Received: from nobody by stodi.digitalkingdom.org with local (Exim 4.87) (envelope-from ) id 1cRMsy-0007cz-MI for lojban-newreal@lojban.org; Wed, 11 Jan 2017 09:40:32 -0800 Received: from ip9.ip-51-255-59.eu ([51.255.59.9]:56894 helo=dailymarketincome.com) by stodi.digitalkingdom.org with esmtp (Exim 4.87) (envelope-from ) id 1cRMst-0007cA-Fc for lojban@lojban.org; Wed, 11 Jan 2017 09:40:32 -0800 Date: Wed, 11 Jan 2017 10:39:33 -0700 Content-Transfer-Encoding: 8bit Subject: Elon Musk: I have a warning about your current job Message-ID: <43423203862c2c7e55fbfda4353ca10c7b6e541eeedl4661500_lojban@lojban.orghuf86> From: "CNFox News" Mime-Version: 1 Content-Type: text/html; charset=us-ascii To: X-Spam-Score: -1.2 (-) X-Spam_score: -1.2 X-Spam_score_int: -11 X-Spam_bar: - daily update
  Wednesday January 11th, 2017 via @USANEWS  
 

Everyone Will Lose There Jobs

  
  Elon Musk Warns  
 

By tomorrow, Elon warns thousands may be out of work. This is just the start as the economy is also expected to really sink.

This will be the biggest story of the year

See what he says you must do right now

 
Calmatevi, said the woman. The pain will end soon. Wheres my horse Wheres Campione Safe. Resting. God knows she deserves it. She was bleeding from the mouth. A good horse like that. What were you doing to her The woman put down the bowl of water she was holding and stood. Where am I In Rome, my dear. Messer Machiavelli found you fainting in your saddle, your horse frothing, and brought you both here. Dont worry, hes paid me and my husband well to look after you both. And a few more coins for our discretion. But you know Messer Machiavelli cross him at your peril. Anyway, weve done this kind of job for your organization before. Did he leave me any message Oh yes. Youre to meet him as soon as youre fit at the Mausoleum of Augustus. Know where that is Its one of the ruins, isnt it Dead right. Not that its much less of a ruin than most of this awful city nowadays. To think it was once the centre of the world. Look at it now smaller than Florence; half the size of Venice. But we do have one boast. She cackled. And that is Only fifty thousand poor souls live in this shanty town of a city that once was proud to call itself Rome; and seven thousand of them are prostitutes. Thats got to be a record. She cackled some more. No der everyones riddled with the New Disease. Dont sleep with anyone here, she added, if you dont want to fall apart with the pox. Even cardinals have it and they say the Pope himself, and his son, are sufferers. Ezio remembered Rome as if in a dream. A bizarre place now, whose ancient, rotting walls had been designed to encompass a population of one million. Now most of the area was given over to peasant farming. He remembered too the ruined wasteland of what had once been the Great Forum in ancient times, but where sheep and goats now grazed. People stole the ancient carved marble and porphyry stones, which lay higgledypiggledy in the grass, to build pigsties or to grind down for lime. And out of the desolation of slums and crooked, filthy streets, the great new buildings of Popes Sixtus IV and Alexander VI rose obscenely, like wedding cakes on a table where there was nothing else to eat but stale bread. The aggrandisement of the Church was confirmed, back at last from the Papal exile at Avignon. The Pope the leading figure in the international world, outclassing not only kings but the Holy Roman Emperor Maximilian himself had his seat in Rome once more. Hadnt it been Pope Alexander VI whod divided, in his great judgment, the southern continent of the New Americas between the colonizing countries of Portugal and Spain in the Treaty of Tordesillas in 1494 It was the same year the New Disease broke out in Naples in Italy. They called it the French Disease morbus gallicus but everyone knew it had come back from the New World with Columbuss Genoese sailors. It was an unpleasant affliction. Peoples faces and bodies bubbled up in pustules and boils, and their faces were often pressed out of all recognizable shape in the last stages. Here in Rome, the poor made do on barley and bacon when they could get bacon and the dirty streets harboured typhus, cholera and the Black Death. As for the citizens, on the one hand there were the ostentatiously rich, whilst the majority looked like cowherds and lived just as badly. What a contrast to the gilded opulence of the Vatican. The great city of Rome had become a rubbish heap of history. Along the filthy alleys that passed for streets, in which feral dogs and wolves now roamed, Ezio remembered churches which today were falling apart, rotting deserted palaces that reminded him of the probable wreck of his own family seat in Florence. I must get up. I must find Messer Machiavelli, said Ezio, urgently flinging the visions from his mind. All in good time, replied his nurse. He left you a new suit of clothes. Put them on when you are ready. Ezio stood, but as he did so his head swam. He shook himself to clear it, then donned the suit Machiavelli had left him. It was new and made of linen, with a hood of soft wool that had a peak like an eagles beak. There were strong, soft gloves and boots of Spanish leather. He dressed himself, fighting the pain the effort caused him, and when he was done, the woman guided him to a balcony. Ezio realized then that he had not been in some shrunken hovel, but in the remains of what had once been a great palace. They must have been on the piano nobile. He drew in his breath as he looked at the desolate wreck of the city spread out below him. A rat scuttled boldly over his feet. He kicked it away. Ah, Roma, he said ironically. Whats left of it, the woman repeated, cackling again. Thank you, Madonna. To whom do I owe I am the Contessa Margherita deghli Campi, she said, and in the dim light Ezio could see at last the fine lines of a once beautiful face. Or whats left of her. Contessa, Ezio said, trying to keep the sadness out of his voice as he bowed. The Mausoleo is over there, she replied, smiling and pointing. That is where you are to meet. I cant see it.

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