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Predictions for 2020

Predictions: 2020
The USMC will adopt Lululemon PT uniforms.
The new trend in flash mob performances will be speed metal rock and mosh pits.
“Duck face” will be required on all passport photos.
Amtrak will open new lines and reinvent itself using popular themes. All northern lines will Polar Express trains. All southern routes will be Chattanooga Choo-Choo trains. All West Coast trains will be called Orient Express. And all other lines will be called Thomas the Tank Engine routes and will include animatronic faces on the fronts of all trains that can answer passenger questions. “This is the reality of operating in Fantasyland today,” will say the Director of the Amtrak Board.

UsToo, #ThemToo and #YouToo will be the new viral social media phenomena.

TRUMP will open on Broadway.
Taylor Swift will be named Democratic Party candidate for POTUS.
Armed teachers will proliferate in rural counties and school districts across the US. So will tactical shooting schools and courses, for teachers and students. Many school districts will open and manage their own shooting ranges. Shooting teams, rifle, pistol and shotgun, precision and tactical, will become the hot new sports in rural schools.
Personal bubbles will become hot new products and services. They will sell by the millions. These will be actual bubbles that people wear when they leave the sanctuary of their homes. They will come in various sizes, colors, and several ballistic and acoustic ratings. They will offer defense not only from bullets and knives, but also from antagonistic ideas, annoying co-workers, troubling truths and mean parents.
Fortnite will unveil a “permanent residence” option, including sustenance, hygiene and employment options, allowing for users to never have to leave the game.
Robots will replace nurses in nursing homes. A majority of residents will claim the robots are better than their “biofamilies.”
The American Baptist Association will re-issue warnings to all faithful to be careful during sex, lest dancing spontaneously happen.
LeBron James will hold a press conference and ask all NBA fans, “How the hell did I become the old man of basketball?” To which Michael Jordan will tweet, “Dude…”
Trump will announce that each US citizen will be issued a firearm of their choice, any make, caliber or model, but with the stipulation that participants must prove that they do not already own any firearms. “We’re not adding to anyone’s collection,” Trump will say at a White House press conference. “We just need more good guys and good gals out there with the tools to engage the bad guys.” “Oh, fuck me,” most law enforcement officers will say to each other.
Tactical body armor with roll over the fashion industry like a ceramic plate typhoon.
Pete Buttigieg and Tulsi Gabbard will be seen leaving a hotel room early one morning after a Democratic Party debate, leading to all sorts of media questions and speculations, and to calls by the Gay and Lesbian Legitimacy Board for investigations.
The American Psychiatric Association will announce that anxiety is actually a treatment for depression.
A report from the Coalition of Conservative Scientists will claim that all existing species of animals, and also some plants, engage in rape, and so did the dinosaurs, and thus it is part of the natural order. “So, get over it.”
Scientific American, Science News and National Geographic will all publish editorials, in response, claiming that the same can be said of homosexual behavior, documented in hundreds of other animals species, in nature. “So, you first.”
Greenland will become the new Florida.
Florida will become the new Atlantis.
Gondoleer will become a hot new job opportunity in Miami, New Orleans and New York.
The entire Sackler family will have their last name legally changed to Gonzalez.
India will announce a new campaign to reform Jammu and Kashmir into the “Indian Switzerland,” complete with quaint mountain villages, lots of ski resorts and hundreds of new mountain gondolas and aerial trams. Prime Minister Modi will announce contests to select a new cheese, new beer and Hindu mountain lederhausen to support the new Jammu and Kashmir brand.
The first SETI signal will be received from aliens claiming that they have Jeffrey Epstein and that they would like to return him. But, they still want to hang onto Elvis for a while longer, if that is OK.
Boeing’s stock will rebound and surge after they rebrand the 737 Max to the 737 Maxine.
Greta Thunberg will appear in the next X-Men movie as ClimaRage and will beat down Magneto with guilt and shame.
Joe Biden will be diagnosed with Alzheimer’s, but will not pull out of the race. “Does it even matter anymore?” he will say at the press conference announcing the diagnosis.
Hong Kong will go dark and become the worlds largest abandoned mall.
Disney will announce its purchase of the Notre Dame Cathedral. The entertainment behemoth will claim that only it has the resources to successfully complete the renovation of the fire-damaged landmark, and the culture to maintain French history and tradition. Tours of the site will begin soon after and will be led by Snow White and Mickey Mouse.
Disney will also announce that it has purchased Stonehenge, the Pyramids, Machu Picchu and the Great Wall of China, and that all these new properties will be anchors for new entertainment megahubs. Disney spokespeople will claim that only Disney has the resources to maintain these historical and cultural marvels, and at the same time better leverage their tourism revenue potentials. And they also have animated feature length movies for each site, coincidentally.
A Religious Liberty bill will be signed into law reassigning all non-Christians to their new Christian denominations. Buddhists will become Baptists. Muslims will become Methodists. The Hindus will become Congregationalists. Mormons will become Presbyterians. “What about us?” the Unitarians will ask in a barely heard voice, to which the official response will be, “Go talk to the Catholics. Maybe they want you.”
Pay day loans, reverse mortgages and high frequency trading will be recognized by the SEC, FTC and Justice Department as key corruptions and cancers to capitalism. Nonetheless, they will spread and proliferate like weeds. New types and styles of snake oils and shell games will join them in the disfigurement of capitalism.
A growing number and majority of stores, restaurants and businesses in general will no longer accept cash, preferring credit cards and digital currency. Most panhandlers, prostitutes and drug dealers will also stop accepting cash and will instead require PayPal, Venmo or Bitcoin.
Surveillance will become ubiquitous as all devices in our lives - phones, doorbells, coffeemakers, tablets, speakers, watches, TVs, thermostats, crockpots, electrical plugs, litter boxes, remote controls, dog collars, security systems, vibrators, cars, weapons, (the list is growing) etc. - will harvest data about our lives and behaviors and feed that data to “data brokers” who analyze and sell that to other corporations. In response to this growing threat, personal data security companies will emerge that will require customers to register their personal data with them and will promise to protect that data. People will fall for this.
Online social influencer and personal data broker will become top paying jobs.
The first inter-species hybrid human will come to light in a gene-splicing lab somewhere in China. It will be either a pigboy or a monkeygirl. Scientific and medical authorities around the world will express their outrage. Meanwhile, millions will clamor to place orders for puppyboys and kittygirls.
The U.S. Department of Defense will officially begin planning strategies to weaponize the Internet. will be announced as the “nuclear option.”
The Republican and Democratic parties will assume new nicknames, the Hatfields and McCoys. “Oh, puh-lease,” will say 89-year-old Dolly Hatfield, granddaughter of “Devil” Anse Hatfield, of Possum Holler, Kentucky, to reporters from her nursing home, “we was never as bad as all them DC politicians. They’re downright crazy. We was just a mite pissed off.”
Dating apps will go the way of porn magazines as mating algorithms begin populating our phones and browsers with photos of candidates in our lane, based on various demographic variables. Amazon and Google will provide online weddings, will even provide avatars to act as bridesmaid and best-man.
Digisex will trend as the new safe alternative to physical sex.
The $15.5 trillion US corporate debt bubble, 74% of US GDP, will burst, throwing the US into economic chaos. Celebrations, by those who have dreamed of the event, will be short-lived when it is realized that no one’s phones work.
Nancy Pelosi and Bill Maher will be the first residents to check in at a luxurious new reeducation camp outside of Fairbanks. The string of new American Gulags with be a booming new industry and will provide many jobs for patriotic Alaskans.
Many US churches will begin installing security checkpoints, gun emplacements and sniper overwatch.
Many schools will implement TCPs, Traffic Control Points, manned by armed security personnel, except at rural schools, where TCPs will be manned by armed teachers and parents, and in some districts, students.
The PSC, Private Security Corporation, industry will surge and boom like a high school band at halftime at a Friday night football game.
High school bands will begin wearing tactical body armor at Friday night halftimes.
Hillary Clinton will finally reveal the location of Jimmy Hoffa’s body. “I told her not to do it!” Bill will say at her trial.
Trump will get reelected and will immediately sign an executive order establishing The Department of Truth, whose mandate will be to officially and legally determine which facts are truths and which are lies. Using the term “alternative facts” will become illegal.
The Democratic Party candidates for president will switch from debates to playing concerts as a band, during which each gets a solo spotlight, during which they have 5 minutes to play their instrument and riff on politics. Squabbles over who plays lead guitar and the drums will follow the band throughout their tour. Buttigieg will never stop complaining about having to play the flute.
A startup company will release a new product called the Emonilometer, which will measure a person’s emotional and spiritual depth and flow. Various plans ands price points will be available. Sales will soar as customers catch on that the more you pay the deeper your flow. (Note: A “nilometer” is used to measure river depth and flow, was first used by the ancient Egyptians.)
Multiple sources within the White House will claim that Trump’s favorite new phrase is “It’s good to be the king.” Sources close to Mel Brooks will claim that his favorite new phrase is, “Oy vey.”
A new extinct human species will be discovered. Homo idioticus will answer a lot of burning questions regarding the human tree of evolution, and the current state of humanity.
The collapse of the dairy industry, due to unmanageable costs and ratios, will lead scientists and farmer to look for other sources of milk, beyond almond and oat. New options will include shark milk, beetle milk, flamingo milk and even spider milk, for which demand will quickly out-strip supplies, due to consumers hoping for spider super powers.
A joint Chinese-Israeli-SpaceX project will start building a lunar station on the moon. The station will be focused on research and mining, but also will offer “Do It On the Moon” romantic get-away packages for couples.
The Labor Secretary will quip during a press conference that “retirement is for pussies.”
US Space Command will begin selecting and training its first class of Space Rangers.
LSD and psilocybin will be the new cure-all super-drugs, for everything from depression, addiction and dementia. Doctors and pharmacists will take to referring to these as Timothy Leary treatments. Members of the Leary family will demand a cut of the action.
Coach Orgeron and LSU will replace Saban and Alabama as the defining college football program, and will set new standards in 2020 when LSU becomes the first to sign a QB right out of middle school. Other schools will soon follow.
Elizabeth Warren and Bernie Sanders will make a soft porn short film together in an attempt to connect with American voters.
Copyright Jeff Forker 2020
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Part 1: Sequence Three: Nome, Fucking Nome

And that’s when Magda showed up at my bar.
She wasn’t a cop anymore. She’d gone full time ministry with Opus Dei years ago. I don’t know if she’s a nun or a sister or whatever. I never cared enough about that part of her life to ask. And she didn’t ever volunteer info about “The Work”. I knew her darkening my door was a bad sign.
“I’m retired,” First words out of my mouth.
Magda laughed and ordered a drink, “Can I buy you a shot?”
“Sure.” I tossed one back and didn’t charge her, “What are you doing here, Magda?”
“You don’t know, Clive?” (I decided to call myself Clive. It’s masculine and heroic but not overly so).
(Rayne felt the need to interject at this point in the story.
“Are you kidding me? How much of this fake chitchat do we have to read?”
“I’m establishing her character.”
“No one cares, Clive (she uses my pseudonym with heavy sarcasm)”
“It’s literary,” I said defensively.
“If you’re not going to tell them how the conversation really went, just drop it. We already know you take the job, otherwise there’s no story. Skip to that part,” Rayne picked up the printout and flipped through it.
“Just right to part where she’s explaining it?”
“You can start where you’re dropped off by the limo. We don’t need to hear about how they flew you coach. How you hate Alaska, Nome in particular and we will get back to that by the way. We don’t need to hear about how you hated your hotel room. We get it. You’re a whiney baby.
And we sure don’t need a page and half of this bullshit where you write her kissing your ass. You don’t think it’s a little pompous to write her talking about how great you are?”
“I’m sure it’s what she really thinks. Even if she never says it.”
“Oh my god, what planet do you live on? Start here.”)
I was hung over and believe me I looked it, but there was no bar in this car (it was not a limo). The short bus with everyone else had already left, not realizing I wasn’t on board (how’s that to give you confidence in a bunch of psychics?). I thought they called a car for me because of that (that’s how hung over I was. I delusionally thought there was a car service in Nome) This guy pulls up and waves at me. I got in the back seat and laid down. He started talking to me and I waved him off. Said something like, “Just get me there.”
Nome in fucking January. Of course I was drinking. It’s dark all day. Believe it or not, this was not my first visit to this place. It was my third. No offense to the people, but I hate it. And the people. They are… well they’re people who live in NOME. All the time. They are not normal.
So the guy tries to talk to me a few more times. I’m thinking, great, I got a chatty driver. I keep blowing him off. He pulls us into a church parking lot. The local Catholic Church. So I pulled myself together and got out. I handed the driver a five and mumbled thanks when he came over and stuck out his hand.
He looked at it, shrugged and pocketed it, then introduced himself. He was Agent Carter. From the FBI, consulting on an unofficial basis. He was the dude giving the presentation. He came and got me so he could finish this thing and get the fuck out of Nome.
Thankfully he wasn’t sticking around, because I could tell he didn’t like me.
Magda was waiting for us in the narthex. The way she looked at me. I can read everyone. But not her. I’m not psychic in the way, like I read your thoughts. I can’t do that. But I see or sense things other people don’t. One of my FBI teachers told me that I had (in her very scientific opinion) an acute sensitivity to micro-expressions, body language and perhaps pheromones (I don’t know how this would be possible since I have constant low-level allergy problems). The new-agey psychic trainers called it Clairsentience. All I know is I can’t separate it from my brain to tell you whether it’s supernatural or some kind of amplified natural human ability. Or both.
It’s like, the least impressive “Clair” you can get except for maybe Clairaudience (which I do not have. I do not hear a voice or voices. I promise. Like I would admit that if I did) which is just a new age term for crazy (then there’s Clairnasence. I have that. I also can’t control it. It turns on randomly. It sounds dumb, having a supernatural sense of smell. But it can be way more useful than you might think. Some people smell nice. But it can also be awkward when you meet someone and they smell like ozone or brimstone or just fucking deathrot).
This affliction never turns off. I can turn it down, like when I’m in a crowd, or working at a bar. I don’t need to read the inner feelings and thoughts of everyone around (it would amplify when necessary, again this was actually useful, really useful bartending) at any given time.
But it’s always on and the slightest…deviation, I don’t know what to call it, sets it into high gear. The intake of information can be overwhelming. Then it has to be processed. I have to come to a conclusion but the sheer amount of data makes the conclusions pretty simple. At worst I get it to a couple options. It’s pretty hard to fool me and it’s the rare person who can lie to me. I can read any one, if I focus on them. Almost anyone.
I mean, unless I’m really drunk or hung over. Illicit substances, alcohol especially, mess with this. So drinking perpetually was a solution for a while. Still is on occasion. I’m sure some of you are thinking how cool this would be. But all I want to do is turn it off. It’s useful, but imagine knowing everyone who dislikes you. When I was young this was hard on my ego, but what’s worse is when you can tell the people who love you, think you’re a shitbag.
Or watching the woman you love, fall out of love with you. And not being able to do anything about it.
I’m not describing this right. That happens to everyone. I just know it differently and instantly. It’s the first time I’ve tried to write about this. When it kicks into high gear, I can tell you almost exactly what you’re thinking, what you’re gonna do. And I’m rarely wrong. But whatever.
Magda. I was getting ‘vague disappointment’ from her. But then, maybe not. It was gone (and I was brutally hung over). She was a cypher again.
She ushered me and Carter into the sanctuary. Eleven other people were waiting, standing or sitting in the pews. Some were chatting softly, but quieted when Magda, Carter and I joined them (they don’t all matter right now, but we will meet everyone eventually, I suspect).
My insight immediately went off. Magda was the director, the coordinator. That made twelve of us on this operation. A significant number in numerology. A number of completeness. A novice in dealing with the occult would probably think this was a good omen. But I knew better.
There was a spiritual significance to this…whatever this was. I sat down and Magda introduced Agent Carter. Here in an extremely unofficial capacity, as a courtesy to...(he nodded to Magda at that point). This was a big deal for Agent Carter. Clandestine, unofficial shit (he didn’t look like he was enjoying it).
So we were sitting in this old Catholic church, which by my definition, was still freezing. Watching a power point on an old portable projector screen. I’m thinking what the fuck are we doing in Nome, to see this shit? We couldn’t have seen this at least in Fairbanks?
Then I saw it and understood. They didn’t want anyone to see this and bug out. And most of these people were seriously freaked out already. Now we were stuck in fucking Nome.
Here’s what the deal was. Carter was on perv patrol in some FBI tech unit, surfing the dark web like the cyberbadass he is, when he finds this locked room with a lot of traffic. He’s thinking child porn, sex trafficking, so he hacks it. Apparently this took a long time.
And he went on a long time about it and I’m sure I haven’t explained it right so far, so I’m not even gonna bother with that stuff. He was very proud of it. Let’s just say that.
What he found was a gaming site. There was a Spectator Entrance and a Player Entrance. There was a minimum fee for the spectator entrance. Paid in Bitcoin, it was something like twenty grand. No fee for the player entrance. Only one button on that screen, to upload a photo.
Well the FBI paid the spectator fee (before you ask, they did try to upload photos to join the player list. They got Hollywood guys to fake up some gruesome photos, even used fresh cadavers. It never worked). Carter explained how they covered their tracks. He was very proud of this. I think he said this to make us feel safe or safer or some shit. I didn’t care.
The minimum fee brought you to a scoreboard. There were three categories listed. The first one was a raw score. On a point system. The top one hundred were listed. And if anyone thinks a hundred serial killers is a lot, A, this is world wide (though mostly in North America with Russia a very close second and Europe in third, no I don’t know how they figured that out. It was on a pie chart on the power point) and B, the current estimate is that there are around two thousand serial killers currently operating in the U.S. While this number is not officially accepted, every one on the ground in Federal Law Enforcement takes it seriously. I suspect that number is low.
So the first category was a point system based on type of activity. Points for how you killed them, strangulation got more points than shooting, for example. Cannibalism got big points. Desecrating the body (in a religious, specifically Christian sense in the photos I saw, but there was some Jewish and Muslim body desecration here and there) also scored very high. Purposeful public display of the victims (called mannequins) scored the highest. Twenty-thousand dollars got you access to that list and four or five highlight photos for the top twelve players and their stats. Stats and one photo each for the remaining eighty-eight in the top one hundred.
More money got you more access. And the prices grew steeply, a hundred grand, two hundred, a half million, a million. Access to live feeds (some players had private kill rooms that were live-streamed. This didn’t give them any extra points on the Raw score, apparently it didn’t fit their definition of public, but affected the other rankings), fan pages where you could text with your favorite. The FBI only paid the first twenty grand.
You could also bet on them.
What’s the challenge to betting on players when you can see their score ranking? Well the two other categories kept the player scores hidden (and they had all kinds of betting options, like next to post a kill and..., well..., it’s not important). The second category was literally judged like Ice Skating. It was a Total Execution Score, broken down into Technical Execution Score and the Component Exegesis Score. Basically how skillfully did you do the job and how much artistry did you put into it. The top twelve identifiers were listed, with no photos. But they were different from the top 12 in the Raw score (there were no rankings, the identifiers were a random mix of letters and numbers, so I didn’t bother to check where they were in the top 100 on the Raw).
What mattered was the top scorers were totally different. The category was judged by The Nine. Another significant number and definitely, no doubt in my mind, an indication that Occult powers and fools who think they’re wielding them are behind this. There is no way you have a serial killer contest on the dark web, with a category judged by a group called The Nine and not figure out, right off the bat, it’s fucking satanic. Right? It’s like no one in the FBI watches TV.
That’s actually not true. They did acknowledge a likely occult link. They just don’t think that shit is real. And it fucking is. That is a distinction that makes a difference in how you have a conversation about this.
And the implications of this? Fucking mindblowing. Did I not mention? The prize was a hundred million dollars. Deposited by bitcoin into a pre-arranged offshore account in some shady country. There were tens of thousands of subcribers. But still. Some one rich was behind this. Or a lot of someones.
The FBI guy was saying they thought it was a Russian mob thing. Or the Chinese. Yeah, fuckin’ right. I mean, theoretically it’s possible and I know from personal experience that Russians are fucking crazy. But no. And the Chinese? This is not their Black Mirro1984 style. Though there were no players in China or most of Asia for that matter. So who fucking knows? It just feels like something else. A non-state player, and a heavy hitter.
The final category was based on the player’s number of subscribers and the odds the betting was generating for each player. No player IDs or photos were available, no rankings visible. It was another 20 grand to get the basic package for each category and the FBI wasn’t paying since they couldn’t get any actionable information from the numerous photos they did have (at least that was their fucking excuse). They were still trying to hack the entire system (some were convinced it was an elaborate hoax. Seriously?). No luck so far. And apparently that was FBI’s whole plan. Agent Carter wasn’t so proud of that.
It was at this point that Magda looked at me and said, “Have you ever seen anything like this, Clive?”
I know why she’s asking me, but still. What does she think I’m gonna say? Oh sure, in 08, yeah we had this problem. We called John McAfee and he fixed it right up.
What I said was, “Uh, no.”
Then this incredibly hot woman, 28, but looks 16, wait, no that’s gross. Looks 22. She speaks and the sound of her voice is like violins on the wind floating over the peaks of snow-capped mountains. Her eyes are glistening blue pools of sword-edge sharp intelligence. Her body…
(Ok, Rayne has a lot to say about this part. An extensive amount. But it’s not important. However I do have to stop here).
This wildly attractive, vibrant young woman spoke. I was instantly drawn to her.
“Why are you asking him? Why not ask the rest of us?”
Everyone there shifted uncomfortably in their seats. They didn’t even want to be there and I knew several badly wanted to run away. There was just no where to run. They didn’t want to be asked anything.
But what I said was something like, “Sweetheart, if I haven’t seen anything like this, you sure haven’t.”
Apparently Rayne felt this was condescending.
I disagreed but something in her manner told me she thought she had something significant.
“I saw it out of body. I was drawn to a home, to a man and he was looking at this screen. He was uploading photos.”
Everyone stared at her, including me. She didn't care, "What? Like we don't all know why we're here? We're all weird and can do shit we shouldn't be able to do, am I wrong? So what's up with all the jaws dropping?"
“So you’re an Astral? What’s your accuracy percentage on staying close to the real world?” I said.
(We tested Astrals on this in the OOGE. The farther they got from their bodies, the less accurate most became in interacting with or observing the real world. There were some exceptions, but most bounced into other dimensions or dreamlike worlds, and sometimes this was what we wanted. A lot of times it wasn’t. This was one area where training was effective.)
“How often do you float off into lala land or other dimensions or just let your own mind warp your perceptions?”
(As I said, this is a real issue with Astral Projection, especially for intelligence work. Many times the information we need is tangible. If you’re an Astral and you can’t reliably bring home the real world bacon, you’re useless. Or you bounce into another dimension and piss off something. Or numerous other unspeakable problems which are possible.)
At this point a lot more was said, in fact a ridiculous argument that everyone at the table had ridiculous perspectives on. It would have made me seriously consider that these people were outright phonies, if I hadn’t already assumed that.
Also I didn’t know any of them. Never heard of any of them. But then again, there’s no Facebook page for really, really real “psychics”. You want to join? Guess the password. Of course I probably couldn’t get into that group.
There were some nasty words when it was revealed that I do not astral project. Not one of my afflictions. But I am an expert on it, in theory. I have worked with a lot of them. Trained them (though I have never seen anyone get trained for Astral Projection successfully who had not spontaneously had an OBE already. In my experience you can either do it or you can’t. If you can, you can be trained to control it… to some degree or another). So I wasn’t just being an arrogant ass.
When we got back to the topic at hand, I asked Rayne, ”So do you have anything that’s useful? Like his location? Or what-“
She pulled out a picture. She had drawn a remarkably skillful portrait of a dignified man in his fifties. She had drawn another one of him, hunched over the computer, jerking off viciously to pictures of dismembered corpses. The look on his face in that one was…disturbing. Like, drooling hateful lust. A kind of imbecilic evil.
Suddenly I felt certain of her, of her skills. That was a real magic moment. Really. I felt like I met a kindred soul for the first time since I left the OOGE. And it was a hot girl. Awesome.
So Carter said some more stuff that didn’t matter and that started another pointless argument, though this time, about half the group want to get the fuck out of there, no matter how good the money was for this job. Like no fucking way. I could understand. What was the plan here? Psychics Vs. Serial Killers?
And I was more worried there actually was a plan here. I just couldn’t see it yet.
Magda got everyone calmed down and over dinner everyone agreed to stay to the next phase, which was perfectly safe. We were assured that it was. That we could all bail out immediately after that phase, just get on the plane and leave Nome and say good-bye to this…whatever this was. More than half were voting for that option already. Too bad voting never makes a difference in fate. It just didn’t matter by that point.
Agent Carter got the fuck out of there, though. Like I wished I could. I heard he died about three months after that. Car accident. Don’t know the circumstances and didn’t ask.
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News Update - 13th September

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