Received: from nobody by stodi.digitalkingdom.org with local (Exim 4.87) (envelope-from ) id 1cVhlO-0003aX-Az for lojban-newreal@lojban.org; Mon, 23 Jan 2017 08:46:38 -0800 Received: from [81.171.25.38] (port=34035 helo=feeltheweed.com) by stodi.digitalkingdom.org with esmtp (Exim 4.87) (envelope-from ) id 1cVhlJ-0003Yz-9R for lojban@lojban.org; Mon, 23 Jan 2017 08:46:37 -0800 Date: Mon, 23 Jan 2017 09:44:26 -0700 Mime-Version: 1 Message-ID: From: "Bloomenberg" Content-Transfer-Encoding: 7bit Subject: Trumps presidencey means weed-stocks will explode this week (art 3406060) Content-Type: text/html; charset=us-ascii To: X-Spam-Score: 2.9 (++) X-Spam_score: 2.9 X-Spam_score_int: 29 X-Spam_bar: ++ X-Spam-Report: Spam detection software, running on the system "stodi.digitalkingdom.org", has NOT identified this incoming email as spam. The original message has been attached to this so you can view it or label similar future email. If you have any questions, see the administrator of that system for details. Content preview: the green stuffs Bloomanberg |News Markets Insights Video Trump Presidency Means Weed Stock Will Explode The industry will triple in value this week [...] Content analysis details: (2.9 points, 5.0 required) pts rule name description ---- ---------------------- -------------------------------------------------- 0.0 URIBL_BLOCKED ADMINISTRATOR NOTICE: The query to URIBL was blocked. See http://wiki.apache.org/spamassassin/DnsBlocklists#dnsbl-block for more information. [URIs: feeltheweed.com] -0.0 SPF_PASS SPF: sender matches SPF record -0.0 SPF_HELO_PASS SPF: HELO matches SPF record 0.7 MIME_HTML_ONLY BODY: Message only has text/html MIME parts -1.9 BAYES_00 BODY: Bayes spam probability is 0 to 1% [score: 0.0000] 0.0 HTML_MESSAGE BODY: HTML included in message 1.9 RAZOR2_CF_RANGE_E8_51_100 Razor2 gives engine 8 confidence level above 50% [cf: 100] 0.5 RAZOR2_CF_RANGE_51_100 Razor2 gives confidence level above 50% [cf: 100] 0.9 RAZOR2_CHECK Listed in Razor2 (http://razor.sf.net/) 0.8 RDNS_NONE Delivered to internal network by a host with no rDNS the green stuffs Bloomanberg |News Markets Insights Video

Trump Presidency Means Weed Stock Will Explode
The industry will triple in value this week

As our new President took office Friday, the weed-industry really benefited as they are expected to make more then ever in 2017.

People are doubling their money by investing-in these weed-stocks.

Get the full scoop on Bloomberg Inside Look

These will no longer arrive to your inbox by telling us on this page
Murry Nieland. 18 Monish Dr Palmyra Va 22963-2911

This page will cause these updates to no longer be sent to you
PO Box 16580 #22445 Baltimore, MD 21217

Chose me for what? Granada asked. Whos giving me a gift? And them hands, Polly mused to herself, one day they be big as dinner plates. Big enough to choke a boar hog. How they going to be any use to nobody? Polly glared straight into Granadas eyes until the dropped her face. Polly snatched Granada roughly by the chin and lifted her head. After a few moments of studying the , Pollys grip softened. But the eyes dont lie, , the woman said, now smiling at Granada. I seen you back there. You dont know it, but you got the gift. Polly was right. Granada didnt know what the old woman was getting at. The experience earlier at the quarters had been so foreign and fragile, it had already dissolved like sugar in tea. Polly shook her head and laughed. Lord save the people. That was all she had to say. The woman clucked the mules once and trained her eyes straight ahead. Every now and then as they progressed through the wilds she would rear up and spit a stream of tobacco juice over the wheel, but paid no more attention to Granada. Nevertheless the was certain she was still being studied. She couldnt shake the feeling that some part of her was being prodded, pulled back, exposed, and it frightened her. She sat on her hands, as if that could keep the woman away from places she didnt belong. A steady drizzle began to fall and steam rose from the heaving sides of the mules. The week had been cool and wet, so the road was mostly mud, and several times during the journey Polly had to get out and coax the mules across the log planking and cypress branches that work gangs had laid over the bottomless mud holes. Soon the buggy rimmed the bank of a roadside slough. Rising out of the greenskimmed water was a grove of towering cypress, their bulging roots resembling the feet of trolls from Little Lords volume of the Brothers Grimm. Past the slough came an expanse of newly cleared fields hazed with the smoke from massive smoldering trunks of oak and sycamore. Set farther back on the horizon was a line of more cypress emerging from yet another swamp, their tops feathered with new growth brushing against the clouded sky. When they reached a rough track that edged rich black fields, Granada noticed they looked abandoned. It was the planting season, when entire slave families should be out in the newly broken fields spreading seed, but there was not a soul to be seen. She discovered why after the buggy rounded another stand of cypress. Granada spied two rows of porchless, whitewashed cabins. In the wide lane between stood all the people missing from the fields. There had to be a hundred or more. Granada sat up straight and rigid next to Polly. The skin quivered across the back of the s neck. Her legs tensed with the thought of jumping out of the buggy and fleeing down the road back to the mansion. The darkest of the dark were kept here. Granada believed she could smell them already, their unwashed odor sharp to her nose. She began breathing in quick, shallow gulps. This is where Aunt Sylvie said the mistress would send Granada if she misbehaved. Back to live with your real momma, Sylvie would scold, sending shivers of terror through the , who imagined a place worse than the bishops hell. She had not been wrong. As the buggy drew close, Granadas chest tightened and her temples pounded. She was no longer gazing down on these people safely from the upstairs gallery. She was at eye level and any one of them could reach out and drag her off. She quickly scanned their faces, looking for that one particular woman she had only seen in her darkest dreams. All she knew was her name: Ella. Long ago Chester had told Granada about the woman, but the hadnt wanted to hear and had covered her ears. She refused to follow his finger when he pointed to the woman from up on the gallery one Preaching Sunday. Granada didnt want to know the womans face. Now she felt for sure, as she continued to skim the faces, this was where the woman stayed, the woman from whom the mistress had rescued Granada. She wished now she had looked when Chester had pointed. Then she could run and hide if she saw Ella coming. A March d, piercing and sodden with swamp dampness, swept across the settlement and Granada could almost feel the crowd shiver as one. The clothes they wore were filthy and in tatters, and they shuffled about in the yard wearily. Granada dug her fingernails into the skin of her arms, hating the thing that linked her to them. Polly jerked the mules to a halt, tied off the reins, and hoisted herself down over the wheel. Granada remained where she sat. She lowered her head to hide her face. Through the tops of her eyes she saw the master sitting astride his horse beyond the throng of Negroes, talking to a white man on foot. Why was the master letting this happen to her? she dered. Wait until the mistress found out she was missing! The master turned his face toward Polly and motioned her over. Polly grinned at Granada menacingly. Get down, now, she commanded and then almost under her breath, she muttered, we got to go see about your people. A band of fear tightened around Granadas chest, making it hard for her to breathe. My people? Granada stammered. Again she frantically scanned the faces in the yard and then looked back at the old woman. She knew! Im not one of them, Granada wanted to explain. She might look like them, but her insides were not the same. She had to let the woman know. I belong in the great house with the mistress, Granada whispered. Im a houseraised . I say, get down! Polly ordered, her words set with an iron resolve. Granada ced, and then did as she was told. As they walked over to where the master sat astride his horse, a cold blast of d swept through the yard, and the rain began falling in drops as big as pennies. Let me see them about to die first, Polly said to the master. These here can wait. Bridger, the overseer, scowled at Polly. He was a sinewy, weathertoughened man with a flintsharp face who, along with a couple of white hands and several Negro drivers, managed the masters operations, including all three settlements. Wait? I just now called them in from the fields, he fumed. We wasting time and here. He looked up at the master for confirmation.

Big Dante stilled himself and the master nodded for Polly to come closer. When the master stood to make room for the old woman, Granada got a good look at Big Dantes face. His tongue was swelled up horribly, too big for his head, lolling out of his mouth. The organ was as black as ink and appeared to be cracking open like a ripe fig. Granada turned her face away lest she retch. She stood for a long while with her eyes closed and a hand over her mouth. She reminded herself that soon she would be back in Aunt Sylvies kitchen where the smells would be pleasant and tempting, and where people kept themselves neat and clean. Granada waited for her stomach to settle and then looked again. Polly was now nose to nose with the diseased man. The old woman was sniffing his horrible breath! Then Polly put her mouth to his ear and whispered something no one could hear. Granada thought she saw the muscles in that grotesque face relax. Polly smiled at the man like he might be her longlost son. The entire sight had made the bile raise in the s throat. Polly went on to do the same with every ailing man, woman, and in the arbor. All of them, regardless of how contorted their faces or how badly their skin had ruptured, seemed more at peace after she whispered the secret words into their ears. Even the woman who had screamed that she was being ridden by a witch stilled herself in Pollys presence. When she was done, Polly stepped out of the brush arbor. Without speaking a word she took off at an angry clip down the track toward the quarter. The master and Bridger scrambled after her. Granada was in no such hurry, thinking the woman had obviously left her gentleness and compassion back in the brush arbor. They all caught up to her in the quarter where the families of the sick and dying were gathering around Polly, studying her face with worried expressions. The rain had stopped and there was a heavy silence all around. No one was sure what to make of the woman, only that she was as much a slave as they and had been allowed to see their family and friends. Master Ben frowned. Then we best get to it. He dismounted and handed the reins to one of the drivers. Bridger went into a sulk. He spun on his heels and stomped off down the footworn track between the cabins. When the track played out, he led the group onto a weeded path that wound away from the cabins, through a recently burnedover field and finally to a long hutlike structure built on the edge of the woods. It was constructed from cut saplings set upright in the ground and had three walls and a roof laid with brush. On the open side stood a grizzlebearded white man cradling a rifle, rain dripping from the crease in his hat. His mouth was stained with tobacco spit and he glared at Polly with small menacing eyes. I raised up this here brush arbor to quarantine the sick ones, the master said. Least until I know if its catching or not. He didnt look at Polly, but the words were obviously for her benefit. Polly grunted irritably at the tobaccocheg man with the rifle. Again without acknowledging her directly, Master Ben said to nobody in particular, Hes got orders to shoot anybody that tries to get in or get out. Master Ben entered first, followed by Polly and Bridger. After the took the first two hesitant steps, she held back. Peering into the gloom, Granada saw nothing but vague shapes. As she stood there waiting for her eyes to adjust, she heard the sounds of raspy breathing and strangled cries emerging from the bowels of the cavernous hovel. The putrid smell was overpowering, like dead animals left out to rot, forcing Granada to put her hand over her mouth and nose. As her eyes grew accustomed to the dark, she was able to make out silhouettes of bodies on thin pallets spread across the earthen floor. All around she heard the patter of rain dripping through the roof of interwoven branches onto cold, bare earth. A womans ragged scream penetrated the darkness. There she is! she screeched in an unearthly voice. There the witch that been riding me to hell! Granadas legs trembled beneath her. Quiet, you! Bridger snapped. The screaming ceased, only to be replaced by deep sobbing. Some gone plum out their heads since you left, he said. Hollering out to invisible spirits and such. Big Dante here run off down to the creek and tried to drown hisself. Took four of us to haul him back. I dont blame him one bit, neither, Bridger said with a rare inflection of pity, looking down on the man at his feet. Them that died appear to be the lucky ones.