Cold Fury

Harshing your mellow since 9/01

End stage

PC eats itself.

Scarlett Johansson is the latest target of the social-justice warrior mob. The actress is being chastised for, well, acting.

She has been cast in a movie in which she will play someone different than herself. For this great crime — which seems to essentially define the career path she has chosen—she is being castigated for being insufficiently sensitive to the transgender community.

Johansson is set to play a transgender man in an upcoming film, “Rub and Tug,” a film based on the true story of transgender massage parlor owner Dante “Tex” Gill. The announcement quickly garnered a reaction.

Trace Lysette, a transgender actress who plays Shea on “Transparent” took to Twitter: “And not only do you play us and steal our narrative and our opportunity but you pat yourselves on the back with trophies and accolades for mimicking what we have lived… so twisted. I’m so done.”

A New York Times story on the fallout described the online backlash as being “led by transgender actors, who argued that such casting decisions take opportunities away from members of marginalized communities.”

I SO eagerly look forward to evenhanded enforcement of this New Rule: gay actors must not ever again portray straight characters from now on; the end of the modern trend of remaking classic movies and TV shows with black actors in place of the original white ones (like, say, the execrable Wild, Wild West remake with Will Smith); precious, twee “reimaginings” of Shakespeare with modern settings, costume, and alterations to the language of the Bard must also cease; in fact, in keeping with the original productions, no females should be allowed to act in any Shakespeare presentation at all.

This is similar to the longstanding liberal assertion that majority-black districts can only be fairly represented in Congress by black representatives, that majority-black cities must have black mayors, etc. Which is just hogwash.

In the bigger picture, what we’re witnessing now is political correctness—liberalism itself, actually—reaching its end stage and collapsing under the weight of its own juvenile unworkability. As it must; Leftist dogma contradicts itself eighteen times before lunch every day. It’s failed miserably each and every time it’s been tried—unless it’s propped up by a bigger, stronger outside influence, such as the USSR with its satellites, or Western Europe with the US—and it’s going to go right on doing that. It can’t do anything else.

And when the inevitability of the Left’s failure becomes undeniable, you get the kind of blue-on-blue backbiting we’re seeing now. It’s delightful to watch; as Insty is fond of saying, you’d have to have a heart of stone not to laugh.

I gotta mention this part, too:

Editor’s note: This column was published by Business Insider before being removed from the website for violating “editorial standards.” The Daily Beast reported that staffers complained about the column. It appears here exactly as originally published.

Hats off to the Weekly Standard for rescuing the article from the BI’s cowardly attempt at burying it. BI’s editors prattle on in their explanation:

In an email to editors on Monday obtained by The Daily Beast, global editor-in-chief Nich Carlson announced that BI would create an internally available list of employees who had “volunteered to talk about culture and identity issues” to other staff. Further, Carlson also announced that “culturally sensitive columns, analysis, and opinion pieces” would now be reviewed by the company’s executive editors before publication.

“Editors should make sure we are not publishing shallow, ‘hot takes,’ but instead, fully thought-out arguments that reflect and respect the opposing view,” Carlson said. “There should be no partisan name-calling, e.g. ‘social justice warriors,’ ‘libtards,’ or ‘rednecks.’ Opinion and arguments should feel reported and researched, and not like quick reactions.”

Uh huh. I’m not familiar enough with them to know, but I can’t help but wonder if these guys ever employ the standard lib-prop maneuver of referring to every single conservative—be he ever so milquetoast—as “right-wing,” “extremist,” or “radical,” while any and every Leftist is a “moderate,” “centrist,” or “pragmatic”?

Pull the other one, guys, it plays a little tune.

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The science law is settled!

Susan Collins is an idiot.

WASHINGTON (AP) — Republican Sen. Susan Collins, a key vote on President Donald Trump’s pick for the Supreme Court, said Sunday she would oppose any nominee she believed would overturn the landmark Roe v. Wade decision that legalized abortion.

The White House is focusing on five to seven potential candidates to fill the vacancy of retiring Justice Anthony Kennedy, a swing vote on the court. The Maine senator said she would only back a judge who would show respect for settled law such as the 45-year-old Roe decision, which has long been anathema to conservatives.

“I would not support a nominee who demonstrated hostility to Roe v. Wade because that would mean to me that their judicial philosophy did not include a respect for established decisions, established law,” Collins said.

Oh, absolutely. Which is why Dred Scott, Plessy, and a whole slew of others are actually still in effect. Right, genius?

Such a judge, she said, “would not be acceptable to me because that would indicate an activist agenda.”

Yeah, that would surely be a dangerous thing all right. Why, next thing you know, such an “activist” judge might be creating rights never mentioned in the Constitution at all, just making stuff up to suit the passions of the day. Y’know, like…Roe V Wade.

As with Arizona and McCain, the people of Maine who keep sending this nimrod back to Congress again and again have one hell of a lot to answer for. Bill’s response is the only reasonable one.

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All too happy to oblige

Gonna need some brain bleach over here, stat!

Thursday’s The View started off with an astounding nearly 10-minute-long meltdown over Justice Kennedy’s retirement from the Supreme Court, and the second chance for President Trump to appoint a judge for the highest court of the land, during his first two years in office. Liberal Whoopi Goldberg and Joy Behar were the most upset about the news with Whoopi angrily attacking host Meghan McCain, Republicans and Christians for potentially challenging Roe v Wade.

It was then Whoopi’s turn to rage that abortion rights we’re going to be “taken away” from Republicans who “don’t care” about women’s rights:

I don’t like hearing, again, that I’m trying to take your rights away. I have to tell you, as a woman, I think you’re trying to take my rights away. Okay? You don’t care.

Well, you got that bit right, at least.

And as a person, who believes in the constitution which tells me that I have the right to be myself and do the things I want to do,

Pretty sure that bit ain’t in there, actually. But then, the constitution you claim to “love” and “believe in” bears no resemblance to the one the Founders established anyway. You shitlibs have practically made a full-time career out of finding things in there that ain’t, while denying or ignoring the things that are.

and I don’t have to listen to what your religion is, and I don’t have to listen to what you want it to be I have to make sure that as an American citizen, I’m doing the right stuff and taking care of business.

I don’t like this line that I, as a Democrat, or an independent or whatever is trying to take away anything from you.

Except my liberty, my right to self-determination, my 2A rights, my freedom of speech, my right to be left alone, my right to hold conservative views free from harassment and assault and to have them respected, my right to elect a president of my own choosing without having the election overturned, my right to dissent from Left orthodoxy without enduring your scorn and derision, and one hell of a lot of others—yeah, you don’t want to take away a damned thing, do ya?

I’m trying to hold onto my personal rights so that you can have the rights you want. See? Because if you take mine, I feel like you’re the one with the problem. If you take my right away from me, to judge what I do for my family and my body

“Family”? WHAT family? You killed it a-borning in an abortion mill.

I got a little problem with that. You got a problem. You don’t want people to take your guns?

Slight but crucial distinction here: it’s not so much that we “don’t want” you to take our guns; we AREN’T GOING TO ALLOW liberal fascists like you to take our guns. There’s a difference, see. Another difference: my right to own guns is actually, y’know, quite specifically and clearly enshrined in the Constitution, supported by every single damned word every one of the Founders ever uttered on the topic both before and after it was written. Your “right” to heartlessly murder innocent unborn children because you consider them an inconvenience…umm, well, isn’t.

Get out of my behind! Get out of my vagina! Get out!

And there it is. Whoopi, I absolutely, categorically assure you that there ain’t enough money and/or booze on this planet to induce me to be anywhere near your vagina at any time, for even a moment. Full stop, end of story.

An aside: please understand something here, folks. Speaking strictly for myself, I do NOT support a blanket ban on abortion, everywhere and in all circumstances, and I doubt I ever will. I have no idea how many of us out there DO, honestly. There are instances—regrettable, tragic ones to be sure—where abortion is necessary, the lesser of two evils. Threat to the life of the mother would be one; it happened to some close friends of mine, in fact, and was an awful, shattering thing for all involved. I myself would say that cases of rape or incest might be another; I just can’t see forcing someone to bear a child produced by such severe trauma and violation against her wishes, myself. But YMMV, and probably does.

What most of us are arguing for, and have been from the start, is the return of such decisions to their proper Constitutional realm: the states. The above-mentioned are deep, highly personal matters, of great consequence to those involved, and as such are best handled by those closest to the situation and immediately affected by it. Which is, y’know, the exact reason the Constitution says what it says, and does what it does. The Founders knew all this, and agreed with it, and did their level best to restrict the ability of an overlarge, meddlesome federal government to botch things up with one-size-fits-all edicts from Mordor On The Potomac, just as they in their prescient wisdom knew it would.

This is why Roe V Wade was such a self-evident, ass-backwards screwup. By manufacturing a nonexistent “right” to unfettered, limitless abortion-on-demand, Roe stood the Constitution on its head, magicking the foundational principles behind it into their exact opposite. The incredible irony here is that with their insistence on a phony “living Constitution,” liberals provided for the eventual destruction of its flimsy, written-in-quicksand “guarantees” and denied themselves the protection, fragile though it may sometimes be, provided by the real one. Their ignorant, underhanded dismissal of a literal interpretation of the Constitution weakened it, just as they intended. Their establishment of a grotesque federal Superstate in its stead made all of us vulnerable to tyranny in direct consequence.

UNEXPECTED!™

None of which—the Constitution, states’ rights, limited government, respect for the rights of the individual—is what Whoopsie and her ilk are arguing for, which is why they have to lie about our position on abortion and other issues the way they do. In the case at hand specifically, what they really demand is abortion as a means of post-facto contraception—often enough, to be paid for by the tax dollars of people who find abortion morally repugnant, which is itself yet another kettle of stinky, rotting fish. On the larger issues, they’d have been a lot better off to insist not on a boundless federal government empowered to rule at its own whim, but on the greater responsiveness, flexibility, and accountability of the one the Founders set up. It’s kind of remarkable they can’t see it, when you think about it.

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Free trade flimflam

It has never existed on this planet. And it never will.

Generally-speaking, the US has low to zero tariffs on darn near everyone — well, we did until recently. That’s changing, and it’s changing because other nations won’t drop their tariffs.

EU nations generally levy a 10% tariff on US cars. Ours is 2.5%. Explain to me why we should allow that, when the entirety of the EU is considered a first-world nation and needs no special protection.

Canada tariffs a wide variety of agricultural products, from dairy to beef. Some of the tariffs are outright confiscatory, including dairy at more than 200%. Please explain to me how this is “free trade” and why Canada should have zero (or near-zero) tariffs on steel they wish to export into the US — especially when some of it is being diverted from China to evade anti-dumping penalties we leveled against them.

If the G7 is about first-world nations doing business on equal footing, which is it’s claim to fame, then let’s insist that it be exactly that. Those who are unwilling to live up to the rules can get out or be kicked out, but it’s time to quit pussyfooting around and coddling jackasses who think America is their ATM machine to prop up whatever political fetish they have been afflicted with today, whether it be rapefugees or glo-bull-warming.

Know what actually makes free-traders, libertarian ideologues, libtards, and NeverTrump GOPe nitwits alike squeal in horror over this? The possibility that, after so many years of being the world’s whipping boy, America’s willingness to be taken advantage of via the free-trade/tariff grift might at last be coming to an end.

How they can think they’re going to somehow win more votes by being viscerally opposed to Trump’s insistence on putting America first—which is exactly what Karl is getting at in his last line above—is way beyond me.

Update! Schlichter slams the elitist scam.

I keep asking the establishment shills why America has some moral obligation to tolerate foreign countries imposing higher tariffs upon us than we impose upon them. Seems facially unfair, right? So, there’s got to be a really good reason because how can you support our working people facing a higher obstacle to trade than the foreigners do? I’m just wondering what’s wrong with a level playing field. Fair is fair, right? But I never get a good answer.

When your job gets shipped to Oaxaca so somebody who looks like Mitt Romney can import the products you used to make back into the USA, don’t look to the elite to care. Care? They’ll applaud.

They are seeking to ensure their own gravy train doesn’t get derailed. This is why they tell you, in between informing you how stupid you are, that there are only a few tariffs out there and they don’t matter. Well, they sure as heck don’t matter to these think tank jockeys and media scribblers. They are not the guys getting up at 4 a.m. to milk the cows or to harvest the soybeans the tariffs target. They’ve never worked on a vehicle assembly line in their lives, so what’s it matter to them if Germany’s tariff on US cars is four times ours to theirs? Of course, the tariffs on US products don’t matter to the elite. They aren’t the guys who lose their jobs when their company picks up and moves to Vietnam.

I don’t like tariffs. I’d tear them all down, everywhere, just like Trump proposed. But the elite isn’t for that. It’s only against tariffs we impose to retaliate for the tariffs the foreigners impose.

Pretty much, yeah. But as I said above and Kurt provides examples of, it ain’t just the tariffs they’re against here. It’s the oh-so-gauche notion of putting America first that really frosts their nuts.

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Desaparicido

Hey, remember when this sort of thing happened mainly in Third World commie dictatorships? Oh wait

The arrest of British free speech activist Tommy Robinson has sent shockwaves across the Anglosphere. The United Kingdom, once dedicated to the values of freedom, has taken a path toward authoritarian government and away from freedom. The once great nation, which created the Magna Carta and once commanded an empire, is now the land of tyranny. Unless the British people love their freedom enough and fight this injustice in fierce fashion, it will remain a land silenced by intimidation and fear.

Robinson, a former member of the English Defense League whose real name is Stephen Yaxley-Lennon, is being unfairly persecuted by the U.K. government.  Robinson’s “crime” was that he yelled questions outside Leeds Crown Court and named the alleged defendants, like any other reporter. So what? The state broadcaster, the BBC, and the mainstream media had already named them. Why was he arrested, and why were they not arrested?

If gangs of white men had spent decades torturing and raping little Muslim girls and a justly outraged Muslim reporter were covering the case, in a similar manner as Robinson, would he be arrested?

We all know that the answer is “no,” and we know why. The U.K. is so invested in its politically correct multiculturalism diversity project that it has applied a different treatment of Muslims under the law, which accepts the diversity of legal systems and places the country on a path toward ruin.

Americans should be highly concerned over this case, because the same type of “hate speech laws” used against British citizens are currently being advocated in the U.S. Senate, by Marco Rubio (R), Kamala Harris (D), Susan Collins (R), and Dianne Feinstein (D) and a long list of others. Hillary Clinton pushed the same laws in 2012 and 2015 and 2017. Three similar unconstitutional laws aimed at our First Amendment rights were advanced in our Congress, after being drafted by Emgage USA and the Muslim Public Affairs Council, two Islamic organizations and defenders of designated terrorist organizations and their supporters, according to the Investigative Project on Terrorism. The passage of any such anti-freedom of speech bill would place our country on Britain’s same ruinous path.

I only wish I could say I find any of that surprising. With just this one grotesque crime against liberty and decency, the Brits have moved themselves from “pitiable” right into the “despicable” column. There could not be a more revolting statement than the one the British government has just made with this outrage: that they much prefer tolerating and protecting Muslim child-rape gangs to safeguarding freedom of speech. But I can’t say I’m much surprised by that either; as noted, we have no shortage of Moonbat Lefties (and gutless RINO sellouts, sadly enough) right here in the States who feel the same way about it.

The very idea of “hate speech” laws is an abomination which of right ought to be intolerable in even a half-free country. Once-Great Britain is well and truly finished; it will soon begin to live up to its “Old Blighty” nickname in ways its benighted subjects never imagined. I don’t pity them; they deserve their ignoble fate, having earned it many times over. But there’s a small, guttering spark yet flickering in some of them:

In a land that once could proudly state, “The sun never sets on the British Empire,” the torch of freedom has been extinguished. It’s a land divided by diversity that has now descended into the darkness of tyranny.

If the globalists in both American parties and the U.S. State Department have their way, America will be next.

Tommy Robinson represents a large segment of Britain’s people, with over 500,000 signatures on a petition already to “Free Tommy.” The people sent a clear message on Saturday, May 26, 2018, that they have had enough, as thousands of British people stopped traffic, chanted, and pressed the gates of 10 Downing Street and threw bottles at machine gun-toting policemen. Their anger hung thick in the air, because they want Robinson, at the very least, to be released from prison and allowed to get back to his life and enjoy the same protection and human rights and dignity as Anjem Choudary, the terrorist-supporter, was afforded by the authorities. Short of this, the summer in Britain will turn out to be a season of riots and civil strife, awaiting the spark that moves the good and decent Brits – of a long ancestry dating to 1066 and William the Conqueror – to fight furiously to make their land free once more.

Well, possibly, I guess, and I wish those folks well. But I have little expectation of any such thing, and none at all that it might be successful. They can anticipate neither succor nor sympathy from these shores; we face a grim enough struggle ourselves, with victory by no means assured.

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When the personal is political

Another big backfire for the annoying harridans of the Left.

The press says Mr. Trump is pushing the battle of the national anthem because it plays to his base. I suppose it does. But here’s what galls even non-Trumpians about this kneeling kerfuffle: We live in a world soaking in partisan politics. Then one day you wake up ready to relax with NFL Sunday, and you discover that “The Star-Spangled Banner” has become totally politicized. Any normal person, including liberals who won’t admit it, would have a three-word reaction to this spectacle, and the first two words begin with “w” and “t.”

So what else is new? Today, if someone has a grievance or beef, first thing they do is look for something to attach it to—the anthem, the Pledge of Allegiance, 19th-century American fiction, Mom’s apple pie—anything that will draw the world’s attention, meaning the attention of the viral plague called social media.

I got an email this week from San Francisco flogging “Artists Get Political Ahead of Midterms.” How? By embedding political messages in everyday objects, such as bus kiosks, hand towels, bedspreads and toilets.

Then, even now, the people who voted for Hillary still claim to be shocked and stunned that an electorate beaten down by the politicization of everything in life voted for the guy who makes a mockery of all that.

They don’t get it. They never will. They’re so accustomed to people lying down and taking their abuse without demur, they really can’t get it. What they need to do is calm down, lighten up, and get a life like the rest of us. But they’re so obssessed with controlling us all, so convinced of their own righteousness and superiority, that they can’t do that either.

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Calling it by its name

The Permanent Bipartisan Fusion Party.

As it happens, the leaders of the PBFP sat for a group portrait the other day. The occasion was the funeral of former First Lady Barbara Bush, wife of George Herbert Walker “Poppy” Bush and mother of George Walker Bush, American presidents 41 and 43, respectively. Also in the photograph was the man who beat Poppy, William Jefferson Blythe III, more commonly known as Bill Clinton; and Barack Hussein Obama II, also known as Barry Soetoro, the man who succeeded George W. Bush. And their wives, of course, including Hillary Rodham Clinton, former senator from New York, former secretary of state in the Obama Administration, and the defeated candidate in the 2016 presidential election.

But the man who defeated Hillary—Donald J. Trump, the 45th president of the United States—was nowhere to be seen. The Bush family, which bears him no love after his demolition of heir-apparent Jeb in the 2016 Republican primaries, had made it clear that Trump would not be welcome in Houston. And so the Trump family was represented by First Lady Melania, while the president stayed behind in Washington under the fig leaf of protocol (presidents don’t normally attend first ladies’ funerals) and not wishing to “disrupt” the event.

The picture is less evocative of a group portrait of past presidents as it is of a family, in this case the Kennedys, with Poppy sitting in for old Joe, the crippled paterfamilias, surrounded by the offspring who went on to wreak so much havoc upon the American body politic. For, like some Biblical genealogy, Bush I begat Clinton who begat Bush II, who would have begotten Clinton II were in not for Obama, who might have begotten either Clinton II redux or Bush III (Jeb!) were it not for Trump.

If it all sounds rather incestuous, that’s because it is.

No wonder Trump was not invited. The racket was proceeding quite nicely until he came along.

That they hate him ought to be reason enough all by itself for any true, red-blooded American to get behind him.

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Mogadishu, Minnesota

I couldn’t improve on their title, so I swiped it.

When it was noted that the carry-on bags of multiple airline passengers traveling from Minneapolis to Somalia contained millions of dollars in cash, on a regular basis, law enforcement was naturally curious to know where the money came from and where it was going. It soon emerged that millions of taxpayer dollars, and possibly much more, had been stolen through a massive scam of Minnesota’s social-services sector, specifically through fraudulent daycare claims. To make matters worse, the money appears to have wound up in areas of Somalia controlled by al-Shabab, the Islamic jihadist group responsible for numerous terrorist outrages.

Starting in the 1990s, the State Department directed thousands of refugees from Somalia’s civil war to Minnesota, which is now home to the largest population of Somalis outside Somalia itself. As the Washington Times noted in 2015, in Minnesota, these refugees “can take advantage of some of America’s most generous welfare and charity programs.” Professor Ahmed Samatar of Macalester College in St. Paul observed, “Minnesota is exceptional in so many ways but it’s the closest thing in the United States to a true social democratic state.” A high-trust, traditionally homogenous community with a deep civil society marked by thrift, industriousness, and openness, Minnesota seemed like the ideal place to locate an indigent Somali population now estimated at 100,000.

Still waiting to hear where the clamor of demand for the importation of all these America-hating Muzz-rat swine is coming from. They have no right to be here, they have no reason to be here, and they provide no benefit to our country by being here. At the very least, they owe us reparations for a couple destroyed Blackhawks and some dead US soldiers.

A September 2015 report of the House Homeland Security Committee task force on combating terrorist and foreign-fighter travel revealed that Minnesota led all states in contributing foreign fighters to ISIS. Reviewing the public cases of 58 Americans who joined or attempted to join ISIS, the task force found that 26 percent of them came from Minnesota. Somali Minnesotans occasionally appear in the headlines as “Minnesota men” who have taken up terrorist jihad. In 2015, ten such Minnesota men were charged with seeking to join ISIS in Syria; six pleaded guilty, and three were convicted in June 2016 (one is presumed dead in Syria).  

Well, I guess you COULD call it a “contribution” of sorts. Just not to Minnesota, or America.

Read the rest of the CJ piece, which is by Powerline’s Scott Johnson, a local Minnesota boy who knows whereof he speaks. It’s just disgusting, start to finish.

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Disgusting, in so many ways

Saw this on the local teewee news earlier, and…well, see for yourself.

RALEIGH, N.C. (WNCN) – The dress code at Kickback Jack’s has some customers a little upset.

“The sign is bogus,” said customer Zaena Graham. “I think it’s a bunch of…rubbish.”

The sign is hanging in the window of HIS FUCKING RESTAURANT, to establish the rules for acceptable dress and conduct that HE FUCKING PREFERS in HIS FUCKING RESTAURANT. You don’t like it, you are perfectly free to go eat somewhere else, you whiny dipshit. Know what really is “bogus”? The fact that you think you have some innate “right” to take issue with this man’s rules IN ANY FASHION WHATSOEVER—and to have attention paid to your whining by sensible people as if said whining was worth the simple chronic halitosis used to expel it, or was deserving of any response other than to chuck you out bodily into oncoming traffic.

The sign posted inside its restaurant lists the dress code and behavior requirements. The list starts off prohibiting negative attitudes, offensive language, and any attire containing profanity.

“In a family atmosphere other than just a sports bar, I think profanity should be restricted in any public place,” said John Baucom, a customer.

“The first part sounded OK, but it just got, to me, more discriminatory,” said Laurie Washington, who was eating at the restaurant with her husband, Thomas Washington.

The dress code goes on to say no low-hanging pants or shorts, no plain white T-shirts, and no excessively baggy attire.

Laurie and Thomas Washington believe it has a racial undertone and is offensive to them.

“That’s typically, younger African-American type attire,” said Laurie Washington.

So, if I don’t want to look at the crack of some thug-life teenage twerp’s ass while I eat—white OR black—or have the disgusting sight of his underwear exposed by having his pants down around his knees inflicted on me during dinner out, that’s RACIST!™ now, is it?

Well, allow me to share my specific thoughts on all that: FUCK YOU, IDIOT BITCH. You, and everybody else who “thinks” like you. Word to the clueless: it’s called UNDERwear for a fucking REASON. And just because you and yours think you have a “right” to do anything you damned well please, up to and including being patently offensive to civilized people possessed of a sense of decency and decorum you so clearly lack, does NOT mean that you actually and in fact do. You do NOT.

If feeling that way about this spurious complaint makes me a racist, then fine, I’m a motherfucking racist then. What else you got?

Baucom said not having the policy could be offensive to others.

You’re gott-damned right about that, buddy.

“The way they wear their pants and exposing certain parts of skin or whatever, I think that should be a manager’s discretion as far as offensive to other people,” he said.

And in a free country, it certainly would be. But when anti-smoking Nazis did away with the right of restaurant and bar owners to have a smoking and non-smoking section in their own joints if they so chose, this stopped being the case. So expect a lawsuit from these gibbering retards forthwith—and expect Kickback Jack’s to lose.

Myself, I’m considering walking around from now on with my pants around my knees too…commando-style, no underwear at all. Because I gots myself a RIGHT to walk around enjoying the free feeling of my junk swinging in the breeze, yo, and to hell with you if you don’t like it. Wonder what the reaction to that might be, eh?

O brave new world, that has such assholes in it. The great thing, though, is that the more idiots like this cry RACISM! over such self-evident tommyrot, the more they reduce the sting of the word, thereby undermining their own idiocy and removing one more arrow from their quiver.

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A female cuck?

You don’t concede the Left’s premises. Not ever, not even once, not for any reason.

Speaking of silly women inviting snakes into the fold, let’s address a recent essay published by National Review, titled “Conservatives Are Wrong to Dismiss Feminism.” It is written by one Sarah Quinlan, a woman who, we are told is a “front-page contributor to RedState.” This is intended as a credential, when in fact, it is rather more like calling someone a former lead engineer for the Hindenburg. But one supposes it was the best the likes of Ms. Quinlan could do under the circumstances.

One of Quinlan’s unlisted associations, however, is her sometime affiliation with one of the sadder outings in NeverTrump history, the so-called Buckley Club, an infected little pimple of an organization that knew so little of its namesake that it once mistook one of Buckley’s favorite phrases—“immanentizing the eschaton”—for a conspiracy theorist slogan.

Holt goes on to dismantle Quinlan’s convoluted mess of an argument pretty thoroughly, culminating in this stinging closer:

I’m sure she’ll get around to making a mockery of her other conservative principles in time, but we needn’t waste any more exertion waiting on her to do it.

At best, Quinlan’s piece is a vapid extended emotivist wail in search of a shoulder and a pint of vanilla ice cream to dash itself against. At worst, it is a hostile ultimatum that the Right must trade Trump for Teen Vogue, and transform William F. Buckley into William F. Becky-with-the-good-hair so that it can attract the votes of women whose character validates the assumptions of every misogynist who ever lived. Either way, it deserves to be rejected in the strongest possible terms.

And so, I will do just that. Conservatism needs feminism like National Review needed Sarah Quinlan’s byline: only as a tool for suicide. NRO’s brand needs to be hospitalized and any dangerous objects need to be taken away from the editors after this. As for True Conservatism (™), after the publication of this article, it will need a rape kit, which, unlike the thousands that Quinlan complains remain untouched, we have been obliged to process.

Ouch. Better put some ice on that, sweetie.

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Drop dead

McStain slams Palin.

As death flutters around the back-yard deck of Senator John McCain, it’s sad to read reports that the scrappy Sandcutter regrets picking Governor Sarah Palin as his vice presidential running mate and wishes he had instead picked Senator Jos. Lieberman. The only person diminished by this kind of talk is Senator McCain himself, and the heroic Arizonan deserves better.

Heroic? Like hell. Back to that in a moment.

At rallies all across red state America, Mrs. Palin outdrew the leader of the ticket by a factor five to one. Her own error was undercutting her populist message with a divisive démarche about “real Americans.” The tragedy is that pro-growth, inclusive, capitalism was waiting for both of them to embrace. Mrs. Palin understands it better than many in the GOP, including Mr. McCain.

This became increasingly evident after the Republican defeat. Mrs. Palin understood energy better than any leading Republican. She was the only Republican prepared to reach out to organized labor (she herself, like Ronald Reagan, had once carried a union card). Most importantly, by our lights, Mrs. Palin was the first Republican to breach for monetary reform.

Mrs. Palin showed character in reacting to the reports of Mr. McCain’s regrets. She said the reports felt like “a perpetual gut punch.” And of the senator’s complaint, she said: “That’s not what Sen. McCain has told me all these years.” So far as we can tell, she’s never said an ill-word about the man who lifted her to glory, however fleeting. She’s always called Mr. McCain the hero that he is.

“Lifted her to glory,” is it? The only time—the ONLY time—McCain led in the 2008 polls was in the wake of choosing Palin as his running mate:

In the general election, facing Democratic nominee, Senator Barack Obama of Illinois, McCain was trailing during most of the season, only gaining a lead in national polls for a period after the Palin announcement and the 2008 Republican National Convention.

After announcing Palin as the presumptive vice-presidential nominee, the McCain campaign received US$7 million in contributions in a single day. According to a Washington Post/ABC News survey published on September 9, 2008, he had gained huge support among white women voters since the announcement; he had not only surpassed Obama in white women voters, but also amassed a lead of five percentage points in the Gallup polls. John Zogby found that the effects of Palin’s selection were helping the McCain ticket since “She has high favorability numbers, and has unified the Republican Party.”

Who was lifting whom again, now? McCain lost the election not because of Palin, but because of McCain. His mushy-moderate positions; his legendary treachery, arrogance, and viciousness; his failure to recognize that decades of sucking up to the liberal media would never buy the “Maverick” a thing from them when running against any Democrat Socialist, much less Obama; most of all, his ill-advised blunder in “suspending” his campaign to deal legislatively with the “financial crisis.”

As for his “hero” status—well, sorry, but I ain’t quite buying that one either.

You may like heroes who weren’t shot down, but that doesn’t make them traitors or torture “songbirds.” In the case of John McCain, this particular myth is long-since debunked. When McCain was running for president, a group opposed to him sent out a flyer with this exact charge. They called him a “Hanoi Hilton songbird.” Far from accurate, McCain was not only uncooperative, he endured great pain and hardship on behalf of his country and his fellow prisoners, resulting in injuries that have lasted a lifetime.

Indeed he did endure great pain and hardship…and then, by his own admission, he broke.

Sen. McCAIN: I wrote a confession. I was guilty of war crimes against the Vietnamese people. I intentionally bombed women and children.
WALLACE: And you did it because you were being tortured and you’d reached the end of the line?
Sen. McCAIN: Yes. But I should have gone further. I should have — I never believed that I would — that I would break, and I did.

For the earlier part of his military career, Juanny Mav did arguably serve honorably, if not ably: he was a lousy pilot whose negligent hotdogging caused two crashes (which he lied about afterwards), followed by the more notorious aboard-ship incident for which he was never officially blamed. On the other hand, in the incident for which he won the DFC and in which he was shot down, he showed great courage and determination.

But we still have the small matter of treason before us, which Bill states flatly:

Guess what? There is no “torture exception” to the definition of treason, among which is “giving aid and comfort to the enemy in time of war.”

McCain is a traitor, no matter what Ed Driscoll or the cuck foofs at PJM may think about it.

I’m quite sure I would have behaved much more shamefully under torture than McCain did; it’s surely to his credit that he stood up for as long as he did. But in the end, the matter of treason is pretty cut and dried, and I don’t see any way for McCain to wiggle out from under it. As such, to hail him as a “hero” is a bit much; to wax indignant over the “myth” while using that falsehood to take a gratuitous jab at Trump’s admittedly rude statement is downright indefensible.

John McCain is a right bastard who has betrayed his country, his party, his supposed “conservative” principles, and now his former running mate. His last-ditch slap at her is pure vintage McStain: self-serving, bilious, cruel, and dishonest. Whatever he may or may not have once been, he is a professional politician now—a hack, the original RINO, a backstabbing son of a bitch undeserving of either trust or high regard. Back to the NYSun article for another look at Palin’s characteristically classy last word:

So far as we can tell, she’s never said an ill-word about the man who lifted her to glory, however fleeting. She’s always called Mr. McCain the hero that he is.

You keep using that word. I do not think it means what you think it means.

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Boy/Girl/Whatever Scouts

Anybody hear a death-knell ringing?

IRVING, TX—In a bold move designed to garner praise from the nation’s progressives, the Boy Scouts of America finally admitted girls into their ranks, but were discovered to be hopelessly bigoted upon the revelation that they are still excluding the 49,247 other genders that have been scientifically identified.

The Scouts immediately drew heavy criticism for only allowing one additional gender to join their ranks while ignoring the tens of thousands of other genders who might wish to become a Scout.

“How can they call themselves progressive when they still won’t recognize even basic gender identities like toothpaste and Space Marine?” one progressive leader said in a Huffington Post article slamming the organization for its obvious traditional biases.

“It’s 2018, and a person who identifies as a metronome still can’t join the Boy Scouts. Let that sink in,” she added. “I mean, seriously. Let that kid who thinks he’s a sink join the group for cryin’ out loud.”

And so the Left claims a victory with the wanton destruction of another venerable American institution. Prediction: the Scouts will be a thing of the dimly-remembered past, disbanded entirely and for good, in 5…4…3…2… Hats off to the Babylon Bee though, for doing the very-nearly impossible and successfully parodying the idiots behind this utter nonsense.

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How you got Trump

A blast from the past (July 2016, to be exact) by Dan McLaughlin at NRO.

There’s a lot to digest here, and few people come out of Coppins’ piece looking good; even its author has his own remorse over mocking Trump’s odds of running, as did many of us who had observed his numerous publicity stunt feints in the past. It’s clear that the Romney campaign’s sensible-at-the-time efforts at keeping a safe distance from Trump fed into Trump’s sense of grievance at the GOP, helping egg him on to a campaign aimed at humbling the party and fracturing its voter base. But perhaps the strongest conclusion one can draw from it is that the White House Correspondents’ Dinner should be abolished.

The WHCD was once a sort of icon of well-intentioned false bonhomie, in which the administration and its adversaries in the press would lay down their swords for a night of good-natured ribbing. The president would deliver some self-deprecating humor, sometimes pointedly making light of their own failures: Bill and Hillary Clinton satirizing the “Harry and Louise” ads that sank HillaryCare, George W. Bush doing a mock hunt for missing WMDs. A comedian would come in to roast the President, as Stephen Colbert did to Bush in 2006. True believers and populists hated the way it made light of substance and played into the idea that everybody in DC thinks the whole thing is a game, but there was also a virtue in enforced civility and the Commander-in-Chief eating humble pie for laughs.

IE, it was a self-congratulatory circle-jerk for the guardians of the status quo.

Continue reading “How you got Trump”

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Decivilization

It’s the culture, stupid: its art, its history, its philosophy. Mike Walsh is on it.

My thesis is simple: we can learn more about the nature and practice of politics from, say, The Oresteia or The Aeneid—to give just two examples more than two millennia old—than we can from the Kennedy School of Government at Harvard, and that the visit of Vladimir Horowitz to the Soviet Union in April 1986 (about which I wrote a cover story for Time magazine) did more to hasten the collapse of the USSR five years later than all the white papers and policy statements from the American talking-head establishment wonks of the day.

The new book is more prescriptive—a kind of how-to combat manual of cultural touchstones from which we as inheritors of the Greco-Roman enlightenment can recollect our strengths and moral authority, reject the false equivalences of multiculturalism, accept that Western syncretism (known disparagingly now as “cultural appropriation”) is something profoundly good and beneficial to all cultures, and from which we can draw a renewed vigor in our defense of ourselves.

In Monday’s speech in the beautiful new Visitor Center, I located a signal change in the Western education system that, at the time, looked like an advance: the American reaction to the launch of Sputnik in 1957. Suddenly, America felt it was losing its technological edge over the Soviets so American schoolchildren became acquainted en masse with the wonders and joys of the slide rule and the hard sciences. The effect was immediate: we quickly regained and maintained our advantage over our antagonists, but it came with a price: the downgrading of the importance of the arts as a civilizing and ennobling force in American public (and private) life.

So while the emphasis on tech eventually resulted in the creation of the personal computer and the iPhone, it also reduced the literary and plastic arts from essential elements of nationhood to “entertainments” for the wealthy; triggered the coarsening of society and, worst of all, cut both America and, shortly thereafter, the Western European nations from the wellsprings of their shared patrimony. This may not entirely have been by design, but it was seized upon by the nascent philosophy of the Frankfurt School, which by this time had been transplanted from pre-Nazi Germany to Columbia University in Manhattan and quickly spread throughout the American system of higher education.  

The result? To take just one example, the New York City public school system went from offering a model education in music and the arts to needing police officers in the schools—a reflection of the overall changes in demography, to be sure, but also of the decivilizing effect the loss of a democratized high culture entails. More Mozart, fewer metal detectors…

In The Fiery Angel, I am not arguing that the arts should be politicized—that way lies the corpse of the old Soviet Union (and this is treated at some length in the chapter entitled “The Raft of the Medusa”). Rather, I am saying that the arts both predict and comment upon historical-political developments in ways that no dispassionate analysis can manage. Try this sequence of events on for size:

Beaumarchais–Mozart–The French Revolution–Beethoven–Napoleon.  From Le Marriage de Figarothe play, to Le nozze di Figaro the opera, to the start of the French Revolution and fall of Louis XVI is a span of only five years, and yet in that time the royal edifice was first lampooned, then sexualized, and finally pulled down around the aristocrats’ ears. Those with sensitive antennae—among them Louis XVI himself, who initially forbade public performances of Beaumarchais’ play—could see what was coming. Most could not.

Our Progressivist-run government schools have thoroughly perverted and politicized the history curriculum, “balancing” any notion of American greatness, uniqueness, and benignity (when those notions aren’t excised altogether) with immaterial nonsense like “Washington owned slaves!” and other such irrelevancies, and that’s no accident. It’s resoundingly evident that any lasting reversal of the cultural enervation the Left has deliberately inflicted on us must begin with instilling a proper appreciation for Western civilization, its achievements, and the intellectual and artistic roots of its unprecedented success in young minds.

Continue reading “Decivilization”

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Election projection

Limbaugh is pretty danged confident:

RUSH: This is Marvin Kalb at the National Press Club’s Monday night live The Kalb Report event. He’s a professor at Harvard, and he’s talking with the New York Times White House correspondent Peter Baker about covering the White House under Trump.

KALB: I have been told by many of your colleagues how difficult it is to cover President Trump —

BAKER: Mmmph!

KALB: — that he simply dominates everything in the environment and therefore you get caught up, on any given day, covering the story that he sort of presents to you.

BAKER: He is a remarkable force of nature in a way I’ve never seen. So, in that environment, as you say, to kind of escape that vortex and focus on something of our own, you know, ambition, uhhh, is a challenge.

RUSH: Come on! What kind of dummkopfs do they think we are? These guys, Peter Baker and Marvin Kalb, are actually saying, “There’s all kinds of stuff we want to cover, but we don’t. We can’t! We can’t because Trump is forcing us to cover him. He does so much and he’s in the news so often that we can’t not cover…” It sounds to me like Trump has these guys wrapped around his little finger.

Continue reading “Election projection”

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Blue wave, Red wave, Purple washout

Schlichter analyzes the coming Big Event.

There is a huge opinion schism between conservatives inside the Beltway who think a midterm Democrat tsunami is coming, and many conservatives outside the swamp, in America, who are not so sure. One thing is certain – the gimp box media and the left’s Fredocon enablers are working overtime to psych us out and make defeat a done deal. But nothing is a done deal. We have six months. The Republicans just need to get smart and fight.

Oh. Well, we’re doomed.

First, the bad news. The liberals are angry and motivated and they are clearly going to vote. The big question is whether they are going to manifest in much higher than usual numbers in patriotic districts now held by Republicans instead of merely running up the score in places the like the shooting gallery districts of Chicago or the feces n’ syringe districts of San Francisco that already go 70% Democrat. So those hellholes double the number of voters and go 80% Democrat? Big whoop.

Yes, the Democrats do have a major advantage in the fact that the Republican establishment, especially in Congress, is largely a gaggle of drooling idiots. From Sissy Sasse to Foamy Marco, these fussy failures seem determined to demoralize the base with their tedious moralizing about how “We are better than that” and “Oh, well I never.” The GOP would have no problem if these dorks had just one tenth the will to win as they do the will to posture for the benefit of a liberal media that hates them and that will disembowel them the moment they stop being useful idiots and become merely idiots.

A bunch of Republicans are retiring, but then a lot of them are squishes who frankly don’t fit with the GOP base anymore. The base now demands results, which make congressing a lot less fun than it used to be.

Actually, I’m a lot less concerned with results than I am that the RepubliQuislings just show fight. The handful of them that aren’t deceitful Deep State collaborators in threadbare mufti, that is. Deep down, Kurt knows this too:

Paul Ryan is leaving too; luckily for the GOP, Nancy Pelosi is not. Ryan’s departure may or may not have to do with him not wanting to be held responsible for November, and it’s a mixed blessing. One on hand, he’s a prodigious fundraiser, and the GOP is raking in the bucks, which is good. But Ryan seems AWOL on the Doing Something front. Oh, wait, he would really like to get DACA done before he leaves, because nothing excites the Republican base like giving illegal aliens amnesty.

If Ryan was the selfless guy we keep hearing about, he would ditch the speakership now and turn it over to someone who wants to get aggressive and get the base excited. But no, because at heart, what is important to the establishment GOP is maintaining their sinecures. Keeping the country conservative, not so much – conservatism is something you yak about during election year but never actually get around to doing. You know, it’s not who we are or something.

Then there is the Trump factor. First, if you saw his CPAC or other recent speeches, you know he’s totally committed to winning the midterms. The guy is a competitor, and they have not beaten him yet. While the DC/NYC axis has decreed that he’s hated and loathed and hated some more, that’s not exactly showing up in the polls. Rasmussen has him at around 50% approval, and the economy is improving just like he promised. Out here, beyond the Beltway, nobody seems to be abandoning Trump.

I repeat: the polls are bunk. They’ve never been right about Trump even once, so why would anyone pay any heed to them now? But then we come to the truly important part, the part which could motivate even as deeply disgusted a FTGOPer as I am to advocate for a big Repuke win before all is said and done:

The disgraceful violation of basic rights that was the Michael Cohen raid – hey, who needs due process or the attorney-client privilege when you’re #resisting? – showed the base what’s really going on. This is serious stuff – if these creeps retake power, what makes anyone think they will ever let it go again?

So November is more than just a political scuffle. It’s existential. When you have Democrat tech titans squealing over the thought of a “civil war” on Republicans and a leftist cultural campaign designed to drive half of the population out of the public sphere, you know it’s important. We either win in November or the most dire hypotheticals of our country being split apart or even in conflict might well migrate from the “Fiction” stacks to the “Non-Fiction” section.

Sobering thought, that is. I hold out very little hope for the possibility of avoiding such a conflict, but as long as any hope at all remains to us, we ought to be trying hard to make the most we can of it.

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The truth, at last

After having been buried for almost fifty years.

The new film “Chappaquiddick” is, to date, the most brutal and honest account of what happened that night. But it’s also something else: an indictment of our collective hero worship at the altar of Brand Kennedy, which bred so much corrosive entitlement that surviving brother Ted, the family beta male, went home to sleep it off after leaving a loyal young staffer to die alone.

As portrayed by Jason Clarke, the young senator is a venal, self-pitying coward, thoughtless and remorseless, ambition his only care. He treats loyalists and groupies with equal contempt, and as the weekend begins, he toasts them all for “wanting to prove yourselves worthy of…the Kennedy name.”

The film depicts Ted as drinking and driving before his black Oldsmobile 88 flies off a small wooden bridge and into a pond, crash-landing upside down.

According to contemporaneous accounts, the tide was dead low, the water only 5 or 6 feet deep. Both of the passenger-side windows were blown out. Kennedy later testified that Mary Jo might have been hitting or kicking him in her frantic struggle to escape. He claimed to have gone back under for her six or seven times but there is no proof. He was seen at 2:25 a.m. in dry clothes by a hotel desk clerk.

When Mary Jo’s body was recovered the next morning, it appeared that she died not of drowning but suffocation. She likely lived for hours. There she had been, her head and neck jammed at a sharp angle up against the foot board, gasping through a small air pocket. Was she wondering where Kennedy was? Was she convinced he was on the verge of coming back for her? That he had gone to get help?

After all, who would leave someone in this situation alone? Least of all someone who had suffered so much loss so young?

Ted Kennedy passed by nearby lighted homes and the local fire department as he walked back to his inn, away from the pond he’d later claim was deep and at high tide. He slept that night as Mary Jo took her last breaths.

The next morning, Ted refused to appear at the scene when summoned, demanding that the chief of police come down to the station. There, the chief finds Kennedy behind the cop’s own desk, reading a carefully worded statement. He doesn’t mention Mary Jo by her full name because he doesn’t know how to spell “Kopechne.”

Ten hours had passed since the car went in the water.

But Ted’s only concern is that he’ll never be president. Criminal charges don’t concern him, nor does he ever consider he might go to prison. He is, after all, a Kennedy.

Ted flees the island, helps block an autopsy, and attends Mary Jo’s funeral wearing a fake neck brace. For a time, he considers blaming the dead girl and telling the police that she was driving. Instead he blames the bridge, he claims exhaustion, he tells The New York Times he has a concussion and is on sedatives until The Times reporter informs him no doctor would ever give sedatives to someone who’s concussed.

In the end, Ted Kennedy pled to nothing more than leaving the scene of an accident and received a suspended sentence of two months’ jail time. He would never be president, but he spent the rest of his life held in high esteem by the Democratic party. When he died in 2009, Chappaquiddick and Mary Jo Kopechne were barely mentioned. Instead he was canonized by the Senate as its Liberal Lion, a fighter for the poor, the dispossessed and, yes, women.

The Kennedy family consists of unleavened scum almost to a man, and Ted was the scummiest of them all. Incredibly, though, the callous, self-serving negligence that caused Kopechne’s death was only the beginning of a long, storied career of abuse, immorality, criminality, and outright treason, from “waitress sandwiches” to innumerable dirty Senate deals to his clandestine trip to the Soviet Union to plead with Andropov for help in rigging the 1994 election and make him president.

The man was filth, a pustule, utter swine. He was a groteque perversion of the ideal of manhood, bereft of redeeming quality. If he ever committed a truly selfless or altruistic act, I never have heard of it. That his existence as a creature at liberty to indulge his every whim was tolerated by his fellows disgraces the very idea of human decency; that he never for a moment feared a legal reckoning of any kind for his loathsome depredations makes a mockery of any notion of justice and renders the principle of equality before the law a nauseating joke. That he remains a revered, cherished icon for the Democrat Socialist Party, their liberal-media handmaidens (who perpetuated the “Camelot” lie for decades, and still are), and Progressivists generally certifies their depraved iniquity better than any other single thing could.

Every man Jack of those diseased reprobates is well-slimed by the Kennedy sleaze. But Teddy still tops ’em all, and not by just a little bit. It’s great that the real story of Chappaquiddick is out there for mass-audience consumption at last. It’s appalling—and damning—that it only took fifty fucking years before it finally got done.

“The Lion of the Senate” lived far too long, and enjoyed a life spent wallowing in decadence, unearned affluence, privilege, and complete indifference to the harm he did to others without care or consequence far more than was just. If God could forgive him, then He is great indeed. Kennedy can roast in Hell for all eternity without succor or surcease for all me.

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Chickens

Home to roost.

The recent Vanity Fair article detailing the more lurid underbelly of online dating—the barrage of dick pics, the endless swiping, the death of romance—was grim, if not horrific. Dating, Vanity Fair would have you believe, is evolving into an elaborate charade of deception: Everybody is petrified of giving someone the “wrong idea.” Men are impolite to the point of viciousness to ensure that the women they just hooked up with understand they don’t want a relationship. Women “self-objectify” in profile pictures to get men interested, renouncing the “wrong idea” that they might want something more than a one-night stand. No matter which way you spin it, landing yourself in a committed relationship seems to be, by millennial standards, “the wrong idea.”

I want to believe that Vanity Fair selected only their most salacious interviewees to quote, but I know that’s not true. I’ve received my fair share of lewd attention during my online dating tenure to verify: It really is that bad. But I’ve noticed a new strategy among my set of female friends—lovely, intelligent, independent women—to combat the grime of the online dating world: date up.

I don’t mean status, I mean age. More and more women I know are dating men twice, yes twice, their age. In her new film, The Intern, Anne Hathaway stands with Robert DeNiro and a bunch of young male colleagues in a bar and draws a harsh comparison: “How in one generation have men gone from guys like Jack Nicholson and Harrison Ford to…?” She gestures despairingly at the four men in front of her, archetypes of my generation in their hoodies, craft beer in one hand, iPhone in the other, with their untrimmed beards and general lack of ambition. I see what Hathaway means: Why put up with Tinder when there’s a whole generation of men out there who wouldn’t dream of using it?

Poor, poor babies. They denigrate, attack, and degrade masculinity for decades. They declare us all rapists, every last one. They place a premium on weakness, indecisiveness, self-doubt, and “sensitivity.” A confident, self-assured male is a monster, one who evinces any interest in or attraction to the opposite sex a fiend in human shape. He might as well drink a quart of fresh blood in the village square in broad daylight as demonstrate the least little bit of assertiveness.

As Ed says, these shrieking harpies used their talons to carve themselves an effiminate, pussified Pajama Boy-effigy of manhood—then declared him contemptible. Now here they are agonizing over why whatever real men are left out there aren’t clamoring in droves and herds to marry them.

Sympathy: nonexistent. Interest: none whatsoever. Misery: earned. Bed: you made it, so lie in it, you stupid bints. Next time save yourselves a bunch of heartache and frustration and just buy a fucking teddy bear to bitch at, whydon’tcha.

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Damn dirty apes hippies

Shithole.

Years ago, Tom Wolfe published a funny piece dealing with the reappearance during the Summer of Love of diseases never seen in the modern epoch. Wolfe’s overall term for these disorders was, if I recall correctly, “The Crud.” Doctors were unfamiliar with these conditions and in some cases uncertain as to how to treat them. Some of those children of nature ended up with chronic disorders.

This served as a life lesson for the counterculture, most of whom resumed bathing. But now, fifty years later, we – at least those of us in California – are about to receive another such lesson, this one more drastic and widespread.

Over the past year or so, AT readers have derived quite a few laughs over what has come to be called the “s‑‑‑ map,” a map of the neighborhoods of San Francisco in which the streets are inundated with human waste left by the homeless. (Some commentators assumed that the map was intended as a warning to tourists. But in fact, its creator has recently added a comment asserting that it is intended to “bring attention to the issue of homelessness.” Thanks very much.)

Currently unknown in the industrialized West (most doctors have never seen a case), cholera was a filth-based disease caused by human and animal waste and nothing else. Originating in the Ganges delta, cholera spread across the planet until, in the 19th century, it was a standard feature of urban life. Cholera epidemics were chronic, breaking out wherever sewage mixed with drinking water. Cholera was an oddity among diseases in that it often progressed with no visible symptoms. An individual showing no symptoms at all could suddenly collapse at noon and be dead by sundown.

Cholera still exists in the Third World. According to the WHO, the most recent pandemic broke out of South Asia in 1961 and reached the Americas by the 1990s. “Cholera is now endemic in many countries.”

We will also point out that the city of San Francisco is a sanctuary city, or, in the words of the ordinance itself, “a City and County of Refuge.” That is, San Francisco has put out the welcome mat for tens of thousands of third-world illegals. The city has made itself a magnet for refugees from countries with no modern sewage systems and no tradition of personal hygiene – the same countries in which the WHO asserts that cholera has become “endemic.”

So put these two factors together – streets engulfed in human s‑‑‑ and immigrants from countries overrun with infectious diseases – and what do we get?

No more than we—they, rather—deserve. In the Left’s case, for being idiots. In our case, for putting up so long with their…ummm, shit.

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Make it stop!

My God, but the EGO on this douchebag.

Former President Barack Obama and first lady Michelle Obama are negotiating a major production deal with Netflix, The New York Times reported on Thursday night.

The pending deal would bring exclusive content from the Obamas to the streaming site’s 118 million subscribers. It was not immediately clear what types of content they would deliver to the site, but Eric Schultz, a former adviser to the president told the Times: “President and Mrs. Obama have always believed in the power of storytelling to inspire.”

One possible show idea, the newspaper said, could involve Obama discussing topics that were germane to his policies as president — including health care, voting rights, and immigration, The Times said.

Those topics comprise portions of the legislative agenda he exercised during his time in the White House — many of which President Donald Trump has sought to roll back since he took office last year.

May I suggest a title? “Vital Social Issues ‘N’ Stuff, with Barky.” Sure, it’s lifted from Kelly Bundy’s short-lived show on Married With Children. But I’m confident His Majesty’s show will be of comparable quality and worth, if nowhere near as enjoyable to watch.

Despite my expectation that watching the abominable thing will be capable of inflicting actual, physical pain on saner sorts, I’m equally confident that Oshitstain will have a dismaying number of palpitating, worshipful droolcases eager to tune in and lap up his every lecture—his maddening drone falling on their ears like the sweet singing of angels, stimulating them into quivering, weeping near-catatonia. Like, say, this idiot.

It’s easy to look at what’s happening in Washington DC and despair. That’s why I carry a little plastic Obama doll in my purse. I pull him out every now and then to remind myself that the United States had a progressive, African American president until very recently. Some people find this strange, but you have to take comfort where you can find it in Donald Trump’s America.

That was belched forth by some dizzy bint in the course of touting the anticipated (by her) Blue Wave, wherein soothing memories of the earthly rein of her Lord and Savior Obama will inspire millions of normal Americans to vote in favor of re-impoverishing themselves, re-unemploying themselves, re-taxing themselves into penury, and re-subjecting themselves to endless hectoring, harassment, and random violent assault by freaks, illegal aliens, perverts, street bums, criminal thugs, gun-grabbers, Marxists, Antifa fascists, Al Franken, Mexican gangbangers, crooked career politicians, Harvey Weinstein, Muslim rapefugees, duly-deputized shadow minions of the Deep State, and assorted other dysfunctional malcontents, psychopaths, and creepazoids. IE, the Democrat-Socialist constituency en bloc.

And then, when the victims of these reprobates are desirous of the healing balm of diverting entertainment to ease the pain of their financial, spiritual, and physical wounds, they can sit back on the couch, tune in Netflix, and subject themselves to a pantload of sniffy condescension from His Majesty himself reminding them that it’s all their fault because America Sucks That’s Why, and that he’s very disappointed in the way they’ve let him down. Again.

Whatever Obama-licking liberal butt-boy conceived this devil’s deal with the Clown Prince Of Darkness to turn Netflix into O-TV ought to have his ass beat like a drum seven days a week, and twice on Sunday. Hopefully the ratings will handle that chore for us, if only in the figurative sense.

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Cucks gotta cuck

I tire of this shit. I really, really do.

“Study: 90 percent of Americans Strongly Opposed To Each Other.” That’s the headline on a story in what on some days seems America’s most reliable news outlet, the Onion.

We laugh (or at least I did) because it strikes a chord. Americans of many different political outlooks today seem united in believing that we are experiencing the worst times in the nation’s history. Trump detractors talk about a neurotic Nazi establishing a dictatorship. Trump fans talk about a “Deep State” using secret protocols to undermine the voters’ choice.

Both sides have some cause for complaint.

Oh, they do, do they? The Deep State obviously, incontrovertibly exists; the evidence of its ongoing campaign to “undermine the voters’ choice” is voluminous and beyond reasonable debate by now, a matter of public record that even its Leftymedia vanguard openly confesses in its recent reportage. So…mind telling me exactly where we might find “cause” supporting the preposterous and offensive smearing of Trump as a “Nazi establishing a dictatorship,” O Judicious and Even-Handed One?

One of these things is NOT like the other. The alacrity with which NeverTrump cucks like Barone leap to humbly demonstrate their fair-mindedness, their willingness to give “serious” consideration to absurd-on-its-face Leftard horseshit, is how the feeble, docile sheep got themselves Trumped in the first place. They bare their throats for the liberal knife again and again and again, then are shocked—SHOCKED!—by all the blood on the floor. They pointlessly overanalyze and obsess over arcane minutia, their dignified droning and belching drowned out by the baying of the Deep State’s tireless jackals.

And then they profess themselves baffled as to how anyone could be so ill-bred a lout as to prefer a bare-knuckle brawler to their own ineffectual mincing and posturing—to see to it that our antagonists are the ones doing the bleeding, for a refreshing change. You prefer winning to losing genteely? Why, you ruffians! You scalawags! YOU BARBARIANS!

Barone’s larger point admittedly stands, though, along with the Onion’s. The divide is real, deep, and unbridgeable. It’s profound, and it is right that this should be so. The lines are stark and clear, drawn with a scalpel. The struggle between Left totalitarianism and Constitutional governance is one not to be shied from but embraced. It is the noblest of fights, tyranny against liberty, and ought to be embraced with vigor and joy, regarded not as a burden or misfortune but as a privilege and a sacred duty. Mercifully, there remains a valid hope that the struggle will continue to be rhetorical and political and will not descend to actual violence and bloodshed. It is our additional duty to ensure that such a catastrophe never envelops us, by fighting in other arenas with tireless dedication until we prevail.

The Founders knew that this struggle would be ongoing: the price of liberty is eternal vigilance. Our vigilance lapsed for far too long, allowing the Left to steal a march (a Long March—ahem) on us and very nearly wreck our country for good. But with Trump’s election we made an overdue start on stemming the Dismal Tide. The astonishing rapidity with which our economy rebounded bespeaks an unexpected American resilience from which every true American can take heart; the collapse of Progressivism into incoherent folly and hapless flailing about, inevitable as it always was, is another encouraging confirmation.

But one way or another, by nonviolent means or by bloodshed, the struggle will go on. This is by no means a matter for lamentation, reluctance, or dismay. The modern Left’s ideology is antithetical to every principle espoused by the Founders and laid down in the Constitution; their intentions are monstrous, their actions intolerable. Their depraved vision is fundamentally incompatible with liberty, with individualism, with America’s founding ideals. They are implacably, unalterably opposed to those ideals, and will stick at absolutely nothing to see them overthrown.

After years of working clandestinely against it, they have only recently made their hostility to the American ideal public, in the mistaken assumption that the struggle was over and they had won the final round, vanquishing their hated foe for all time. That premature victory lap was an error that will haunt them for a long time to come, and may yet prove to be fatal. The repudiation dealt them by The Trumpening stupefied and deeply depressed them, sure enough. But nobody should be expecting them to give up just yet. They will fight on. They will never stop. They still intend to win.

And this we cannot allow. The boot must stay on their necks. This year’s midterm elections need to be another painful round for them, a defeat so unmistakeable and bitter it takes their breath away—one after which their excuse-making and blame-shifting is so transparently pathetic it can only be laughed aloud at by sane people. This is one case where kicking a man when he’s down is definitely called for.

There is liberty, or there is not. Liberty cannot compromise with tyranny; it can only succumb to it. A binary solution set confronts us: victory, or defeat. There are no other paths, and no other options.

Bring. It. On. And let the cucks fall where they may.

Update! This. This right here.

There is precious little, if not nothing, that average citizens can do to act against the Deep State actors who have foisted the staggeringly disgraceful Russiagate witch-and-scavenger hunt upon the American people. However, the Democratic Party, and concomitantly, the Leftist “mainstream” media, can and must be made to pay. The ballot box is the only way to deliver the payback.

Obviously, I’m not addressing the undeniable aspect of Russian interference. Who didn’t know that? I’m talking about delivering a sound ideological and electoral shellacking to every politician, every unhinged Leftist comedian, and every newsmedia personality that has hung a partisan hat on the ridiculous notion that Mr. Trump colluded with Vladimir Putin to circumvent Hillary Clinton’s election and secure the Oval Office.

It is in the hands of the country’s voters now, Republicans, independents, and concerned, open-minded Democrats, to send an incontrovertible message about corruption and real collusion in the upcoming midterm election.

Recipients of the grassroots reprimand should include ultimate RINOs like Robert Mueller, James Comey, and Rod Rosenstein. Nevermind that certain high-stakes players may be card-carrying members (in Comey’s case, formerly) of the GOP. If one core truth about this debacle can be told, from the very beginning it has been about acting on behalf of Hillary Clinton, President Obama, and the Deep State. Whoever has been instrumental in promulgating this attempt to stage a silent coup against a duly elected president must pay a price — if not legally, at least in terms of a severe upbraid from members of the freedom-loving, fair-minded citizenry.

What about the media — as Sean Hannity puts it, the “destroy Trump” media? There is only one way to make them pay. Make them choke down another catastrophe. Make them accountable for the fake news they’ve disseminated. Make them have to again sit in their beltway media centers and pontificate about how democracy dies in darkness, about how deplorable the American people are, and about how, if we only wait until 2020, the next change they’ve been waiting for will occur, and the presidential election they have been untruthfully attempting to scuttle will finally end.

Let the President Trump-aligned 2018 Red Wave begin.

From his lips to God’s ears. How can anyone not relish the prospect of Leftymedia spending another election night reduced to inconsolable televised weeping? Of all the sad-faced actors and actresses holding up selfies with their heart-rending cardboard-sign cris de coeur, despair all over them like a bad rash? Of network-news-show anchors left completely unable to even speak, robbed of their ability to express their soul-destroying anguish? Of a forced outburst of weeping, wailing, and gnashing of teeth from the Ruling Class entire inflicted on them by the Deplorable Dirt People?

THAT’S entertainment, folks.

For their own part, NeverTrumpTard Clown-Car Cucks better wake up at last lest they be left choking on Trump’s dust, unpitied sacrifices in a contemptible struggle, linked forever in the public mind with the hopeless Lefty losers whose ragged coattails they so stubbornly clutched, riding all the way down with them into flaming ruin.

Again, I mean.

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Can’t parody them anymore

You truly, truly can’t. On the other hand, why go to the trouble? They’re doing such a bang-up job of it themselves.

Pink pussyhats are being dropped from Women’s March because they ‘exclude trans women and women whose private parts are not pink’

No really, you guys. It would appear, incredible as it may seem to sane people, that these barking moonbats are in fact serious as hell about this. And that they expect to be taken seriously, by actually serious non-lunatics. Steyn, as you would no doubt expect, is having himself one hell of a good old time with it:

Three years ago I wrote:

I can’t recall ever describing The Vagina Monologues as ‘edgy’. But I did tell Joseph Brean that I was amused to see that its annual ‘V Day’ production at Mount Holyoke College has been canceled because of its ‘extremely narrow perspective on what it means to be a woman’. Hence, this Guardian headline: ‘Vagina Monologues playwright: “I never said a woman is someone with a vagina”.’ As I said to Mr Brean, the revolution devours its own: Less than 20 years after Eve Ensler ’empowered’ women by ‘reclaiming’ their vaginas, it seems a woman doesn’t need a vagina at all, and it’s totally cisgenderism to suggest you’re not a woman if you’re hung like a horse.

As is my wont, I was playing it for laughs – but, as I always say, none of the people who matter in our society are laughing. Hence, the Bathroom Wars of the subsequent years, in which the position of what used to be known to Common Law as the Reasonable Man (now presumably the Reasonable Cisman) is apparently (as I put it on Rush): What sort of woman would be offended by the sight of another woman’s penis?

Henry Ford said you could get a Model T in any color as long as it’s black, but you really can get a Volvo in any color. Whoops, sorry, I mean a vulva. In the Civil Rights era, millions marched so that Americans might be judged not by the color of their faces but by the color of their vulvas. If only the apartheid regime in South Africa had thought to issue their citizenry with vulva-colored hats. Hallelujah!

Unfortunately, the Women’s March in Pensacola is having no truck with celebrating divulvaversity, as they explained in a post helpfully labeled…

Trigger Warning and Content Warning for comments: Transphobia, Cissexism, Racism, mention of Sexual Assault, Genital Mutilation, Misogyny and Trans-Misogyny.

They’re not kidding:

The Pink P*ssy Hat reinforces the notion that woman = vagina and vagina = woman, and both of these are incorrect.

Exactly. These days it’s entirely random. You never know what you’re getting into. As I noted a couple of years back, since the two sexes became multiple genders, and “transsexuals” became “transgenders”, and “sex change” became “gender fluidity,” some 60 per cent of transgender persons now retain their original genitalia. For example, my compatriot Gabrielle Tremblay won a Canadian Screen Award for Best Supporting Actress for a film in which she showed her penis.

“Her penis”: See how easy it is to get with the program?

Steyn goes on to posit a darker side to this hilarity: namely, that the fact we’re even lending an ear to such lunatic-fringe nonsense at all signals a tremendous victory for the cultural Marxists. To wit:

The cult-Marxists have remade almost everything in society, and detaching the sex organs from the sexes is the final decisive victory: Once “the notion that woman = vagina and vagina = woman” is up for grabs, there really isn’t anything left to demolish.

A fair enough assertion, I guess, in and of itself. I suppose Steyn’s serious reflection here calls for some at least slightly serious analysis from me too, much as I do hate to interrupt the pointing and laughing to do it. So here goes.

I can’t see this “decisive victory” as anything but Pyrrhic in the long run; it can’t help but rebound against the shriekers severely, and that right soon too. Normal, ordinary Americans not in dire need of psychiatric help will go along with demented thrashing about of the “pussyhat” sort only so far. Especially when it’s accompanied by rabid denunciations of their own more traditional values and standards, coming eventually to be seen as part of an attempt to destroy them.

Which, y’know, it is. Normals have proven themselves by now to be happy enough to leave people on society’s fringes alone to sort out their own issues, as bizarre as some of those issues might be. Much as “liberal” blacks, gay men, lesbians, LGBTXQ39whatthefuckevers, “feminists,” and other melodrama queens like to posture and whine as if there had been no loosening whatsoever of various late-19th-century cultural restrictions, modern American reality is something entirely different.

Ordinary Americans, despite pockets of resistance here and there over the years, are in the main possessed of a forbearance, flexibility, and open-mindedness that speaks quite well of them indeed—especially when compared with, say, the virulent prejudice against blacks still rampant in parts of Asia, or the inflexible hostility to homosexuals or women’s rights in the Muslim world.

But our homegrown nutjobs very scrupulously avoid taking notice of any of that. They are no longer content with mere forbearance, either, having moved on instead to hurling their sundry pathologies in everybody else’s teeth and haranguing Normals with accusations of a “bigotry” and “oppression” that simply do not exist. That mulish, dull-witted, juvenile lack of perspective will only serve to curtail said forbearance with a quickness, likely to be replaced with something that will suit the freaks one whole hell of a lot less.

Amusing Irony Alert: people who lament Trump’s “boorishness” and lack of “decorum” marching around DC in broad daylight…wearing “pussyhats.”

And an aside: Call me an old-fashioned old stick-in-the-mud of an old grouchy old codger if you will. Call me unworldly, call me unsophisticated, call me a hick from the sticks, a rube. Call me delicate, or fussy, or overly fastidious and prim. Call me naive, even, although I assure you you’d be wrong on that one. I’ve been a lot of places, and I’ve seen a lot of things. I’ve skirted danger-close to being what some might consider a libertine myself, at various times and in various ways. I have, in fact, been there and done that. To a much greater extent than most, if I do say so myself.

But one thing I never once imagined seeing, not in a million years I didn’t, was a pussyhat. A hat. Shaped to resemble a pussy—explicitly, no sly subtlety or coyness in design or construction at all, leaving absolutely no room for misinterpretation. Nary a wink, nary a nudge in sight. Worn in full public view, not at a porn industry convention or a NYC Gay Pride parade, not as a tasteless joke of an off-color costume at an adult Halloween party, but in the streets of the nation’s capital. As a political statement, a petition for the redress of grievances as our hallowed Founders put it. By people who expected to be taken seriously rather than made sport of as would be due and proper, or chased off into the night by someone possessed of too much politesse to endure such a breach of etiquette without taking direct action.

Pussyhats. I mean, seriously, you guys.

I still hold that, when you think about it, this endlessly escalating tomfoolery all comes back to the same thing: the hysteric desperation these headcases feel over Trump’s election and his solid progress in keeping his bargain with the American people since he took office. The resultant anguish has driven almost the entirety of the American Left right past the edge of eccentricity or neurosis into genuine madness. The rejection of their disastrous program was a spark that ignited a shrieking, frothing overreaction which I doubt very much they can control or even moderate, no matter how destructive to their ambitions—and to themselves, personally—it will turn out to be.

It’s almost frightening to think about what the response to their coming 2018 shellacking will be. But if things continue along more or less as they have been, it’s almost certain we’re going to find out. And then we’re going to see what that gets them.

My bet? I predicted before he was even elected that there would be more assassination attempts against Trump than any president in history. After the midterms, if the shellacking I anticipate comes to pass and Left whackadoodles find themselves soundly thumped once again (UNEXPECTED!™), look for those to start in earnest, as an even more penetrating despair and hopelessness settles in deep at the ol’ Ha Ha Hotel and the more, umm, proactive inmates figure they have nothing left to lose.

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Happy New Year piss-soaked nightmare!

Yeah, yeah, I know I’m probably going to Hell for finding this story so gut-bustingly hilarious.

But still.

Standing on your feet for hours during the freezing cold, not having a single sip of water because there’s no restroom to relieve yourself, and being crushed on all sides by strangers sounds hellish — but some 2 million people do it willingly every year.

Indeed, there are no port-a-potties, and local businesses turn away revelers in need, as Jeryl Lippe learned the hard way.

When the 22-year-old from Mahwah, NJ, hit Times Square with her boyfriend, Gabriel, four years ago, she smuggled in vodka in a water bottle. (Alcohol, along with large bags and umbrellas, is forbidden; plus, Lippe was underage.) She didn’t eat anything other than a breakfast bagel, and didn’t have her illicit drink until the end of the day. But, “by the time it was turning midnight, I had drunk a lot and was desperate to go to the bathroom,” said the junior social-media editor. “I tried to find someplace to go — hotels, restaurants,” she said, but she was denied.

One of the more unpleasant realities of life in NYC is that there are just about NO public toilets, male, female, or 37 Flavors Of Diverse Undecided. Other than the ones in the subway, that is, most of which aren’t exactly…welllll, let’s just say you’re way better off just pissing in the street. Which, late in the night after the bars have closed, is exactly what a lot of desperate folks, filled to the ears with booze and their back teeth afloat, end up doing.

Yes, me too. Plenty of times, in fact.

A telling aside: in Little Richard’s autobiography, he waxes rhapsodic about his days hanging out in the Times Square subway stop men’s room trolling for prospective blowjob recipients. It’s a testament to his encompassing kinkiness (legendary among older rock and rollers, by the way; Richard, bless his perverted little heart, was way beyond either gay or straight, long before anybody even thought of the term “omnisexual”) that it comes off as one of the tamer stories in the book.

It’s also as good a reason as anyone not within reach of Richard’s exalted level of buck-wild should ever need for resolving to stay out of the place at all costs. Perhaps even worse yet, that was back in the tamer, politer, and supposedly sexually-repressed (yeah, right) 50s. I very much doubt environmental conditions have improved in there since.

Alvarado recalled how one of his friends gave up and urinated in the street, adding, “I’ve heard stories of people who wear [adult] diapers.”

Yeah uh huh, no. I assure you most sincerely: NOT. It ain’t worth it. I have no intention of putting on adult diapers until I absolutely must, thank you very much. And once I do, I’ll be in them for good. I damned sure ain’t gonna make that depressing capitulation in order to see a ball drop after long, long hours of being squeezed in cheek by jowl amongst a bunch of yahoos freely pissing themselves and each other the whole while. The smell alone would be disincentive enough for me.

In all the time I’ve spent over the years in NYC, both as resident and visitor, I was never once even tempted to do the Times Square NYE thing. Part of the reason for that is probably the time I went to Herald Square for the Thanksgiving Day parade back in the 80’s. It wasn’t as hellish as the Post story makes NYE sound—barely—but it was certainly bad enough: packed in like sardines, freezing-ass cold, and hardly even able to catch more than a glimpse of the parade over the heads of my fellow victims. Afterwards, as the great mass of humanity started to try to edge out of the mob any way they could, it took about an hour to get to the subway station a half a block away.

It was bad enough, in fact, that when I was living there years later my girlfriend’s older sister, who was a Macy’s exec with a bit of clout, offered us much-coveted seats in the grandstand for the parade one year. We turned her down politely, firmly, and without a moment’s hesitation.

I have never once rued that decision.

I was much younger and more adventurous back then, too. Nowadays, I don’t usually stay up til midnight on New Years’ at all, and can’t even be bothered to watch any of the New Years’ Eve TV specials when I do. For years, the band would be playing every New Years’ Eve, since on that night even a half-assed, lower-tier outfit can expect to make three or four times as much as they would any other day of the year. On the rare occasions we weren’t playing that night, a quiet evening at home seemed like just the thing—something of a vacation, almost. It’s a tradition I’m happy to go on upholding, for as long as I last.

Happy New Years? Bah. Humbug.

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Turnabout!

All that bitchslapping over the Moore debacle has seemingly gotten the treacherous old Deep State rat scurrying for a hole.

Senate Majority Leader Mitch McConnell has made no secret of his dislike of President Trump’s daily tweeting habit.

McConnell said on Friday he’s changing his mind, at least over the most recent string of tweets from the White House, which have touted the GOP’s recently-passed tax cut bill and other Republican legislative accomplishments.

“With regard to the presidents tweeting habit, I haven’t been a fan until this week,” McConnell said. “I‘m warming up to the tweets actually.”

Uh huh. Those dismal popularity numbers in his home state have nothing to do with it, I’m sure.

(Also via Insty)

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Drop dead

Democrat Socialist abuser of women John Conyers runs for a hidey-hole.



Guess the Democrat Socialist Men Behind The Curtain decided it would be better to give this reprobate the bum’s rush off Stage Left right quick, before he does any more damage. Al “Fish Lips” Franken, too, is reportedly considering seeking “help” as a useful deflection, as are Weinstein and Spacey.

Problem is, though, these serial shitheads don’t NEED therapy. They knew perfectly well that what they were doing was wrong; they suffered no confusion whatever about that, as is evidenced by their trying to keep their grubby indecencies under wraps and well-hidden all along. No, the real problem is that they fully expected to get away with it.

And considering the usual protective circling of the liberal wagons around at least the politicians among ’em that we’re seeing, one can only conclude that their assumption of invulnerability is correct. For now, anyway. We’ll see if their brazen strategy works out as they expect it to in the long term. One thing is certain: any self-respecting woman who would even dream of voting for a member of this filthy party after these revelations is a damned fool.

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"America is at that awkward stage. It's too late to work within the system, but too early to shoot the bastards." – Claire Wolfe, 101 Things to Do 'Til the Revolution

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