Long story short: my vehicle got broken into and coincidentally, my apartments parking lot lights meter tripped so it was super dark 2 nights ago. Yes I know it’s grainy, yes I know it could be better (and would be if the lights were on). I’m a car guy and have a bunch of friends who all have come up with a range of cars… I don’t want to say what we think to alter your thought.
The unfortunate thing for the suspect is I’m a cop in the city I live and work in.. I’m on my 4 days off and have nothing but time to track them down.
The first clip is after the break in— you can see my trucks dome lights on in the top right hand corner. The second video is them passing the truck 2-3 minutes earlier before turning around to get in.
I’ll update if we catch the suspects.

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tends to crumble
“Quite distressing,” says the older man, there in the wingback chair. “Though one does not wish to play the churl. A certain degree of disarray must certainly be allowed, given the shocks – the challenge, the duel – ”
“Allowed?” says Agravante, there by the yellow stone fireplace, an elbow up on the mantel, and the older man takes a sip of milky tea from a thin bone china cup. “How is the King’s champion, by the way?” he says.
“Death’s door,” says Agravante. There on the mantel by his elbow a fiendish little basket-box, carved from a chunk of dark red wood. “Shame,” says the older man, shaking his head, stiff grey curls swept back, and the collar of his shirt undone, a blue scarf knotted tidily about his throat. “Though it is distasteful, how they might linger, on that threshold? Neither here, nor there,” and another sip of tea.
“What is it that distresses you, Medardus,” says Agravante. White-gold locks tied neatly black, his grey suit shot with blue.
“It’s a delicate question I’d have answered, Pinabel,” says the older man, setting the cup in the saucer on his lap, clink. “Does the King yet mean to pursue his bold vision?”
Agravante’s brow pinches. “Of course,” he says. “Insofar as I know.”
Medardus smiles. “Delicately put,” he says. “It’s been two days.”
“These things take time.”
“Two days,” says Medardus, “since he took from me mine offer,” knobbled fingers closing in a fist, drawn up by his yet-mild smile. “And not a word said since.”
“There’s much to be considered,” says Agravante. “Four of you do vie for her hand.”
“Please, Pinabel,” says Medardus, dropping his hand, and a clatter of cup and saucer. “It’s an indulgence to pretend the choice isn’t manifestly clear – that mine is not the best offering.”
“The best, perhaps,” says Agravante. “But sufficient?” A slatey shoulder shrugs.
“The King would demand more?”
“How can I answer that,” says Agravante, “when I know nothing of what you’ve promised, or he might require.”
“Nothing,” says Medardus, still smiling. “Such a delicate word.” Setting cup and saucer on the low table between them. “I would hope,” he says, “it could always be said that the Hound has done well by Medardus,” and he knots those knobby fingers in his lap. “Much as it can be said, to a surety, that Medardus has done well by the Hound.”
Rather carefully, Agravante does not smile at that, or nod, his shoulders do not move, nor does his arm, there by the basket-box. “Of course,” he says.
“But it’s also said,” says Medardus, “that a fear grips your court: that the line is not unbroken. That the Queen, despite her, prodigious recovery, has no Bride of her own. That your King’s hand, howsomever reluctantly, is forced. That he means,” and here Medardus leans forward, elbows on knees, “to take the Princess for himself, and that is why our offers go unanswered.” Sitting back, a dismissive fillip of his fingers. “Or so it’s said.”
“By some,” says Agravante.
“Indeed,” says Medardus.
“But not to me,” says Agravante.
“Ah.” Medardus pushes himself to his feet. “Tell me,” he says, as Agravante leads him out of the little drawing room, “how fares the Count?”
“Grandfather?” says Agravante, pushing open the sliding wood-paneled door. “He sleeps.” Beyond, a narrow hall, in the shadow of a long straight staircase.
•
“Oh,” he says. “It’s you.” A glass of wine in his hand, something dark. “She isn’t here.”
“She will be, soon enough,” says Marfisa, muddy boot up on the side porch step. “Jason, can I just, wait inside?” The collar of her sheepskin coat turned up, loose white hair stirred by a gust. He steps back, the door held open, his lips a sour purse between his mustache and his dull red beard.
Up the steps into a mud room, painted blue, forgotten coats and a tangle of umbrellas, a scooter, a chalkboard palimpsested with to-dos and shopping lists, “Ah ah,” he’s saying, pointing, thick-lensed glasses blanked out by the ceiling light, and she scrubs her boots against a mat before stepping up into a kitchen to the left there, ruddy stove and a steaming pot of something, stainless steel refrigerator hung about with coupons and note cards, a calendar, a math test festooned with red checks and gold stars, past a breakfast bar sloppily piled with newspapers and a box of soda cans, into a narrow sitting room, a low brown couch, a girl tucked at one end of it, under a red and yellow blanket, and pink headphones startling against her dark hair, watching something on the tablet on her lap. “Grace,” says Jason, still in the kitchen, but she’s already snatching off the headphones, a burst of chirpy music, as Marfisa steps about the low coffee table. “Hey, Mar,” says the girl on the couch, and “Grace,” says Jason again, “upstairs,” as Marfisa sits herself at the other end. Something bulky’s tucked in her coat, she leans over the table, pulling it out, a flat paper sack that spills out a sheaf of handbills, goldenrod pages splashed with black lines, a dancer rendered in calligraphy, and each marked by the green dot of an eye. “Oh, hey,” says the girl, springing from under the blanket, all elbows and knees and clattering headphones, “is that,” says Jason says “Grace!” again, but she’s already scooped up a handbill, turning it over and back again, nothing else to it but little pull-tabs at the bottom, each printed with an elaborately arabesqued question mark. “You’re putting these up?”
Marfisa shrugs. “You’ve seen them?”
“Yesterday, at Mississippi Pizza?” says Grace. “Did you hang ’em there?” Marfisa shrugs again. “The Mercury just had a thing about these things, like how nobody knows what they are, or who’s, it’s, it’s you! You’re doing it! Is it like, are you putting the band back together?”
“Grace,” says Jason.
“What,” snaps Grace, rolling her eyes away.
“Upstairs,” he says, “now. Flashcards till dinner.”
“Jason,” she says, but she’s kicking off the couch, scooping up the tablet, stomping around the table when back that way there’s a clatter and a squeak of hinges from that side porch, “I’m home!” cries someone, and “Carol!” cries Grace, turning on a dime, scampering off past Jason, through the kitchen, “Guess who’s here!”
Marfisa leans forward, slipping the handbills back in the sack, not looking up at Jason looking down at her.
And there’s Carol, by the breakfast bar, setting a brown leather book bag on the carpet. Draped in a brown and yellow striped serape, her dark hair neatly short. “Mar,” she says. “How are you.”
“Well as I might,” says Marfisa, looking up, pushing back a wave of white-gold hair. “What would you say to a chance to sing again, together?”
•
A hallway narrow, dim, dark doors to either side, silvery numerals set in the walls by each, slender 1s, a wiry 7, great round-bellied 6es, an 8, a 9. Iona in her yellow track suit leads the way around a corner, stops before the door at the end of the hall. 620, the numerals beside it. She plucks a white card from a pocket, holds it up before slipping it into the slot above the knob. “I miss keys,” she says, as the lock chunks, a green light flicking on. “These may be better, but not in any way that matters.” She opens the door. “Go on,” she says.
Within brown walls and gold, bathed in daylight hazed by yellow curtains drawn over corner windows. A comfortable yellow chair, a reading table and a lamp, unlit. A wide bed draped in blue and brown and at the foot of it, sat tailor-fashion, Ysabel, in a white chemise, and soft white leg-warmers thickly rumpled. “Starling,” she says, with a smile.
“My Queen,” says the Starling, a shadow there by yellow Iona, black jeans, black sweatshirt, the hood of it up. “This is not our usual Thursday,” she says, in not much more than a whisper.
“This isn’t a Thursday,” says Ysabel, nodding to Iona, who steps out, closing the door behind her. “This is a whole weekend, if you’d like.”
“But I must dance, ma’am,” says the Starling. “Today and tonight, at the club, and Saturday – ”
“It has been cleared, with your, manager,” says Ysabel. “You’re free, till Monday.”
“Free to be here, with you,” says the Starling. And then, “If it’s just to be the two of us?” Her words worn thin.
“If you’d like,” says Ysabel. “Or, step back through that door. The Chariot will happily take you anywhere in the city you may wish to go.”
The Starling reaches for the strap of the black gym bag slung from her shoulder. “I don’t mind,” she says, “being with you. I’ll just go change,” but “No,” says Ysabel, quickly, “Starling, no. Put that down. Sit with me.”
“My Queen,” says the Starling. “I am not who I am, when I’m with you.”
“Please,” says Ysabel. “Sit.”
The gym bag slumps to the speckled brown carpet. Stepping over, the Starling stands a moment before the foot of that bed, and Ysabel sat there, smiling up, but then she turns, the Starling, and finds the yellow chair behind her, and sits, a darkness in that weak light.
“I’m glad you came,” says Ysabel.
“My Queen desired it,” says the Starling.
“I thought,” says Ysabel, looking away. “I’d thought today that I might dance for you. I have danced, you know. At a party. She said I was quite good.”
“Of course,” says the Starling.
“I settled on an outfit,” says Ysabel, looking down at herself, “nothing too elaborate,” and “Good,” says the Starling, “but,” says Ysabel, “I’ve been flummoxed by my lips. What should the color be?” A hand, lifted to her mouth, her hair, “White?” she says. “To go with the ensemble? Or would that be too much? Would a simple red be enough?”
“No one pays attention to the lipstick,” says the Starling.
“You do,” says Ysabel, quickly, even sharply, and then, “You take such care, with yours.”
That hood shifts, down, to one side, dim light passing over her chin, the tip of her nose. “White’s better for the stage,” she says. “Too bold for such close quarters.”
“A simple red it is.”
“Your majesty is sad,” says the Starling, then. “Why should that be?”
“I,” says Ysabel, shoulders lifting, and her chin, a retort swelling but then suddenly pricked, deflating, and she looks away. “Affairs of the city,” she says.
“Not the heart, then?” says the Starling. “Nor the hips?”
Ysabel untucks herself, a bare foot lowered to the carpet, and her hands on the edge of the bed. “Tell me,” she says. “Do you know the smell, of blood?”
That shadow sits up. “I do, ma’am,” says the Starling.
“She sleeps,” Ysabel’s saying. “Peacefully. Her wound is poulticed with a fief’s portion. The bleeding’s long since stopped, but,” and she takes in a deep breath, shivering at the top of it, a sigh, “wherever I go in those rooms I still can smell it, that – tang, like an armor hot from the sun, and I,” but the Starling’s standing, stepping over, she kneels at the foot of the bed, reaches for a hand that Ysabel lifts away, “here I am,” she says, “holed up in a hotel across town.”
The Starling sits back on her heels. “Would you rather go to her?” but Ysabel’s shaking her head, “The Mason,” she says, “watches over her. She wants for nothing. I am,” but then she stops, and the Starling catches her hand, draws it down, covers it with her own. Ysabel says, “My brother once told me,” but then she stops again, blinking rapidly, looking down at the Starling looking up from under her black hood. “He was once a little boy,” says Ysabel. “Did you know that?”
“The King,” says the Starling, “yes, ma’am, of course. I remember those days.”
“Not even a Prince, just an infant, he came to me, in the little garden, and took my hand, and asked me, sister, why are you crying?” Turning her hand in the Starling’s hand, taking hold of it, squeezing. “And I said, because I do not wish to wed. But I am the Bride, I said, and one day a King will come, and I must take his hand. Whether I will or no, I must, but he,” looking away, “he swore to me, then and there, most earnestly, that he would one day be the King, that I might never need take anyone’s hand.”
The Starling says, “And he did just that.”
“My brother,” says Ysabel, “the King, this,” and her eyes close, the lashes of them shining, “city,” she says, and her mouth closes about another, unsaid word, she swallows, and a lick at her lips. “Jo,” she says.
“My Queen,” says the Starling. “I will go, and change, and dance for you, to take your mind,” but “No,” says Ysabel, leaning forward, her hands on the Starling’s shoulders, “do not change, do not dress, do not perform,” lifting a hand, right to the very hem of that hood, but then pulled back, withdrawn. “I would see you just as you are,” she says, her hands once more in her lap.
“But, my lady,” says the Starling, and she reaches up to draw back that hood. “I am always as I am.” Black hair uncurled, slicked back, clipped down to stubble along her temples, about those ears. Her cheeks, the line of that jaw. The nose. Those eyes, only a hazeled hint of green. Thin lips unpainted, upturned, parting as Ysabel leans close to say, “And you are with me,” and then a feathery kiss, tugging at the Starling’s hands, lifting, the Starling who stands up before her, and her hands fall to the Starling’s hips, rough black denim, the belt loops, her thumb, the wide leather belt, looking up, those green eyes. She yanks at the bulky black sweatshirt, “Get this off,” she says, and the Starling lifts it up and off and tosses it aside. Bare now from the waist up, and the torso of her lean and long, and her long arms sinewy lowering, curling, Ysabel’s darkly hands caught up against the smooth pale chest of her by those wide white hands, and the backs of them snarled with thick blue veins.
“Now would you have me go and change?” murmurs the Starling.
“But you are beautiful,” says Ysabel, slipping her hands free, reaching for the tongue of the belt. The buckle jangles. “Majesty,” says the Starling, “I am many things, but,” and a gasp, at the kiss pressed there below her shadowed navel, as those black jeans loosen, lop, as Ysabel’s fingers dip within to uncurl a palely slender cock, and a stroke for the lengthening lift of it, “oh,” says the Starling, “my Queen, you needn’t,” as her hand cups Ysabel’s face.
“But do you want me to,” says Ysabel, and the Starling, shivering, nods. “The principles, I should think,” says Ysabel, “are essentially the same?” And a lick of a kiss for the tip of it, there on her palm.
•
Pinned to the pole a mulching bark of posters, flyers, handbills, postcards, lapped and shingled one over another, rain-dimpled, sun-faded, twisted, torn, defaced, Thrash or Die, April Showers Burlesque, Snap! at the Holocene, Anodyne Presents, Missing Dog, Laughing Horse, Drum Circle Saturday Rain or Shine, Cinco de Mayo on the Waterfront, big black letters on an enormous sheet, Grupo Samurjay, Grupo Maravilla, Los Supremos de Los Hermanos Flores, Woodburn Rocks. As the bus pulls away she’s pushing back her black hair looking up toward the top of that slithery bristling treeline, there where handfuls of old notices have been ripped away leaving crowded dozens of denuded staples, glinting, by a metal sign that says No Parking This Block, a relatively fresh sheet of goldenrod paper, mad black scribbles limning a dancer, a single eye of bright green ink. She reaches up, to the pull-tabs fluttering the bottom of it, each printed with only an elaborately arabesqued question mark. Her other hand holds fast a black leather knapsack slung from the shoulder of her slick black jacket. Her glasses with thick black frames. With a sudden yank she rips the handbill down.
A broad porch with four front doors set one right next to another, and she unlocks, slips through the third of them, and up an immediate steep staircase, narrow between dark walls, unlit, that yellow page bright in her hand. Around the wall at the top of the stairs through an open room a couch the floor before it piled with cardboard boxes into a long hall once painted white, some time ago, lit by daylight seeping in from somewhere else. At the end of it a dark room, curtains drawn, and she closes the door behind her, a shadow in the shadows. Flump of the knapsack, dropped to the floor, creaking footstep, the thick click of a switch. Light blares from naked bulbs in the fixture in the middle of the ceiling, pink springs from the walls all whorled curlicues and faded bouquets, the bed there, skewed bedclothes striped dull brown and beige, and on the floor at the foot of it a great conical pile knee-high or more of gleaming golden dust.
She steps around it, jacket half-unzipped. A ridge of the pile has settled, slumped, dust trailed over the floor away from it, and the goldenrod poster drops, crumpled, from the hand she’s lifting to her throat, to the bit of black lace tied there. Steps back, around the bed. She grabs a little hand broom from the nightstand. Kneels down by the pile. Begins to sweep up the goldstuff, careful with each thread and grain.
•
Eyelids a-twitch, lips parting just to say not even a whisper, maybe a number, counting, nine or ten, eleven, those lids blink open over mud-colored eyes that swivel, narrow, try to focus, a gleaming edge there, mirror-bright, shifting as she blinks the length of it flat and smooth and slender, somehow deep within it coiling whorls of light and dark chased up and down a shallow groove that cleanly stretches up and up to a glittering net there on the pillow, wiry strands that knot a cage about a simple hilt she jerks away, kicks back sitting up, “Shit,” she says, as the sword’s tangled in the sheets, teetering at the edge of the futon. She’s bent over, thin white T-shirt, wine-red hair, rubbing her shin, a thin dark line of blood beading down by her ankle, “Shit,” she says, again. Snatching the hilt she whips the blade free from the sheets, “this fucking,” but it turns in her hand, a wrench and away it flies across the room to crack and a wibble it’s stabbed the white wall there by the plain black scabbard, hung from a nail, and the painted skull-mask also, the mane of it stirred by that thrust. Jo blinks. “Okay,” she says, to herself.
Without, the hallway’s dark, the little lights strung along the ceiling unlit. The kitchen beyond is empty, only glancing daylight and shadows. Jo leans over to knock at the door across the hall, “Ysabel?” she says, turning the knob. The room within all yellow and white, gauzy curtains, big bed neatly made, the armoire shut, and nothing draped over the dressing screen in the corner. “Ysabel?” says Jo again, but something, she looks down. Something lightly, barely there, faintly wisps, like down, like ash, falling from, brushing her foot, past her knee, caught there in the hem of her T-shirt, falling from, she lifts it, peering down at her belly beneath, and the line that climbs it packed with an ashen crust and a last few spangles of gold and, she touches it crumbling, flaking away, the pink skin taut beneath.
Back against the jamb. Dropping the hem of the shirt her hand to her breast, and quick wincing shallow breaths. Lurching up across and over to the dresser, a bouquet of heavy-headed peonies pink and yellow, she grabs a small brass box and pries it open, frees a cigarette, and a ragged book of matches.
The hall, the back room, dark, the back door and out, outside, out in the grass, under the sky, sunlight and blue sky, and glowering clouds behind, white and blue and grey and blue and greenly black, swollen with the coming rain. Fitting the cigarette to her lips but even as she opens the matchbook she’s falling to her knees in the lushly green, soft grass out to the parapets to either side, and she coughs up a sob, another, doubled over on her shaking shuddering self, her hand a fist to her chest.
The cigarette falls white to the grass before her. Feathers of grey-white ash caught about it, and sparks of gold.
A call behind her, muffled by walls and doors. Sitting up she catches, holds her breath. Swallows. A slam back there, distant, bump of a footfall, she wipes her eyes with the back of her hand and leans forward getting her feet under herself but the back door bangs open boot-thump someone shouting and she springs up turns her arm flung out the sword
The sword in her hand –
Her hand, her arm extended shoulder dropped her torso sidelong and her front foot planted, off leg leaned back straight and true, off hand slung back to balance the thrust that’s ended sword-tip snagged in a corner of his unzipped shortwaisted jacket yanked up one side he’s twisted, turned away from it, both arms flung up and alarm gently folding his face.
“Oh God,” says Jo, dropping the blade, the ring of it soft on the grass.
“You’re awake,” says Luys, lowering his arms. Brushing the front of his soft brown jacket, his finger finding the hole punched there. “Your coat,” says Jo, “I’m so, sorry,” but “No sin espinas,” he’s saying, almost to himself, holding out a hand, “You are awake,” he says, but she rushes past that hand to crash into him tumbling her arms about him there on the rooftop under the clouds, she’s kissing his throat and then as he lowers his head she looks up to kiss his mouth, his mouth.
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This is day 10 with my cakes I’m not sure about the pins on the b+ strains. Whether I can remove the big white fungi on the first cake, sailor said it’s because I have so many different strains in the chamber.
Should I spray the cakes doing nothing with some water to get them going?
They are getting 12 hours of light?
Are these aborts?
Tital wave the two in the back aren’t doing anything please help thank you. Growing them medicinal to help with my ptsd. Thank you

Following on from my 'In Vision' commentary notes, I had a request from freddythefuckingfish to recap 'Louis and the Nazis'. Here it is, along with some additional notes from Louis' follow-up visit to Lamb and Lynx for his 'Call of the Weird' book.
​
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\"I thought it was time to leave.\"
​
Opening Scene

• The episode opens with tape being put on a kitchen floor by April, while she is being watched by her aspiring pop-duo daughters, Lamb and Lynx
• They all laugh when April starts to use the tape to draw a swastika, because she's a Nazi
• Note: the twins go by 'Prussian Blue', which is a reference to how the walls of gas chambers could be stained blue by the Nazi's usage of Zyklon B, which contained Prussic acid
• Louis asks if April cares about "people's feelings", which quickly descends into April going on a rant about "The Jews" and how she just thinks the swastika is "neat"
• Personal Note: there's something about April's agitated head and mouth movements that reminds me of a Muppet
• April refers to Louis as a "brainwashed lemming"
• Lamb and Lynx dance a merry jig to the sound of bagpipes, before we go to the opening credits

​
Meeting Tom Metzger

• Louis is driving to meet "one of America's most notorious" racists, Tom Metzger (who died in 2020)
• Tom has a garden ornament with a motion sensor that makes a noise when you approach his house, then has what looks like another motion sensor to the right of his front door, with a security camera on the left
• Tom says he's "more serious than most of the Nazis [he's] met"
• There appears to be a sign that says "No Snivelling" on one of the doors in Tom's office (I couldn't find any significance to that)
• Tom shows Louis a racist cartoon from his newsletter, claims that he is better looking than Denzel Washington, and then (in my opinion) tries to get a reaction out of Louis by using The N-Word, but Louis remains stone-faced
• Tom says that he would not use that word in public if Louis asked him to, but that he would not stop using it in private (even as a favour to Louis)
• Louis: "It makes me think slightly less of you."
• Tom: "Well, that's okay, I'm not here to adopt you."
• Louis takes a look at Tom's music collection, and Tom's wife flatly says "It's part of history" when Louis asks her if it's shocking to have the image of a black man being lynched on an album cover
• Tom, again, seems to be intentionally saying extreme things to get a reaction out of Louis, but, when Louis doesn't bite, he does then tone things down a bit
• Tom's youngest daughter arrives, and doesn't consider herself to be a racist (mentioning how people judge her solely for her last name)
• Abrupt cut to a different room, with a tired-sounding Louis now lounging in a chair with a drink in his hand, and what look like papers in his lap, telling Tom that "it bespeaks kind of a hatred"
• Personal Note: Uh... what just happened? How much time has passed since the interview with Tom's daughter? Is that a copy of Tom's newsletter in Louis' lap? Is that the "it" he's referring to?
• Tom, with a beer in his hand, sounds upset as he tries to justify his hatred for "blacks" with, "they kill my friends, they imprisoned them for life"
• Louis, almost sounding drunk, uncharacteristically replies with, "That's such bull. That is such bull."
• Tom yells at Louis about black people committing crimes in England, then starts to make a phone call to end this very awkward and out-of-place scene
• Personal Note: What was going on there?! Both men acted completely differently towards each other, while Tom's wife and daughter appeared to be nervously stood in the doorway. Just a really weird scene that felt like something directed by David Lynch.
• Over at the karaoke bar ("Lets Party Right Here!"), we see someone who looks like Danny Trejo serenading a table of middle-aged women
• Louis says it has been a "long and, in some ways, depressing day [...] I was even more confused when the karaoke bar [Tom] took me to turned out to be largely non-white"
• Louis: "I could only assume that, for Tom, karaoke sometimes took precedent over racism."
• We hear a (mercifully short) clip of Tom "singing" 'Bad to the Bone' (he sounds like the love-child of Elmer Fudd and Les Claypool)
• Note: None of what was said between Louis and the Metzger's while they were at the bar is in the episode, and we only hear Louis speak in voice-over.

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Meeting John Malpezzi

• Louis is being driven by Tom to meet his new "manager", a man named John Malpezzi, who was "supposedly a show business veteran"
• When John gets in the car, Louis tries to get him to talk about the racist things Tom says and publishes, but John seems like he was expecting that line of questioning and is having none of it
• John gives the, oddly specific, example of how he has known people in the past who would "throw you out of the air plane, over the jungle" for trying to catch him out like that
• Louis had been keeping his powder dry during the car trip, as he knew that there were rumours of John having a "colourful career" and that he "had spent time in prison"
• Louis is more direct once they arrive at their destination and John, after initially trying to shut down the conversation about his past, admits that he had legally represented the Colombian drug lord Pablo Escobar
• John had also been looking at "85 years" in prison for cocaine trafficking, but only served "3-and-a-half" years (here's an archived LA Times article from 1987 that covers what happened)
• Louis says that who John was, and whether what he was saying was actually true, was "vague to me, and possibly to him, too"

​
Meeting Skip

• Louis visits Skip and his family, some of Tom's "skinhead supporters" who were hosting a rally that Tom would be speaking at
• Skip had followed Tom since 1983 and thought he had "done a lot of good *awkward pause\* he's a good patriot"
• Skip's brother says that telling someone "you're on the fence" is considered to be an insult by skinheads
• The second Louis suggests that he might be Jewish, Skip immediately starts eyeing him up and becomes less friendly towards him
• Louis spent the afternoon with the family before Skip really started to become agitated
• Skip: "You're a Jew, that's why you got so much animosity. [...] You're a Jew. ...You're part Jewish."
• Skip points at the sound guy and says, "He's not Jewish, I'll tell ya that, right now."
• Personal Note: the camera pans over to the sound guy and he reminded me of Seth Rogen, who is Jewish
• According to 'Call of the Weird', Louis' Director was Jewish
• I think you can just barely hear a member of the crew start to interject when it's clear that Skip isn't going to let go of the issue, however I can't make out what they're saying
• Louis, after Skip and his family have all left: "I thought it was time to leave."

​
The Gathering of the Gods

• Tom: "Yo, yo, yo, are you ready to go, to the Hate-ananny? Huh?!"
• Tom is wearing a t-shirt that says "Some People Are Alive Simply Because It's Illegal To Kill Them"
• Louis heads to a major event ("by skinhead standards") with Tom, which is being held at "Skip's place" (or at least in a field near "Skip's place")
• According to 'Call of the Weird', Louis had "security experts" who refused to accompany him into the festival (they would have been required to give up their weapons), so Louis was told to "stay alert at all times" and that the crew should run to the exits as quickly as possible, if things went bad (the armed "security experts" remained parked outside in their van)
• Tom only attended "one or two" events per year, and Louis suspects that he felt embarrassed by Louis being part of his "entourage"
• According to 'Call of the Weird', the scene where a group of skinheads ignore Louis was not an exaggeration, as not a single skinhead at the event would let Louis interview them
• Louis: "I felt like the schoolkid nobody wanted to be friends with."
• Lamb and Lynx take to the stage, and the appreciative crowd of shirtless male skinheads salute them at the end of their song (a few look like they are wiping tears from their eyes)
• According to 'Call of the Weird', Louis did not know of Lamb and Lynx before the festival, and only spoke to April by chance, because her lack of tattoos made her look approachable
• Personal Note: I don't mean to imply that Louis is lying here, but I can't imagine that they planned for the episode to be an hour of Tom and some random skinheads, so what were the 20 minutes dedicated to April's family originally going to be about?
• Tom takes to the stage, where he yells a lot and is a racist
• The sign for the event reads "The Gathering of the Gods, An Ian Stuart Memorial, The Flame That Never Dies, American Front"
• [Ian Stuart was an English nationalist, white supremacist, and the lead singer of the punk band 'Skrewdriver'. Stuart died in 1993 and this episode is from 2003, so the "memorial" might be for the 10-year anniversary of his death.]
• The day after The Gathering, Tom tells Louis how he likes skinheads because they're "not hypocritical" and are "strong racists"
• Note: Tom is slightly out-of-focus during this short interview, with the camera more focused on the greenery behind his head

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Meeting April, Lamb, and Lynx

• According to 'Call of the Weird', the only hint that April's house contained Nazis was a "battered" car bumper sticker that read "My Boss is an Austrian Painter"
• Louis arrives at April's house, where a bored-looking Lamb and Lynx sing about "Marxist black dictators" in Africa
• According to 'Call of the Weird', April had been making the twins sing "white power" songs for other Nazis since they were at least 8
• Louis: "They don't seem old enough to really know what that's about."
• April: "Well, I've explained it."
• The girls demonstrate that they are not, in fact, old enough to know what that's about
• According to 'Call of the Weird', there exist white nationalist children's books that (and this is meant to be taken seriously) contain "E is for Eugenics" and have illustrations made by prisoners who were found guilty of hate crimes
• April is looking ahead to when Lamb and Lynx are 16-year-old girls, because any "young... man" or "red-blooded American boy" would find them "very appealing" (well, that isn't creepy at all...)
• April's fiancee refused to appear on camera, as he felt it could lose him his job (he was a public school teacher, though she cautiously only says "an educator")
• April wouldn't let her 11-year-old children play "Nintendo" games, but a violent, first-person shooter named "Ethnic Cleansing" was perfectly fine
• Personal Note: I did play 'Ethnic Cleansing', just for a laugh, many years ago, and it's not even "funny bad", it's just rubbish
• April drives them all to a horse ranch, and Louis looks lost for words when the family start rocking out to skinhead music (one of the twins seems to find it funny how visibly uncomfortable he is)
• April asks the crew to only tell people that they are making a documentary on the girls' music, as she doesn't want anyone "hurting my horses because of my politics"
• April essentially says that she is so racist that she struggles to hide it
• Louis: "I've noticed."
• According to 'Call of the Weird', April would bring up race, or "The Jews", in almost every conversation Louis had with her, no matter what the original topic was
• April talks about how she "wouldn't want to have anything to do with" her daughters if they went against her beliefs
• [What ended up happening when Lamb and Lynx grew up and renounced their racist beliefs (albeit with just a little bit of holocaust denial left in there) is that April... wait for it... waaait for it... blamed "The Jews".]

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A Trip to Bill's Ranch

• They drive to meet April's father, Bill, who owns a cattle ranch where his cows are branded with a swastika
• Bill, who lives on a ranch in the middle of nowhere, says that Louis can't "see what's going on" with the white race
• There's a rare production snafu when the camera man is forced to rush over to everyone else when Bill starts talking
• Personal Note: based on how this is the last scene shown at the ranch and they are all gathered by their cars, my best guess is that this was originally meant to be a long shot of everyone getting in their cars to leave, but Bill had other ideas
• Bill, like Tom, is the kind of racist who pauses for effect and looks for a reaction after saying The N-Word
• Louis takes so long to answer the straightforward, "Do you usually date white women?" that I suspect he's trying to get April and Bill more worked-up (not that they need encouraging)
• After Louis asks if a Jewish woman would be considered "white", Bill imitates a "Jewish Princess" by squawking "Louis! Louis! I want a new ring, Louis!", like he's one of the Monty Python cast in drag
• As April drives them home, she says that she considers her racist indoctrination by a Nazi to be a "gift"
• Note: Bill's wife is not shown here, but she was featured in another documentary, Nazi Pop Twins (2007), and did not share his extreme views

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Tom's "Ambassadorial" Trip

• Louis is back with Tom and John, who were considering an "ambassadorial trip" to Mexico
• John refers to Tom as an "international politician"
• Louis refers to Tom as a "racist politician"
• John acts like Tom being a "racist politician" is a good thing, because then he'll be popular "in a racist country" like Mexico
• Tom and John act like they're making a sequel to 'Grumpy Old Men' as Louis drives them into Mexico
• John meets a lady friend (or "whore", as Tom calls her) at a bar, before they put on sombreros, and start to get sloshed on booze
• Louis: "The ambassadorial visit was degenerating into a pub crawl."
• After making two American tourists uncomfortable with his shameless racism, a drunken Tom loudly asks the staff in a souvenir shop if they have any rings with swastikas on them (I think someone says "You're lucky there's no black people about, man" in the background)
• Tom disappears, returns even more drunk, and accuses John of "neglecting his security duties"
• Tom and John drunkenly argue about, of all things, how racist John actually is
• Louis notes that this was Tom at his most "unguarded", and Louis was struck by Tom's "fantasies of his own importance"
• During the drive home, Tom Metzger, "one of the most dangerous racists in America", drunkenly mumbles about Mexico being a "vurry inturressting playst too vizzit"
• Two elderly, boozed-up racists babble on about nothing

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Goodbye to Tom and John

• Tom's day job was a 'TV Repairman', and a Peruvian client Tom is very friendly with says that they get on great, just don't talk about "politics"
• Louis tries to get Tom to address the inconsistency of Tom being friends with someone who appears to be non-white
• Tom never really answers the question, instead nit-picking the definition of a "friend" and just saying that Louis doesn't understand
• After arguing with Tom in the car, Louis says that he found it "hard to take Tom totally seriously" and sums him up with "there was a touch of karaoke about this supposed international politician"
• Louis visits John to try and challenge him on the racism that Tom publishes
• John (again, probably expecting to have to deal with this) refuses to play along, and only gives vague, non-committal answers to everything Louis throws at him
• The scene ends with a prolonged silence, after John lights up a cigarette and tries to look cool

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Goodbye to April, Lamb, and Lynx

• Louis plays guitar with Lamb and Lynx in a recording studio, where they are working on their debut album
• According to 'Call of the Weird', April was careful to ensure that the album could be sold in Germany, so the song titles did not explicitly reference Nazism (apparently, "Aryan" was okay), and any images of the girls saluting would be removed for the European release
• Louis asks the 11-year-old girls if they want to date skinheads *awkward pause\* when they get older
• April would approve of the girls dating any skinhead that was a "hard worker" who didn't "booze it up" and "cause trouble"
• When alone with the girls in the car, they tell Louis that they are being home-schooled because of "money problems", and "also that" April disagreed with what was being taught
• Lamb and Lynx's friends did not know about the family's racism
• One of the twins endearingly calls Louis "Shaggy" when she says goodbye to him
• Louis has a final conversation with April, where he tries to confront her about the disadvantages Lamb and Lynx will face in life, because of how they have been indoctrinated by her
• April basically blames everyone else for the problems her children will face, then goes on a disturbingly childish rant where she says things like "I find other races annoying. They bother me. [...] They're just not pretty."
• Louis: "I feel like I'm pretty well-connected to reality."
• One of the only times April does not have a comeback is when Louis says she is "out-voted" when it comes to "civilised thought"
• Louis: "My journey through the world of Nazis had reached a frustrating conclusion, with an argument, in a kitchen, with a mother of two."

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End Credits

• A scene with Louis and John (seemingly recorded after John lit up his cigarette) plays by the credits, where Louis asks John about Tom saying that he was better looking than Denzel Washington
• John confidently asserts that Tom is better looking (?)
• John says that they want to trademark Tom's "beautiful" head to make mugs shaped like it (??)
• Cut to Louis holding a large head-shot photo of Tom, wondering where you would drink from if Tom's head was a mug (???)
• Some random old woman (John's mother?), who I don't think we ever see in the episode, turns up to say that "people like mugs, and his head would make a good mug" (????)
• Louis looks like he legitimately has no idea if he should take anything that they're saying seriously (and neither do I)

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\"People like mugs, and his head would make a good mug.\"
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'Call of the Weird' Follow-up Visit

• Note: There is more than this in the book, but it's mainly just "I asked April about ____, and she responded by being an obstinate bigot, then said something racist". Louis also spoke to people working at a white supremacist record label, which wasn't anything worth mentioning.
• April was not happy with the documentary after she saw all the negative comments about her online, so rebuffed Louis' attempts to stay in contact
• Louis eventually got her to agree to meet up again around a year later, by offering to take the girls to a theme park
• Louis would also be meeting a new member of the family, baby Dresden (named after a German city that had been fire-bombed during World War 2)
• Coincidentally (cough-cough), Louis had been allowed to meet the twins again just in time for them to be promoting their new CD
• Certain images made to promote the CD were quite "provocative", prompting a member of a white nationalist message board to comment "Do you think Hitler would have allowed his little girl out, dressed like that?!"
• They all went to a Halloween-themed amusement park and Louis tried to talk to the twins about whether their views on race had changed
• The twins would still parrot the usual stuff from April, but they seemed disinterested, and preferred to focus on music
• Lamb and Lynx had already started to write more "commercial" music, and were considering the possibility of having a separate group where they wouldn't perform any "white power" songs
• The twins would finally be attending a regular school, because April claimed to be satisfied with one she had found that was "70% white"

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And that's the end of the recap. Louis did have a Skype call with the twins for his 'Life on the Edge' series during the lockdowns of 2020, where it seemed like they had managed to grow up without any trace of April's hatred and prejudices, so I guess you could say this does have a happy ending (unless you're a Nazi).