text:
The Trump administration is considering shifting migration programs worth billions of dollars out of the U.S. State Department to another government agency, a move that would signal a historic shift in how refugees are handled, according to current and former officials.

The idea was floated last year, but former Secretary of State Rex Tillerson fended off the move after humanitarian organizations, diplomats, and lawmakers from both parties argued against the change. After Tillerson’s firing in March, however, the proposal is back on the table.

At issue is the State Department’s Bureau of Population, Refugees, and Migration, which manages a budget of roughly $3.4 billion. The bureau, which oversees the U.S. government’s refugee program, is a critical tool of American diplomacy, according to current and former officials.

Opponents of the move argue that shifting the bureau out of Foggy Bottom would undermine America’s international influence and reinforce a perception abroad that the United States no longer places a priority on helping refugees fleeing war or persecution.

The internal debate over who should oversee the country’s refugee program comes as aid groups and lawmakers blasted the Trump administration’s admissions policy, accusing the White House of abandoning America’s moral and diplomatic leadership while the world faces the worst refugee crisis in history.

If current trends hold, in fiscal year 2018 the United States is poised to accept the lowest number of refugees since 1980 — roughly 20,000 to 23,000, according to aid groups. That number is far lower than the White House-set 45,000 maximum, a drastic reduction compared to the historic average.

The proposal could also be a key test of the new secretary of state, Mike Pompeo, and his influence with the president. Pompeo has repeatedly vowed to shore up morale and restore “swagger” to the beleaguered diplomatic corps, which felt marginalized during his predecessor’s tenure.

Pompeo has made no final decision on the issue, but former diplomats say he would be giving up significant funding for his department and an important diplomatic tool if he agreed to the proposed reorganization.

Officials in the White House Office of Management and Budget (OMB) favor transferring the overseas humanitarian assistance programs out of the State Department bureau to the U.S. Agency for International Development, which handles other relief programs. USAID is supposed to follow the secretary of state’s overall guidance on foreign policy, but it operates as an independent agency and often has turf battles with Foggy Bottom.

Both OMB and USAID officials contend the shift would produce a more effective and cost-efficient approach, and that the current system allows for duplication or confusing outcomes.

As an example, they cite the crisis in Myanmar, where USAID delivers assistance to Rohingya families displaced inside the country while the State Department provides aid to Rohingya refugees in neighboring Bangladesh.

But an independent study commissioned last year by the State Department assessed the effect of a possible reorganization of the bureau and concluded that such a move would not save money, a source familiar with the study tells Foreign Policy. OMB officials, however, are not convinced and want to commission an entirely new study to assess the financial impact of reorganizing the bureau, the source says.

The OMB declined to comment for this article. A State Department spokesperson says, “the administration is in the process of reviewing agencies throughout the executive branch in pursuit of increased efficiency, effectiveness, and accountability” as part of an executive order signed by the president last year.

Under previous presidents, the National Security Council and the State Department led discussions on refugee policy. But under President Donald Trump, the Department of Homeland Security and the White House Domestic Policy Council are driving the debate, current and former officials say. As a result, domestic politics — and the president’s pledge to crack down on all forms of immigration — have shaped decision-making.

In announcing the 45,000 cap on refugees last year, the White House said the president’s decision represented a “responsible approach to promote the safety of the American people.”

But critics say the Trump White House has wildly overstated the potential threat posed by refugees, who undergo elaborate vetting overseen by DHS, the FBI, and intelligence agencies, and that Trump’s advisors fail to grasp the strategic implications of an about-face in America’s stance on refugees.

“This administration has viewed resettlement through a domestic policy and political lens. What they have failed to capture and understand is that refugee resettlement is purposefully grounded in our foreign policy,” says Nazanin Ash, vice president of public policy and advocacy at the International Rescue Committee.

The 38-year-old legislation that set up the country’s refugee program intentionally empowers the secretary of state to set policy and pledge humanitarian assistance in crises, says Ash, a former State Department official. “It helps with regional stability and security. Part of our leverage is saying, ‘We will take a certain number of refugees,’” she says.

The bureau’s programs allow U.S. diplomats to help broker peace agreements or defuse tensions in volatile parts of the world, former senior officials say.

“When our diplomats attend international conferences, when they negotiate issues like access, protection, when they’re looking at negotiations surrounding peace settlements, having those resources right by their side is a critical component of American power and influence, and our ability to achieve outcomes that we desire,” a former senior State Department official says.

In 2015, then-Secretary of State John Kerry was able to persuade Kenya to not close a large refugee camp that would have forced Somalis back to their war-torn home country. The bureau’s overseas assistance programs gave Kerry leverage, as he could offer tens of millions of dollars worth of aid to alleviate the refugee burden shouldered by Nairobi, former officials say.

“What they’re doing to [the Bureau of Population, Refugees, and Migration] and how they’re treating refugees is just an embarrassment to our country,” says one senior State Department official. “They just keep planning on gutting [the bureau].”

Humanitarian organizations and Democrats in Congress accuse the administration of using bureaucratic methods to obstruct the admission of refugees to the United States, as the numbers accepted have dropped to a trickle over the past six months. In a letter to the president this week, 126 House Democrats led by Rep. Bill Pascrell (D-N.J.) wrote that “your administration has slowed the resettlement process through executive orders, administrative roadblocks, and lack of proper staffing.”

Last year, the White House also considered stripping the bureau of its role coordinating the admission of refugees to the United States, and moving it to the Department of Homeland Security. That idea has been dropped and is not currently under consideration, officials say.

But representatives at aid organizations and former diplomats worry that if the bureau’s major programs are handed over to USAID, the Trump administration would then seek to whittle away on what’s left of the office, including its authority over refugee admissions policy.

Those concerns were reinforced when the administration recently chose Andrew Veprek to serve as deputy assistant secretary at the refugee bureau. Now in a senior role at the bureau, Veprek holds hard-line views on refugees that have raised alarms among State Department officials.

Several current and former State Department and White House officials say Veprek, a midlevel foreign service officer, argued for more restrictions on admitting refugees when he served under White House senior advisor Stephen Miller, who has masterminded the president’s anti-immigration agenda. In an internal debate in the administration last year, Veprek pushed hard to scale back the number of refugees who could be admitted to the United States, while portraying them as a serious security threat.

“He is a true believer in the Trump immigration agenda,” says a former administration official, speaking to FP on condition of anonymity.

Veprek’s recent appointment prompted a letter on Tuesday from a dozen Democratic senators, who raised concerns about his relatively junior rank as a foreign service officer and his track record on immigration and refugees.

“His appointment is the equivalent of placing a lieutenant colonel into a one-star general position,” the lawmakers wrote in the letter to Secretary of State Mike Pompeo.

The senators urged Pompeo to “impress upon Mr. Veprek the value of implementing a robust refugee resettlement program and recommit to U.S. leadership in resettling the most vulnerable populations in the world.”

The letter amounted to a warning shot from Senate Democrats to the administration, which has yet to nominate someone to head the refugee bureau and oversee Veprek.

“This is just another troubling signal that this administration intends to continue dismantling our nation’s already crippled refugee program,” they wrote.

question: What are the plans of the Trump administration regarding the immigration programs both in the past and currently?

answer: The past plan was to transfer the immigration oversight to the Department of Homeland security. The current plan is to transfer it to the U.S. Agency for International Development.

question: What positive reasons are there to switch immigration oversight to USAID?

answer: USAID already manages many relief programs internationally, and the switch is alleged to increase the efficiency of immigration.

question: What are the political criticisms of the proposed switch?

answer: The move is seen as lowering the stature of the USA internationally. It's also criticized because the discussion on refugee policy is led by the Department of Homeland Security and the White House Domestic Policy Council under Trump, instead of by the National Security Council and the State Department.

question: How did the refugee policy change under Trump?

answer: It's now affected a lot more by domestic policy concerns. The number of refugees taken in has also reduced drastically.

question: How does the proposed change affect the international diplomacy of the USA?

answer: It's expected to reduce the negotiating power for peace settlements.

question: Write a ~4 sentence summary.

answer: Trump administration is considering moving the oversight of immigration and refugee policy to the U.S. Agency for International Development (USAID). The move is criticized as it lowers the diplomatic negotiating power of U.S. diplomats in peace settlements. The administration is also criticized for its deployment of red tape to effectively reduce the number of refugees allowed in. The related branches are now influenced more by domestic policy concerns than international ones.


split: test

text:
                                           The King

	Our King has always been a little different. He’s very quiet I haven’t really seen him give anyone orders at all either. Whenever something needs to be done I see him doing it. He doesn’t just sit around; I’ve actually seen him go into the mines. I don’t know if it’s just because I’m a child but not even the adults in the village are as active as him.

       He’s always leaving the kingdom and coming back with tons of different things. I can’t always see what he’s coming back with, but I’ve seen bones, some kind of meat that just looks bad, and even strange looking pearls. And the dogs! He has so many dogs that there’s not a single wild dog here. He must be traveling great distances to find all these dogs, because I know they’re not from here.

	When I see him doing all these strange things I start asking my parents what it is he’s doing, and they tell me: “don’t question the king,” but they never tell me why. He doesn’t look old, so he can’t be all that wise. All that work he does and all the times he leaves - it’s not normal.  I was  sick of wondering.

	I finally got into his castle and he was at his workbench. When I got closer he looked back at me, seemingly confused, but he turned back around and kept tinkering with some weird red dust. I got closer and mustered up the courage to ask him as politely as I could, “How come you’re so different than everyone else?” The king stopped, stood up and looked at me. He asked, “Excuse me?” and I said it again. He chuckled briefly under his breath and said “it seems like you’re different too.”

       He started to tell me a story. “When I was your age, I lived in a different kingdom and I felt the same way about my king. I would go to school and all the kids and the teachers would seem to just drift through their lives, but not the king; he was always spontaneous. I was finally sick of that curious feeling, so I went and talked to my king and he told me his story. Sometime afterwards the kingdom was destroyed and all the people inside were attacked by monsters. It was terrible. There were explosions, arrows, and the groans of the undead.

	I was able to escape, but barely. I fought my way out with nothing but my hands. finally I found a break in the chaos and I found a cave and covered the entrance with dirt. I was devastated, but I wanted to live so I built a shelter.  I enjoyed building. Then since I had built my shelter I began mining - I enjoyed that as well. I had so many supplies I decided to build more and I ended up building a village. Strangely enough people appeared. That village moved on to become this kingdom. That’s my story.”

	I asked him why he told me all that. and he told me simply because I was a player. A player? I was so confused. He then told me that only players are kings. I didn’t understand. He went on by asking me what my earliest memory is and I told him standing outside. “Exactly,” He said. “That was the first time you entered this world.” He started talking about how this life isn’t real and that once he’s gone he’ll be able to enter the real world again.

	He began taking me adventuring with him, that’s when he would explain things and share his knowledge with me. “When a king dies, everything he ever did goes with him. That’s how my king’s old kingdom was destroyed. I left my Kingdom and made a village. I have people of my own now. My king was killed by a mob of three suicide creatures right outside his gate. I saw everything he had made disappear along with him.” That’s when I believed everything he told me - while he took me adventuring with him. Now I know that there is a better life to be had out of this one. A less edged and more rounded one. Thank you king Steve. Minecraft Steve.

title: The King (Minecraft short story)

question: What is the kingdom named?

answer: This information is not mentioned.

question: What does the king come back with every time he leaves the kingdom?

answer: The narrator has seen him come back with bones, meat, pearls, and dogs.

question: Why was the king different?

answer: When the king was a kid, the kingdom he lived in was attacked. The king escaped and started living in a cave. He liked building and eventually built a village.

question: What is the name of the king?

answer: King Steve.

question: Write a ~8 sentence summary.

answer:
The narrator's king has always been different. He was more active than any other adult in the village. The narrator was curious as to why was the king different.

One day, he builds the courage to go to the king and ask why was he different. King Steve narrates his childhood story of when the kingdom he lived in was attacked and he somehow escaped. Steve had started living in a cave. He liked building and eventually built a village (the current kingdom).

Steve schools the narrator about how only players are kings.


text:
_Teniente_ PABLO MUÑOZ DE LA MORENA Y MARTÍNEZ-ZARCO (7 July 1769 – 9 September 1848) was a Spanish cavalry officer during the Napoleonic Wars, considered a Hero of the Peninsular War, who served also with distinction in the Spanish-French (1793-1795) and Spanish-Portugal (1801) wars. King Fernando VII decorated him in the battle of Mengíbar (1808)

Early life

He was born in El Toboso, the village of Dulcinea in Cervantes’s Don Quixote, within a noble family living there since the XV century, owners of 8,692 hectares. He was the descendant of major Bartolomé Martínez de la Morena, crossbowmen of Emperor Carlos I, Dr Esteban Martínez-Zarco y Muñoz de Horcajada, rector del Collegio di Spagna (1555-1561) and Bachelor Diego Ortiz-Vivanco de la Plaza y Martínez de la Morena, member of the Order of Santiago. In 1801 he married his cousin Juana-María Cano Coronado and later, in 1826, he married Basilisa Fernández Carrasco, both with Royal permission. Between 1820 and 1823 he was appointed trustee of the City Council of El Toboso and local Commander of Arms. He died in Alcañices in 1848, where he had gone to spend a season with his youngest son, being buried in the parish cemetery. []

Military career

He entered the Army in 1785, being assigned to the regiment of provincial militias of Alcázar de San Juan, being a contemporary of José de San Martín, since he was born nine years before and died two years before, fought exactly in the same three wars

Between 1793 and 1794 he participated in the War of the Pyrenees, fighting in the battles of Commanderie_du_Mas_Deu, Trouillas, Elne, Laroque-des-Albères and Opoul-Périllos; the taking of the castles of Banyuls-dels-Aspres, Prats-de-Mollo-la-Preste and Thuir; and the site of the castles of Collioure and Miles. He stood out in the battle against the French cavalry in the Champ de la Trompette and Saint-Génis-des-Fontaines. At the same time, he voluntarily headed the command that took the battery of Villelongue-dels-Monts, facilitating the fall of the castle of Montesquieu-des-Albères.

In 1794 he participated in the battle of the Paso de las Dos Hermanas, in Navarre.

In 1801, in the War of the Oranges, he actively participated in the taking of Juromenha and the site of Campo Maior.

In the Peninsular War, his first action was the siege, capture and surrender of the French squad in Trocadero. Later he took an active part in the battles of Jaén and Mengíbar, as well as Andújar, Bailén, Somosierra, Valdepeñas Ocaña, Montizón and Sagunto. He broke the Valencia site twice.

He obtained his retirement by Royal Office of 1812.

[]

Further reading

-   Parish Archive of El Toboso: Baptism and marriage acts of Pablo Muñoz de la Morena.
-   Diocesan Archive of Cuenca: Marriage File of Pablo Muñoz de la Morena and Juana-María Cano.
-   General Military Archive of Segovia: Service Sheet of Pablo Muñoz de la Morena.
-   Arcón Domínguez, José Luis: _Sagunto. La batalla por Valencia (II). Historia de la defensa de Valencia en 1811_. Simtac, Valencia, 2004.
-   Parish Archive of El Alcañices: Death act of Pablo Muñoz de la Morena.

title: Pablo Muñoz de la Morena

question: When was Pablo Muñoz de la Morena born?

answer: 7 July 1769.

question: What wars did Pablo Muñoz de la Morena fight in?

answer: The Napoleonic Wars, the Peninsular War, and the Spanish-French and Spanish-Portugal wars.

question: Who decorated Pablo Muñoz de la Morena in the battle of Mengibar?

answer: King Fernando VII.

question: Where was Pablo Muñoz de la Morena born?

answer: El Toboso, the village of Dulcinea in Cervantes' Don Quixote.

question: Write a ~1 sentence summary.

answer: This article is about Pablo Muñoz de la Morena, a Spanish war hero at the turn of the 18th-19th centuries.


text:
..\
	For the third time that week, Will woke up to screaming kids. Swearing, he looked over for his wife of fifteen years but noticed she was missing, in fact he had not seen her since last night. He put the thought behind him as he swung his legs over the bed and scratched his morning stubble. He got up after a few minutes and half stumbled half walked over to the bathroom. As he grabbed for his razor, he heard a sharp snapping sound and swore once more, then lumbered down stairs.

.
         He hit the bottom step just as the door opened and his wife, who he was not entirely pleased to see entered, "Look who decided to show up." He mumbled, and staring at his feet he shuffled towards the broken lamp and his two youngest children. She retorted back but he pretended not to hear it, he started back up the stairs with his kids.

..
         "YOU KNOW GOOD AND WELL YOU HEARD ME AND YO---", she stopped as a chair broke against the wall, sending splinters in every direction. Will just glared at her and thought about what a wreck she had become, in her hayday she was quite the looker but fifteen years of marriage had taken its toll. Will was always mild tempered, he cursed but ofcourse everyone around here did, and he was never violent, but the last year of her walking in at daybreak and dealing with a four and six year old had changed him, he was still level headed though, so he walked up the stairs, grabbed some clothes, his wallet, his phone, and his keys, then left to a dumbstruck wife, and two crying children.

.
.
          Will reached for his phone to dail up his old friend Terrance, he was a charter captian and Will could think of no better escape then some open sea. He decided to call in sick to work first, to groans from his boss. After 3 rings Terrance picked up and agreed to take him out, he drove out the five miles it took to get to the old wooden dock. He walked along the side, avoiding the numerous cracks, and got to Terrance's boat. They silently greeted and started prepping, and soon enough they were off.

.
         After an hour of relaxing silence Will heard a shout that made him go from sleeping to wide awake in no time, he ran to the captains quaters and saw Terrance slumped over in his seat, he checked his pulse and felt nothing. Will killed the engine and just sat there, staring as the sun lightened the sea, while his friend was slumped confortably in death beside him. Eventually Will slumped against the wall, wiped the sweat from his forehead, and fell asleep.

.
         Will jolted awake, feeling he just awoke from the worst nightmare ever, he reached over and put his hand on his wife, except she was cold, so cold. Will jumped up and stared at Terrance with horrorfying realization. He walked back up to the deck and looked at the night sky, it hit him that his kids and wife would be worrying about him. He snorted. Might be worrying about him was more like it. Still, he did miss them, which was surprising. He sat on the side of the boat and started dozing off.

.
         He was sitting on a chair in his living room with his family, but his wife was younger, he looked around doubtfully for his two kids, and only found them when he looked under the table. They were joyfully pushing his chair back, laughing and smiling. Will started laughing too, it was contagious and soon his wife joined it. "I love you guys." As his chair tipped too far and he fell backwards through his floor and into the dark.

Edit**** the '.'s are to help formatting

title: Story I wrote for Creative Writing class, CC appreciated.

question: What does the text say about the qualities that make a good charter captain?

question: Summarize the primary source of tension in the story.

answer: The primary source of tension in the story is Will's wife of fifteen years, whom he isn't really pleased to see anymore. They are clearly not on good terms, and it doesn't help that she has become a wreck after 15 years of marriage and two children. Will has always been mild-tempered and not really a violent person, but he got fed up with his wife coming home at daybreak while he was left dealing with their kids aged 4 and 6. Will's wife changed him, and he started to break furniture when around her.

question: Summarize the plot.

answer: Will becomes sick of his wife who always comes home early in the morning and is tired of taking care of his kids when she's not home. He decides to escape his wife and two crying children by going out to sea with his old friend, Terrance, who happens to be a charter captain. He drives five miles to the docks and they set off. Relaxed, Will falls asleep but wakes up when he heard a shout. He ran to the captain's quarters and saw Terrance slumped over in his seat, dead. Will killed the engine and just sat there, staring at the sun-lightened sea. Eventually, he falls asleep again but wakes up thinking he's had a nightmare and mistook Terrance's dead body for his wife's. At this point, Will thinks his wife and kids might be worried about him and is surprised when he starts to miss them. He dozed off again and dreamed he was in the living room with his family, but they were all younger. They were all laughing and Will told them he loved them.


text:
This is my first time ever on reddit for anything because it was suggested to me in order to get feedback on my writing. Let me know!

I look at my watch, running toward the Jeffers estate. My family and I just moved here so I only know that the town has been prosperous under the Jeffers family, Cooper Jeffers to be accurate. It’s announced everywhere in town, the economy thrives off the Jeffers company, Jeffers Inc. So naturally, here is where I began to look for a job.
	I never really imagined getting a job at their personal estate. Although actually technically Cooper’s son, Aaron has his own mansion. MANSION. When I was taking a tour on my first day of work five days ago, I expected a mansion, but definitely not two. The main house is bigger, and just ridiculously lavish. I freely gawked at everything I saw. And then we met/ran into the females of the family, Elaina and Sadie.
	They explained that Elaina was the oldest and Sadie was the youngest. Then why would Aaron have his own house? I remember thinking. And then I realized it was because Aaron was the son, the boy. And I felt horrified at this notion, but Elaina and Sadie seemed perfectly happy when we saw them. I heard they went to the top private school in the city about 15 miles away.
	I, of course, go to the public school in town. It’s made up of different kinds of people, but all are in families employed by the Jeffers. Their family owns my entire school. It’s a thought that sends me into a storm of jealousy and then a spiral of hate. You see, my father is a machine operator at one of the Jeffers’ plants. He had to move here to get better pay. My mother is a schoolteacher, elementary school. And I have a little annoying brother named Max. So my family isn’t rich, but we aren’t poor. I feel pretty average. I’m fifteen and he’s thirteen. A pretty typical, average American family.
	But these Jeffers people, they are definitely not. They are the kings of modern society and I immediately make assumptions about Aaron. He is probably a slacker with no ambitions of his own, just waiting to get his GED or diploma or whatever so he can inherit his fortune and live however he wants for the rest of his life. I excused myself to the toilet, and plopped down on the seat, exasperated. Already. (And not that I actually had to go to the bathroom). How can I work for these people? They’re everything wrong with society! I remember thinking.
	I smile at my thoughts that day, still awkwardly running to the house. Because when I had left the bathroom, my day declined further, I was assigned to Aaron’s house. I was about to just slip out the door quietly when I heard the hourly pay. That made me turn my attitude right around.
	…Everyone has their price I guess.

Anyway, when I had toured and been trained for the first five days, Aaron had been in the hospital. I only remembering hearing that he had fallen under some misfortunes and not much else. So I focused on learning everything. And now here I am, the first day I get to work independently and I’m going to be late! I notice a huge crowd of people outside. Oh shit! Shit! Shit! I just now remember that Aaron is coming home today and they are throwing a party for him.
	So I run up to the house and look for a place to stash my things.
	“Need help?” I hear a voice I recognize. I turn and see a girl my age named Grace. I met her three days ago in Aaron’s house while we got assigned to tidy up his study. We gossiped about the family. I am so thankful to see her I smile.
	“You are my guardian angel. Where can I put this?” I ask her holding up my bag. It has food, my cell phone, some money and my house keys. I take the public bus back and forth.
	“Over here,” she says, taking me to a room inside the mansion. There were people’s things everywhere. “This room has video surveillance so no one ever steals anything.”
	“Oh, good,” I say, dumping my bag on the floor. When we were cleaning the study a few days ago Grace told me she is 16, and goes to a different private school than Aaron, but in the same city near here named Salin Falls. Her father is headmaster there. She knows of Aaron well, like many of the other people in town. She told me he loves sports, and is extremely good at them. They’ve played against each other’s schools and she goes to the games just to watch him. She couldn’t tell me anymore because we were summoned by Sherri, our supervisor.
	Now she leads me through a maze of people outside again, looking back at me.
	“We have to get a good spot, he’s really gorgeous.” She looks excited to see him but I feel hesitant. I still slightly despise the entire family. “I heard he and his dad used to get in fights all the time until recently. Aaron wants to pursue a career in sports while his dad wants him to take over the family business.”
	I stare at her, shocked, mouth slightly open. I come to realize I am no Nancy Drew, and that my assumptions always have a way of biting me in the ass. I would be a terrible profiler.
	“What?” she asks, tilting her head, confused at my shocked reaction.
	“Oh, nothing, I’m just a total idiot.”
	It’s then that we hear the car approach. I feel nervous almost as the family steps out of the car, but they close the doors without any other man except for Cooper. I had met Cooper only yesterday when he returned home to gather some things and take a shower. I happened to wander onto the estate as he was climbing out of the car, leaning on a cane. He bent over to grab his bag but I offered to carry it for him. He stopped, looked at me with a smile and said
	“Okay, young lady, let’s see what you’ve got.”
	“I’ve got more than you’d think!” I had stupidly responded, and immediately blushed. What the hell? But the man had just laughed. He was attractive I had come to realize, with fading dark red hair and dark brown eyes. He also had a mole, but it made him look distinguished in a way.
“I bet,” he had responded with a chuckle.
 I carried his bag inside for him.
	“What’s your name, miss?” he asked me.
	“My name is Layla.”
	“Layla?”
	“My father used to be way too obsessed with Eric Clapton.” I sighed. But Cooper found this very funny and laughed more.
	“Well, Layla, thank you for carrying my bags. I very much enjoyed our chat. Do you work here?”
	“At Aaron’s, I mean, your son’s, I mean Mr. Jeffer’s house.” I stumbled over my words and once again Cooper finds this amusing. He smiled brightly at me.
	“Good. He could use someone like you in his life.”
	And that was all. Then I went back to work.

 And looking at him now, he looks all business. He gathers with the other family members and a stunning black haired young woman.
	“Who’s that?” I ask Grace, spellbound.
	“Oh, that’s Mirabella.”
	“She’s one of the most beautiful women I have ever seen.” At this, Grace shakes her head.
	“She’s not a woman, she’s an AI.”
	“AI?”
	“She’s artificial intelligence, a robot. She is Aaron’s and she goes everywhere with him.”
	I am so shocked by this I stare at Grace and almost miss Aaron getting out of the car. Almost. But he seems to demand everyone’s attention. I look, and though I thought I was spellbound by the girl-robot, this guy takes the cake. Grace was right, he is really gorgeous. He’s toned, a few shades darker than my pasty white skin. His hair is dark-red and he is the spitting image of Cooper. But better. He has some stubble, but it only enhances his appearance. He has the natural build of an athlete, and I guess he is over six feet in height. I can’t see his eyes because he is wearing aviator sunglasses, but my God is he handsome. And though I am captivated, I feel even more hatred towards him. He is athletic, gorgeous and rich. This guy must be a complete asshole. He has it made.
	But then I notice he is holding onto the door for support, and people are helping him stand. He’s hurt. And once again, my conflicting emotions decide that although I feel like a complete dumbass and a terrible human, I also feel a little tiny bit of satisfaction. He can’t be on top all the time, it just simply isn’t fair. Especially to us bottom-feeders. We should have a chance too, you know.
	Well, regardless of my conflicting emotions, I watch as he is helped into a wheelchair. He clearly winces in pain and I feel genuinely bad for him, if only for an instant. Then his beautiful robot-girl tends to him and people approach, flocking and obviously concerned and fond of this guy. I even lose Grace in the crowd rush but turn and leave. No point in me sticking around here, there is a party going on and I have work to do.

	Back at the mansion I clean, but I am consumed with thoughts of him. He’s captured me. I get angry at this and try to clear my thoughts of him. I try to think of my new school, my friends from back home, my ex-boyfriend, my dog Sprinkles, my cat Cookie. Cookie is my baby girl. I try to think of everything and anything that isn’t Aaron Jeffers, but my mind keep reverting back to him.
	I am putting dishes away in the kitchen when I hear yelling. I hear multiple people yelling and I hear the front door slam closed. I creep over to the hallway and peer into the front room. People are carrying Aaron and his wheelchair up the stairs while he is tiredly fighting them. I thought he had yelled the name “Mira” and I now notice that his black-haired beauty isn’t with him. But his sisters are with him. I creep out further and listen. Sherri is with them now at the top of the stairs, I hear.
	Sherri asks Aaron what has happened, and I hear one of his sisters tell her to start a bath. She goes to the bathroom and I am about to run back to the kitchen when she looks down and spots me.
	“Layla,” she hisses loudly. I look up at her guiltily.
	“Oh, hello,” I say, looking around nervously. She motions for me to come up there.
	“Come help!”
	I sigh relief as I jog up the stairs and wait where she asks me to. I’m glad I’m not in trouble for spying. All three Jeffers children approach the bathroom now and I keep quiet and hide a little as they enter. But I watch them, and notice Aaron looks extremely upset, a bit pale, and uncomfortable. I also see his leg closer now, it’s wrapped heavily in bandaging. He must be in pain.
	And now I remember suddenly, like a slap in the face that he was in the news recently. He had helped avert some town gas drilling crisis because he got shot (yes, with a gun) and the company pulled out of town. They called it a malevolent act by a school sports-team rival. Now I feel like a stupid, stupid girl. Here is this guy, just doing the best he can and I judged him so quickly. I even felt some perverted pleasure over his pain.
	And now I feel plain horrible. I don’t even deserve to work for this guy. I am tempted to call it quits and work at an establishment where I won’t feel like a terrible person every time I see the owner/boss. But Sherri emerges again.
	“Get some painkillers from the medicine cabinet and a cold wash cloth, hurry!” I run to get his pills and a wet cloth. I return and give her the items, my hands shaking. She takes them quickly and enters the bathroom again.
	When she leaves this time his sisters follow in suit. They go downstairs and tell us both to help him if he calls for it. Sherri and I nod resolutely and wait. After about ten minutes of us patiently waiting, Cooper Jeffers enters the front door, and looks up at us. He gives me a little smile, and then beckons to Sherri, he wants her to go with him. I look at her desperately. I want to cry and beg her not to leave me.
	“Okay, girl, if he calls for you, answer right away. He’s trying to relax in a bath right now so do not be alarmed. The jets are on, you won’t see him naked. Only address him as sir or Mr. Jeffers, and don’t talk loudly, his head hurts a lot right now. Get him whatever he asks for right away. And if you have to handle him for some reason, for God’s sake be gentle, make sure you don’t hurt him further.”
	She turns and leaves while I am still processing everything she just said. I want to ask her to repeat it so I can copy it down op paper but she is already halfway down the stairs now.

title: [RO] Rulers of Terrace View Part 1

question: What does the story say about Layla's family?

answer: Layla describes her family as a typical average American family. They are in the middle class. Her mother is an elementary school teacher, while her father works as a machine operator in one of the Jeffers's plants. She has a brother named Max.

question: What does the story say about Layla's preconceived impression of Aaron Jeffers?

answer: Since Aaron Jeffers is the son of Cooper Jeffers, a very wealthy and powerful business tycoon, Layla assumes that he is a slacker and because he has everything in life, plus he is really good-looking. Thus, she despises him even before meeting him in person.

question: What does the story say about the negative effects of gas drilling?

question: What does the story say about Aaron Jeffers's injury?

answer: Aaron's leg was injured from a gunshot after helping avert a gas town drilling crisis. He had been in the hospital and was still feeling pain even after he was sent back home to recover.


text:
RIDVAN KARDESOGLU (born 12 October 1996) is a Liechtensteiner footballer who plays as a forward for FC Balzers on loan from FC Chur 97 and the Liechtenstein national team.[1]

Career

Kardesoglu made his international debut for Liechtenstein on 15 November 2019 in a UEFA Euro 2020 qualifying match against Finland, which finished as a 0–3 away loss.[2]

Personal life

Kardesoglu is of Turkish descent.[3]

Career statistics

International

  Liechtenstein
  --------------- ------ -------
  Year
  2019
  2020
  Total

[1]

[2]

[3]

title: Ridvan Kardesoglu

question: Who is Ridvan Kardesoglu?

answer: A footballer.

question: What is his heritage?

answer: Turkish.

question: For which team does he play?

answer: Liechtenstein.

question: What is his position?

answer: He's a forward.

question: Write a ~2 sentence summary.

answer: Ridvan Kardesoglu is a footballer who plays forward for Liechtenstein. He was born in 1996.


text:
What links the following people: the Nigerian who wanted to blow up Northwest Airlines Flight 253 to Detroit on Christmas Day; the two Palestinians arrested at Be'er Sheva's Central Bus Station and who are suspected of reconnoitering for a mass terror attack; Mohammed Abd al-Salam Faraj, leader of the killers of Anwar Sadat; Khalid Sheikh Mohammed, planner of the attack on the Twin Towers; Mohamed Atta, who commanded the attack; and Iranian President Mahmoud Ahmadinejad?

Answer: all are engineers or students of engineering and applied science. There are other examples, such as in the leadership of the Muslim Brotherhood in Egypt and Jordan, and in the Hamas leadership. We're talking about real engineers or students of the science, not the terrorist bomb makers often described as "engineers".

I am among those who attribute this phenomenon first and foremost to what is described as engineering thinking or an engineering mindset. The concept includes an assumption, which has been raised in psychological research, that engineering as a field of study and a profession tends to attract people who seek certainty, and their approach to the world is largely mechanistic. So they are characterized by a greater intolerance of uncertainty - a quality that is evident among extremists, both religious and secular.

Those with engineering mindsets are also characterized by an approach that requires society to operate "like clockwork" and abhors democratic politics, which requires compromises. It's clear that this is a cumulative tendency and not a stereotypical generalization.

I raised a similar thesis years ago at a Technion conference, where the presidents of similar institutions from around the world were invited to discuss "The image of the engineer in the 21st Century." A lively debate took place between supporters and opponents of the thesis. According to the organizer of the conference, the late physics Prof. Paul Singer, the number of those in favor and those opposed was about equal. If this is the case, it's possible to offer additional explanations, completing or overlapping this thesis.

First, cognitive dissonance, in other words, high expectations that end in bitter disappointment. In the Arab world the standards for being accepted into engineering programs are very high and the studies are demanding. On the other hand, work in the enormous public sector is routine, wages are low, subjection to hierarchy is humiliating and the position's social status is moderate - unless they are willing to go abroad to the United Arab Emirates, (which is how it is seen) from Cairo, Amman and Damascus. There wages are good, but amid social isolation and cultural desolation.

Today, employment in the Gulf is less available than even in the 1970s. In-depth interviews and focus groups have shown that Muslim engineers tend to interpret this situation as an expression of fundamental injustice that characterizes their societies, and from that the distance is short to viewing the radical Islamist solution as representative of the egalitarian ideal.

Second, it can be assumed that in technological fields, a young Muslim faces Western superiority (including the superiority of Japan, China and South Korea). How can this inferiority be explained in the Muslim world, which in the past was at the cutting edge of scientific progress? That Islam is in decline. Whoever aims to stop this decline and opposes blind imitation of the West to preserve his cultural uniqueness will find many people sharing the same outlook among the radical Islamist groups.

On the other hand, a young Muslim who studies humanities and social sciences will encounter critics of Western culture from within. Some observers have noted that Western culture is becoming impoverished, others have identified structural failures in the West and foresaw crisis and/or revolution: Karl Marx to Antonio Negri, Frantz Fanon to Joseph Stiglitz, Mikhail Bakunin to Naomi Klein. A young Muslim can join an anti-globalization movement without any relation to fundamentalist Islam and sense that he is fighting for a more just world; he can sense that through him flow major historical trends.

question: Why does the author say engineers become terrorists?

answer: The author states that engineers become terrorists because they cannot handle uncertainty. This means that they are attracted to extremism, both secular and religious. They state that this kind of attitude "abhors" democratic politics which relies on compromise.

question: What sorts of options exist for young Muslims searching for meaning?

answer: The author states that, a Muslim engineer has to face the dominance of the West and Asia in technology and answer this question. When facing Islam's decline it is common to either find common cause with Islamic fundamentalists, or Western leftists.


text:
Journalists for The New York Times shared various praise they received on Friday following the publication's decision to publish an op-ed written by an anonymous senior administration official earlier this week.

The pushback from Times's staffers comes in response to White House press secretary Sarah Huckabee Sanders urging Americans on Thursday to call the paper's opinion desk to ask "who the gutless loser" is behind the op-ed that has rocked the Trump administration.

The Times described the anonymous author as a “senior official in the Trump administration.”

“If you want to know who this gutless loser is, call the opinion desk of the failing NYT,” Sanders wrote on Twitter. “They are the only ones complicit in this deceitful act. We stand united together and fully support our President Donald J. Trump.”

  For those of you asking for the identity of the anonymous coward: pic.twitter.com/RpWYPHa6To

  — Sarah Sanders (@PressSec) September 6, 2018

Maggie Haberman, Sopan Deb and Dan Berry of the Times took to Twitter to say they received some praise instead of criticism from callers who explicitly said they were calling to counter Sanders's tweet.

"Got four of these kinds of calls yesterday and one 'eff you' which [to be honest] is better than an average day’s ratio," wrote Haberman, a White House correspondent for the paper.

  Got four of these kinds of calls yesterday and one “eff you” which tbh is better than an average day’s ratio https://t.co/HogdLFp9uu

  — Maggie Haberman (@maggieNYT) September 7, 2018

"Now for something different. Just got a call on my work line. 'Hello, I'm looking for the opinion section. Sarah Huckabee Sanders told us to angrily call you. I am not angry. The New York Times is doing a great job,'" wrote Sopan Deb, a culture reporter for the paper. "I paused. Made me sad to tell her I wasn't the right number."

  Now for something different. Just got a call on my work line.

  "Hello, I'm looking for the opinion section. Sarah Huckabee Sanders told us to angrily call you. I am not angry. The New York Times is doing a great job."

  I paused. Made me sad to tell her I wasn't the right number.

  — Sopan Deb (@SopanDeb) September 7, 2018

"Keep up the good work. You do have supporters out there. We love ya," one woman said on Barry's voicemail, adding that she didn't know exactly where to call to leave the sentiment.

The number Sanders tweeted out reached an automated main line for the newspaper.

  Responding to Sarah Sanders, a reader calls The New York Times: pic.twitter.com/p6id73T2H8

  — Dan Barry (@DanBarryNYT) September 7, 2018

President Trump[]Donald TrumpBiden and Harris named Time's 2020 'Person of the Year' US to sanction Turkey over Russian defense system: report Federal government executes Brandon Bernard despite last-minute appeals MORE, Vice President Pence and Secretary of State Mike Pompeo[]Mike PompeoState watchdog finds Susan Pompeo traveled without proper certification State Department No. 2 hits North Korea over lack of negotiations, acknowledges Biden win China limiting US officials' travel to Hong Kong MORE all slammed the Times for its decision to run the op-ed.

Trump, who often calls the newspaper the "failing New York Times," called the op-ed "treason" and demanded the newspaper reveal the individual's identity while turning him or her over to the government for “national security purposes.”

question: What does the article say about negative reception?

answer: Sarah Huckabee Sanders called whoever wrote the op-ed a "gutless loser". The paper only got one "eff you" call in response to the op-ed. Trump called the op-ed "treason" and demanded the newspaper reveal the author's identity while turning them over to the government.

question: What does the article say about president Biden?


text:
I look at Sil and start to SCREAM and yell and yammer excitedly with this new idea bursting forth -  Let’s go to Sunday mass hungover, or maybe still drunk. Maybe we can puke in the pews or confess our sins to the pederast priest! Sil, always an easy read, agreed instantly so we left the watering hole in the wall, brimming with stalwart stoic sin and soaking in sex, gin and ugh…pheromones.

“fadder I puked in yer pews. How many hail Marys is dat?”

“fadder I smoked a joint in the rectory.”

“fadder I occasionally sleeps wit men.”

We see his previously shock beet red face light up.

“Wit MEN fadder wit men.  Not little boys”

Disappointed pederast priest preaching piously about the sins of drugs and alcohol and sex and Sodomy and y’know, pretty much everything fun ever.

“fadder I sold me mudders dentures for new headshots.”

“fadder I was in a porn” et cetera. After the pederast has a coronary we’ll steal the communion wine and dance on the church organ. You can play a sweet soft soothing melody accompanied soliloquy or Debussy’s Claire de Lune. We’ll remember better days when he could still play and cry red tears, shitty drunk. Stuck in our respective funk ruts our calls to the coronary catholic become more somber.

“fadder I’m afraid. I’m afraid of dying…I’m afraid of living.”

Rolling around on the confession booth floor now,

“fadder I want to die, fadder I tried to kill myself”

Sil shows strong salient scalpel scars that we both still remember suturing shut.

“fadder I should be in the Waterford In-patient wing”

By now we’ve revived the poor old Father…As it happens he’s a rowdy red whiskey noser. Sil’s feeling good, rambunctious and reeling secretly seething I believe.

“So fadder explain to me why it’s a sin to love another man but every other fucking week some fuckin’ pillar of the community cops for kiddie porn?!” His ire is up, red cheeked wide eyed boiling over.

The priest is mute silent on the subject at first.

“My son, I’ve never fucked any boys, nor do I hate ‘the gays’ and what’s all this about killing yourselves and Waterford Bridge Road?” I feel a lecture coming on…”What’s the allure of this demure throwaway life attitude you have, so many of you.”

This question throws a long echoing silence through the puke stained pews.  A symbol for broken, wasted, busted, beat down lost youth. Or whatever.

Breaking the silence I turn to him quietly, “I guess for me I really don’t see the point of any of it beyond a couple of laughs and a lot of highs. I see the corruption that I’m too stupid to fix, that I can’t realistically change.”

Sil interjects “I think generationally we just don’t really have a tether – Everyone exists superficially, digitally we don’t know how to talk to one another we just get drunk or high and crash into each other blindly praying for a little connection on those rare occasions we realize how disconnected we really are.”

“Generationally? Is that even a word?!”

“Shut up milk drinker!” Sil punches me

“Yeah everyone sitting alone in rooms or all together with a rum and coke and a cellphone silently tapping away.”

The pederast nods “you boys need family, children, religion even. You know it brings us together as a community. The opiate of the masses son” He pauses, wagging a finger “and I don’t consider that to be a pejorative.”

Taking a ridiculous swig I nod “I understand the appeal really but I prefer actual opiates  and being alone and not changing.”

After a box of communion wine, (Yes it can come in boxes, look it up) we bid farewell to the swell drunk ‘ol pederast priest, promising to return someday with Irish Mist for his thirsty Irish lips, (Is that bigotry?) the old coot.

“Sil come over and stay in my bed we can binge watch a season of Louie and drink fuckin’ Borises and I’ll play guitar for you an…” I stammer on

“STOP! You had me at BED” SIl yells at me belligerently as we stagger down Bully Street arms intertwined drunk walking. It’s foggy and misty, our feet soaked and my body is drained of life. Finally we knock into y front door struggling with keys, we must have dropped 5 times.

“I think yer scars are beautiful Sil” (I love it, I do) I tell her softly as I run my hand over them, feeling the slight texture change, the scar raised…We kiss and stare into eyes, not alone not for tonight.

title: [HM] Crashing Sunday Morning Mass

question: Is the priest a pederast?

answer: It's unclear because the narrator is drunk.

question: Write a ~5 sentence summary.

answer: A man and his lover decide to go to church drunk and talk to the priest. They go to confession and the priest tries to help them. They call him a pederast. He insists he is not and that he cares about gays. He gives them a box of communion wine and the two men stumble down the street, still drunk.


text:
“Just A Man And His Dog”

Ever since I was a young boy, I’ve always been different, Not psychotic, demonic, or anything like that. Just not quite like the rest. I look different, I act different, I dress different, and I think different. This made it easy for the “beautiful people” of the world to fuck with me. A LOT!!! It used to bother me growing up, but as I’ve gotten older, not so much, but it still does. Now, I just look at the source, and think, fuck ‘em, they’ll be dead soon.

 I’ve never been to lucky with the ladies either. So after years of failed relationships, I found myself alone, friendless, and living in a 20 year old trailer that I’m renting from a friend of a friend of a friend. It doesn’t really matter who. Anyway, I thought to myself, I’m tired of being alone. I can probably get another girlfriend, but she’d just get on my nerves, And we’d break up. Same old song and dance.

No, this time, I want a companion, someone who is happy to see me when I come home from work, someone who likes to go for walks, someone to ride shotgun in the car. Someone who will love me for who I am, Not for what I have to offer them. I’m gonna get....a dog.

The very next day, I got up, hopped in my car, and drove to the local ASPCA, to get myself a dog. I walked in, told the lady behind the desk when I was looking for. Nothing big, a small dog, a lapdog so to speak. She said, “Sure, right this way.”

She took me into the kennel area and showed me many types of little dogs, mini pincher’s, Chihuahuas, even a few Pomeranians, etc. They were all lovely dogs. But none of them really seemed to click with me. Then out of the corner of my eye, at the very end of the cages, all by itself, sat a metal box.

The box was fully enclosed, with a tiny barred window in the door, resembling a prison cell. I said to the lady, “What is that?“. She looked at me as if I wasn’t supposed to ask and said, “That’s Roscoe, we’re not really sure what kind of dog he is. He’s been returned to us several times due to behavioral issues. He’s scheduled to be put down later today. That’s why he’s in the box.“ I’d like to see him”, I said. She said, “I don’t think that’s a good idea.”  Starting to get annoyed, I said, “The sign out front says all dogs ready for adoption, he’s in here, he can be adopted. Now, I want to see him” She said, “Yes, sir” with a you’re going to regret it tone, and took me over to the box, unlocked the door, opened it and then I saw him.

This little guy looked rough. His brown fur was matted to his body, crusty pieces of I don’t know what in the corners of his eyes, like he’d been crying. His nails were a bit long and sharp. His eyes were jet black with the slightest hint of red in them. To be quite honest, he looked like he just crawled out of the sewer and smelled like it too.

 He had an odor that reminded me of the summers I spent helping my uncle at his funeral home. He smelled like death!!!. But he was friendly. He ran out of the box, ran up to me, let me pick him up, and licked my face for what had to been at least 10 minutes. He was wagging his tail and just going crazy with excitement and so was I. I told the lady, “This little guy ain’t dying today, Roscoe has a new home.” A look of worry fell over her face.

After filling out some paperwork and getting his dog license. I took Roscoe home. First on the agenda was a bath. He was rather calm in the bath, seem to enjoy it really. After that, I dried him off and brushed him out. I had to use one of my old brushes, since I didn’t have a dog brush. We went to the local pet store next. I won’t mention the name of the place, due to legal matters. I’ll just say the people there are smart about pets. We got all the necessities needed to take care of my new friend.

The drive home started out normal, just driving down the road. I’ve always been a cautious driver, always doing the speed limit or below. Apparently, the guy in the car behind me didn’t like it and sped up to pass me, everyone usually does. He pulled along side of me and yelled, “Get the fuck out of the way, Moron. Learn how to drive.”

Roscoe went crazy, barking and jumping up on the dash as the guy passed. Growling, showing all his teeth, drooling and clawing the dash. The red tint in his eyes was becoming to be more apparent now. He began banging his head against the windshield, in a crazed attempt to get at the guy, hitting it so hard, it split his forehead open. Blood running down his face, on the windshield and dash. Oh my God!! What the hell is happening. Roscoe calm down!!!, stop!!! Roscoe stop!!! I finally had to pull on the side of the road. Roscoe still frantic.

I throw an old shirt over him, so he couldn’t see, grabbed him, telling him it’s ok, over and over again. His body went limp, I thought he was dead. I pulled the shirt from over him, and the second i did, his eyes opened, and he was wide eyed and bushy tailed and ready to play. Like nothing ever happened. What the fuck!!! I took the shirt and held it over his forehead, stopping the blood.

I washed him up fully when we got home. Cleaning the dash and windshield as well. We spent the rest of the day playing in the yard and hanging around the house so he could get used to his new home.

The trailer park in live in isn’t the best of places to live. The lot rent is cheap, but that’s the only good thing about it. It’s a dirt road, in a U shape with trailers running parallel with the road on both sides. This is apparently where the term, “trailer trash”, came from. It’s not that the people are bad or anything. Its just cleanliness isn’t their way of life. Old refrigerators, car parts, and various other piles of junk clutter their yards. The trailer at the end, in front of the park, has been raided a couple times by local police and there is always cars pulling in and out of there. I think they’re selling drugs, but that’s none of my business.

In the middle of the park is what the park manager calls a “playground”. It consists an old, beat-up swing set, a rickety metal slide, and a sandbox that most of the cats around here use as a litter box. Most of the older folks here just sit out there and talk all day, no kids ever play there, who can blame them, it’s a lawsuit waiting to happen.

The night I realized Roscoe was the perfect friend for me came about two months later. That night, while taking him for a walk around the park before going to bed. We passed the old playground. Something told me not to cut through there, just complete the circle around the park and go home. but it was close to my house and I was really tired.

At the playground, there were two guys I’d never seen before, in black hoodies, just hanging out. One on the swing, the other on the slide. As I passed them, I heard the guy on the swing  say, “Nice dog, can I pet him?”  I said, “Sure.”  As the one guy bent down to pet Roscoe. I heard the cocking of a gun, and felt the barrel press hard against the back of my neck. “Give me your fucking money or you’re dead”, the guy from the slide, who now had a gun said. The other guy leaped up and grabbed me and slammed me against the slide, dripping the leash in the process.

What happened next, sent shivers down my spine and filled me with excitement at the same time. Roscoe went insane, his eyes turned bright red. Skipping the growling and clawing part and went straight for the guys neck. He leaped up from a sitting position, and grabbed the guys throat, digging his claws into the side of his neck and ripping out his voice box with his teeth. Blood spewing everywhere, as the guy fell to the ground. Roscoe still attached. The guy with the gun ran like a bitch.

The guy on the ground was gasping for air, blood pouring out of his mouth, and the hole in his throat, as he choked on it. He tried to hit Roscoe to get him off. But, my boy was relentless, biting and clawing at the guys face, ripping and tearing his eyes out, part of his cheek and his entire nose, down to the socket.

Maybe I’m wrong for this, but I don’t care. After years of being fucked with by assholes like this. It was great to finally get revenge. I started chanting Roscoe on. “Get ‘em, boy. Get ‘em. Kill that motherfucker.”, and that’s just what he did. As the guy took his last breath, Roscoe stepped back and fell over, his body limp and lifeless. Blood covering his snout, with pieces of flesh and eyeballs hanging from his mouth. Two seconds later, he sprung back to life, happy and energetic, chewing on the eyeball pieces like a play toy.

“Good boy, Roscoe.”, I said, as I picked him up, staring at the mutilated corpse that lay at my feet and smiled. “Fuck ‘em, let the cats eat the rest.”, I said.

I carried Roscoe home, washed him off and fed him the biggest steak I had. Raw, of course, just how he likes it. I had the best nights sleep that I’ve ever had that night. Roscoe right by my side.

Homicide detectives and police flooded the park the day after, going door to door looking for witnesses as to what happened. Mrs. Jacobson, from three trailers down, found the body. She had to be given oxygen and a ride in the ambulance to get checked out, it traumatized her so bad. I’m sorry, Mrs. Jacobson. I really am.

When the cops came to my door, I, of course, saw nothing and Roscoe was on his best behavior, laying on the living room floor pretending to be asleep. I watched the coroner carry the body away. The cops finished up and went away. I asked my neighbor what happened, and she said, some guy was mauled to death last night. The cops think it was some kind of wild animal that escaped from the circus that came through about a year ago and attacked the guy. There have been numerous bodies found in the area with wounds such as the ones they found today. They’re writing it off as that.

Roscoe and I couldn’t be happier together. He has a loving home and I get to seek revenge. So, if any of you assholes from my past are reading this. I haven’t forgotten. I WILL find you. I WILL get you. Well, Roscoe will.

He’s not a BAD dog, he’s just very protective.

(Dog Barks)

Good boy, Roscoe!!!

Written by:
Michael P. Zendler

title: [MF] Just A Man and His Dog

question: What does the story say about Roscoe's eyes?

answer: When the narrator first meets Rosco in the pound, there is crust in the corners of his eyes. His eyes are jet black with the slightest hint of red in them. The red tint in his eyes increases in intensity whenever he attacks someone.

question: What does the text say about Michael?

answer: Michael P. Zendler is the author of 'Just A Man and His Dog', a short work of fiction.

question: What does the text say about homelessness?

question: What does the text say about vets?


text:
An ardent walker, Mr. Leventhal strode through Boston, his daily routes mapping the marks he left on the city he loved. In 1946, with his brother Robert, he cofounded what became the Beacon Companies, which built, renovated, or reimagined some of Greater Boston’s best-known landmarks: Center Plaza, Rowes Wharf, the Hotel Meridien, 75 State Street, and South Station.

“My thoughts and prayers are with the family and friends of Norman Leventhal, a legend who dedicated his life to transforming Boston into a world-class city,” Mayor Martin J. Walsh said in a statement. “He will be remembered for generations to come for his immense contributions to our city.”

A prominent jewel in Mr. Leventhal’s crown is Post Office Square, where he turned a 2½-story parking garage many considered an eyesore into a 1,400-car structure that plunges seven stories underground. Atop it rests a lush 1.7-acre park that bears Mr. Leventhal’s name and offers respite from the Financial District’s granite, glass, and pavement.

[A prominent jewel in Norman Leventhal’s crown is Post Office Square (pictured).]
A prominent jewel in Norman Leventhal’s crown is Post Office Square (pictured).Pat Greenhouse/Globe Staff

“If you look around downtown anywhere, you will see a monument to this man,” Lawrence DiCara, a real estate lawyer and former city councilor, once observed.

Though Mr. Leventhal rose to pinnacles of power and accumulated enormous wealth, he was quick to remind all who listened that “Boston also knows poverty and despair. Cities have always been that way. But that is not the way they always have to be.

“We must constantly work to find ways to make the riches of Boston available to all of her citizens, not just the most fortunate among us,” he said in the 1997 Globe interview. “That we haven’t yet succeeded in doing that is no excuse for not continuing our efforts.”

Among Mr. Leventhal’s efforts were gifts of time and money to Beth Israel Deaconess Medical Center, where he was on the board for decades, and Combined Jewish Philanthropies of Greater Boston. He was a founder of Jewish Community Housing for the Elderly, which built rent-subsidized apartments in Brighton, Brookline, and Newton. With his relatives, Mr. Leventhal led development of the Jewish Community Center in Newton, which bears the family’s names.

He also served as president, chairman, trustee, or board member for organizations including the United Way of Massachusetts Bay and Merrimack Valley and the John F. Kennedy Library Foundation. An alumnus of the Massachusetts Institute of Technology, he was a life member emeritus of the MIT Corporation, and was awarded honorary degrees from Brandeis and Boston universities.

“I am the luckiest guy in the world. I have been very fortunate,” he told the Globe in 2007. “I’ve been associated with wonderful people, got to know a lot of people at all different levels and in different areas. I’ve learned a lot from these people and gotten support from these people.”

[Boston’s South Station.]
Boston’s South Station.Yoon S. Byun/Globe Staff

Indeed, rather than embark on solo flights when launching some large-scale projects, he was known for his adroit touch at enlisting a squadron of politicians and other developers. In Mr. Leventhal’s eyes, business and community interests went hand-in-hand – his “vision of seamlessness,” the late Edward Linde, a leading real estate developer, told the Globe in 1986. Some of Mr. Leventhal’s most significant projects, such as Center Plaza and South Station, involved a form of partnership with government agencies.

Mr. Leventhal, Linde observed, “has unparalleled skill in bringing people along with him – not by bludgeoning them or rolling over them, but by convincing them.”

Born on Aug. 30, 1917, Mr. Leventhal grew up in Boston. His father was from Russia and his mother was from Lithuania. At Christopher Gibson elementary school in Dorchester, Mr. Leventhal skipped a grade, he recalled in a 2011 interview, and he attended Boston Latin School, graduating at 15. “When you go to Latin School, you go to Harvard customarily,” he noted in that interview.

In the introduction to the 1999 book “Mapping Boston,” he wrote that “Harvard accepted me, but it was MIT that gave me a scholarship. So, for want of a hundred dollars to pay Harvard’s first quarter tuition, I found myself becoming an engineer, a naval architect, a contractor, and then a real estate developer.”

He graduated in 1938 from MIT, and during World War II, he and his brother Robert worked as naval architects in the Charlestown Navy Yard. They cofounded Beacon Construction Co. after the war. “My brother and I were very close and worked well together,” Mr. Leventhal said in 2011. “We had a place in Allston, the two of us, and we got along beautifully.” On a shelf behind his office desk, he kept a ledger with handwritten entries of deals dating back to the company’s first days.

The Leventhal brothers began by remodeling stores and moved to larger projects, including 40 toll booths on the New York State Thruway. They built post offices from Newton to Oklahoma to Puerto Rico, then focused on public and military housing, including at Fort Devens. The company completed Wellesley Office Park in the early 1960s, when a significant break occurred. “Between 1962 and 1967 we worked on the 900-foot-long crescent-shaped Center Plaza office building in Government Center,” Mr. Leventhal recalled in the introduction to “Mapping Boston.”

Although much of the company’s early work was outside the city, “the one thing I’m most proud of is right there in Boston, and that is Center Plaza,” he said in the 2011 interview, adding: “It defines the area.”

In 1972, the death of his brother Robert, at 58, was “both a personal tragedy and a professional setback,” Mr. Leventhal wrote. “But our company continued to grow as Boston grew. My son-in-law Ed Sidman and my sons Alan and Mark joined us.”

[Center Plaza “defines the area,” Norman Leventhal said in 2011. ]
Center Plaza “defines the area,” Norman Leventhal said in 2011. Matthew J. Lee/Globe staff

Sidman died in 2005. Mr. Leventhal’s sister, Dorothy Levinson, died in 2007, and another brother, Edward, died in 2012.

Beacon Companies became one of Greater Boston’s premier real estate developers, though on occasion it was buffeted by economic upheaval, such as when a glut in office space and a corresponding plunge in rents coincided with the late-1980s completion of the firm’s 31-story office tower, 75 State Street, which took three years to fill. Those rough financial waters also led to the creation of Beacon Properties Corp., a real estate investment trust. Most Beacon Companies assets went into the trust, which eventually would own, in whole or in part, more than 120 buildings nationwide. Beacon Properties went public in 1994 and three years later, the family sold it to Chicago-based Equity Office Properties Trust for $3.9 billion.

For decades, the Leventhal family donated or helped raise millions for political campaigns, nearly all for Democrats. Mr. Leventhal once noted that he contributed to every opponent of US Senator Jesse Helms, the conservative North Carolina Republican, from 1978 onward.

Still, he bristled at suggestions that connections with elected and appointed officials smoothed the path to contracts. “I have never been political,” he said in a 1996 Globe interview.

More often, though, he approached with equanimity each deal, each interview, and each day. “You ask him how he is and he has one word for you: ‘Perfect!’ And he says it in such a nice way; there’s a serenity to it,” his son Alan told Boston Magazine in 2003. Alan is now chairman and chief executive of Beacon Capital Partners, a real estate investment firm unconnected to the businesses his father started.

Among Mr. Leventhal’s philanthropic endeavors, he is particularly fond of the Norman B. Leventhal Map Center at the Boston Public Library. “I bought my first historic map of Boston while visiting London with my wife, Muriel, more than twenty-five years ago,” he wrote in the “Mapping Boston” introduction. “My curiosity about maps slowly got the better of me and my collection started to grow — or metastasize, in Muriel’s opinion.” That collection grew to more than 400, with many showing changes in Boston over the past 300 years. He endowed the map center with a $10 million gift in 2004.

Harvard and MIT wanted his maps, he said in the 2011 interview, but he chose the Boston Public Library because he wanted them in a home that was open to the public. “What better place could there be,” he later wrote in an e-mail to the Globe, “to ensure our schoolchildren will have free access for generations to come.”

Mr. Leventhal married Muriel Guren in 1941 and began each day saying to her, “Good morning, my dear, it’s a beautiful day.” When an MIT alumni publication asked him in 2008 to name his greatest accomplishment, he answered: “Marrying Muriel.”

In addition to his wife, of Palm Beach, Fla., and Boston, and his sons Alan of Chestnut Hill and Mark of Waban, Mr. Leventhal leaves his daughter, Paula Sidman of Palm Beach, Fla.; 11 grandchildren; and eight great-grandchildren.

The family will hold a private funeral for Mr. Leventhal, and later will announce plans for a public memorial service.

At an age when most would have long since retired, Mr. Leventhal still walked to an office he kept at his son’s business, mulling ways to make Boston a better place. “It’s a great city,” he told the Globe in 2007, just before turning 90, “but it could be and it should be greater.”

He had, however, contributed in ways that permanently left his signature on the city’s skyline. “I am not concerned about a legacy,” Mr. Leventhal said that day, taking in the panorama from his office window five floors above State Street. “I feel comfortable with what I’ve done.”

------------------------------------------------------------------------

Bryan Marquard
can be reached at bryan.marquard@globe.com.

question: Describe what Mr. Leventhal will be remembered for.

answer: Mr. Leventhal will be remembered for dedicating his life to transforming Boston into a world-class city. In 1946, along with his brother Robert, they co-founded the Beacon Companies. The companies built, renovated and reimagined some of Greater Boston's most famous landmarks. He was very generous with his time and money, giving back to Jewish Philanthropies. He will be remembered for generations to come for his immense contributions to the city.


text:
S I M NURUNNABI KHAN (1942 – 22 May 2019) was a Bangladeshi freedom fighter and writer. He was awarded Bir Bikrom for his contribution to the Liberation War of Bangladesh.[1]

Biography

Nurunnabi Khan was born on 1942 in Ramganj, Lakshmipur.[2][3] His father's name was Habibullah Khan and his mother's name was Shamsunnahar Begum. He completed his graduation from East Pakistan University of Engineering and Technology (now Bangladesh University of Engineering and Technology) in electrical and electronics engineering. He was the president of East Pakistan University of Engineering and Technology Student League in 1967 and 1968. Later, became vice president of his university's student union in 1969.[4] He took part in the 1969 Mass Uprising.[5]

After completing graduation Nurunnabi Khan joined the army. He was in Quetta School of Infantry and Tactics in 1971.[6] After the declaration of independence of Bangladesh he decided to take part in the Liberation War of Bangladesh. He came to Dhaka on 27 March 1971 to take part in the Liberation War of Bangladesh.[7] He was appointed as the captain of Delta Company in the Liberation War of Bangladesh.

Nurunnabi Khan took part in battles across the country. He took part in the battlefield of Bahadurabad, Chhatak, Gowainghat, Radhanagar, Chhotokhel, Salutikor and other places.[8] After independence he was awarded Bir Bikrom for his contribution to the Liberation War of Bangladesh.

Nurunnabi Khan joined Bangladesh Army after the Liberation of Bangladesh. He studied in Royal Military College of Science from 1973 to 1976 and achieved a degree in atomic engineering.[9] He was suspended from Bangladesh Army in 1980 for an allegation of his involvement in an unsuccessful coup.[10]

Nurunnabi Khan also wrote books about the Liberation of Bangladesh. His twelve books were published. He wrote books like _Jiboner Juddho Juddher Jibon_, _Roumari Ronangon_, _Operation Bahadurabad_ and _Operation Salutikor_.[11] He also established Columbia Prakashani for publishing books about the Liberation War of Bangladesh.

Nurunnabi Khan died on 22 May 2019 at the age of 77.[12][13]

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[2]

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title: S I M Nurunnabi Khan

question: Who was Nurunabi Khan?

answer: Khan was a freedom fighter and writer born in 1942 in Ramganj, Lakshmipur. Considered a hero by many, he had a degree in atomic engineering, and was awarded the Bir Bikrom for his contribution to the Liberation War of Bangladesh.

question: List 3 of Khan's books.

answer:
Jiboner Juddho Jibon
Operation Bahadurabad
Operation Salutikor

question: When did Khan die?

answer: 2019 at the age of 77.

question: Write a ~1 sentence summary.

answer: A short biography of S I M Nurunnabi Khan a Bangladeshi freedom fighter, writer and atomic engineer.


text:
Memory

“Buy the ticket, take the ride” - Hunter S. Thompson

Beep. Beep. Beep. The hospital room smelled of antiseptic and cleanliness. The IV dripped in time, liquid sliding down the tube, and an old man’s family gathered around him. The old man, Adam Nemo, was resting on the uncomfortable hospital mattress. The plastic bed was propped up on a 45 degree angle so that he could better see everyone around him - his grandchildren, his son, and his daughter.  On the stand next to him was a half eaten hospital meal. His prepackaged applesauce not even opened.

The hospital staff walked through the halls with purpose, carrying patients to operating rooms or delivering dry hospital meat or medicine. The only time the clutter stopped was at night and even that silence was sometimes broken up by a heart attack or a new arrival.

Adam Nemo had been admitted during the daytime after weeks of feeling ill.

“Dad....how are you feeling?” A woman, about 45, kneeled, holding his hands. “Hm? What’d you say? I’m not as young as I once was, dear.” He smiled gently, dentures glinting from saliva and the room’s fluorescent lighting. “She asked how you were feeling, Grandpa.” “Oh, well, I’m doing better than before. I do think that I could go for a walk.” “Dad, you know you can’t do that. The doctor said no walking around until you’re better.” The man who had just spoken stepped out of the corner. “You just need to rest.” “Well, you know what they say. No rest for the wicked!” The
old man laughed. His laugh filled up the entire room, warming it. No one else joined in.

A woman in blue scrubs walked in on the family. “I hope I’m not interrupting anyone!” The whole family turned to see the nurse, carrying a tray with three pills on it. A glass of water perched on top of the tray. “Mr. Nemo, it’s time for your medicine.” “Oh boy, I just love passing out and not waking up for 15 hours.” “Dad, you know you have to take the medicine. Just swallow the pills and drink some water.” “I know, I know. I was just trying to lighten the mood.”

Adam Nemo took the pills, and floated into sleep. The white of the hospital room faded. First his family was gone, then the IV’s stuck into his veins.  He slept long and he slept nervously. His sleep was filled with memory. He remembered the past, when he wasn’t confined to a hospital bed.

The shifting colors resolved, and he was young again.

The room was distraught, unkempt. In the corner hung a ratty Irish flag. Beneath the flag, three guitars were leaned against the wall. A thick shag carpet covered the middle of the common space. Against the back wall, a legless couch sat close to the floor. Two lost boys sat on it and passed a joint back and forth. One of his friends, a dropout like him, stood by the door and collected whatever spare change anyone coming over had. Somedays it was rent money, but tonight it was to fix the dilapidated toilet. A sign hung on the bathroom door: “Please, nothing solid in the toilet. No vomit.”

The front of the space was a large, makeshift stage. Wooden slats like you see in storage facilities covered the floor. A conga and some drums huddled in the back corner with some more guitars and a synth. On the other side, a record player scratched bumped as it reached the end of a record. Adam Nemo walked flipped it over. “Any suggestions?” No one answered, so he put the same record back on.

Adam’s friend, Paul, walked in the building. He handed over two dollars and threw his faux leather jacket on the chair beside the door. “Yo, Adam. What you drinkin?” He walked  over. “PBR. Here, take the rest of mine.” Adam handed over the half empty beer bottle and thought of what his mother would think of him right now.

“Adam! I told you never to drink!” He laughed to himself as her shrill voice rattled through his skull.

Adam and Paul relaxed in the corner for a while, talking.

“Yeah, my old man told me I either go off to college or come work with him at the shop. I told him to fuck off. I’m movin’ out next week.” “Man, I wish I could do that.” “Dude, not that hard. Just do it.” Adam thought about Paul. He had a devil may care attitude and generally did not give a fuck about anything. Off in the stage corner, some guys were setting up for that night’s show. “Check, check one, check two.” Paul yelled. “I’m checkin’ you out!” Some people roared in agreement.

Groups walked in, guys and girls, dropouts and students and underage disappointments.  . Their eyes were blood red and they were salivating for nothing more than a good time. LSD and mushrooms - the 1960’s was 50 years gone, but no one had told them. The doorman collected the money and they passed through the gates into a castle of drugs and booze and sex. Pretension filled the air. Adam heard flirts quote Naruda: “Quiero hacer contigo lo que la primavera hace con los cerezos, I want to do with you what spring does with the cherry trees.” Pills popped into mouths and tabs were placed onto tongues.

“Hey hey hey! Can you all hear us all right?” the lead singer asked. Raucous shouts emanated from the crowd, giving her the answer. “We’re the Black Sails, get ready to fuckin’ wail.” A guitar shrieked and drums crashed down. The crowd got wild. 5, 6 minutes went by and Adam fought for his life. He ducked as a fist rounded towards him and he pushed back. Adam couldn’t hear the vocals, no one could. The guitar was distorted beyond recognition. The song settled and the rest of the crowd did. They took it slower, then faster, then slower again, and again faster.

“Alright yall, it’s been great. Here’s our last song.” Drums crash. Bass walks. The music floated through Adam Nemo’s head. He wasn’t paying attention. Heads bobbed along like boats on the sea. He was treading water, staying motionless. The song ended with a flourish, a quick flip of the drummer’s wrist. “Next up, the Valleros!” Takedown began and the band started to unplug. “Adam, you want something?” Paul yelled from next to him. Nothing, the sound went through his then deaf ears. “Adam, listen to me!” “Huh?” “I asked if you wanted something.” “Yeah yeah yeah, grab me another beer.” Paul walked over to the makeshift bar. Two stolen construction barrels with a plank across the top held a few beers and an ashtray with some cigarettes.

Adam stood there, hands in pockets, waiting for the next band to come on. His eyes drifted towards the floor, towards cigarette butts and spit. He looked up as some girls crossed in front of him. He recognized one of them. He had met her three weeks before, at an open mic night in the very same room. She had read a poem about herself. “Lover, dreamer, dyed hair, feminist”, she  declared to the half empty space.

The other girl fascinated him. She had punk rock hair, half shaved off and half combed right up, and was wearing a dress straight from the 1950’s. 2012 meets 1955. Punk rock meets housewife. His eyes followed her across the room.

He didn’t know why, but he felt that she was different than everyone else in the room. There was an aura of fakeness surrounding everyone else. She seemed real. She seemed actually raw, not the raw that these people put on to impress other fakers. He had to talk to her, had to know who she was.

“Paul, who is that?” “Who?” “Punk rock hair. Green housewife dress.” “What?” “Just look behind you.” Paul turned around. “I have no fucking clue”. “Well, I’m going to go talk to her anyways.” Adam edged his way through the crowd to the other side of building. The girl was chatting with two guys. They passed a flask in between the three of them, taking sips.

Paul overheard her talk. “Man that last band blew. When are we gonna hear some real music?” She took a swig from the flask. Paul stepped in. “Yeah, I know what you mean. Total shit.” “I mean, give me something with an edge anyday.” “Totally, right? Like, I’m here to listen to good music, not stuff that’s two amps removed from some pop princess.” “Haha, totally. What’s your name?” “I’m Elizabeth.” She sarcastically curtsied. “Well, Liz. You?” One of the two guys reached his hand out for the flask. “Paul. I’m Paul. Who are these guys?” “No idea. But I like whatever’s in that flask.”

Adam Nemo spent the rest of the night with Liz. They talked and laughed and drank and smoked and Adam Nemo fell in love.

Then, Adam Nemo slept. When he awoke, on the beat up couch, he looked around at the others who had crashed there. She was nowhere to be seen. He didn’t know her phone number or even her last name.

Colors shifted again and Adam Nemo returned to the waking world. His family had gone home. The nurses had changed shifts and the business of the daytime had died down. It seemed that there were no emergencies tonight.

Maybe sometimes, Adam Nemo thought, sleep wasn’t such a bad thing.

title: Memory [Original piece]

question: Summarize the contents of Adam's dreams.

answer: Adam dreamt and found himself in a room with a tatty Irish flag hanging in the corner and three guitars leaning against the wall. There was a conga, some drums, and a synth in the back corner. At the front of the room was a makeshift stage. One of Adam's friends was at the door collecting spare change from people coming in. Another of Adam's friends, Paul, walked in and ask him for a drink. Adam handed Paul a half-empty beer bottle to drink. They both discussed Paul's moving out of his parents' house. Adam wished he could do that. Groups of guys and girls walked in. LSD and other drugs were being passed around while the doorman collected money. A music band starts to play. Adam spotted a girl with punk rock hair that was half shaved off. She fascinated him though he doesn't know why. Adam approached her and introduced himself. She introduced herself as Liz. They spent the night talking, laughing, drinking, and smoking. Adam was in love with her.

question: Does Paul know Liz in real life?


text:
The 2020 RUGBY FOOTBALL LEAGUE CHAMPIONSHIP is a rugby league football competition played primarily in England but including a team from France. It is the second tier of the three tiers of professional rugby league in England, below Super League and above League 1. Following rule changes agreed at the end of the 2018 season, the Super 8's format was abandoned and the Championship was to have featured a play-off system leading to promotion to Super League for one club while results during the regular season would have led to relegation to League 1 for two teams.

The 2020 Championship comprised 14 teams, which all played one another twice in the regular season, once at home and once away, totalling 26 games. The 2020 season would also have featured the “Summer Bash Weekend” for a sixth time so the regular season totals 27 games for each team.

On 16 March the structure and timing of the competition were placed in doubt as all rugby league games were suspended until 3 April at least as part of the United Kingdom's response to the coronavirus pandemic.[1] The suspension of the season was extended to indefinite.[2]

A discussion between the RFL and club officials in May saw a majority of the Championship clubs reject a suggestion that the season could recommence with games being played behind closed doors.[3] The RFL board met on 20 July and having consulted with the clubs decided to abandon the 2020 season as the majority of clubs did not support playing behind closed doors.[4] The RFL also confirmed that there would be no promotion or relegation between the Championship and Super League in 2020 and the season was declared _null and void_.[5][6]

Teams

The Championship is made up of 14 teams, 11 of whom featured in the 2019 Championship; one, London Broncos, who were relegated from Super League; and two, Whitehaven and Oldham, who won promotion from League 1 in 2019. At the end of the 2019 season Bradford Bulls moved out of their Odsal ground and for 2020 agreed a ground share deal with Dewsbury Rams at the Rams' Tetley's Stadium.

  Team                  Stadium                            Capacity   Location |- style="background:    Batley Bulldogs   Fox's Biscuits Stadium   7,500   Batley, West Yorkshire
  --------------------- ---------------------------------- ---------- --------------------------------- ----------------- ------------------------ ------- ------------------------
  Bradford Bulls        Tetley's Stadium                   5,800      Dewsbury, West Yorkshire
  Dewsbury Rams         Tetley's Stadium                   5,800      Dewsbury, West Yorkshire
  Featherstone Rovers   LD Nutrition Stadium               8,000      Featherstone, West Yorkshire
  Halifax               The MBi Shay                       14,000     Halifax, West Yorkshire
  Leigh Centurions      Leigh Sports Village               12,000     Leigh, Greater Manchester
  London Broncos        Trailfinders Sports Ground         4,000      Ealing, London
  Oldham                Bower Fold[7]                      6,500      Stalybridge, Greater Manchester
  Sheffield Eagles      Sheffield Olympic Legacy Stadium   2,500      Sheffield, South Yorkshire
  Swinton Lions         Heywood Road                       3,387      Sale, Greater Manchester
  Toulouse Olympique    Stade Ernest-Wallon                19,500     Toulouse, France
  Whitehaven            Recreation Ground                  7,500      Whitehaven, Cumbria
  Widnes Vikings        Halton Stadium                     13,350     Widnes, Cheshire
  York City Knights     Bootham Crescent                   8,256      York, North Yorkshire

Regular season results

Standings at time of abandonment

[1]

[2]

[3]

[4]

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[7]

title: 2020 RFL Championship

question: What is the 2020 RFL Championship?

answer: A rugby league football competition played primarily in England but including a team from France.

question: How many teams were in the 2020 RFL Championship?

answer: 14.

question: How many games were played in the 2020 RFL Championship?

answer: 26.

question: How many of the teams also featured in the 2019 championship?

answer: 11.

question: Write a ~2 sentence summary.

answer: This article is about the 2020 RFL Championship. It discusses the organization of the championship and lists the teams involved.


text:
SAMUEL JOHN SACKETT (born January 23, 1928 -died March 2018), alternately SAM SACKETT or S.J. SACKETT, was an American professor of English and writer.

Early life and education

Sackett was born in Redlands, California in 1928 and graduated from Redlands High School in 1945.[1] He received his A.B. from the University of Redlands in 1948 and his A.M. from the same institution in 1949. He subsequently attended the University of California, Los Angeles, receiving his Ph.D in English in 1956.[2] At UCLA, he specialized in English literature of the Neoclassical period and in the history of literary criticism; his dissertation was titled, _The Place of Literary Theory in Henry Fielding's Art.[3]_

Career

From 1949-1951, Sackett taught English and journalism at Hastings College in Nebraska.[4] He then took a hiatus from teaching to earn his Ph.D at UCLA, after which he served as a professor of English at Fort Hays State University, for 23 years.[5] During his tenure at Fort Hays State, Sackett published a translation of a Flemish novel, a collection of Kansas folklore and a critical study of E.W. Howe. He also wrote _Cowboys and the Songs They Sang_, a children's book that was published in 1967. Additionally, Sackett founded and served as president of the Kansas Folklore Society and was co-editor with William E. Koch of Kansas State University of _Kansas Folklore_, as well as Book Review Editor of _Western Folklore_ magazine.[6][7] After leaving Fort Hays State, Sackett worked briefly as a freelance writer and newspaper reporter.

In 1980, he moved to Oklahoma and was hired as the Director of Creative Services for an advertising agency in Weatherford. It was there that he married his wife, Suwapee Sackett, a native of Thailand. After their marriage, Sackett joined a career management firm in Oklahoma City as a Senior Associate, next becoming Vice President of another Oklahoma City career management company and, finally, Vice President of the Oklahoma City office of Bernard Haldane Associates, where he remained for twelve years. While living in Oklahoma City Dr. Sackett also taught English and ESL classes at several universities.[8]

In 2003, Sackett, retired to Ayutthaya, Thailand where he taught English and wrote short stories which were subsequently collected into two books, _Through Farang Eyes_ and _Snapshots of Thailand_. Sackett's third volume of short stories, _Chamberlain Stories_, focuses on his time teaching in Kansas.[9]

In 2009, Sackett and his wife returned to the United States to live in rural Canton, Oklahoma.[10] Following their return, his first book, _Sweet Betsy from Pike_ was published. Sackett had heard the song, _Sweet Betsy from Pike_, at an American Folklore Society meeting and, “it struck him that Betsy learned she couldn't trust sweet-talking Ike to take care of her and that she had the strength to take care of herself.”

Ever since reading Howard Pyle's _The Merry Adventures of Robin Hood_ in the fifth grade, Sackett had wondered about the truth behind the traditional legend. Answering that question resulted in his second book, _The Robin Hood Chronicles_, a different take on the story.

_Adolf Hitler in Oz_, Sackett's third novel, which he called “a children's book for adults,” grew out of his, “belief that goodness and love, symbolized in the novel as the Land of Oz, will always overcome evil and hate, symbolized by Hitler.” In addition, Sackett's interest in the psychological theories of Carl Rogers helped to shape the book.

Sackett also wrote a sequel to Mark Twain's _Adventures of Huckleberry Finn_, entitled _Huckleberry Finn Grows Up_. Twain was one of Sackett's favorite authors.

Bibliography

Books

-   Rabbi Yeshua (2013)
-   Huckleberry Finn Grows Up (2012)
-   Adolf Hitler in Oz (2011)
-   The Robin Hood Chronicles (2010)
-   Sweet Betsy from Pike (2009)

Children's Books

-   Cowboys and the Songs They Sang (1967)

Short Fiction

-   _Ali Cat in Oz_ (2018) [with Joe Bongiorno]
-   _The Wizard in New York_ (2018)
-   _The Horsemen_ (1953)

Short Fiction Collections

-   Chamberlain Stories (2014)
-   Snapshots of Thailand (2014)
-   Through Farang Eyes (2014)

Articles

-   _Jesse James as Robin Hood_ (1980-1981)
-   _A New English Curriculum for the Small College_ (1979)
-   _Simile in Folksong_ (1963)
-   _Folk Speech in Schoenchen, Kansas_ (1960)
-   _German Proverbs from around Fort Hays, Kansas_ (1959)

[1] Hernandez, Kristina. "Redlands native Sam Sackett has three short stories available ", _Redlands Daily Facts_, January 8, 2015.

[2] “Samuel John Sackett, Ph.D.”, _The Canton Times_, April 4, 2018.

[3]

[4]

[5]

[6] An Instruction Manual for Members of the Kansas Folklore Society, Samuel John Sackett, 1958.

[7] Sackett, Samuel J., Biographical Sketch of the Author, “English literary criticism, 1726-1750”, 1962.

[8]

[9]

[10]

title: Sam Sackett

question: Summarize Samuel's early life.

answer: Samuel was born in 1928 in California. He did his schooling at the Redlands High School and received his A.B. and A.M. from the University of Redlands in 1948 and 1949, respectively. He also attended the University of California, Los Angeles, from where he received his Ph.D. in English.

question: Summarize the beginning of Sackett's career.

answer: Sackett's career began with teaching English and Journalism at Hastings College in Nebraska. After earning his Ph.D. he went on to serve as a professor of English at Fort Hays State University for the next 23 years. While at Fort Hays State, Samuel published a collection of Kansas folklore and a critical study on E.W. Howe.

question: Where and how did Sackett meet his wife, Suwapee?

question: What did Sackett do after retiring?

answer: After retiring, Sackett and his wife moved to Ayutthaya, Thailand where he taught English and wrote short stories. A few years later, they moved back to the United States and lived in rural Canton, Oklahoma, after which his first book was published.

question: How many books has Sackett written?

answer: Sackett had written four books. His first book titled, Sweet Betsy from Pike, was published around 2009. His second book was titled The Robin Hood Chronicles, inspired by Howard Pyle's The Merry Adventures of Robin Hood. Samuel's third novel was tired Adolf Hitler in Oz and the last book was a sequel to titled Huckleberry Funn Grows Up.