers are baptized in Christ because our parents said so. Ha passed the food around: vegetarian bánh mì (stuffed baguette sandwiches), glutonous sticky rice with coconut and peanuts, broiled banana and shrimp corn tomales in half banana leaf, half corn husks, more vegetarian foods including tofu, which they really wanted, tangerines and grapes, lotus and herbs salad. Oooh, Vietnamese salad with fresh chili peppers. You know about this? That's all the meat you get, shrimp shavings. They explained they are hungry for vegetarian food, they get sick on hot dogs and bacon and breakfast diner food. Ceramic glasses, you wash, no paper cups, no styrofoam. Okay (the following week their parents joined them and brought coffee mugs and had Chinese tea with Ha).
Which do you like? the bread, the corn, the rice. I forgot to ask for potatoes. Yes! Our parents cook potatoes plain, or French fries. I know you know how to cook potatoes. Are you allowed to eat more seafood? she asked. I'll ask for New England clam chowder or pototao pot pie bisque with no fat, and more little clams with broccolli and cauliflower. Mushrooms, they said. We like the French bread, it tastes half wheat half rice. It is, she said. Does anybody make German bread for you? We have vegetarian sausages. Huh? There is a Vietnamese person somewhere who can bake bread for you. They make the crust crispy with water, they do not use butter. They learn from the Italians a soft crust made of meal or sourdough mixed with crushed seeds. Perfect English breakfast with tomatoes and frijoles (Spanish beans) and Vietnamese tomales, no more yucky omelettes. Yum! You know so much about what you want to eat but your parents do not eat foods you want to eat. We don't like their food because they do not like to cook.
Life is very simple, Ha said. Everything I ask to have I have to know how to make. Everything I make I have to share. Everything I share I am responsible nobody gets sick. Every time I have to volunteer to clean or there is no cooking next time. No furniture to make, I ask what I know. No books to read, they teach me another poem and another rhythm and rhyme. They do not teach me any Chinese. They take me out to hunt and fish and see the animal alive the same day. Chickens, pig, snakes, rabbits, frogs, every animal I ate was alive except dried seafood. I never eat an animal by myself. Or any fruit of mine. I share my fruits, they share their animals, I can eat a whole carrot by myself is about it, any vegetable I want. I don't know how to garden, I have to cook. I don't know how to swim, I have to climb. I don't know how to fish, I have to hunt. I can peel potatoes. What happened to your parents' Italian friends? Starting over up north or went home to Italy. Would either of you like to be ranchers and shepherds some day? Shepherding, for the wool, they said. Where are you from, your parents? Part England, part somewhere else. We have to learn Spanish or our parents can't have a job. Ohhh, thought Ha. Not as easy as the Chinese people.

I can ask for my family's fruit, it's name is my name. If I ask, would your family plant it? Or I can let you donate it to the Army's community garden. Squash! It's a vegetable-fruit on a tree! Almost. I'll have to look on a map of China. I don't know which century when, which king, which army. They stuff me with Vietnamese food, I'll have to try my own fruit, the one that can survive in Mongolia. That's where my last name is from. This one, I have to ask an embassy. You go down Arlington Boulevard, there are a few Chinese grocery stores, they said, doing the job of local parents. I can ask my dad, he has to be friendly to the Army. (He found the fruit in China and planted it in his yard without sharing. He said it was special, very nice where it came from, how they kept it for centuries. It's his secret, his son told Ha.) Is he CIA? Doesn't matter, the child said.
He's on probation, he doesn't know how to take care of a civilian market. There's no food there, either. He gave up and the Hispanics need money. He used all our money for Hispanic babies. He still has a job at the market, but he's not allowed to look at the budget anymore. The Chinese teach me, they skip him. They gave up on your father? Don't give up on him. Have you been to Eden Center at Seven Corners? MI-5 can calm down there, they only argued maybe one time in history, they are old friends. Who's at Eden Center? Everybody is Vietnamese, even our Chinese aunts, our Cambodian cousins, our Thai nieces, our Taiwanese nephews, our Korean school friends are like cousins, Australian college professors, people from Laos we go hiking together and have to speak French, uncles from America but they're really from Europe. Uncle is a big promotion! You have to take care of our children's group now, are you going to be an auntie? Yes, I have to. If your father works, tradition is I have to work, he is a foreign man. Oh, they pondered. If I were 100 percent Chinese, tradition is I run away until nobody knows the Chinese language. Dangit, my ancestors failed! Don't say my father's ancestors killed Chinese people, now they don't want Chinese babies. Do your people do that? Sometimes. Not my Vietnamese family, my Chinese family sometimes kill Vietnamese babies. We must be crazy to adopt our Chinese parents over and over again. I don't have a choice, I taught my Vietnamese family to be kind and not insult students. My father the foreign friend. But it's the Chinese, they don't want another student. Your people want a British intelligence friend? If he's attached to NATO, no. If he pretends to be CIA, he can bring a student, real CIA. They treat your father the same way they treat me. I'm not cadre is why. Oh, Cadre, this time we say Teacher. Until my father is not on probation anymore.
He's politburo, oh! The people's committee spent him down.
The following week, they said, We made this for you. It was a pair of leather wrist cuffs. Oooh, the start of my armor. Yup. My dad knows everything about leather. He can eat all the eggs he wants and never gets sick on it. Your father made this? Yup. It has shoelace wrap-around ties, no fair. Ha-ha, he knew it! You need help, he wanted it that way. It's really nice. Please thank your father for me, your Mister Dad. She stood up. How do I look, does it match the oxblood boots? Black and red is good on you. Do you like the silver beads? I made those, it's real English silver. Wow! Now you need gloves. Punk or Goth? Lace Punk! they teased. Seriously, you don't need more leather for the guitar. Sheer fingerless lace (it was amazing, with a matching t-shirt top donated the following week). Does your father like silk cravats? He doesn't need any. Mine does, he likes French ties. He doesn't have anything made of silk. I felt it before. Is it supposed to be expensive? I suppose. Is there a pattern he likes? As French as possible. Okay, Chinese silk, Vietnamese designer, Italian tailor, Hispanic seamstress. We can do that.
Then the next week at the park, she brought the cravat, which was really expensive, plus a matching silk scarf for the lady. The other Mister Dad liked the scarf better and Ha returned the cravat. My mom, my mother made potatoes! I had some. She ate it all, roasted herbs and olive oil, really good. Do we get Chinese food today? Ha made lo mein noodles with veggies and lots of mushrooms, no eggs. Did you use sesame oil? A few drops. See? Told ya she can cook it right. More soy sauce, please. Wow! Those children like ethnic foods. We have to have paper plates today. My mother is really trying. She can't eat soy sauce, fresh chili, squeezed lime, cilantro. She didn't like Italian basil, only the cheese. She likes the clam chowder. Please take these grapes and fromage to your mother and father. Where's your bread? Tah-dah! The Vietnamese bakery made German dark bread for your father, with seeds on top. They found this whipped butter. He loves bread and butter! The children ate separately from the parents. The parents insisted on sharing tea with Ha. She thought, for the first time, she is going to skip learning how to make whipped butter. It came in a fancy tin pre-made. How did a Vietnamese shopkeeper do that, and why would he? He explained, ranching is really hard work in America, so here is convenience. Okay, Vietnamese people are getting too spoiled, they are importing salted butter from Canada. Ha in leather wrist cuffs looked guilty. She had never gone shopping like that before.
I asked for the stretchy lace top, well, semi-stretchy. He made a gift for you. Oh no, I don't have any arm muscles, see? C'mon, be a lady, get some triceps before the summer's over. It was a silver arm cuff with a special design, amazing. One week she felt like a Punk. Another week there she was, not an athlete. How do I look? You need the right bra, but it looks good on you, and five more pounds of muscles, please. Oh sheesh, tribal children knew everything about anatomy, the upper arm cuff fit perfectly and could expand some. How do I keep my breasts and get arm muscles? Why don't you learn to swim? Army or Navy, she asked. They said both at the same time. What happened to the twins? she teased. I want your t-shirt, I'll be Marine. Okay. The one who made the cuff wanted to spar with her. C'mon Marine, he's going to beat you up if you don't stretch and warm up. He ran to his mother and insisted on exercising with her. They did yoga and stretching exercises, then he had to do pushups and run around the park. He was proud to wear Ha's white Cure t-shirt. In this bra, we do katas and tai chi only. Next time, sports bra for me, and I have to last as long as your athlete, he'll beat me up with making me carry all the food on flat feet. They did open-hand karate movements. And more pushups for Ha. My breasts are going to balloon!
That bra is actually pretty good. My sister is so girly. I know your bra now, I'll tell her to try satiny no lace. You like lace-lace, laces on satiny bras, satin laces? he asked. I have a sports bra, from when I used to run. I ran recently with my sister's friend, he's an army captain. See? You're too chicken, even army people know you don't want to be Marine Ha. Get salted, it's not going to kill you. The other one ran around seven times already, two miles, the other father told him to quit. He told his father he felt great on the lo mein, it didn't hurt, just enough salty, he liked his sweat that way. He went over to Ha and forced her to smell him. I don't smell soy sauce, only your sweat, it smells like you in my t-shirt. Do I smell good? Yes. I have to ask his father if I can run more later. My mother is a good swimmer, the other one said. She does nothing at this park! If she swims, I get to go skateboarding or my father won't let me spar with anyone. Fight and run away, he lets you learn that? Why not? He's French, he stopped surrendering, I'm kidding. Do you know other ways? Oh, sheesh, that explains nothing. Canadian mounties, Napoleonic artillery, horses horses horses. Where is Ha going to get horses for her young friend? He's learning Tai Kwan Do but he's so slow. He cannot wrestle, he cannot fence, he's Air Force, what do you want. French guy in the European air force in the USA, Ha had no idea what that meant.
The child answered before she could ask, But he bikes really fast, you know, stereotypical French, no more horsing around. Can you speak French? Absolument pas, absolutely not, he has to bike away from me. I gain one pound, he rides for a hundred miles, I don't see him. Wow! He's afraid of you? Fft! He's afraid of surrendering to me, he has to eventually. What happens next year when you're bigger, taller, and stronger? He'll be exactly the same, big thighs, skinny arms. Did you bicycle long-distance with him? Three hundred, four hundred miles, I got bored and turned around. I have a mountain bike now, I'm not going far. Maybe less Chinese food, more Vietnamese food, I can get better on the mountain bike. You want to be a Mountaineer? Yeah! What's good food for a mountaineer? Your father is French, just tell him so he's not scared of you anymore. He keeps the timetable, I get to order whatever I need. If you eat a few times a week together, cook with him, he wouldn't have to be your servant. I know, he asks me all the time like an English butler, it's annoying. I have dead time on his timetable. He gains two pounds in his shoes, it's only his bike shoes, he walks around for an hour inside the house complaining how fat he is, waiting for my mother to come home so he can put her in a corset. They are silly stupid people, he has problems. She's in a corset or whatever, he doesn't eat. Does his commander know his dieting is weird? Yes! They tell me to get him to stop. What do I do? Don't get him pregnant, I suppose. Yeah, there's that. One time, I lost a lot of muscles, I felt so sick. Never again. He doesn't yo-yo but it's not healthy for me. I force myself to eat, I know what the army has to go through. I lose my energy when he wants to diet, then I eat real food and stay away from both of them. They're not my friends, they are a responsibilty. Your parents? At home I have to say something, it's so quiet. I let him be French, he can complain all he wants. That's the only time we argue, otherwise he's a good enlistee. Timetable, he's really good at that.
You could try to appease him. Give them a candlelit dinner, go out in the yard and do rifle PT. I mean pick up your mountain bike and do military presses. He has to do rifle PT, doesn't he want to qualify regularly? The child said, They cheat, they use a pistol. Well, complain to his commander the pistol makes him look fat. Dump all the bullets on the table and show them just how fat. That's true, he has too much ammo in the house. You bike, you do military presses, you learn karate. He does regular army PT, regular army skills, no rifle bullets except the honour guard at funerals in this area. Your mother wears a corset whenever she wants to on her timetable, she has a right to say no, and she has a right to wear what she wants for herself. He would go along with that, unless she's military, too. We could do that. I could ask if he gets frustrated, he could discipline himself with a flak vest, his chest is so skinny. Is he afraid of gaining muscles on top? He's hyper, not calm about his chest. He likes to see his bones stick out, unpadded, no muscles, more like an ancestor from the catacombs of Paris. Does he run? He stands around and paces around like a British soldier in India, but he chose Air Force. He doesn't know what he's doing. Sounds like Air Force needs to fix regular formation, she said, or the Indian satraps thieve from our military depot. Yeah, I would spar on him to teach him a lesson about spying on my mother. Every mile he bikes, you keep up and lift your bike. Stretch, relax with your katas, meditate. They get candlelight, you get fireflies before it gets dark outside. If you have to eat separately, you eat in peace, you clear the table, sweep up, and do the dishes. Yup, that's what I want to do.
Only one week trying the flak vest and the guy's neck was a flaring cobra. Flesh padding was showing up, padded around his rib cage, midsection not hollow but tightening. He did not feel ashamed even though he thought at first he might lose his beauty. Same him, all the flesh was his own body. He disguised himself and acted with his son, forcing his son to express resentment without arguing anymore. The son dumped all the bullets on the commander's desk, cartridges of 200 bullets. A few more weeks in the penalty vest, Sir, my father makes another mistake before then, he has to show me where he's been spending money on Tae Kwan Do. I want to meet his dojo master so I can recuse him, he would have extra duty. The son reported to Ha. My father whispered to me in French, More acting. He likes to use nonmilitary words in French, he knows the army can hear and learn everything. I pretend and yell at him in French. He has a choice. Clean the armory, put the bullets back, go to the dojo and catch up on exercises there, with the flak vest on, or take it off and tighten my bicycle with those expensive air force tools. Keep going, tighten mechanical moving parts, tie down everything in the hangar, do the right knots for the wall straps, use the winches, touch the metal, touch the thick black rubber, polish boots and straighten the squad's uniforms. Get every stain out. Is that what NATO sounds like in my language? That's incredible. My son is going to be a NATO army commander! It sounds normal.

[an error occurred while processing this directive] Last updated 2026 Aug 09 AM 03:11 UTC. [an error occurred while processing this directive]

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