R.I.P. Rufus Resitsnortsil, you were the best cat a man could have. i would brag that you came every time i called you outside that you would come to me even if you were a few streets away. ive never seen that until we had you. life number one went with the garage door closing on yer stupid head and i weened you to recovery. now the 9th is up after so long, i always yelled at you for not moving when i pull or back the truck in. my hunter, my friend, i love you and miss you even though the earth has not settled where you will lie forever. im so sorry Rufie, you may kill me in a future life-i deserve it.

Event “Tandy 1650 Level 5”
Site “home”
Date “2012.9.20”
Round “1”
White “bbri420”
Black “Tandy 1650”
Result “1/2-1/2”

pretty sure a draw was in order here. i`m working my way up the levels on my handy dandy `ole Tandy (Radio Shack) 1650 rated desktop chess `puter.

‎”Totalitarianism, however, does not so much promise an age of faith as an age of schizophrenia. A society becomes totalitarian when its structure becomes flagrantly artificial: that is, when its ruling class has lost its function but succeeds in clinging to power by force or fraud. Such a society, no matter how long it persists, can never afford to become either tolerant or intellectually stable. It can never permit either the truthful recording of facts or the emotional sincerity that literary creation demands. But to be corrupted by totalitarianism one does not have to live in a totalitarian country. The mere prevalence of certain ideas can spread a kind of poison that makes one subject after another impossible for literary purposes. Wherever there is an enforced orthodoxy — or even two orthodoxies, as often happens — good writing stops. This was well illustrated by the Spanish civil war. To many English intellectuals the war was a deeply moving experience, but not an experience about which they could write sincerely. There were only two things that you were allowed to say, and both of them were palpable lies: as a result, the war produced acres of print but almost nothing worth reading.” – George Orwell in “The Prevention of Literature” (1946)