And now, they're coming for your Social Security money - they want your fucking retirement money - they want it back - so they can give it to their criminal friends on Wall Street. And you know something? They'll get it. They'll get it all from you sooner or later. Because they own this fucking place. It's a Big Club: and you're not in it.
The Boston Globe heralds the arrival of the newest in new Terrrist detection services, the picture of which strikes me as slightly…familiar:
The article suggests some (clearly) half-assed potential questions for said interrogations. Might I humbly suggest these more patriotic replacements:
It’s your birthday. Someone gives you a calfskin wallet. How do you react?
You’ve got a little boy. He shows you his butterfly collection plus the killing jar. What do you do?
You’re watching television. Suddenly you realize there’s a wasp crawling on your arm… [wait for first response]
You’re in a desert walking along in the sand when all of the sudden you look down, and you see a tortoise; it’s crawling toward you. You reach down, you flip the tortoise over on its back. The tortoise lays on its back, its belly baking in the hot sun, beating its legs trying to turn itself over, but it can’t, not without your help. But you’re not helping. Why is that?
When necessary, this phrase can be interjected:
They’re just questions, (Name). In answer to your query, they’re written down for me. It’s a test, designed to provoke an emotional response. Shall we continue? Describe in single words, only the good things that come into your mind. About your mother.