The laws that govern the state are called the Ohio Revised Code, or the ORC. Make of that what you will.
The laws that govern the state are called the Ohio Revised Code, or the ORC. Make of that what you will.
Noticing the pain, he decided to stop.
Let's stop. This is Ohio, after all. We have the written word. Court compliance still binds us.
Staring at his wrist-watch, he feigned annoyance towards the people watching him. He knew his time wasn't particularly valuable, but he also knew the time of the people watching him was invaluable, so the more he wasted, the higher his stock would rise.
Our donors have asked to an accurate demonstration, and I would like to tell them the truth. How close are we to complete compliance?
A nervous psychiatric shuffled around a bit, subconsciously fidgeting to make sure the back of his collared-shirt was still tucked into his pants. They always did that, the psychiatrists. Fucking masters of Minds, they fancied themselves, when they were actually just puffy white liberals uncomfortable buying a correctly-sized shirt without the advice of the first girl in college with a side-shave who would suck their dick.
Well, sir, true and total compliance appears to be routine and reliable. As with everything in life, we can never assume complete subject conformance to protocol, but in day-to-day usage, 95% adherence...
He fidgeted with his Swiss made wrist watch once more.
Patek Phillipe.
It was important to him, letting the absurdly well-paid psychiatrists know he wore on his wrist what they made in a quarter.
Perhaps he could kill three birds with one stone... Testing subject compliance... Proving to the psychiatrists his absurd level of power... And... Helping his son win the high school poetry contest...
Have the subject write us a Poem, doesn't need to be great, just good enough to draw adequate attention. Perhaps something vain, about the sort of problems high schoolers have.
He fidgeted with his watch one last time, still having no idea what it actually read. He wasn't paid by the hour...
You can do that, right?
The pudgy psychiatrist looked at him, blinking like a nervous retard.
But we never tested the subject for poe-...
Silence! Do as I ask, and all will suffice.
He looked down upon the chained man, and tossed him a pen.
He either writes the poem, or we are on to the next subject...
Noticing the pain, he decided to stop.
>Let's stop. This is Ohio, after all. We have the written word. Court compliance still binds us.
Staring at his wrist-watch, he feigned annoyance towards the people watching him. He knew his time wasn't particularly valuable, but he also knew the time of the people watching him was invaluable, so the more he wasted, the higher his stock would rise.
>Our donors have asked to an accurate demonstration, and I would like to tell them the truth. How close are we to complete compliance?
A nervous psychiatric shuffled around a bit, subconsciously fidgeting to make sure the back of his collared-shirt was still tucked into his pants. They always did that, the psychiatrists. Fucking masters of Minds, they fancied themselves, when they were actually just puffy white liberals uncomfortable buying a correctly-sized shirt without the advice of the first girl in college with a side-shave who would suck their dick.
>Well, sir, true and total compliance appears to be routine and reliable. As with everything in life, we can never assume complete subject conformance to protocol, but in day-to-day usage, 95% adherence...
He fidgeted with his Swiss made wrist watch once more.
Patek Phillipe.
It was important to him, letting the absurdly well-paid psychiatrists know he wore on his wrist what they made in a quarter.
Perhaps he could kill three birds with one stone...
Testing subject compliance...
Proving to the psychiatrists his absurd level of power...
And...
Helping his son win the high school poetry contest...
>Have the subject write us a Poem, doesn't need to be great, just good enough to draw adequate attention. Perhaps something vain, about the sort of problems high schoolers have.
He fidgeted with his watch one last time, still having no idea what it actually read. He wasn't paid by the hour...
>You can do that, right?
The pudgy psychiatrist looked at him, blinking like a nervous retard.
>But we never tested the subject for poe-...
>Silence! Do as I ask, and all will suffice.
He looked down upon the chained man, and tossed him a pen.
>He either writes the poem, or we are on to the next subject...
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