• ostate.org (english, to be i18ed)
• FreeNationFoundation (english)
• Piratenpartei Deutschland (german)
• Menschheit.org (german)

• Politblog (german)
• Telepolis (german/english)
• Infowars (english)
• Infokrieg (german)

The air breezed all around his body. Though, every open slit slightly cold air streamed through his clothing. The airspeed almost cut his breath. Although he was amazed and exited finding himself in this position, his consciousness created a certain rejection dealing with the impossible imagination of instant death a few seconds away from him.

It wasn't planned, he didn't end up here on purpose, but he had always been that kind of person which was rather content with a situation he could not at all control than getting into this whole panic attitude.

It was not his kind of behavior unless he thought this - of course - was not his kinda situation. He preferred a long good Cuban cigar at his favorite bar underneath his favorite apartment, not the sudden falling from great heights towards certain death for no obvious reason. Anyway, he knew that there was something awfully wrong with this whole kind of situation, he just could not scrabble it out.

But in those cases, he remembered his dad telling him that "if you can't change my son, celebrate it". So, he was getting ready to celebrate. And actually there was still one of those fine Cuban cigars in his pocket. Unfortunately he was unable to find his lighter.

The fact he was not aware of was that it was his lighter who was solely responsible for his kind of situation. The lighter plotted the whole evening with his owner noticing nothing at all to get in touch with the young sexy barmaid. So, he decided in a desperate move to transfer his owner to a - lets say - higher position where he was out of the way.

Unfortunately the lighter was, unlike his expectations, not the right kind of guy. She just smiled when he sat down right at the bar where she was cleaning.