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Post by Plural of Mongoose »

@ Haxxie

Your whole post is you trying to be disingenuous.

My bitch with you was your constant and ever-growing statements from supposition to blanket statements of fact, that I was in fact some type of informant for an arm of the Feds, had always been, and always would be, blah, blah, blah fucking blah.

So who registered what and when hasn't got a single fucking thing to do with what I was questioning your actions and words on.

So no, some piece (not bad, btw) of fiction posted somewhere else has nothing to do with the fact that you, with callous recklessness and disregard, constantly claimed that I was/am, an informant for the feds in general, and then the DEA in particular, for absolutely no valid reasons what-so-fucking-ever.

I have no idea who posted here--I haven't even read the post in question, to be honest it's way too fucking far off my radar to even bother with.

All I was looking for was maybe for you to perhaps dial it back, admit that you got caught up and god fucking forbid, perhaps even apologize for smearing the fuck outta me for quite some time now.

Trying to make ANY of this into something that involves Silk Road, or Gypsy Nirvana posting as someone claiming to have met me in prison, or any other red herrings you may come up with, is as I said at the outset, disingenuous of you.

So Haxxie, either dial it back, and apologize, or double down, and see where that gets you.

The choice is yours, but don't come in here and shit up my thread. If you're going to double down, you've already got lots and lots of threads with your bile in 'em. Post in one of those, or start your own next to mine now.

:smoke:
The last fucking thing you want is my undivided attention...

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Post by Plural of Mongoose »

When you walk in to the Royal Courts of Justice, you enter through these massive medieval doors with huge marble arches, and are immediately awed by the lobby area. Something like 70 feet high, with stained glass windows, and detailed cornices, and centuries of grime, with echoes of footsteps on the marble floors filling your ears; if you are not impressed and humbled when you enter, you are dead inside.

The whole ethos is somewhat marred by the guards with automatic weapons, the frost fence around the sidewalk to keep always present protesters the required 20 yards from the entrance, and of course the two massive stainless steel tables housing hulking x-ray machines beside the detection portals you have to pass through to enter. There is a massive stone desk in the center of the lobby leading to the great room, with room for a dozen people behind it, staffed with mebbe two bored looking middle aged matrons, with a broken sign hanging over it.

INFORMATION

I make a beeline for it. I'm two hours early for my first meeting with the Master in Chambers, and I'd been told numerous times by all and sundry who would know of such things, two hours early for your first time is about right. You may even have time for a quick coffee before the session starts. I'm glad I listened.

The folks streaming in and out of this place know what they're doing and where they're going. It's only lowly interlopers such as myself that have to deign to stop and ask for directions. When I was having a last smoke outside before I'd entered, I saw countless Bentley limousines pull up, and disgorge nattily dressed top caliber barristers and solicitors. I saw two goddamn Rolls Royce Silver Shadows, and and a fucking Wraithe, that 624HP sexy rocket with suicide doors! The gentlemen—and make no fucking mistake, they were gentlemen—who were emerging from these rolling works of art were all of a similar type. Tall, broad shouldered and middle-aged, often with paunches and occasionally two chins, but impeccably tailored in multi-thousand pound brushed woolen Saville Row suits (But would be soft as an agora rabbit to the touch), with calf-skin gloves and gleaming shoes from Clark's, and impossibly thin briefcases stuffed to overflowing, these were Serious Men, and they were on Serious Business. And they were The Enemy. And they certainly had no need of any counter titled INFORMATION. There is all kinds of available space on my side of the counter.

I stand there for a few moments. Nobody has offered to help me, but not out of any lack of duty or anything, just that everyone else that stops there is either pulling papers out of, or stuffing papers into their briefcase, or signing a document on the wide marble top, or saving a failed juggle of cell phone, briefcase, file folios, and Styrofoam coffee cup. The two matrons are chatting amicably to each other, plump, and friendly, and smelling I'm sure, faintly of lilac.

"Excuse me," I say. Well, not really. What I actually said was more along the lines of "Ackkkkk Sppppppttttttt Errrrrrrrmmmkkkmkmkk..." Goddammit. In spite of my healthy hydration habits, the two and a half packs a day coupled with spit-drying nervousness had welded the back of my throad to muh tondtils, erm, throat to my tonsils. I casually cleared my throat, which rapidly turned into a classic smokers railroad hacking session that doubled me over, gasping for air and I'm sure with my forehead gleaming a bright cherry red, I leaned on the counter and tried to settle my breathing. One of the matrons had rushed over with motherly concern, looking at me with soft eyes, "Are you all right, luv? Can I help you with anything?"

I fumbled about and produced the wrinkled paper from my trousers that had the room I was looking for written on it in large child-like letters in bold sharpie—my writing is atrocious and I never have my much needed reading glasses handy when I need them, so I've learned the sharpie trick—and pointing to the kindergarten-like scrawl, I said I was looking for this Masters Chambers. She looked a little stricken, and asked, "Oh my, what time are you due there?" I told her in about an hour and forty-five minutes. "Oh good, we should be OK then." But she didn't look convinced.

WTF?

She reaches for a booklet with a picture of the RCJ on the front, a mimeographed fuzzy looking document that likely several hundred iterations ago had purported itself to be some type of map, and a little business-card like square of cardboard.

She made sure I had a good grip on the little square of cardboard, and laid the poor excuse for a map and the four-color RCJ handout on the counter.

"That card has my extension number on it. You've got a cell phone with you? Good!

"Now, when you get lost, if you can't find your way back here, call this number, and ask for my extension. I'm Shirley Potts Smythe-Beddows, and I'm here for three more hours, so you should be OK. Now, you can't get cell service (Actually, mobile, not cell in the UK, but I can't be arsed to keep transcribing that. Note that I can be arsed to use arsed, so I am acclimating to my environs here, slowly but surely over the years.) in large swaths of the complex, in which case you'd be best off asking someone for directions back here, the main door information desk. Just ask any of the bright young things dashing about here, any one of them will be glad to help, for fear if they don't the favor may be returned to them negatively one day." She grimaced a wee bit, "Don't bother asking any of the barristers. They'll just ignore you and keep walking."

I was slowly gaining a massive amount of respect for Ms. Shirley Potts Smythe-Beddows, as well as internally changing what I had classified as 'Casual inquiry, directions, Chambers, route to' in my mind, to 'Mission Masters Chambers, initial briefing, orientation, survival guide and safety briefing. Level 1a. Beginners.'

Ms. Shirley Potts Smythe-Beddows now had my undivided attention, and in the best possible way. I was slowing coming to the conclusion that I'd devoured complex texts on advanced calculus with far greater ease than this coming challenge I was facing would challenge me. She flipped over the four color handout and there was a schematic of a bunch of buildings on the back. I stood there rapt with attention as she continued, well, lecturing me.

"Now this here is where we are now, the main doors to the Royal Courts of Justice (And she said it that way too, with the Capital Letters!), which is here on the map."

With her other hand, she marked a large X for my starting point.

And then she went on for at least five minutes, pointing first to the schematic, so I could orient myself in the grand scheme of things, and then drawing a line on the map indicating the preferred, nay only, route that would get me through that part of the maze. The actual building I wanted was the Sir something or other annex, way at the other end of that A4 sized map. As she described leaving the main building by the back, swinging left until there was a metal grate over a door, which I was to open and go down ONE FLIGHT ONLY, and veer left into a hall, and look for a small door that said 'Warning, construction zone' I noticed that her routing pen had barely left the wrong end of the papers edge. I doubled down on my concentration.

When she finally finished, marking my destination with a flourished X, she glanced at her watch, and told me that I only had 90 minutes left, so I had better hurry. She clasped her hands together and to her breasts, and positively beamed hope and encouragement at me. The other matron had wandered over, and was eyeing me over the top of her glasses, with a smile on her face, but unmistakable sadness in her eyes.

"You'll be fine, now go on." Ms. Shirley Potts Smythe-Beddows said encouragingly, and made a shooing motion with her hands, still beaming her faith in my abilities. Her cohorts eyes over those glasses told a different story. Those eyes said they didn't think I'd be fine, they didn't think so one bit.

I got to the proper floor in the proper building, out of breath, but with five minutes to spare. I carefully folded up my map, folded the four-color handout on top of the map, for protection, and double checked that I had the square card with Ms. Shirley Potts Smythe-Beddows extension number on it. I gently placed it all in my left hand breast pocket of my jacket, and during the two hours of Masters Chambers, kept unconsciously patting my pocket, to ensure it was all still there. I still had to find my way out of there!!


The floor consisted of a large reception area, a couple of stairwells and elevators, washrooms, and six hearing rooms, or Chancery Masters Chambers. There are six Chancery Masters, with one being the Chief Master. They have hidden offices, and Chancery Associates who I assume also have hidden offices, and there must also be hidden washrooms, stairwells and elevators as well. There is also an army of clerks, typists and filing specialists, couriers, ad visors, section manager appointments supervisor with their own slew of clerks, a floor dedicated to Orders and Accounts with their own set of Associates, the essential Chancery Chambers Files Management Office that swallows the first floor (They're the ones who have to deal with a request for a 5,783 page set of files. 27 copies, please.) and Lord Wolf only knows what else associated with the Chancery Division of the High Court, and I'm sure there's some Tardis like device that bends the space time continuum to allow it all to fit into a single building.

Only use peons and members of The Bar use the front door to enter into a Chancery Masters Chambers. He comes and goes through a door behind his desk. If you didn't know all that went on behind and around those six doors, you'd just think you were in a dingy building somewhere on the sprawling grounds of the Royal Courts of Justice. 1970's furniture in the reception area. Carpets so warn down you at first think it's linoleum. And six rather non-descript, dusty looking doors, with little numbers on 'me, 1 to 6. Door five has a piece of paper taped over the number, with the word 'vacant' written in ball point pen on it.

Dude, welcome to the highest court in the land.

To get from the reception area, to a seat in the Chancery Masters Chambers, I had memorized a set of instructions that would have done Ms. Shirley Potts Smythe-Beddows proud.

1) Arrive Early

2) Do NOT take the elevator, use the stairs

3) Do NOT talk to anyone in the reception area, unless they are with you

4) If you must talk, do so in a whisper, and do not mention any matter of LAW or any LEGAL ISSUE

5) Immediately upon arrival, consult the map on the door to the reception area, and locate the hearing room number you require

6) Do NOT approach the room more than ONE MINUTE before your scheduled time

7) The OFFICIAL TIME is the large clock on the wall in the reception room

8) At EXACTLY ONE MINUTE before your scheduled time, make your way to the hearing room

9) Do NOT FOLLOW ANYONE, they may be going to a different hearing room

10) As you approach the hearing room, note the two lights above the door, one red and one green

11) If the RED LIGHT IS ON, STOP! NOW! Make your way back to the reception area

12) If the GREEN LIGHT IS ON, and the door is open, proceed into the hearing room and take a seat

13) If the GREEN LIGHT IS ON, and the door is closed, open the door, proceed into the hearing room and take a seat

14) UNDER NO CIRCUMSTANCES KNOCK ON THE DOOR TO THE HEARING ROOM. OBEY THE LIGHTS!!!!!!!

15) IF the light was RED, and you are back in the reception area, wait at the top of the hall

16) When you hear a door close in the hallway, make your way to the hearing room. The previous party will have left, and the door should be closed, with the GREEN LIGHT ON -- proceed as in 12) or 13)

17) If you are the last person entering the room, STOP BY THE DOOR, when the MASTER IN CHAMBERS nods at you, close the door, VERY SOFTLY, DO NOT SLAM EVEN LIGHTLY!!! Take your seat

18) If upon return the RED LIGHT IS ON, STOP! NOW! Make your way back to the reception area, and wait until you hear a door close

19) You are not a member of THE BAR. DO NOT under any circumstance emulate the actions of anyone entering or leaving the hearing room

20) UNDER NO CIRCUMSTANCES bow or genuflect upon entering or exiting the hearing room

21) When entering the hearing room BEWARE MEMBERS OF THE BAR, they will pause to genuflect DO NOT BUMP INTO THEM!!!

22) UNDER NO CIRCUMSTANCES back out of the hearing room when leaving

23) When leaving the hearing room BEWARE MEMBERS OF THE BAR, they will back out of the room, and bow once for each two steps back they take

24) DO NOT ALLOW YOURSELF to get between a member of THE BAR exiting the hearing room, and the Master in Chambers, they will keep their eyes on him until they have exited the hearing room

25) If you are the last person to leave the room, CLOSE THE DOOR

26) If you are responsible for closing the door, guide it softly to within about 1/2 to 3/4 of an inch of it's final closed position, and stop. In ONE SINGLE BRISK MOVEMENT, SLAM THE DOOR the last 1/2 to 3/4 of an inch closed, ensuring it is loud enough that anyone waiting at the head of the hall can hear

27) Once you have left the hearing room, DO NOT RE-ENTER UNDER ANY CIRCUMSTANCES, even if the door is open, and even if you have only one foot outside the room!!!! IMPORTANT!!! REMEMBER THIS!!!

28) If you leave/forget something in the hearing room, IMMEDIATELY GO TO THE FOURTH FLOOR and ask for someone from the CHANCERY MASTERS ADJUTANTS OFFICE, and inform them of the item(s). WAIT THERE, DO NOT GO BACK TO THE CHANCERY MASTERS FLOOR. A runner will bring you the item(s). There may be a wait of several hours, as the CHANCERY MASTERS IN CHAMBERS will not be disturbed while a hearing is in session

29) If you wish to cross your legs while seated in the hearing room, please see circular(s) 5 if male, or 7, 9, 11, 15 and 27 if female. Familiarize yourself with volumes III through IX of the CHANCERY MASTERS IN CHAMBERS guide to sitting on a government issued hard-backed chair. If your chair is soft backed, DO NOT UNDER ANY CIRCUMSTANCE CROSS YOUR LEGS!!!!! IMPORTANT!!!!!

OK, I just made that last one up, but I shit you not, I fucking memorized the first 28.

And yet, I still fucked up, right off the bat.

The reception room was packed, must be a busy day here indeed, and it was eerily silent. Once in a while someone would lean towards another person, and move their lips by their ears, but it wasn't even a murmur, there was no sound. Fucking Silent Hill.

It was getting close to showtime, and I sidled out of the room, and silent padded towards the hallway. There was my room number down the hall, and the light was on! Bonus! Now I could act like I knew exactly what I was doing. As I got to the door, I looked back down the hallway. Nobody was there yet, boy were they going to be surprised!

Cocky now, I confidently opened the door and looked in, there was an old man in a rumpled suit jacket sitting at a desk with papers strewn about. I nodded at him, as he gave me an appraising look, and strode in confidently, and took a chair across from the edge of his desk, and settled down into a really uncomfortable hard-backed chair.

"Good afternoon, my Lord, my name is Mr........ Cla...r....k"

As I was introducing myself, his eyes were getting wider and wider, and he looked at me, then at the door, then at me, then at the door...

"This is, this is, this is highly irregular, Mister, Mister, Clark, was it, Mister Clark?"

I was dumbfounded, and kind of nodded indicating that I *may* in fact be Mr. Clark, but there was still a possibility that I was not indeed Mr. Clark, never was Mr. Clark, and in fact had never even heard of Mr. Clark, all depending on whatever the fuck was going to happen next.

It had not yet been 15 seconds since I had opened the door, and the old man behind the desk looked like he was going to have an apoplexy. Fuck, it's been years since I updated my St. Johns first aid!

My day was going sideways, and fast.

About an eternity later, there were shuffling noises out in the hall, and members of The Bar began genuflecting their way into the room. As each of them rounded the corner and went to focus their gaze on the Master in Chambers, they'd catch sight of me, and goddammit if it didn't trip them up! Slowly the hearing room filled up with shocked looks and wondering gazes, as it dawned on me it wasn't really such a busy day here at the Chancery Masters floor, all those legal beagles in the reception room were packing in *my* fucking hearing room. Never did get an accurate count, I was too flustered, but I'm going to estimate they had 18 people in total. 18 very shocked looking people.

The last man stopped by the door, eyes on the Master in Chambers, and when he got a nod, he then, very softly, closed the door. Turning to go to his seat, he started to speak, "This is highly..."

The man in the rumpled suit jacket behind the desk held his hand up, cutting him off in mid- sentence. He kept the hand up, kinda waving it around indicating that the man who closed the door and started to speak should be seated. Still, he waved his hand, though now more like you'd do with a small child, urging them to speak more softly, but no one was speaking. The Master in Chambers wasn't even looking at the room, he was leaned forward, looking down at the desk, as if there was something of great interest there, still waving his hand. To my shock, it did have an effect, for even the minor adjustments, or crinkling of a file folder in sweaty hands stopped, until finally it was fucking QUIET, like you'd never believe.

He straightened up, gripped his hands together like a prize fighter about to celebrate by raising them clasped over his head, but instead leaned forward, now as if in prayer to his clasped fists. Fucking surreal. He cleared his throat, and addressed the room.

"I would like to assure everyone that Mr. Clark, that's correct, isn't it, Mr. Clark? ..." and he looked at me, as did everyone else in the room. I gave another one of those nods that said, maybe, maybe not...

"Good then. Mr. Clark. I would like to assure everyone that Mr. Clark and I have had no ex-parte communications in my chambers. I believe that Mr. Clark may have been confused or maybe unaware of certain traditions on the one hand, and legal rules, legal regulations, and codes of conduct that must be observed by everyone, including him, in regards to ex-parte communications, or even contact. On the other hand, that is. The contact. So...."

He stopped to clear his throat, and he had a hand up off the desk, only a finger width or so off the desk, but I recognized the international Masters in Chambers hand signal that meant 'Do not make a sound, or move, or breathe, for I am not done.'

"So... I think it would be best, and if we can all agree" nodding in the general direction of the gaggle of members of The Bar, who were all nodding back vehemently, if silently, that yes indeed they did all agree with... "...we can all agree, that Mr. Clark and I not only in fact did not have any ex-parte contact or communications, but, but, but that he merely arrived perhaps a smidgen too early, but I hope we can all agree that you all were right behind him, on his heels, as it were..." There was vigorous nodding all around, and I found myself caught up in it, bobbing my head as if my life depended on it, but silently though, not making a sound. If my neck cracked now, I'd likely be clapped in irons and thrown in the dungeon... "and that for our purposes, everyone has just arrived just now, as is right, and we can all begin. Is that OK with everyone? All right?"

He was looking darned near cheery now, looking around the room to make sure that it was not just OK with everyone, but All right! as well.

"Well then, shall we begin."

And that began the first of 25 hearings with the Chancery Master in Chambers.


To be continued, eh..........

I'm bushed.

:smoke:
The last fucking thing you want is my undivided attention...

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Post by well_lol_doh »

I tell you what these PoM updates are like literary Ambien.

They're not only making Mongoose bushed from writing them, I'm exhausted after reading them. I certainly won't be needing my prescription meds to sleep like a lamb tonight.

:whine:

Nightie nite folks.
If men didn't have willies to wave the world would be a lot more sane place...

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Post by Chill-Bill »

3662 words just describing walking through a building and taking a pew, damn. :wink:
It's mercy, compassion and forgiveness I lack. Not rationality.

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Post by well_lol_doh »

Chill-Bill wrote:3662 words just describing walking through a building and taking a pew, damn. :wink:
Lol. Maybe he wrote it on the plane?
If men didn't have willies to wave the world would be a lot more sane place...

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Post by Shazaam »

Sweet mother of god!!!!!

THIS WAS THE ONLY PART I CARE ABOUT you mangey flea-bittin creature from the armpit of hell!!!!

JUST FINISH THE DAMNED STORY!!!!

Is that to much to ask?????????

IS it??????????

AAAAAAARRRRRRGGGGGGGHHHHHHHH!!!!!!!!

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Post by Lrus007 »

oh come on he is a "budding" jack london.
let him tell his story as he wishes.
nice to see so many visitors to good old MPG
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Post by Jesús Malverde »

I think your ire is perhaps a little misplaced PoM, I'm not the one calling out Thomas Clark as definitively being VJ at Silk Road. Vice/Motherboard, a pretty high profile journalism site you may have heard of *is*, based on apparently hacked email and airline accounts they believe to be authentic. Here's the link to the article as it appears you may have missed it: http://motherboard.vice.com/read/these- ... -silk-road" onclick="window.open(this.href);return false; If you've been wrongly identified by the journalists, I sincerely apologize for believing in this presumably wrong identification and being rash enough to say aloud what everyone watching the drama unfold was/is probably thinking. I'm not the one you should worry about trying to make this about you and Silk Road--that's happening in the mainstream press right now. I'd think your real beef would be with the journos who hacked those accounts, misread what they contained and wrongly put you in UK seed seller and computer security whiz VJ's shoes at Silk Road and--even far, far more so--with the VJ account holder himself who very deliberately and pretty convincingly impersonated, implicated, and dragged you into the whole Silk Road drama and splashed his mud all over your good name. That VJ account holder at SR is at the bottom the only reason your name was ever associated with Silk Road in the first place. Minus that, nobody would connect you with SR. Whomever ran that VJ account at Silk Road should probably be the focus of your undivided attention. Although I would be careful as he may also be Satan part-time. Besides as server logs would undoubtedly prove, nobody reads MPG here; a whole lot of people read Vice.

I still believe whomever was behind the Silk Road VJ account is LE, whether DEA or another alphabet soup agency. I'm again deeply sorry if his frame job fooled me (and about everyone else), I rashly reacted like an asshole, and you had nothing to do with it. If you and your story has nothing to do with Silk Road, I think you'll find the world will be pretty much uninterested in that story. That's really the whole hook that piqued people's interest as obviously it was front page news
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Post by smokebreaks »

^^^ yada yada yada, how about you STFU and let him tell his story, Hax?

Save the critique for the end of the performance.
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Post by Roots »

Where can I get the Cliff Notes?

Fed or not, a bullshit artist is a bullshit artist and I don't have the time for it.

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