"Bread And Circuses" Star Trek
Original Airdate: Mar 15, 1968
(from internet transcript)
KIRK: Are you a slave, Flavius?
FLAVIUS: You are barbarians indeed not to know of Flavius Maximus. For seven years, I was the most successful gladiator in this province.
"Bread And Circuses" Star Trek
Original Airdate: Mar 15, 1968
MASTER: Fight, you two. You bring this network's ratings down, Flavius, and we'll do a special on you.
by me, Kerry Burgess, 08/12/2025 8:06 PM
My guess is retardoid's such as Sam Altman are Useful Fools for an actual *real* artificial-intelligence
Not that gimmicky ridiculous "A.I." that chumps such as Sam Altman and Elon Musk are peddling, of which greedy-corporations such as Microsoft insist on getting their own piece of the pie from you gullible rubes.
https://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Sam_Altman
Sam Altman
From Wikipedia
Samuel Harris Altman (born April 22, 1985) is an American entrepreneur, investor, and chief executive officer of OpenAI since 2019 (he was briefly dismissed but reinstated in November 2023). He is considered one of the leading figures of the AI boom.
by me, Kerry Burgess, posted by me: JANUARY 07, 2015
You Should Know (better)
I wonder if he pays someone to watch this stuff. Because you know *he* isn't watching it. Can you imagine some kind of out-of-touch-old-guy sitting around on the couch at 8 PM at night watching CBS broadcast television?
by me, Kerry Burgess, 10/16/2024 11:10 PM
A few days ago, discovered that Amazon Prime Video offered a discounted price on the recent version of Stephen King's "The Stand" novel
Tonight, beginning about 9:47 PM, decided to watch episode 1
Created more work for me here at this desk
05/23/2014. Tried to make my new apartment feel more like a home, something I haven't come close to experiencing since that house in South Carolina I had a mortgage on back in the 1990s. Don't care about that place. My new sofa arrived on 05/23/2014. Didn't work.
Everything started for me after I woke up on 05/10/2006. The day before, watching the local live-tv news at 6 PM, I made a note about a guy standing in view of the Seattle Space Needle with a canvas and painting a picture
From 6/14/1946 ( Donald J. Trump ) To 7/29/2001 ( premiere USA film "The Princess Diaries" ) is 20134 days
From 11/2/1965 ( my known birth date in Antlers, Oklahoma, USA, as Kerry Wayne Burgess ) To 12/17/2020 ( ) is 20134 days
From 5/23/2014 ( ) To 12/17/2020 ( ) is 2400 days
2400 = 1200 + 1200
From 11/2/1965 ( my known birth date in Antlers, Oklahoma, USA, as Kerry Wayne Burgess ) To 2/14/1969 ( premiere USA TV series episode "Star Trek"::"Requiem for Methuselah" ) is 1200 days
From 1/7/2015 ( ) To 12/17/2020 ( ) is 2171 days
From 11/2/1965 ( my known birth date in Antlers, Oklahoma, USA, as Kerry Wayne Burgess ) To 10/13/1971 ( IPO of Intel Corporation ) is 2171 days
From 4/22/1985 ( Sam Altman ) To 12/17/2020 ( ) is 13023 days
From 11/2/1965 ( my known birth date in Antlers, Oklahoma, USA, as Kerry Wayne Burgess ) To 6/29/2001 ( ) is 13023 days
https://www.imdb.com/title/tt9721666/
IMDb
The Stand
S1.E1
The End
Episode aired Dec 17, 2020
A deadly man-made virus, "Captain Trips", ravages the world's population.
The Stand - complete edition, by Stephen King
(from internet transcript)
excerpt, Chapter 22
The elevator hummed efficiently, marking off the floors. An alarm began to hoot—mournfully, as if it somehow knew it was warning of a situation which had already become a lost cause—when he used his special key to open it at the top, so he could enter the motor-pool area. Starkey imagined Len Creighton watching him on a succession of monitors as he first picked out a jeep and then drove it across the desert floor of the sprawling test site and through a gate marked HIGH SECURITY ZONE NO ADMITTANCE WITHOUT SPECIAL CLEARANCE. The checkpoints looked like turnpike tollbooths. They were still manned, but the soldiers behind the yellowish glass were dead and rapidly mummifying in the dry desert heat. The booths were bulletproof, but they hadn’t been germproof. Their glazed and sunken eyes stared vacantly at Starkey as he motored past, the only moving thing along the tangle of dirt roads among the Quonset huts and low cinderblock buildings.
He stopped outside a squat blockhouse with a sign reading ABSOLUTELY NO ADMITTANCE WITHOUT A-1-A CLEARANCE on the door. He used one key to get in, and another to summon the elevator. A guard, dead as a doornail and stiff as a poker, stared at him from the glass-encased security station to the left of the elevator doors. When the elevator arrived and the doors opened, Starkey stepped in quickly. He seemed to feel the gaze of the dead guard on him, a small weight of eyes like two dusty stones.
The elevator sank so rapidly his stomach turned over. A bell dinged softly when it came to a halt. The doors slid open, and the sweet odor of decay hit him like a soft slap. It wasn’t too strong because the air purifiers were still working, but not even the purifiers could dispose of that smell completely. When a man has died, he wants you to know about it, Starkey thought.
There were almost a dozen bodies sprawled in front of the elevator. Starkey minced among them, not wanting to tread on a decaying, waxy hand or trip over an outstretched leg. That might make him scream, and he most definitely didn’t want to do that. You didn’t want to scream in a tomb because the sound of it might drive you mad, and that’s exactly where he was: in a tomb. It looked like a well-financed scientific research project, but what it really was now was a tomb.
The elevator doors slid shut behind him; there was a hum as it began to go up automatically. It wouldn’t come down again unless somebody else keyed it, Starkey knew; as soon as the installation’s integrity had been breached, the computers had switched all the elevators to the general containment program. Why were these poor men and women lying here? Obviously they had been hoping the computers would fuck up the switch-over to the emergency procedures. Why not? It even had a certain logic. Everything else had fucked up.
IMDb
A.I. Artificial Intelligence
Quotes
[first lines]
Narrator: [narrating, with ocean waves crashing together] Those were the years after the ice caps had melted... because of the greenhouse gases, and the oceans had risen drown so many cities... along all the shorelines of the world. Amsterdam, Venice, New York - Forever lost. Millions of people were displaced. Climates became chaotic. Hundreds of millions of people starved in poorer countries. Elsewhere a high degree of prosperity survived... when most governments in the developed world... introduced legal sanctions to strictly license pregnancies, which was why robots, who were never hungry and did not consume resources beyond those of their first manufacture, were so essential an economic link... in the chain mail of society.
IMDb
Jaws (1975)
Quotes
Quint: Anyway... we delivered the bomb.
The Stand - complete edition, by Stephen King
(from internet transcript)
excerpt, Chapter 29
Stuart Redman was waiting for Elder. He had been waiting for three days—and this evening Elder did not disappoint him.
At just past noon on the twenty-fourth, Elder and two male nurses had come and taken away the television. The nurses had removed it while Elder stood by, holding his revolver (neatly wrapped in a Baggie) on Stu. But by then Stu hadn’t wanted or needed the TV - it was just putting out a lot of confused shit anyway. All he had to do was stand at his barred window and look out at the town on the river below. Like the man on the record said, “You don’t need a weatherman to know which way the wind blows.”
The Stand - complete edition, by Stephen King
(from internet transcript)
excerpt, Chapter 17
Remember that, Starkey thought as his caller began to beep urgently behind him. The sound of burning bearings in the final stages of collapse is ronk-ronk-ronk.
He went to the caller and pushed the button that snapped off the beeper. “Yes, Len.”
“Billy, I’ve got an urgent from one of our teams in a town called Sipe Springs, Texas. Almost four hundred miles from Arnette. They say they have to talk to you; it’s a command decision.”
“What is it, Len?” he asked calmly. He had taken over sixteen “downers” in the last ten hours, and was, generally speaking, feeling fine. Not a sign of a ronk.
“Press.”
"Oh Jesus," Starkey said mildly. "Patch them through."
There was a muffled roar of static with a voice talking unintelligibly behind it.
"Wait a minute," Len said.
The static slowly cleared.
" - Lion, Team Lion, do you read, Blue Base? Can you read? One two three four this is Team Lion - "
"I’ve got you, Team Lion," Starkey said. "This is Blue Base One."
"Problem is coded Flowerpot in the Contingency Book," the tinny voice said. "Repeat, Flowerpot."
"I know what the fuck Flowerpot is," Starkey said. “What’s the situation?”
The tinny voice coming from Sipe Springs talked uninterrupted for almost five minutes. The situation itself was unimportant, Starkey thought, because the computer had informed him two days ago that just this sort of situation (in some shape or form) was apt to occur before the end of June. 88% probability. The specifics didn’t matter. If it had two legs and belt-loops, it was a pair of pants. Never mind the color.
A doctor in Sipe Springs had made some good guesses, and a pair of reporters for a Houston daily had linked what was happening in Sipe Springs with what had already happened in Arnette, Verona, Commerce City, and a town called Polliston, Kansas. Those were the towns where the problem had gotten so bad so fast that the army had been sent in to quarantine. The computer had a list of twenty-five other towns in ten states where traces of Blue were beginning to show up.
The Sipe Springs situation wasn’t important because it wasn’t unique. They’d had their chance at unique in Arnette—well, maybe—and flubbed it. What was important was that the “situation” was finally going to see print on something besides yellow military flimsy; was, anyway, unless Starkey took steps. He hadn’t decided whether to do that or not. But when the tinny voice stopped talking, Starkey realized that he had made the decision after all. He had perhaps made it as long as twenty years ago.
It came down to what was important. And what was important wasn’t the fact of the disease; it wasn’t the fact that Atlanta’s integrity had somehow been breached and they were going to have to switch the whole preventative operation to much less satisfactory facilities in Stovington, Vermont; it wasn’t the fact that Blue spread in such sneaky common-cold disguise.
“What is important—”
“Say again, Blue Base One,” the voice said anxiously. “We did not copy.”
https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=u7OJXBBOF3M
"Joey, do you like movies about gladiators?" | Airplane | CLIP
Boxoffice Movie Scenes
From 12/17/2020 ( premiere CBS adaption of Stephen King's "The Stand" ) To 9/10/2025 ( ) is 1728 days
1728 = 864 + 864
From 11/2/1965 ( my known birth date in Antlers, Oklahoma, USA, as Kerry Wayne Burgess ) To 3/15/1968 ( premiere USA TV series episode "Star Trek"::"Bread and Circuses" ) is 864 days
From 8/3/1945 ( US Navy Captain Charles McVay was rescued from the Pacific Ocean ) To 6/11/2005 ( for me personally as Kerry Burgess: Downtown Emergency Service Center - Seattle homeless shelter ) is 21862 days
From 11/2/1965 ( my known birth date in Antlers, Oklahoma, USA, as Kerry Wayne Burgess ) To 9/10/2025 ( ) is 21862 days
From 6/8/2006 ( ) To 9/10/2025 ( ) is 7034 days
7034 = 3517 + 3517
From 11/2/1965 ( my known birth date in Antlers, Oklahoma, USA, as Kerry Wayne Burgess ) To 6/20/1975 ( premiere USA film "Jaws" ) is 3517 days
From 10/15/1860 ( from internet: 11-year-old Grace Bedell writes to Abraham Lincoln telling him to grow a beard ) To 7/2/1980 ( 7/2/1980 ( premiere USA film "Airplane!" ) is 43724 days
43724 = 21862 + 21862
From 11/2/1965 ( my known birth date in Antlers, Oklahoma, USA, as Kerry Wayne Burgess ) To 9/10/2025 ( ) is 21862 days
The Stand - complete edition, by Stephen King
(from internet transcript)
excerpt, Chapter 17
Going southeast out of Sipe Springs, if you get on US 36, you are headed in the general direction of Houston, a day’s drive away. The car burning up the road was a three-year-old Pontiac Bonneville, doing eighty, and when it came over the rise and saw the nondescript Ford blocking the road, there was nearly an accident.
The driver, a thirty-six-year-old stringer for a large Houston daily, tromped on the power brake and the tires began to screech, the Pontiac’s nose first dipping down toward the road and then beginning to break to the left.
“Holy Gawd!” the photographer in the shotgun seat cried. He dropped his camera to the floor and began to scramble his seat belt across his middle.
The driver let up on the brake, skirted the Ford on the shoulder, and then felt his left wheels start to drag in the soft dirt. He matted the gas pedal and the Bonneville responded with more traction, dragging back onto the blacktop. Blue smoke squirted from beneath the tires. The radio blared on and on:
Baby, can you dig your man,
He’s a righteous man,
Baby, can you dig your man?
He tromped the brake again, and the Bonneville slued to a stop in the middle of the hot and deserted afternoon. He drew in a ragged, terrified breath and then coughed it out in a series of bursts. He began to be angry. He threw the Pontiac into reverse and backed toward the Ford and the two men standing behind it.
“Listen,” the photographer said nervously. He was fat and hadn’t been in a fight since the ninth grade. “Listen, maybe we just better—”
He was thrown forward with a grunt as the stringer brought the Pontiac to another screeching halt, threw the transmission lever into park with one hard thrust of his hand, and got out.
He began to walk toward the two young men behind the Ford, his hands doubled into fists.
“All right, motherfuckers!” he shouted. “You almost got us fucking killed and I want—”
He had been in the service, four years in the army. Volunteer. He had just time to identify the rifles as the new M-3A’s when they brought them up from below the rear deck of the Ford. He stood shocked in the hot Texas sunshine and made water in his pants.
He began to scream and in his mind he was turning to run back to the Bonneville but his feet never moved. They opened up on him, and slugs blew out his chest and groin. As he dropped to his knees, holding both hands out mutely for mercy, a slug struck him an inch over his left eye and tore off the top of his head.
The photographer, who had been twisted over the back seat, found it impossible to comprehend exactly what had happened until the two young men stepped over the stringer’s body and began to walk toward him, rifles raised.
He slid across the Pontiac’s seat, warm bubbles of saliva collecting at the corners of his mouth. The keys were still in the ignition. He turned the car on and screamed out just as they began shooting. He felt the car lurch to the right as if a giant had kicked the left rear, and the wheel began to shimmy wildly in his hands. The photographer bounced up and down as the Bonneville pogoed up the road on the flat tire. A second later the giant kicked the other side of the car. The shimmy got worse. Sparks flew off the blacktop. The photographer was whining. The Pontiac’s rear tires shimmied and flapped like black rags. The two young men ran back to their Ford, whose serial number was listed among the multitude in the Army Vehicles division at the Pentagon, and one of them drove it around in a tight, swaying circle. The nose bounced wildly as it came off the shoulder and drove over the body of the stringer. The sergeant in the passenger seat sprayed a startled sneeze onto the windshield.
Ahead of them, the Pontiac washing-machined along on its two flat rear tires, the nose bouncing up and down. Behind the wheel the fat photographer had begun to weep at the sight of the dark Ford growing in the rearview mirror. He had the accelerator pressed to the floor but the Pontiac would do no more than forty and it was all over the road. On the radio Larry Underwood had been replaced by Madonna. Madonna was asserting that she was a material girl.
The Ford swung around the Bonneville and for one second of crystal hope the photographer thought it was going to keep right on going, to just disappear over the desolate horizon and let him alone.
Then it pulled back in, and the Pontiac’s wildly jittering nose caught its mudguard. There was a scream of pulling metal. The photographer’s head flew forward into the wheel and blood sprayed from his nose.
Throwing terrified, creaky-necked glances back over his shoulder, he slid across the warm plastic seat as if it were grease and got out on the passenger’s side. He ran down the shoulder. There was a barbed wire fence and he leaped over it, sailing up and up like a blimp, and he thought: I’m going to make it, I can run forever —
He fell down on the other side with his leg caught in the barbs. Screaming at the sky, he was still trying to free his pants and dimpled white flesh when the two young men came down the shoulder with their guns in their hands.
Why, he tried to ask them, but all that came out of him was a low and helpless squawk and then his brains exited the back of his head.
There was no published report of disease or any other trouble in Sipe Springs, Texas, that day.
- by me, Kerry Wayne Burgess, posted by me: 10:22 AM Pacific-timezone USA Thursday 09/11/2025
