What goes around comes around

Or: Karma is a brass-plated bitch.

Maricopa woman finds tires slashed and a severed finger in her driveway

Right off the bat, you know this is gonna be good.

A couple in Maricopa woke up to their tires slashed and a severed finger in the driveway on Thursday morning.

“I literally have been laughing all day because if I don’t, I might cry,” said Francesca Wikoff.

I confess, I’m already giggling a bit over here myself.

The truck belongs to the Wikoff family. Wikoff, a former volunteer firefighter and EMT, has the stomach for this sort of thing. “It’s pretty comical. You would think that if you’re gonna go to the hospital, especially if you just severed your finger off, that you would take said finger with you,” said Wikoff.

Wikoff believes the tire slasher cut her back tire then cut his finger off on accident. “We assume it happened at 10:30 last night because we had our neighbor that lives next to him heard a loud scream and then a car speeding off,” said Wikoff.

The Maricopa mother believes the finger belongs to her neighbor because they argued with him the night before and a trail of blood leads to his house.

“Pretty comical” doesn’t even BEGIN to cover it, Miz W. Be sure to click on over for her closing quip, which is a doozy.

Some SCIENCE!™ you can believe in

Another one of those too-long-open-tab items, so I can’t recall who I should offer credit for it. But I’m confident you’ll agree it was worth the delay.

AN FAQ ABOUT YOUR NEW BIRTH CONTROL: THE MUSIC OF RUSH

What’s in it?
Every woman deserves to know exactly what’s in her birth control. Rush is a Canadian progressive rock power trio whose golden era is generally considered to be from 1975 to 1982. Thankfully, for your long-term family planning strategy, the band has an extensive discography that spans from 1974 to 2012.

The music of Rush is marked by erratic signature changes, unconventional chord structures, heavy use of synthesizers and electronic effects, and, most importantly, lead vocals that sound like an ancient witch is being exorcised out of your body with live wires. In less clinical terms, imagine taking the most annoying parts of science fiction and Libertarianism, isolating them, and then somehow blending them up into a cursed musical slurry. Then, infuse that slurry with a distinctive incel vibe, and presto! You’ve got one of the most powerful contraception options on the market.

How effective is it?
No one has ever gotten pregnant while listening to the music of Rush. Clinical studies show that when combined with watching a male sexual partner play air bass along to the extended solo in “Freewill,” the contraceptive efficacy of Rush approaches 100%.

Will I experience any discomfort?
Yes.

How does it work?
The music of Rush is a tri-modal contraceptive, meaning it acts on three biological systems — endocrine, reproductive, and psychological. Together, this system is known as “Surge, Purge, and Loss of Urge.”

Surge: When a woman hears the ill-considered, stereotypical East-Asian riff at the beginning of “A Passage to Bangkok,” her pituitary gland floods the system with the hormone disgustagen. You’re familiar with this naturally-occurring hormone as it’s released by your body when your male colleague tells you to smile or when someone says, “You’re cute when you’re angry.” This makes Rush a safe, natural alternative to copper IUDs.

Purge: The purge phase begins when the vocals kick in. You’ll think you’re hearing jaws of life prying open a metal car door after a devastating accident. This is actually the testicles-in-a-vise banshee wail of vocalist and bassist Geddy Lee. His countertenor falsetto, combined with the surge of disgustagen, work in concert to trigger a panic response in the ovaries. Your reproductive system intuitively knows that it should not bring a child into a world that would reward this music with success. The ovaries will start tossing eggs overboard like they’re bailing out water from a sinking canoe.

Loss of Urge: The first two contraceptive phases of the music of Rush work synergistically with Loss of Urge, your most reliable tool in pregnancy prevention. About 30 seconds into the melodic meandering and feral-cat-being-threatened-by-a-raccoon vocals, a woman will experience a complete and total shut down of her sex drive. At this point, her legs will snap shut with the spring tension of a bear trap, making intercourse all but impossible.

Are there any side effects?
Common side effects include:

  • Skin crawling
  • Jaw clenching
  • Shuddering
  • Loss of social status
  • Embarrassment

Some women report feeling incredibly uncool. You may develop medium-to-severe irritation when your male sexual partner gives an impassioned ten-minute speech on how Neil Peart was the greatest percussionist in human history.

You have many options when it comes to birth control. Ask your doctor if the music of Rush is right for you.

Heh. If you ask me, the “music” of Rush isn’t right for anybody.

Ghastly!

Haven’t mentioned the death of Prince Phillip here yet, because…well, because meh, honestly. But then I saw this.

The royal consort of the UK has died at age 99. An acerbic individual, here are a selection of Prince Philip’s greatest hits, including his long-running wars against Tom Jones and Elton John, from a 2011 article in The Independent:

1. “Ghastly.” Prince Philip’s opinion of Beijing, during a 1986 tour of China.

2. “Ghastly.” Prince Philip’s opinion of Stoke-on-Trent, as offered to the city’s Labour MP Joan Walley at Buckingham Palace in 1997.

7. “How do you keep the natives off the booze long enough to pass the test?” Asked of a Scottish driving instructor in 1995.

8. “Damn fool question!” To BBC journalist Caroline Wyatt at a banquet at the Elysée Palace after she asked Queen Elizabeth if she was enjoying her stay in Paris in 2006.

11. “We don’t come here for our health. We can think of other ways of enjoying ourselves.” During a trip to Canada in 1976.

13. “British women can’t cook.” Winning the hearts of the Scottish Women’s Institute in 1961.

15. “What do you gargle with – pebbles?” To Tom Jones, after the Royal Variety Performance, 1969. He added the following day: “It is very difficult at all to see how it is possible to become immensely valuable by singing what I think are the most hideous songs.”

16. “It’s a vast waste of space.” Philip entertained guests in 2000 at the reception of a new £18m British Embassy in Berlin, which the Queen had just opened.

18. “If it has four legs and it is not a chair, if it has got two wings and it flies but is not an aeroplane and if it swims and it is not a submarine, the Cantonese will eat it.” Said to a World Wildlife Fund meeting in 1986.

22. “I would like to go to Russia very much – although the bastards murdered half my family.” In 1967, asked if he would like to visit the Soviet Union.

Good, goooood squishy, that is. More equally succulent Royal badinage at the link. May flights of angels sing thee to thy rest, Your Highness.

Doin’ the dirty boogie

WARNING: Some of you more genteel types will definitely want to avert your eyes from what follows, which I’ll tuck below the fold just as a courtesy. The embedded and/or linked material is, by all civilized standards, not safe for work—or for polite company in places outside the office, probably. Vulgar old bastid that I am, I think it’s just hilarious. Continue reading “Doin’ the dirty boogie”

Backscat

Related to the previous post, yes, but I had someplace else I wanted to go with this theme and decided to give it its own place in the sun.

All-Star Game Moved From Atlanta To Uyghur Prison Camp Yard
ATLANTA, GA—Spokespeople for Major League Baseball announced today that the All-Star Game this summer will be moved from Atlanta, due to its egregious voting laws, to a Uyghur prison camp yard, where there aren’t any bad voting laws at all.

The game will be held in the spacious prison yard, which features a tall barbed-wire fence and a modest outfield. The venue features lots of free labor, so every role from the ball boys to the concession vendors won’t cost the league a dime. In fact, the workers are already happily chalking the baselines and tending the grass, since if they don’t, they will be murdered.

“We must move the All-Star game to a place that shares our values,” said MLB Commissioner Rob Manfred. “This prison yard is absolutely perfect, and they’re giving it to us absolutely free. What a friend we have in Communist China!”

“Most importantly, the prison camp has no ban on early voting, since there is no voting, and no law against giving voters water, since there are no voters. Or water.”

In case you didn’t know already, the Bee is referencing Coca Cola’s ongoing more-than-cozy relationship with some truly rancid Commie dictatorships, China included. Anyways, know how I’m always going on about how working at the Bee has to be one of the toughest jobs in the world, given the near-impossibility of satirizing the overall state of affairs these days?

Well. About all that.

MLB Moves All-Star Game to Blue State with Stronger Election Laws Than Georgia

After pulling the All-Star Game from Atlanta over a Georgia election integrity law in line with the majority of U.S. states and most nations around the world, MLB is awarding the game to…drum roll please…the blue state of Colorado.

Here is the clincher though: Colorado has voter ID to vote in person, requires signature verification for mail-in ballots (unlike Georgia, which requires last four of Social Security number or driver’s license number), and a similar ban on food and water being given away by electioneers that Georgia has.

The All-Star Game being pulled from the Braves will cost Cobb County, where the stadium is hosted, and the surrounding areas an estimated $100 million in tourist revenue.

Awww, what a shame. I can’t even remember the last time ATL (where I lived for two years myself back in the late 90s) had a Republican mayor, so it is only meet and just that Duh Peepul get what they voted for—good and hard.

Raycissts and homophobes and hate, oh my!

Sooner or later, they’ll get around to something you DO care about.

It’s time to cancel the Village People

Meh—as a diehard disco-hatin’ rock and roller all my life, I thought so a long time ago. But maybe that’s just me.

Discerning cancellation connoisseurs so far have overlooked one of the most problematic boy bands of the 20th century — and it’s time to change that. The American disco group the Village People features a cast of empenised individuals donning costumes that glorify toxically masculine tropes of the time: a police officer, a cowboy, a construction worker, a sailor, a biker and, bizarrely, a Native American (more on that later).

This mono-gendered depiction of the local proletariat is laughably outdated. While some might say the only thing lesbians are actually good at is running nonprofits, today we know that Sappho’s daughters are just as good as men, probably better, at chasing down perps, roping steer and erecting skyscrapers. But let’s look at the music. Have you ever actually listened to the group’s 1979 hit ‘In the Navy’? On that track, it’s one of the band’s black members who shouts repeatedly, ‘I’m afraid of water!’

That raised my eyebrows. A constantly repeated racist stereotype is that black people can’t swim. The slur conjures up painful memories of the racial history of American swimming pools and that heated debate among the wokerati as to whether water itself is, in fact, racist.

Forget the fact that the music video was made with the help of the US Navy. The Village People, despite cashing in on military trappings, have remained silent on the struggle for trans people to serve openly in the military.

Silence is violence. And the name of the group itself is violence against trans womxn of color. Manhattan’s Greenwich Village today is emblematic of cis-het gentrification and a painful reminder of white real-estate terrorism. Take a stroll down Christopher Street on any given Friday night and see for yourself: trans womxn of color banished to basement stairwells and parked cars to perform sex acts for money in the shadows rather than high on a pedestal wearing golden knee pads.

Moreover, what does the ‘C’ stand for in the Village People’s number one hit song ‘Y.M.C.A.’? That’s right, Christian.

Today’s Alphabeteer is blessed with more enlightened sheroes and none involves cisgender men sporting getups that look like something from a plastic bag in the Halloween aisle at Ricky’s. While today’s paragons of LGBTQQAI2S++ liberation still play dress up, it’s usually as large, hairy women and we broadcast them in benevolently corporate media and in ads for Uber Eats.

The uniforms of true LGBTQQAI2S++ warriors aren’t fitted and pressed but more neon and bedraggled, like some highly poisonous, jungle-dwelling amphibian broadcasting to any creature in sight, touch me and die! The struggle for rights has moved well beyond an insular celebration of one’s own community to shock, revolt and intimidate all the others.

If the Village People wish to make a comeback in the age of woke, and pay penance to all the gender non-conforming children they’ve irreparably damaged, they’ll need a radical overhaul. Let’s rename them while we’re at it: the Global Village People. First to go are those caricatures of working class, Trumpian barbarism, to be replaced with more revolutionary-minded archetypes. Imagine the curtain rising on a packed Las Vegas stadium to reveal a college professor, a clipboard-toting community organizer, an app developer, the world’s fattest man, a Syrian war refugee, and Greta Thunberg — belting their new hit songs, ‘Trans in the Navy,’ ‘Go East,’ and everyone’s favorite open-borders ballad, ‘D.A.C.A.’

If that doesn’t sweep the Grammy’s, you’re all a bunch of bigots.

Well, of COURSE we are. The trick is to embrace their every insult and epithet, wear it with utmost pride, and then dare the shitlibs to do something about that. The moment you show even the slightest sign that you might possibly care even a little bit what they think about anything, you lose.

A nation mourns

So just to make sure I’ve got all this straight here: some random psycho walks into an ATL brothel and murders eight whores. The puppetmasters in charge of making pRetend pResident Bai-Ding dance see political hay to be made and have Faux Jaux stagger and stumble his way onto Air Farce Un to sky on down to The City Too Busy To Hate and order the shit-smeared FedGovCo ensign flown at half-staff to honor our national pussy-peddler heroes. Because, y’know, white supremacy ‘n’ Trump ‘n’ schtuff.

Yep, I believe that about covers it.

Biden orders flags flown at half-staff to honor Atlanta shooting victims

Well, it’s definitely a first, I’ll give him that much.

President Biden on Thursday ordered the flags at the White House and all federal buildings be flown at half-staff to honor the victims of the Atlanta-area spa shootings.

“As a mark of respect for the victims of the senseless acts of violence perpetrated on March 16, 2021, in the Atlanta Metropolitan area, by the authority vested in me as President of the United States by the Constitution and the laws of the United States of America, I hereby order that the flag of the United States shall be flown at half-staff … until sunset, March 22, 2021,” the White House said in a statement.

The order is also in effect for US embassies, consular officers and other facilities abroad, including military bases and naval vessels.

On Friday, the president and Vice President Kamala Harris will travel to Atlanta where they will meet with leaders in the Asian-American community.

All this, mind, for a non-event that—in a dozen collapsing urban hellscapes across the Former US—would more typically be referred to as a Mostly Peaceful Sunday afternoon.

Robert Aaron Long, 21, was arrested and charged with murder in the eight killings.

Long blamed the slayings on his sex addiction and claimed his intention was to “eliminate” the temptation.

And with that, it is now official: heretofore generally acknowledged as a deeply unserious nation, the FUSA has now descended into ludicrous self-parody.

Cognitive dissonance? Or just plain old stupidity?

One of those can be fixed. The other…can’t.

Last year, like many other Democrats, I took action. I campaigned, responded to social media misinformation and donated money to candidates. I celebrated when Joe Biden was announced as the winner of the presidency and when Democrats took back the Senate.

I also wrote a book to remind myself — and all of us — that honesty was something that still mattered, despite having the most dishonest person imaginable leading our country. But now that Donald Trump is out of office, I’m facing a painful truth: The man I prayed would become president could sign a piece of legislation that would kill my career as a freelance writer.

It’s the strangest political cognitive dissonance I’ve ever experienced.

You’re being far too generous with yourself there with that “cognitive dissonance” diagnosis, sweetie. No worries, though, you can always fucking learn to code, right?

Right now, my party is pushing a bill called the Protecting the Right to Organize Act, or the PRO Act, in an ostensible bid to help gig workers exploited by employers who won’t give them health care coverage and other benefits. But because of a problematic clause in the bill, it’s far more con than pro for me. The bill could end my ability to be my own boss, set my own hours and otherwise live the American worker’s dream.

Interesting. Despite being a Democrat-Socialist—even admitting that you celebrated when your crime syndicate masquerading as a political party stole an election and installed a corrupt, senile drooltard as pRetend pResident—you nonetheless seem very taken aback by certain home truths that are glaringly obvious to sane people. Let me try to enlighten you on just a few of those.

  • “Honesty” is the absolute LAST thing that matters to your professed party
  • The only thing your party gives a tinker’s damn about is power
  • Your party’s politicians care not a whit about any trauma or tragedy their own pursuit of power might inflict, on you or anybody else
  • The actions of your politicians are governed exclusively by expediency and effect; for them integrity, principle, patriotism, and empathy are NEVER of even minimal concern
  • Your politicians, though bloated with arrogance and conceit, are completely clueless as to how national economies function. Their vanity assures them that vastly complex and intricate economic systems can be successfully micromanaged, in defiance of historical confirmation of their total inability to manage anything other than economic collapse and destruction—confirmation so voluminous as to be beyond calculation

That “cognitive dissonance” clearing up any for ya? Or are you, as I strongly suspect, still stuck on stupid?

Beyond that, all my colleagues and I have been hearing from Democrats in response to our concerns are talking points about how they are fighting for American workers. Don’t I count as an American worker?

Closer, but not there yet. Another hint: To them, you don’t count at all.

I know what I believe in — things like an end to systemic racism, better support for families and children, increased voting rights and equity in schools. Yet now I find myself looking at Democrats’ slogans and questioning my assumption that their bills truly help the people who need it most.

The dawn struggles valiantly to break, yet somehow darkness persists.

I recognize that I’ve bought into broad narratives about the power of the people, usually pushing the most progressive-minded, feel-good policies that have easily repeatable language about things like the “dignity of work.” But when you’re the one whose work is suddenly threatened, it’s a bit more complicated.

Yep, life is like that. Ain’t it a cast-iron bitch?

I’m still holding on to my idealistic Leslie Knope-ish tendencies. I still believe good ideas and earnest people will be heard. But right now, it feels like I’m being sacrificed for support from unions — the major interest group pushing this legislation. And given the vitriol my colleagues and I are getting on Twitter, like repeatedly being called “scabs,” I don’t think there’ll be any holiday cards this year.

I’m not looking for sympathy.

You may rest assured that I’ll not be offering any.

After all, I’m a well-paid professional with plenty of lucky breaks to my name. What I am looking for is to be heard by the party I always believed best appreciated the breadth and width of America.

Oh for God’s sake will you get a fucking clue. Instead of stubbornly “looking to be heard” by a party that isn’t listening, the thing you really need to be looking for is the intestinal fortitude to admit that what you “always believed” was patently false—a deliberate, cynical deception used for purposes of manipulation. After that you can move on from there, maybe. I wish you luck and all, but I won’t be holding my breath waiting for it.

Back atcha!

Your sidesplitter of the week.

Readers are probably aware that Gab, the popular social media platform, was hacked last week. Allegedly its entire database was copied, although the encrypted details it contained (user passwords, etc.) have apparently not been penetrated. The hackers, a group calling themselves Distributed Denial of Secrets (previously labeled as a “criminal hacker group” by the Department of Homeland Security), appear to have timed releasing the news to coincide with the CPAC conservative political conference last weekend. They announced triumphantly that they would make the entire database available to “researchers”, to identify “far-right-wing extremists” who use Gab, and all the rest of the usual leftist nonsense.

Unsurprisingly, DDoS lied – or were, at least, “economical with the truth”, as Winston Churchill would have said. They (or someone at least associated with their hacking efforts) appear(s) to have attempted to extort about US $500,000 in Bitcoin from Gab head honcho Andrew Torba, in exchange for not releasing the database. They also appear to have used criminal hacking techniques to gain access to the database, not mere “innocent” tools and tricks. I’m hazy on the latter, not being an expert, but apparently more will come out in the wash. Even stranger, they’ve stated that they will not publicly release the entire Gab database, on the grounds of privacy. Seems strange for them to be concerned about “privacy” after ignoring it by criminally hacking the database in the first place!

What’s worse from their point of view is that Andrew Torba didn’t take their nonsense lying down:

TorbaHackResponse-1.png

Torba has condemned threats of violence against them (or against anyone, for that matter), but some of his fans are taking matters into their own hands. They’re tracking down everyone involved and publishing online as much information about them as they can find. Personally, I can’t help but regard that as entirely appropriate. To paraphrase a Biblical theme, “Do not hack, lest ye be hacked yourselves”!

The term “weaponized autism” has been used to describe 4Chan and its enthusiastic tech geeks. Gab appears to have more than a few of its own. They’ve been digging up all sorts of information about the Distributed Denial of Secrets crowd, some of which is now online at https://yourdaddyjoey.com/Emma-Best/. Here’s what one of their number had to say (click the screenshot below to be taken to the original social media post, and read the responses).

TorbaHackReponse-2.png

And here’s where the hilarity really gets its boots on and starts stompin’, Nancy Sinatra-style.

DDoS certainly seems to be a weird bunch, by anyone’s standards. Here, for example is “Emma Best”.

TorbaHackResponseFreak.png

This terrifying freak has a “husband,” apparently, and Hubby doesn’t seem to much appreciate having somebody turn the fucking tables on his gruesome “wife.”


TorbaHackWAAAH.png

Awwwwww. Say it with me one mo’ time ag’in: WAAAAAAAAAHHHH!!! Also: lolgetfucked

As the post acknowledges, Gab (and Andrew Torba) have explicitly disclaimed violence and doxing – but the DDoS crowd doesn’t appear to accept that. Instead, they seem to believe it’s fine for them to hack others, but not nearly so fine for others to employ similar techniques against them. What can I say except, “Boo hoo”?

Oh, I have a bit more to say than just that. For openers: IT’S ABOUT FUCKING TIME. The squeamishness on the side of Right about using Lefty fascists’ own methods against them, of “sinking to their level,” becoming “as bad as they are,” &c needs to cease, and I mean yesterday. Many on the Right have insisted on “taking the high road” for years now, which has gotten them nothing other than their asses kicked up between their shoulder blades. Imagine that: down and dirty gutter brawls aren’t won by sticking to Marquess of Queensberry rules. Turns out that sniffing in haughty disdain when one’s opponent proves himself so gauche as to pull a knife, in unseemly breach of all established standards of gentlemanly combat, will only get one cut to ribbons.

Our reverence for civilized conduct, honor, and fair play has become a means of attack by the Left, and a damned effective one it has become. That shouldn’t come as a surprise, though. Evil’s sole raison d’etre is to corrupt, to defile, to degrade. It doesn’t prevail through revelation, but through obfuscation. It doesn’t overcome, it undermines. Evil has always sought to turn strength into weakness, resolution into indecision, clarity into confusion.

So henceforth, every time I see some fascist freak whimpering over someone doxxing his ass in retaliation for an assault on One Of Us, I will NOT feel the slightest dismay or disgust. Nor will you be seeing any tut-tutting in sympathy from me. This websty will offer neither apology for the “offense” nor condemnation of the agent of our vengeance. Whenever some Lefty trash gets his ass doxxed—or hacked, or SWATted, or beaten about the head and shoulders with a stout stick until he quacks like a duck, even—be assured that somewhere, I’ll be standing up and cheering. With a smile on my face and a song in my heart, no less.

The Left enjoys several tremendous advantages in this struggle:

  • Absolute certainty that they will be victorious
  • Unshakable belief in the righteousness of their cause, their right and competence to rule, and their own intellectual and moral superiority over those they intend to subjugate and oppress
  • No reluctance to engage their enemies decisively; perfect clarity about their war aims and goals
  • A no-holds-barred, no-such-thing-as-a-fair-fight, rules-are-for-saps attitude towards all aspects of the war, from weaponry to tactics to how the losers will be dealt with

Meanwhile, Team Liberty dithers, waffles, and rationalizes in preference to straightforwardly acknowledging the ugly truth about The Enemy’s true nature, intentions, determination, and capabilities. In part, this is actually laudable in a way, since this attitude stems from a sense of propriety, decency, and fundamental humanity not to be found on the Left.

Which means that, laudable or not, what it also is is self-defeating—a serious opening-bell handicap which guarantees that, when the bell closing out the final round is rung, Team Liberty will have lost the fight. The sad fact that humanity, decency, and propriety are just more things the Left perceives not as admirable qualities but as additional weaknesses that can be used as weapons against us.

One of Friedrich Nietzsche’s most well-known quotes is this one:

Whoever fights monsters should see to it that in the process he does not become a monster. And if you gaze long enough into an abyss, the abyss will gaze back into you.

Maybe so, maybe so. Philosophizing aside, slaying the collectivist/authoritarian monster is going to require some monstrous deeds of ordinarily kind-hearted and peaceable sorts who will no doubt shudder at the thought. Moreover, it is folly at best to imagine that the Left can be reasoned with, bargained with, or somehow rendered harmless and docile via some means other than unconstrained physical violence.

T’ain’t so, Mcgee. Yes, yes, all we really wanted was to be left alone. This, they will not do. Either we submit to them, or we stop them. At this late date, harsh and distasteful as otherwise decent people may find it, the only way we’ll ever free ourselves from the monster’s clutches is if we kill him.

Via Bill, who reminds one and all: Don’t start none, won’t be none. Amen, brother.

Not my game, I ain’t gonna play

Call it whatever you want, but a spade will still be a spade.

This Is Not Normal and I Refuse to Pretend It Is
Can we stop for a minute and recognize the absurdity of what we witnessed in a Senate Health, Education, Labor, and Pensions Committee confirmation hearing on Thursday? I turned on C-SPAN and could not believe what I was seeing. A transgender individual—decked out in makeup, jewelry, an ugly skirt, and a hairdo straight out of a 1980s Twisted Sister MTV video—came before a committee of the U.S. Senate and everyone acted like this was completely normal.

Kentucky Sen. Rand Paul was the only person on the Senate HELP committee to question Rachel Levine’s radical transgender ideology, which includes chemical (and possibly physical) castration of minor children without their parents’ consent. What did poor Rand Paul get for his courage and honesty? Charges that the medical doctor is an “ignorant’ transphobe. Where were his Republican colleagues? Sitting in their comfy chairs acting as if having a man wearing lipstick and a dress in the Senate chamber is the most normal thing in the world. They’re cowards who are afraid that the mob will come for them next—and they’re hedging their bets that the whole issue will go away before they’re forced to go on the record about all this trans tomfoolery.

We’ve regressed so far as a society that no one bats an eye when a delusional man who believes himself to be a woman is being put forth as a nominee for a vaunted position in government by the president of the United States. And we’re all just supposed to play along with this fantasy and act as if it’s completely normal. It’s not.

Shockingly, the position Levine is under consideration for is the assistant secretary of Health and Human Services. A man who denies science, believing he can overcome what every cell in his body screams—that he’s a male, packed full of XY chromosomes—is going to be in charge of directing health policy for the entire nation. What kind of mass delusion are we under that we just sit back and pretend this is good for us—for our nation, for our children, and for our health?

Now is not a time for cowardice. It’s a time to stand up and say “this is not normal” and to refuse to go along with the charade. The transgender ideology is destroying our culture. Denying basic biology in order to pacify a handful of troubled individuals—and elevating those individuals to high positions in government—makes a mockery of truth and morality, and denies what is visible to all.

They aren’t “pacifying” them, or “elevating” them. They’re USING them, exactly as they’ve used so many others who have fallen under the shitlib thrall: women, Negroes, Mexicans, immigrants and refugees, gays/lesbians, the homeless, the urban poor, the mentally ill, the handicapped, and so on. They divide people into groups; inculcate an unshakable belief in the poisonous idea of their own systemic victimization; urge them on to destructive, futile acts as the only means by which the wrongs done to them by powerful Others might be righted; and then abandon them the instant their usefulness has been outlived. Which is usually when the dumpee saps find out firsthand what REAL victimization is all about.

None of which either surprises or particularly interests me at the moment, I confess. No, the part of this story I wonder about is, did Mr Levine actually have his john-willy whacked off? Or is he among the vast majority of the statistically negligible sub-sub-sub-genus all and sundry are required to misnomer “transgenders” nowadays: a confused, off-camber dude whose unwanted courting tackle, although tucked away under cover of plus-sized women’s wear, is nonetheless intact—ie, a transvestite with, shall we say, loftier ambitions?

Whatever the case may be with this sad, addle-pated freak and his now-you-see-it-now-you-don’t clamdigger, allow me to beat the crowd with an early prediction: Mr Levine will almost certainly be our next “President.” Before you dismiss the notion out of hand, think about this: after our Historic First Black Wymrynzxx “President”—Kumala Willielicker, that would be—what the hell else in the way of Historic First etc etc is left to us? Does anybody really believe that a Historic First Hindoo, illegal alien, or Moslem would satisfy, when we have Mr Levine waiting in the wings for his chance to shine?

Better go ahead and get those bets down now, folks. Trust me on this.

A real no-shitter

BCE uncovers the devil lurking in the details about Peelousi’s desk-ridin’ General Bigtalk.

That’s the H.M.N.I.C now.. (Head Motherfuckin’ Nigger In Charge) of ‘investigating’ the January 6th Shenanigans.
There has never been a more self-loathing Black Man in uniform.
Uncle Tom indeed
He was the one who was in charge of the fucked uppedness of the Katrina Response.
He was the one who didn’t do shit during the Global War on Terror
He’s the one who’s consistently been a partisan hack and anti-gun and outright anti-American across the board.
Fucker only has jump wings and a fucking EIB (Expert Infantry Badge) and as a General, I’d even call that into question as I can’t see a grader on an EIB course telling a General or any other occisfer under the rank of Major that he failed out.
I fucking have the EIB for fucks sakes.

All fine and well, Expat. But why don’t you just go ahead and tell us all what you really think about this Paper(cut) Warrior? Please feel free to not mince any words.

This partisan fuck?
Fuck him. Piece of shit rear echelon motherfucker… REMF for short.
Fucker was responsible for anti-constitutional calls for gun confiscation in New Orleans during Katrina, and never paid the price, which should have been castration, followed by public hanging

But

Unfortunately, we don’t hang obsolete non-functional farm equipment

Pity That.

Heh. Okay, duly noted. And endorsed. I look forward to the day this affirmative-action promotee unleashes a couple-three regiments from the US Army’s renowned 113th Transgender Division. Here’s a photo of a few of these dreaded war-pigs marching off to war:

My GOD, but this is one fucked-up country.

Reality dysfunction

Well, this certainly explains a hell of a lot.

Anosognosia is a condition in which the patient is suffering some severe neurological impairment but does not know it. The impairment is strictly neurological, in the higher processing regions of the brain. You might, for example, be suffering from paralysis of a limb, yet be unaware of it.

There are even some extreme cases recorded in which the sufferer is blind but does not know it! The eyes and optic nerves have normal function, but the brain centers that process visual stimulus are not working. To compensate, the brain makes up a visual field, trying to use cues from memory and the other senses.

It doesn’t work very well. You keep falling over things, but you can’t understand why.

Western society seems to have fallen into something like a social anosognosia. Our collective senses are gathering information OK, more than ever before in history in fact. But our collective brain is failing to process it, and compensates by making stuff up.

These things all came to mind when I read this February 2nd column by the notoriously Woke New York Times technology correspondent Kevin Roose ”How the Biden Administration Can Help Solve Our Reality Crisis.”

Roose locates the reality crisis in two areas: “extremist groups and conspiracy theory movements.”

The only people he actually names as being an “extremist group” are the Proud Boys. His other references are to unnamed “white supremacist groups” and “far-right militias.”

Ctrl-F “Black Lives Matter”…no hits. Ctrl-F “antifa”…no hits.

Well hey, they’re the GOOD kind of extremists, see. And as Honest Joe declared after the Jan 6th insurrection, desecration of Democracy’s Holy Sepulchre™, and genocidal massacre:

No one can tell me if it had been a group of Black Lives Matter protesting yesterday, they wouldn’t have been treated very, very differently than the mob of thugs that stormed the Capitol. We all know that’s true.

Of course we do, Joe. Now, how’s about a nice cup of hot cocoa and an enema before your daily injections, eh? Then: naptime!

It is indeed true, although in a sense opposite to the one Joe intended. As Gregory Hood pointed out in an earlier column, if BLM had raided the Capitol, our political classes would have fallen over each other to appease them, kneeling reverently and draping themselves in kente cloth.

The media would have cheered to the rafters such a bold act of resistance, and corporations would have poured in donations.

If Capitol Police had then arrested any of the BLM intruders, compliant prosecutors would have dismissed all charges. Had any of the intruders been black—I believe there are a few blacks in the BLM movement—and if by mischance he had been shot dead by a white Capitol Hill police officer, there would have been national frenzy on a scale that beggars the imagination.

If the deceased had been a black female, shot without warning by a white male cop—well, the Earth would have left its orbit and gone crashing into the Sun.

Yes, Joe, BLM intruders would have been treated very, very differently. That’s reality.

And yes, we have a national crisis of reality, with tens of millions of Americans believing, like you, preposterous things that defy all reason and evidence.

Surely that’s a bit harsh, John. In fairness to President Of The Shitty Half Of Amerika Biden-Harris, he doesn’t really believe those things. In fact, he’s totally unaware of them, along with nearly everything else. He just says whatever words the guy with his hand up the back of his shirt puts into his mouth, that’s all.

A real stunner

Just when I thought there was no shock left to be wrung from my poor, calloused soul.

Former WWE talent Gabbi Tuft has come out as a transgender woman.

The 42-year-old fitness guru – who wrestled under the ring name Tyler Reks – shared the news via a press release on Thursday, calling Gabbi’s journey a ‘thrilling story of gender transitioning.’

‘Gabbi is about to share her thrilling story of gender transitioning from a former WWE Superstar, Body Builder, Fitness Guru, Motivational Speaker and Motorcycle Racer to a fun loving and fabulous female,’ the release read.

‘She has been finally set free and ready to rule her world.’

It seems Gabbi had intended to reveal the news on Friday, but she took to Instagram to address the early revelation Thursday, sharing a photo of herself beaming and posing in front of an old wrestling photo as she shared her new, authentic look.

I started to embed the photo, but there are lots more of ’em, and you really need to see them for yourself. I promise you: a bizarre milestone has been surpassed here, a bar most definitely raised.

Wow.

Innarnets: WON

And I mean forever. Like, retire the trophy, man.

Why worry about sounding a little “tone deaf” to Norman Normie when every day american life is a pageant of absurdities and perversions? His cherished institutions are maligned and his ancestors made cheap villains in a Tarantino white-murder film fest. His daughters are to be hailed for their slutiness and bitchiness while his sons are to be reviled and shamed unless they wear dresses. His vote doesn’t count and he’d better keep his mouth closed to uttering any truths if he wants to keep his job. On the TV he is the baddie and the butt of every joke. His church is closed for the covid but it doesn’t really matter because when it is opened they use a mocked up puppet-Jesus to echo the bullshit morality he sees on the tube anyway. He can’t even check out with some sportsball without at least nibbling a dose of woke feces if he wants to watch his favorite Africans chasing a ball around a field. His town is now full of immigrant faces that look nothing like his own people, and gosh darn it ain’t they better and truer Americans than him? Thats what he and his children are told anyway.

Why would he possibly notice some shenanigans with a few stocks and hedge-fund managers? Everyday life is a blaring strobe light carnival funhouse of insanity. And why would TPTB worry about seeming a bit tone deaf on this latest trickle of unfairness when they’ve gotten away with a full firehose of sludge to the face of Mr. Normie for years now?

it’s still amazing just how goddamn dumb they are; on almost every level.” Dumb, Brother? Understatement of the century.

It seems peaceful separation or a return to some sort of sane normalacy is beyond the pale. Hell, TPTB can’t even remain graceful in their election coup, they’ve declared Trad white Americans on par with Mohammedan terrorists and are guiding the security apparatus of the State to root them out.

They’ll push and push until they are forced to realize their “soundproof glass” isn’t the same as bulletproof glass. Tone deaf? That’s rich. Its a collision course of insanity and they and we are all madmen now.

That thunderous grand-slam comes to us courtesy of ZMan commenter Penitent Man, who definitely touched all the bases.

Although I’m not entirely sure that it’s all down to their being dumb, necessarily. It’s because they just don’t give a shit what Real Americans might think, say, or do. They’ve decided that, based on all evidence so far, they don’t have to. Only time will tell whether or not they’ve miscalculated, and how badly. That, in turn, will establish just how dumb they are—or whether the real problem all along has been the supine complacency of their nominal opposition.

The Last Sane Democrat speaks truth

Yes, yes, I know she’s a libtard. Yes, I disagree with her policy positions on just about everything. But dammit, I still can’t help but like the woman. When viewed beside the reeking muck-pit the rest of her colleagues happily splash about in, she glitters like a crazy diamond.

Former Democratic Rep. Tulsi Gabbard of Hawaii warned that people such as California Rep. Adam Schiff, former CIA Director John Brennan and Big Tech executives who are “trying to undermine” Americans’ constitutional rights are much more dangerous than the people who stormed the Capitol three weeks ago.

“The mob that stormed the Capitol on January 6 to try to stop Congress from carrying out its constitutional responsibilities were behaving like domestic enemies of our country,” she said in a tweet Tuesday.

“But let’s be clear, the John Brennans, Adam Schiffs and the oligarchs in big tech who are trying to undermine our constitutionally-protected rights and turn our country into a police state with KGB-style surveillance are also domestic enemies — and much more powerful, and therefore dangerous, than the mob that stormed the Capitol.”

Gabbard called on President Joe Biden and lawmakers to reject any measures that would infringe on Americans’ constitutional rights.

Umm, good luck with all that, babe. I know you mean well and all; your heart is definitely in the right place, to be sure. But the sad, sorry truth is that the ship in question has definitely sailed. In fact, it’s waaaay over the horizon and clean out of sight at this late date.

Perfect pick

As every intelligent person anticipated, the Biden-Harris administration is off to a wonderful start.

President-elect Joe Biden has ticked another diversity box, tapping Pennsylvania Health Secretary Rachel Levine for his assistant secretary of health, which would make her the first transgender federal official confirmed by the US Senate.

Levine made headlines last month after her department issued guidance for Pennsylvania orgy enthusiasts who wish to remain COVID-safe while engaging in group sex. The PA official also drew criticism for pulling her mother out of a nursing home after issuing a state-wide order forcing them to accept COVID patients.

Trained as a pediatrician, Levine was appointed to her current role by Democratic Gov. Tom Wolf in 2017, winning confirmation by the Republican-majority PA Senate before emerging as “the public face of the state’s response to the coronavirus pandemic,” according to NBC Philadelphia.

“Dr. Rachel Levine will bring the steady leadership and essential expertise we need to get people through this pandemic — no matter their zip code, race, religion, sexual orientation, gender identity, or disability — and meet the public health needs of our country in this critical moment and beyond,” said Biden in a statement, adding “She is a historic and deeply qualified choice to help lead our administration’s health efforts.”

For the inattentive few who haven’t yet seen a photo of this stunningly beautiful woman, I’m happy to oblige:

Freak-Rachel-Levine.jpg

A paragon of female pulchritude whose expertise will vastly improve the lives and health of all Americans, Miss Levine is universally respected and admired as a groundbreaking, courageous…as…uhhh…ummm…uhhhhmmmm…..

……

Fuck me runnin’. Sorry, folks; I tried, I really did, but that’s the last straw. I can NOT keep up this charade of conformity and compliance any longer. The truth:

Pretend pResident Biden-Harris’s emetic praise of this bloated freak is revolting, the man’s appointment an obvious slap in the face. Right out of the gate, Usurper Joe’s puppeteers are telegraphing their intention to rub Real American noses in their fraudulent “victory,” simultaneously degrading the very idea of the federal boob-o-cracy as anything more than low farce. The federal Leviathan is officially now nothing more nor less than a means by which the shit of political correctness and cultural depravity will be smeared across the gob of every dissenter from Leftist dogma, as a humiliating reminder of their total inability to do a goddamned thing about their subjugation.

And that, my friends, is the long and fucking short of it. “Unity”? I’ll die first.

Happy Kwanzaa!

Yes, t’is the season once again when all people of good will join together with our melanin-enriched brethren to celebrate the ancient traditional extravaganza that is Kwanzaa, the completely fictitious pretender to all the things Christmas actually, y’know, is. Kwanzaa was made up out of whole cloth by a racist, rapist, torturer, Marxist revolutionary, and habitual felon named Ron “Maulana” Karenga. The thug Karenga was also a college professor, as one might expect.

First, let’s delve a bit into the history of Kwanzaa, after which we’ll examine the nitty-gritty details of what it’s all ultimately about. From Wikipedia:

American Maulana Karenga created Kwanzaa in 1966 during the aftermath of the Watts riots as a specifically African-American holiday. Karenga said his goal was to “give blacks an alternative to the existing holiday of Christmas and give blacks an opportunity to celebrate themselves and their history, rather than simply imitate the practice of the dominant society.” For Karenga, a major figure in the Black Power movement of the 1960s and 1970s, the creation of such holidays also underscored the essential premise that “you must have a cultural revolution before the violent revolution. The cultural revolution gives identity, purpose, and direction.”

According to Karenga, the name Kwanzaa derives from the Swahili phrase matunda ya kwanza, meaning “first fruits”. First fruits festivals exist in Southern Africa, celebrated in December/January with the southern solstice, and Karenga was partly inspired by an account he read of the Zulu festival Umkhosi Wokweshwama. It was decided to spell the holiday’s name with an additional “a” so that it would have a symbolic seven letters.

During the early years of Kwanzaa, Karenga said it was meant to be an alternative to Christmas. He believed Jesus was psychotic and Christianity was a “White” religion that Black people should shun. As Kwanzaa gained mainstream adherents, Karenga altered his position so practicing Christians would not be alienated, stating in the 1997 book Kwanzaa: A Celebration of Family, Community, and Culture that “Kwanzaa was not created to give people an alternative to their own religion or religious holiday.”

Okay, a self-serving, manipulative liar too, then. As Wiki says, Kwanzaa is a celebration of “the seven principles of Kwanzaa,” which go by the following titles:

  • Blubalubu
  • Ungowa-ungowa
  • Kalonga-linga
  • Jujuwanapasee
  • Killdewhitemon
  • Neekerbreek
  • Zh’sangulima

One of the many wonderful aspects of Kwanzaa is the delicious African delicacies, a series of daily feasts crowned by a rich traditional dish called Ungajalungo. It’s a stew consisting of a slow-cooked blend of fell meats; various magical roots also valued for their usefulness in the casting of spells, hexes, and curses; herbs and spices made from the powdered blood of a rival tribe’s vanquished warriors—all garnished with live grubworms, freshly pulled from the good Earth by the tribe’s youngsters using long sticks.

The ingredients are combined in a large cast-iron cauldron and simmered for exactly 12 weeks over an open fire, the process carefully supervised throughout by the tribe’s juju-man Elder with all of his slave-bitches assisting. Should any tribesmen sicken or die after consuming a subpar batch of Ungajalungo, the juju-man and his slaves will be put to death, their flesh, bones and blood rendered for use in next year’s Ungajalunga feast. Mmmmmm-mmmmm GOOD!!

During Kwanzaa, celebrants often use a traditional African phrase when greeting one another: Shub-niggurath! This warm, friendly way of saying “howdy, neighbor!” is actually an invocation of a beloved and respected African deity also, whose name translates roughly as “The Black Goat of the Woods with a Thousand Young.

Sadly, some blue-eyed Christian devils—frightened by the threat to their false god posed by Kwanzaa’s exploding popularity—have maliciously sown the falsehood that the festive decoration of homes and neighborhoods that make the Christmas season so joyous is forbidden for Kwanzaa celebrants, hoping to dampen enthusiasm for the ancient African tradition. Is it true? Au contraire, mon oppressaire! During Kwanzaa, participants enjoy sprucing up their homes, businesses, and gathering places with such adornments as random sticks or tree limbs attached by a spackle of ox or wildebeest dung to the walls of their crumpling shacks; dismembered rodent skeletons scattered around the unkempt lawn in patterns that also act as wards against mischievous or malificent spirits; and lit candles all through the house, sharing their warm glow in a way that tacky colored bulbs can never hope to rival.

But what about the Christmas tree, you ask? Well, Kwanzaa goes Christmas one better yet again. Instead of the ordinary desiccated fire-hazard tastelessly festooned with wasteful, obnoxiously strobing light-strands and environmentally destructive, cat-strangling tinsel just waiting for the opportunity to burn your home to the ground, Kwanzaa people prefer their own holiday’s traditional centerpiece: a pyramid made from the stacked skulls of an enemy tribe’s dead, all lit up by the blaze of a host of large candles whose tallow was gleaned from the marrow of said enemies, their wicks plaited from human hair.

Beats any boring old Christmas tree like a big bass drum, wouldn’t you say?

Kwanzaans even have their own version of Santa: a jolly, multi-tentacled old imp bringing gifts and good cheer to all African chirruns who managed to keep themselves off of his “Naughty” list over the past year, leaving big, happy smiles in his wake and eating the souls of the not-so-“Nice.” An artist’s rendering of Kwanzaa Claus in his sleigh:

Making a list, checking it twice

Just think, kids, he might be on his way to visit your house right this very minute! Exciting, huh?

Yes, the rich traditions, cultural heritage, and long, fascinating history of Kwanzaa give it a soulful cachet uniquely its own, making it unquestionably superior to all other holidays. Particularly white people’s holidays, goddamn them all to Hell. So happy Kwanzaa, everyone. May that good old Kwanzaa spirit never leave us, dwelling forever in our hearts until the Outer Gods break through at the end of days. Until then, I’ll leave you with one last thought, in honor of its founder.


Highbrows going low

The rich are different from you or I. Except when they ain’t.

The by-product of New York-area real estate demand isn’t just limited to staggering price tags. It also tends to create cachet with areas that other, less intense markets might consider just plain peculiar. Case-in-point: Montauk Shores, a trailer park with million-dollar listings, billionaire residents, and a parking lot filled with six-figure cars. A stone’s throw from Andy Warhol’s beach getaway and Dick Cavett’s famous estate and situated along Ditch Plains Beach, Montauk Shores —“the park,” as it’s familiarly known throughout the Hamptons—got its start as a modest campground for surfers and beach bunnies, becoming a co-operatively owned mobile home condominium park in 1976, before its recent reinvention as a real estate juggernaut.

Peter and Lois Moore, husband-and-wife brokers with The Corcoran Group, have had several exclusive listings in Montauk Shores over the years, so AD caught up with them to discuss property trends in what has become a heated real estate enclave. “About seven or eight years ago, these trailers became rather popular, and the waterfront lots came to be acquired by high-net-worth individuals,” Peter explains. For units along the water, the Moores say to expect a seven-figure price tag, while lots a few rows inland tend to hover between a half-million to a million. “It’s been a steady climb,” Peter says. “We have seen more consistency in pricing on an upward curve than we have in other residential areas.” Because of its proximity to the beach, the units have been subject to another only-in-the-Hamptons real estate trend. “Oftentimes, they’re second homes for buyers who don’t stay in them; they just use them as beach cabanas,” Peter explains.

7 figures? Okay, I come from a long line of confirmed trailer trash on my mom’s side. I have friends who have lived in trailer parks, and have whiled away many a pleasant hour hanging out in their homes. I have lived in a trailer park my own self.

Suffice it to say, then, that I have no problem whatsoever with the mobile-home lifestyle. So I feel qualified to state with perfect confidence that the article’s accompanying photo shows what is definitely a very nice trailer park—EXTREMELY nice, probably the nicest I’ve ever seen. Neat, well-kept, organized, clean. No sign of the decay, neglect, and chaotic clutter common to such places.

The first trailer I lived in had been my mom’s years before, a custom job she purchased when my folks split up in 1979. She sited the trailer on land bought by her folks way back in 1937, around eight-ten acres that my grandparents farmed right up until my grandpa dropped dead of a heart attack on his way home from an all-night poker game, in 1976. After living there for several years, my mom moved into the renovated farmhouse that still shares the family plot with that old trailer, which her sister and brother-in-law took over in their turn. They happily lived there for the rest of their lives. My aunt Sarah went first, her old man Rabbit (actually Hubert, which he just hated) succumbing to his overwhelming grief shortly after.

The old trailer sat empty for several years after that, gradually going to hell just as all houses will when left to sit unoccupied for long periods. Then, when my own marriage blew up in my face, I moved in. After I’d been in the place a few months, I was struck with the idea of getting hold of some iron pipe and fabricating a submarine periscope, to be mounted up on the rusty roof just for giggles. Unfortunately, I never did it. My uncle Larry bought the house and land from my mom and stepdad years back. An old WestPac Navy man, he moved his Filipino wife and her young ‘uns in, and they live there still. One of his stepsons is in my mom’s old trailer now, having done extensive renovations and repairs with assistance from his American wife, who’s a dab hand at projects of that nature.

I’m perfectly fine with trailers. But I don’t care HOW nice the trailer (or the park it sits in) is, or how much family history is wrapped up in it, trailers are basically just cheap tin cans—flimsy, cramped domiciles shaped exactly like your standard box of saltines. Not very many people move into a trailer intending to stay there forever. The things are only built to last for around twenty years or so anyway. After that, the place will start to cave in around your ears, with leaky roofs, drafty windows, holes in the floors, sagging cabinets, and such-like suddenly cropping up as if they were on a strict schedule.

Standard trailer doors are nothing but two thin layers of aluminum over a styrofoam core. Any healthy pre-teen could easily kick his way through one without straining himself, and I’m sure plenty of them have. The fixtures are all cut to odd-ball sizes and dimensions, and you can’t just trot on off to Lowes when you need to replace a window or a sink. There are mobile-home stores expressly dealing in that stuff, at surprisingly high prices, too.

A trailer is NEVER an “investment.” Not even close. It’s a product with a depreciation rate higher than a three-owner Yugo’s, one which appeals exclusively to the niche-est of niche markets. A trailer is typically either A) a temporary stand-in for the real house you hope to step up to later; B) a crash pad for bottom-of-the-societal-barrel types to get roaring drunk in on weekends, and/or cook meth in; or C) a place where destitute older people go to die. Also scattered in amongst the aforementioned categories are miscellaneous misfits, ne’er do wells, and recently-paroled convicts. Then you have the uncharacterizable weirdos who can never quite shake off the nagging feeling that they wound up there by mistake—like, say, myself. Those last often think of themselves as being IN the trailer park, but not OF the trailer park. It’s a comforting thought, but they’re probably wrong.

“Half a million to a million” for a trailer? Proof positive that some people have more money than sense…but at those rates, not for long. Maybe a nice, long visit from a true trailer-park maven like Ricky might wise those spendthrifts up to a thing or two.



(Via Bill)

Kill Bill

Nobody brings the heat quite like Ace does. Exhibit A:

Cartoonishly Fat Democrat Huckster Bill Kristol Dream-Journals for Hours on Twitter About What the New Political Party He’ll be Leading Will be Called
—Ace

Serious. People.

Who’s going to follow this obese, cognitively-declining traitor anywhere?

Fuck, I wouldn’t follow this gelatinous pile of failure and decay into an Arby’s. And I would actually like to go to an Arby’s.

He’s just sitting there on Twitter like an unemployed grifter (hey… ) noodling about what he’s going to call his Fantasy Political Party.

He’s going to be a leader of men?

How does that work? Are we now choosing male leaders based on cup size?

It’s fucking pathetic. He’s so far gone he doesn’t understand that obese, elderly men talking about their fantasies on twitter should be a source for embarrassment, not a high point of his professional career.

Hey Fatso, if you’re going to fantasize, maybe fantasize about a heart-healthy cheesecake that won’t go straight to your hips.

Dude, OUCH. Also, heh. He goes on from there to savage “Dr” Joette Biden, Fake First Lady of whatever we’re gonna be calling the fake pseudo-nation formerly known as the United States of America from now on.

True colors update! Another backstabbing NeverTrump retard gets the smackdown he deserves.

And there it is…

Steve Schmidt is now officially a Democrat.

And he’s already pissed at people using “Democrat” instead of “Democratic.”

Alt Headline: Lincoln Project member fully endorses party of slavery:


OUCH and heh again. Additional bitchslappin’ hilarity here.

Although in Li’l Stevie’s defense, the ig’nernt asshole is most likely totally, blissfully unaware of that whole “party of slavery, Jim Crow, and segregation” business. Doesn’t excuse it, merely explains it. Now do Li’l Ricky “My Favorite Martian” Wilson for us, ‘kay?

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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

"There are men in all ages who mean to govern well, but they mean to govern. They promise to be good masters, but they mean to be masters." — Daniel Webster

“The illusion of freedom will continue as long as it’s profitable to continue the illusion. At the point where the illusion becomes too expensive to maintain, they will just take down the scenery, they will pull back the curtains, they will move the tables and chairs out of the way and you will see the brick wall at the back of the theater.” – Frank Zappa

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