— Posted in The Last of Us, Vampire Noir

The Last of Us [The Protectors – Season Two]

When the law fails you, The Protectors won’t. Unflappable American Harry Rule, beautiful Brit Contessa di Contini, and suave Frenchman Paul Buchet return for another action-packed season of hi-tech sleuthing, international espionage and juicy romance. Based in London, Rome, and Paris, these three super detectives operate a secret agency, jetting around the world hiring out their services to those in need. Employing a variety of specialized skills ranging from expertise in arts and antiques to Judo and Bond-like gadgetry, The Protectors pit their wits against evildoers everywhere. No job is too small or too large for these intrepid heroes—governments are saved, innocent prisoners are sprung, spies are apprehended and glittering, rare jewels are recovered. Starring Robert Vaughn (The Man from U.N.C.L.E.) and filmed on location in some of the most exciting cities around the world, The Protectors is yet another TV cult classic from A&E and the creators of The Secret Service, Thunderbirds, and Space: 1999. This 4-pack DVD SET features all 26 thrilling episodes from The Protectors popular second season.

 

They finish their joint inspection of the crime scene. Followed by a brief discussion that more closely resembles a parley. It’s late in the evening.

“I’d rather follow your lead,” Becky freely admits.

“Then, while you find the creature via that dongle, I’ve got an appointment to keep with an oldest under the Tenth Street overpass at the witching hour.”

“The witching hour? That’s tonight. It’s late, but it’s not that late. We still have plenty of time to spool.”

“It’s gonna take me some time to get ready for my date, so I reckon I need to leave now else I’ll be late. By the way …”

“Yes …?”

“You told me that whoever the killer is, they’re in league with an Oldest One who in turn is in league with Him.”

“Yes, I did.”

“The forensic evidence pointed to that?”

“”Yes, it did.”

“You didn’t embellish, even a little bit?”

“No. I did not.”

“Evidence, in and of itself, isn’t proof of innocence or guilt, is it?”

“No, it is not.”

“Y’all thought that the person culpable was Jayne?”

“Yes. Our prime suspect.”

“Now, by your way of thinking, your rekall with me has muddied the waters, so to speak?”

“Yes, it has,” Becky affirms, after a very long pause.

“Oldest One, not Oldest Thing or Oldest Place?”

Becky looks puzzled. This triggers a eureka moment for Mondo as she recalls a detail from their shared rekall of Jayne’s interrogation. The charm bracelet that Jayne was wearing—the one that Jayne kept fiddling with. It looked vaguely familiar. Now she remembers where she’d seen it before. It was at The Motel. It’s an Oldest Thing.

“Oldest Thing? Oldest Place? What are you referring to?” Becky finally questions.

Becky is a Jew, one of God’s Chosen People. Jews are The Chosen in every inhabited universe in Creation. They are also Mystical Points of Reference. They know stuff, mystical stuff. Knowing about the existence of Oldest Things and Places falls under the category of mystical knowledge. If Becky, a Jew isn’t familiar with the concepts of an Oldest Thing or Place, then no one in this world is. Which explains why the involvement of an Oldest Thing would have not been one of the police scenarios.

“Never mind, for now. I’ll explain later.”

“I’ll hold you to that.”

“When we reconvene, I’d like you to show me the forensics reports that lead to the suspicion that one of His acolytes was involved through an Oldest One as His intermediary.”

“Fair enough.”

Mondo leaves. Becky knows better than to follow. Once she’s outside, Mondo slips into an alley. Her strictest Victorian look: prime and proper, clean and pristine—i.e. völkisch. Her most nefarious vibe: sexually repressed/omnivorous fascist shrew expressed at its extreme vis-a-vis the “dressed” junkie whore [i.e. wdr] downing in the loathing and disdain [i.e. severity personified, the delicious ouch] of a bitter forty-something divorcee and worse a bitter fifty-something spinster librarian and worst a rode-hard-and put-up-wet-too-many-times-to-count psychopath prostitute—i.e. frauengefängnis (women’s prison). Barbed wire doll. Her schoolmarm special.

Sternns. Prudz. Heavy, harsh, unbecoming makeup. Straight hair.

A lush, silky, dead-straight, shoulder-draping bouffant minus the China-Doll bangs of a Lady Christina de Souza. Parted down the center so her hard-looking face is not obscured.

Dead straight hair, parted straight down the middle—a greta also Greta also ilsa also Ilsa—long, plain, shoulder-draping, unbecoming, severe.

Dead-strait. The severe, unbecoming hairdo sported by the stereotypical promiscuous lesbian wardens and matrons in those notoriously popular WIP [i.e. women in prison/women in peril] sexploitation and Nazisploitation movies of the 1970’s. Female wardens and their matron cohorts who were always expert practitioners of sadism upon their prison’s hapless female inmates. The preferred hairdo of defilers and Nazi shrews.

Mondo’s dead straight hair yanks back into a frumpy sternka. Her prim junkie hooker guise, her wdr, is complete. Underneath that façade is the always predatory, and thus supremely dangerous, Vampire abomination. Sternka—the other preferred hairdo of defilers and Nazi shrews.

To be forewarned is to be forearmed.

WDR—i.e., Freudian shorthand for woman dominant repressed. The strict Victorian woman of dubious moral virtue, who in a house of ill repute, specializes exclusively in the most extreme sexual eccentricities. Professional fucker. Proficient in debasing, demeaning, and humiliating. An aficionado of the dysfunctional fuck junkie. Practitioner and recipient: Sadism and Masochism—S&M, Bondage and Discipline—B&D, Degradation and humiliation—D&H. Profane. Herself a dysfunctional fuck junkie. Strict, whorish disciplinarian. Severe harlot of pain, agony, and despair. Bondage fornicator for-hire. Velvet tipper. Her severe haute couture begs the question: Is she a dollymop or isn’t she? In modern parlance, a dominatrix.

WDR. With the option of Doll Parts in place of thong panties underneath her skirt. For the severest expression of D-mop. Or Doll Parts worn with her latex panties, under not over—the way a she-male, a hermaphrodite, wears their junk shoved in their rubber thong. For the kinkiest expression of D-mop.

To the square—i.e., the uninitiated. The severe Girl Friday looks completely out of place in the filthy, sordid, degenerate world of the homeless that she descends into partaking. In this case, looks are deceiving.

To the hipster—i.e., those in the know. She’s a paid [as in, for hire] walking advertisement for brutalization, bondage, and debasement, that goes both ways—i.e., kidnap me for an hour for a mere twenty dollars and subject me to your deranged abuses, defile me you’ve paid for that right, otherwise I will defile you kidnapping and subjecting you to deranged abuses of my twisted invention for free!

A Vampire—all natural, not “enhanced”—i.e. she’s had no plastic surgery (aka breast implants). Being Lost, and thus blessed with double-D’s there’s need for her to “go under the knife” and get those fetching boobies biggerized, except in the minds and opinions of the most breast-obsessed for whom there’s no such thing as a pair being too big.

Walking over to her rendezvous? Why all this mucking about—i.e. walking when teleportation is a practical option?

Coming right on the heels of the public reveal of practical teleportation came the expected restrictions which staved off the economic and social disruption and eventual collapse that would have ensued unchecked teleportation usage. In essence, it’s as if teleportation isn’t an option, practical or otherwise. This is, after all, a protected world.