Well that was delightfully dark.

Caswell eh? I haven’t heard that name for a very long time.

Laura Amherst !

#MondayMotivation

Ideas and vision are powerful, but real success comes when you take action.💼

Turn your plans into progress and your vision into reality. ✨

In a powerful first-person account published by The Marshall Project, Burton’s daughter recounts the years of fear, advocacy, and persistence that led to the moment her father’s life was spared. Her story is not just about clemency — it is about the long shadow of the death penalty, the fight for mercy, and the complicated questions of justice that still echo through America’s criminal courts.

I Am Sharing A Story About Capital Punishment And How It Nearly Took The Life Of Man Who Was About To Be Killed By The State

Colonel, we formally inform you that we are here to carry out the sentence of hanging you by the neck with a rope until you die. You have the right to a few last words.

Women’s Iranian team faces EXECUTION after protesting by not singing Iranian national anthem.

Tell me again how MN is EXACTLY like Iran.

*Snoring* zzz, zzz- HUH?! Oh… *w.k sits up rubbing his eyes* ughhhhh *w.k looks at his watch* 8 hours until the execution, I think? I should probably go and get them.

Ooc: I don’t really know what I’m doing tbh

Ghost Profile

The man called himself “Ghostly Rubber Rider” and he’d just sent Andy a “like”. Andy was immediately interested. He was twenty five with some very dark fantasies and the name Ghostly Rubber Rider conjered up an image of mystery and danger which was exactly what he spent hours on the Internet searching for. Disappointment was to follow though. When he attempted to look at Ghostly Rubber Riders profile he was confronted with a brief message; “Ghost profile”. No matter how he tried he was unable to find Ghostly Rubber Rider again and to make matters worse whoever sent the “like” had now deleted it. He couldn’t stop thinking about it and decided to go online at the same time the following evening in the hope that Ghostly Rubber Rider would message him. He chose to wear bike leathers on the off chance that the man would want to video chat. Deciding on his Streetfighter gear he could feel his dick stretching as he pulled on the scruffy old but tight fitting leather jeans and buckled up his Sidi courier boots. The equally scruffy leather jacket fit over his rubber vest like shirt. Reaching for his black Simpson helmet with tinted visor he removed a pair of leather gloves which were tucked inside and pulled it over his head.

It was around 10pm when Andy logged on. He was excited to see that the man was online. His profile had just one photo depicting a heavily built biker sitting on an old black fireblade wearing a black one piece rubber suit. The rubber was heavy gauge and had an industrial non shiny appearance. The skin on his neck was concealed by black rubber causing Andy to assume that his skull style crash helmet had a rubber hood underneath. His MX boots merged almost seamlessly with his muscular legs and his tight fitting leather jacket looked highly erotic with the industrial looking rubber suit. Andy squeezed his dick through his leather jeans. He quickly took a photo of himself and typed a short message. An automated reply came immediately.

“This member only accepts messages from his online friends.”

Andy felt frustrated. He kept trying to message him for almost an hour with no success and then just as he was at the point if giving up their was a message.

“That you in the photo mate?”

“Yes, love bikes and gear” Typed Andy.

“What bike you got?

"Ducati Streetfighter V4” Typed Andy.

“Hmm Rich boy, very nice.”

Andy waffled on about the bike being a year old and high mileage when he bought it and anything else he could think of to conceal the fact that he was indeed rich and not really a street fighter.

“Like I say boy nice. Mines a 20 year old black Blade. Can’t buy another now. Spectres can’t get loans to buy motorbikes.”

“What do you mean Spectre”. Said Andy.

“You’re messaging a ghost profile aren’t you mate?”

“Yes but "ghost profile” means the person has concealed his identity doesn’t it?“ Typed Andy.

"Yes it could do but it could also mean a clandestine place for spirits to reach out to each other.

"So you’re telling me you’re a ghost”. Said Andy.

“Yes.”

“And you expect me to believe you, I think you’re taking the piss.” Said Andy somewhat disappointed that the rubber biker who’d sounded so promising was turning out to be an idiot.

“I usually have no interest in mortals such as you but I think we have much in common. It’s my intention to introduce you into my immortal world and show you things beyond your comprehension. There is good and evil there and I belong to the latter, but I think you may find that interesting. I’m offering you the opportunity to join me for the experience of your life.”

Andy looked at the words on the screen. His first instinct was to laugh. But the laughter was juxtaposed with a growing erection in his leather jeans.

“So what do you want from me?” Said Andy.

“Your absolute submission, then I’ll steel everything you possess, your spiritual and emotional energy including your humanity and your soul.”

Andy started stroking his dick as he considered the mans words. Of course he knew by now that this was a fantasy game but it was making him horny.

“Ok what do i have to do to submit to you?” Typed Andy.

“Acknowledge me as your Lord and master.”

Andy was seconds from dumping wads of cum onto his leather jeans and was oblivious to the consequences of doing, or indeed not doing as the man asked.

Andy’s hand was shaking with excitement as he typed. “Yes I acknowledge you as my Lord and Master”.

“You won’t regret your decision boy. Now get on your bike and head north. I’ll direct you once you’re riding.”

“You don’t know where I live, how can you give me directions?” Typed Andy.

“I know everything about you boy we’ve been watching you for some time.”

“That’s the second time you’ve said "We” rather than “I” What do you mean?“ Said Andy.

"The satanic brotherhood”. “We watch guys like you all the time. You should be grateful that we’ve chosen you.”

That was enough. Andy was sure he was being played by the man and having ejaculated he’d had his fun and was ready for bed. Reaching forward to his pc he logged out and shut it down. Starting to take off his leathers he was suddenly interrupted as the monitor screen lit up again and a message appeared.

“What are you doing boy? You acknowledged me as your Lord and Master. Perhaps you really thought I was a fraud and it was all a game, but now you’ve seen your computer switch it’s self on you’re starting to wonder. That’s only a small part of my power, I am also able to control your thinking and influence your reasoning and desires.”

A series of images started flashing across the screen depicting woodland at night and some sort of activity involving a group of people, but they were so dark and blurred it was difficult to determine what was happening. Unusually everyone appeared to be male and wearing clothing from a earlier period in time. As Andy watched he was becoming sexually aroused again.

“You’re getting hard arn’t you boy?”

Andy had to admit that he was indeed getting hard, and that there was no doubt in his mind that the person calling himself Ghostly Rubber Rider was responsible. An acceptance that this man was not mortal and everything he’d ever thought about the supernatural was being challenged crept over him. Andy started to realise that his compliance was mandatory.

“Yes Lord and Master.” Said Andy.

“Good boy. Get on your bike and ride north, I’ll be waiting for you.”

It was almost half past midnight as Andy wheeled his bike out of his double garage. The roads were almost deserted. There was a full moon and the air was warm and scented as he rode north. His route took him along a winding road for around two miles before reaching the main road at a roundabout. He’d been concerned about which direction to take once there, but needn’t have worried because as if from nowhere a black rubber suited rider on a fireblade pulled ahead of him. The biker flashed his hazard warning lights twice and Andy, heart pounding in his chest followed. The rider was fast and Andy was struggling to keep up, but the black rubbered biker was watching him and eased off the throttle occasionally ensuring a gap didn’t open. Soon they were in the countryside. Passing fields and small villages. Andy was surprised how soon he’d lost his bearings. They hadn’t been riding long and although his sense of direction was normally good he was disorientated and totally lost. As the miles passed Andy noticed it was becoming colder. A glance at his instruments confirmed it. 14 deg C and falling. Additionally the terrain was changing. Woodland surrounded the narrowing road on both sides then there was an overwhelming smell which Andy attributed to rotting vegetation on the forest floor. Ghostly Rubber Rider maintained his fast pace through the pitch black night impressing Andy with his riding skills.

The temperature was still falling and a fog was starting to form. As the fog thickened and obscured the moon Andy noticed both Ghostly Rubber Rider and the fireblade were emitting a pale green glow that hadn’t been visable in ether streetlight or moonlight . The incandescence, almost unnoticeable at first was increasing in intensity as the moonlight faded. Andy felt as though he was being drawn deeper into Ghostly Rubber Riders domain and the thought was making him horny. Soon the entire woodland was bathed in the green shadowy light. Ghostly Rubber Rider started reducing his speed and Andy could see that the road ended abruptly in a clearing a short distance ahead, where a group of around fifteen men were standing as if waiting for the fireblade and it’s rider to arrive. As the bike came to a stop two men stepped forward. Andy immediately recognised their appearance from the pictures that had flashed across his screen earlier that night. Undoubtedly their attire was from an earlier time. Brown leather boots with some sort of fabric breeches partly concealed by a brown leather apron. A leather buttoned up waist coat covered their upper body. Both were bearded with long dirty looking hair and like everyone else emitted the incandescent glow. One of the men dragged Ghostly Rubber Rider off his bike and removing his crash helmet wrestled him to the ground holding him face down while the other one bound his wrists behind his back with a leather strap. Then another man climed onto to a large fallen tree trunk in the center of the clearing. He wore leather breeches and knee high boots, his heavily built stature clearly straining the buttons of his tight fitting sheepskin fleece. His face was concealed by a leather executioner hood and he seemed to be in control and giving orders to the others in an accent incomprehensible to Andy.

Andy had stopped his bike directly behind the fireblade but remained sitting on it. He was ideally positioned to watch as Ghostly Rubber Rider was dragged toward the fallen tree trunk. He was unable to understand however why the men were taking little notice of him as he’d been under the impression Ghostly Rubber Rider had lured him to this place at the bidding of the satanic brotherhood to participate in some sort of supernatural deviant ritual. A ritual his masochistic and perverted mind was unable to resist. He was becoming incredibly aroused as he watched the two men drag Ghostly Rubber Rider towards the tree trunk. Stretching his body face down across it and exposing his buttocks they opened the rear zip in his rubber one-piece suit. The other men had started to gather around the tree trunk. Andy could now see that they were not all dressed in a style from the same period in history, suggesting their induction had taken place over many years. The two men wearing leather aprons and the man wearing the executioner hood looked to be from the sixteenth century but many of the others were from a more recent period. Soon they were crowded around Ghostly Rubber Rider. A 1960s era biker with studded leather jacket and denim jeans started the assault by forcing his big dick into Ghostly Rubber Riders mouth. Almost simultaneously a guy standing at the opposite side of the trunk wearing commando dress eased out his dick and set about working it up Ghostly Rubber Riders arse. Soon guys were waiting in turn while the biker gave himself willingly to the assembly of soulless corpses. At some stage the man in the executioner hood thew a hemp rope over the branch of a neighbouring tree and started tying a noose knot in one end. Once he had finished he eased the noose over Ghostly Rubber Riders head and with the help of some of the men started to heave on the other end. Some of the other men supported the bikers shoulders until the rope took his weight and then started hauling him into the air. Within seconds Ghostly Rubber Riders legs were swinging free and his booted feet were kicking out in desperation as they searched for the ground. The atmosphere around the fallen trunk was becoming more frenzied as Ghostly Rubber Riders struggle started to become more desperate. Some worked their dicks in their trousers, others releasing their dicks openly and masturbated.

Andy, who was still sat on his bike, was stroaking his dick through his leather jeans. His bike was parked so close to the fallen trunk that he was almost a part of the crowd. Suddenly he felt something on the pillion seat of his bike and then a hand sliding along his thigh. Although the assailant was out of sight behind him he could see his hand clearly. It was heavily inked in a 50s Hells Angel style with the letters KILL tattooed on the fingers. Finding the bulge in Andy’s jeans it gently pushed Andy’s hand away. With a sigh that seemed to release the pent up sexuality he was feeling he allowed the invader to start stroking him. His zip was now being lowered and the dirty Hells Angel hand started to jack him off.

“You know you’re next don’t you?” Said the Hells Angel, whispering in his ear.

Andy’s head was reeling. He had been influenced by Ghostly Rubber Riders seductive messaging and had been convinced of the mans immortality. Yet he had just witnessed him hang. But how could they hang a person who was already dead. And how could he be next. Surly spirits cant kill mortals. He was trying to understand the situation; Ghostly Rubber Rider had told him he’d have the experience of his life but he hadn’t expected to see Ghostly Rubber Rider hanging motionless at the end of a rope. If anything, in his most perverted fantasies, it was Andy who wanted to feel the noose around his neck.

“You don’t understand do you. You are witnessing a spiritual gathering of evil souls who have all committed the same deadly sin; murder. And you have been selected by Ghostly Rubber Rider to be inducted into the group. Ghostly Rubber Rider is the newest member and was the last one to hang. It is commanded that on the anniversary of his death he must both reprise his murder for the group and offer a mortal sacrifice for the group. You are his sacrifice and will become one of us but firstly you must die here tonight. As the one who murdered Ghostly Rubber Rider I have been chosen to ready you for the executioner.” Whispered the Hells Angel.

The Hells Angel reached his free arm around Andy’s body while the other hand continued to jack him off. Andy was close to ejaculating. Ahead he could see the two men with leather aprons lowering Ghostly Rubber Riders body toward the ground but to his astonishment he was able to stand unaided and was even assisting the men in removing the noose. Ghostly Rubber Rider looked directly at Andy and smiled.

“They’re coming for you now boy.” Said the Hells Angel.“

One by one the rest of the group turned their attention to Andy and started moving slowly towards him. The Hells Angel increased the violent pounding he was giving Andy’s dick until he was unable to hold back any longer and cum flooded over the Hells Angels dirty tattooed hand. As Andy’s sexual euphoria subsided a wave of fear descended on him. He started struggling but the hells angel tightened his arms around Andy’s body and gripped his leather clad buttocks with his thighs.

"Its useless struggling. Even if you avoid hanging you will not leave the forest as a mortal tonight.” Said the Hells Angel.

He had to get away from them. His finger hit the start button and releasing the clutch with a bang sent the Hells Angel rolling off the back of the bike. He was free. He headed back along the narrow road as fast as he dare but it was dark and difficult to see. Then in his mirror there was the single headlight of a bike. It had to be Ghostly Rubber Rider on his fireblade. Andy looked again, the fireblade was gaining on him fast. Andy opened the throttle further. He was now travelling above 60mph in almost total blackness. Another glance in the mirror and the blade was right behind and about to overtake him. Shiny rubber and black metal reflected in his bar end mirror as the rubber biker overtook enveloping Andy in a cloud of fumes from the twenty year old fireblade engine. Ghostly Rubber Rider stayed about ten metres ahead for a short time and then gradually started to increase his speed. Andy wondered what he wanted. Had he taken pity on Andy and come to his rescue? Did he want Andy to follow him? In spite of earlier events Andy wanted that to be the case. His dick was getting hard again. He knew Ghostly Rubber Rider had the power to influence him and that his ability to resist was minimal. Unable to fight the urge he opened the throttle until his speed matched the fireblade, closing up the gap. The two bikes were now travelling in excess of 80mph. Andy knew that following a better rider made riding easier. In a sense allowing Ghostly Rubber Rider to take the decisions felt both erotic and exhilarating. Then the fireblade was accelerating again reaching 100mph. The faster they went the more he became aware of a sensation radiating from his loins and enveloping his whole body. He was becoming ensnared in an intoxicating race with this apperation ahead. Then even faster, the forest had become a blur boarding each side of the road and his dick, stimulated by the speed, the noise and the the confinement of his leathers was approaching orgasm again. He couldn’t explain why but he had no fear. He had complete trust in the black rubber entity he was following. He knew from riding on the road earlier that somewhere there was a tight bend where the road crossed a bridge. He also knew it had to be close. No sooner had the thought crossed his mind the blackness was illuminated by the blades red brake light, then the yellow sandstone of the bridge parapet wall shone brightly in the blades headlight. The blade was travelling at around 90mph when it hit the wall. Immediately there was a bright flash of flame as the bikes fuel tank burst and exploded. There was no time to avoid hitting the heap of burning wreckage. Simultaneously Andy and Ghostly Rubber Rider were united in the inferno. As the flames engulfed them Andy experienced the most all consuming orgasm he’d ever known. He was conscious of his dick pumping semen into his flaming jeans and the sound and smell of burning leather. Yet at the same time he was aware of being an onlooker standing in the road watching the smoke and flame as it illuminated the surrounding trees. Only then did he realise that the solitary body being consumed by the flames wore street fighter leathers and not rubber. .

Looking across the road through the clearing smoke Andy could see a man wearing a rubber suit and leather jacket sitting on a black Honda Fireblade and smiling at him.

I MADE A PETITION

This campaign needs you now

Pinocchio Meets His Maker [CH1 EXECUTION]

True to his word, fifteen minutes elapse, and Long Pengi

does not reappear.

You look around. Perhaps he’s forgotten. Or he’s set the execution up wrong. The faintest glimmer of hope sparks in your chest; but then the ceiling panels above your hapless killer slides open and you know you’re in for some bullshit.

“Pengi Beeeeeeam!”

The spotlight shines down, so blinding that the one caught in it has to cover his eyes. A strange, mystical hum pulses from the periphery of your earshot. Trapped in the light, all Pinocchio can do is squint up in confusion-

-until more than just his gaze is ascending upwards.

Turns out this Pengi Beam is more than a Pengi Beam of light. It’s a magical Pengi Beam of light, slowly but firmly pulling Pinocchio up to parts unknown. It’d be difficult to escape if you tried, but he doesn’t even seem to try. He just finally tucks that ribbon Jawbreaker had given him moments before into his pocket.

He vanishes. The Pengi Beam shuts off, along with every other light, and the cinema screen flickers to life once more. You just finished watching a murder that had come to pass several hours ago; now it’s time to enjoy one crafted live.

[applicable cws: hanging (unsuccessful), drowning]

[♫♫♫] 

You hear the CRACK-THUD-SNAP of Pinocchio hitting the ground a second before the shot’s actually revealed to you, panning outward to reveal he’s landed in a forest. A crescent moon gleams through gaps in the trees above, though stars are harder to see.

With a gasp, Pinocchio springs upright and scrabbles at his neck. He tears off a bit of rope— when the camera pans up, it’s clear that it’s from a noose. The type of death trap that surely would have been more than enough to suspend someone a few feet shorter than him, ending this ordeal right here and now.

This is where the story of Pinocchio originally ended: a disobedient puppet, hung by his pinewood neck until death as a cautionary tale to unruly children everywhere.

But he’s a real boy now.

Real boys grow out of their old things.

And so, saved for once by the composite of all the flesh and blood and bone that’s now become him, he scrambles to his feet and bolts into the darkness before the fox and cat come back for seconds.

His lungs scream for air. He doesn’t want it. Nor does he want the sweat beading down his face, or the wind whipping in his eyes even with those glasses he never needed perched on his face, sliding askew. There’s no joy in the chase or escape or whatever this has become. But he runs, and he runs, and the scenery shifts behind him into something far more colorful, vivid background elements sliding out and around like a circus-themed slideshow.

He runs past the cottage where the blue fairy lives, though she’s been replaced by a Pengi with costume wings and a wand in the window. Past the Field of Miracles, kicking up Pengi Coins in his wake that pelt against his heels. Past the grand court of Saptrap, through all the indifferent Pengi officers that stand in his way, shoving past and barreling through the whole crowd as they squeak and shout in protest.

The fairy’s gravestone. The school. The doghouse. A mere puppet may have been foolish enough to get caught up in all of these sideshows and meander into yet another nightmarish situation he’d have to beg for rescue from with tears of sap and a hollow promise of I’ll be good this time, I swear! I’ll never do it again! I’ll make up for it until the day I die!

But he’s a real boy now.

Real boys know they can’t simply make up for something like murder.

And so he ignores everything irrelevant, even as he trips again and again while brute forcing his way through each obstacle before him. Every sting feels fresh as the first. His arms flail with that same unpracticed grace you’ve all seen. No wonder he couldn’t pick that damn lock shut.

It’s somewhere near the garish childishness of Toyland, forced to slow down as he stumbles over too many donkeys to count, that you realize he’s muttering something under his breath. A mantra of whereishewhereishewhereishe that would be easy enough to overlook, were his eyes not darting to and fro in something more intentional than the mere search for an escape. He won’t find what he’s looking for here, though, among the foolish boys set to become asses for the crime of idleness, no matter how much he deserves to join them.

So Pinocchio runs and runs and runs, finally skidding to a stop when he reaches the cliff’s edge where his young puppet-donkey’s namesake was cast into the sea to die. But in this version of the story, the maw of the Terrible Dogfish already gapes open at the very bottom amidst the crashing waves. An early arrival, waiting oh-so-patiently for the page to turn.

Only now does Pinocchio hesitate.

A quick glance over his shoulder reveals that all those from before that had been chasing him, the fox and cat and officers and ringleader and everyone else, had never stopped— their feet pound hard in a drum roll against the ground, louder and louder, roaring in his ears and in yours and he has to make another decision—

He dives. Graceless, flailing, screaming (beatboxing?) into the waiting mouth below, trying to contort himself for a safe landing like he’s just recently learned.

Its jaw snaps shut with a crunch.

The behemoth bellows out a roar more like a tiger and less like an aquatic creature, blood flashing across its teeth as it dives back underwater.

(And wouldn’t it be so nice if that was all this snuff film was? If that screen stayed black, instead of the way it fades into yet another scene?)

The lighting’s dingy here. Hard to make out much detail beyond the vague shape of ribs poking through flesh tinged yellow. But Pinocchio still breathes stale air down here in the belly of the beast, ankle-deep in water so cold it makes him shiver. While the dogfish hasn’t claimed any of his limbs, its teeth have carved deep gashes into his legs nonetheless. Blood pools down into the water around him, but he doesn’t seem to notice as he picks up a lantern, wincing in pain as he trudges deeper. It’s a staggering gait, adrenaline all that fuels his way through the dimness disguising how the surrounding water tinges redder and redder.

Suddenly, the silence shatters with an enraged shout:

“GIDEONNNNNN!!”

Oh? You’re getting subtitles now. Strange, though, that he’s clearly saying Gideon, but the subtitles say Gepetto.

“I KNOW you’re in here! You gotta be! I-I-I’m all— THIS now because of YOU, right?!”

His voice cracks as he bares teeth he’s still not quite used to having, perfectly normal humanoid canines that dig painfully into his lips nonetheless. The water rises while he swings the lantern around at the felt and stuffing strewn about instead of bones and wood, like he’s almost hoping to strike whomever might be lurking in the shadows.

“You MADE me!! It’s YOUR magic!! IT’S YOUR FAULT!! YOU LEFT ME TO—”

He’s knee-deep in water when he finds it. A rocking chair, and lying lonely within where Gepetto ought to sit—

A human skeleton.

And encased in its ribs,

the tattered corpse of

a small,

blue,

felt

puppet.

(Some of you might have seen this thing before. CGI movies that a certain creative mind had a hand in, slipping in cameos of beloved characters from his older projects. If not those, perhaps recordings from his heyday of puppetry, back in the 70s and 80s. Movies, TV specials. A ventriloquism act, now widely considered lost media. Yes, that’s right, it was the puppeteer Gideon West and—)

“… What?”

Pinocchio freezes, the lantern dimming as it hits the water. Not enough to dull the flash of horrified recognition on his face, though.

“… No, nnnno no no no th– this can’t be why… ?!”

He staggers over to the skeleton as the water reaches his waist, reaching in with trembling hands to extricate the puppet. Skeletal ribs snap easily and crumble to dust in his clumsy grip. In contrast, he scoops the puppet out with both hands, frantically combing through its silvery white hair, trying to rearrange it into something more than this moth-eaten heap of fabric. Something, anything that will allow him to return to the woven safety of that body instead of all this blood and meat wrapped up in skin.

(In a way, he did get his wish. He’s got his body back now. Even if he can’t do a thing with it.)

The water climbs up and up even faster as his legs finally give out and he falls to his knees, submerging the puppet, reaching his neck. He can’t stand to save himself. He can’t even float. He never learned how. The briny stench hits his nose well before the water itself does, and he chokes out a sob.

This is where, in the finalized version of the tale that most people know and share with their kids, Pinocchio reunites with Gepetto, alive and well and full of forgiveness. He saves his creator and himself from a watery demise. Carries him out on his back as he valiantly swims to safety and riches and happily ever after.

But he’s a real boy now.

And real boy lungs don’t work underwater.

The light fades from the lantern slowly, like it does from his eyes, as his motions slow to nothing more than a twitch with each spasm of those two useless membrane sacs in his chest trading air for water tinged red. The puppet drifts out of his slackened grip into the darkness. The intervals between spasms get further… and further… and…

… Why, it seems—

(You finally remember that puppet’s name, the final shot being its vacant waterlogged face drifting in front of the camera before it cuts.)

Wyatt Seams has been executed.

Strategy isn’t just a buzzword — it’s the backbone of effective business planning. 📊 Learn how strategic thinking bridges vision and execution to drive clarity and outcomes. 👉 https://agile-operator.com/the-role-of-strategy-in-business-planning/

what do you MEAN i have “executive dysfunction”?! I’m executing that function just fine!

*camera cuts to f(x), who is in the guillotine*

BREAKING: Minnesota AG Keith Ellison got caught meeting with Somali fraudsters already under FBI investigation, all to score campaign donations in exchange for promises to “get the money flowing” back to their group!

Traitors !!!

I’m skipping school rn bc I just woke up wtf 😭😭😭😭😭

I know this inst my usual post but I kind of lost motivation up the upcoming days

So I don’t rlly have any artwork to post onto here

I have some I drew from school i believe

Don’t announce your goals. Prove them. The people posting their plans are feeding their ego, not their progress. Work in silence. Let the results introduce you. Announcements feel good. Execution feels better.

Residents petition Lagos CJ over alleged unlawful judgment execution

🚨 Breaking News: Residents petition Lagos CJ over alleged unlawful judgment execution
📰 Check out the details:

By Innocent Anaba
Residents of Lemon Drive, now Olusayero Street, Suberu Oje, Alagbado, Lagos State, have petitioned the Chief Judge of Lagos State over what they described as the illegal and violent enforcement of a court judgment by the Deputy Sheriff’s Office of the State High…

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احسان حسینی‌پور و متین محمدی، دو جوون ۱۹ و ۲۰ ساله با اعترافات اجباری به اعدام محکوم شدن. این دو جوون به آتیش زدن مسجد پاکدشت متهم شدن و هرلحظه ممکنه به دار آویخته شن. لطفاً صداشون باشید.

#MatinMohammadi is at serious risk of execution.

No confession obtained under pressure can justify a death sentence.

Justice requires fairness and protection of life.

#StopExecutionsInIran

#IranMassacre

متن برای #متین_محمدی

#Ehsan_Hosseinipour, 19, a Tehran resident, was arrested on January 8. He has reportedly been tortured multiple times and forced into a confession. Sentenced to death on charges of “enmity against God,” he is at risk of execution—please be his voice.

#execution

#IranMassacre

متن برای #احسان_حسینی‌پور

I feel like my daganrompa execution would be me hoping it would be something completely different and tailored to my personality but then it would be the freaking conveyor belt and instead of being terrified id be extremely annoyed about it. Unsatisfying.

How to Actually Execute Change at a Company

Everyone thinks of changing the world, but no one thinks of changing himself. – Leo Tolstoy.

Organisations invest significant effort in deciding what to change, yet far less attention goes into how change is executed. Evidence shows that, on average, organisations realise only about 60% of the value they plan from change initiatives. This shortfall does not usually arise from poor decisions or…

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