Cold Fury

Harshing your mellow since 9/01

Wait, what?

You know a certain threshold for something or other has been reached when Piers Morgan is a voice of sanity and reason.

British T.V. host Piers Morgan called out a climate activist about her lifestyle choices, which are not helpful for the planet, as protesters are staging demonstrations across the United Kingdom.

The ongoing protests has been organized by Extinction Rebellion, who want the United Kingdom’s Parliament to take action on climate change. Demonstrations include clogging roads and blocking bridges with their bodies and other big objects. 

Morgan asked Extinction Rebellion’s co-leader Skeena Rathor how she arrived to their studio. Rathor said a car sent by the station had picked her up.

When Morgan then asked her if she had a T.V. at her home and if her children use computers, Rathor said she did not think it was relevant to “the planet emergency.”

“Do you see the problem with all this? You go on about ‘My kids can’t get out of bed because they’re all so terrified,’ I’m not surprised they’re terrified because your mum’s telling them everyday the planet’s about to end, and yet, I bet your own carbon footprint, for all the stuff I’ve just mentioned is terrible,” Morgan said.

“So why don’t you give your computer, give up your television, give up your air conditioning, walk your kids to school, get a bike to the studio. Why don’t you practice what you preach?” he added.

The shrike’s response is every bit as feeble, self-serving, and pathetic as you’d expect.

Reynolds laid out one of his good, pithy rips a week or two ago (I have no link for it, sorry) noting that most of the Climate Change (formerly Global Warming, formerly Global Cooling, formerly “the weather”) tards were college kids, then going on to ask why, if the world is ending in ten or twelve years, they’d be staying in college at all.

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Drag Queen Conservatives

These are Muh Principles. If you don’t like them, I have others. Many, many others.

Appalling backstory here.

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Oh, for Christ’s sake

Yes, it’s satire from the Bee. But how long do you think it will be before this happens for real?

PORTLAND, OR—LGBTQ+ activists are praising Spot, as Spot is the world’s first genderfluid dog. Spot came to the realization he’s genderfluid after his owner announced they would be going to the vet to get neutered.

“Neutered? What’s that? Oh boy! Sounds fun! Ball!” Spot said. But then he came across some promotional material for the vet’s services his owner had left on the coffee table, and Spot was horrified. “No more ball! No more ball!”

“Oh no! Oh no! Not good! Not good!” he said, frantically trying to think of some way to avoid the painful castration procedure. Finally, Spot figured it out. Spot decided to announce he was genderfluid. Spot donned a feminine wig, masculine mustache, and some Elton John glasses and declared he did not identify as a creature with reproductive organs in need of removal.

“Our hands are tied,” the vet said after examining Spot, who now goes as Spork. “This dog does not identify as a male, so we can no longer provide this service.” Spot-now-Spork was given a treat and sent him home and told he was a “Good non-gender-conforming individual.”

You know it’s just a matter of time.

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We could do worse

Has #NeverTrump cucktard and all-around miserable worm Bill Kristol finally come up with a 2020 primary challenger for Trump that even I can really get behind?

Bill Kristol Wants Joe Walsh To Primary President Trump.
#NeverTrump scrapes the bottom of the barrel.

Oh come now, isn’t that a mite harsh? I mean, bottom of the barrel? Dude. YMMV, of course, but I’ve always liked ol’ Joe myself.




Hell yeah, you go, Joe! Walsh for Prez-mo-dent! Yep, he’s got my vote, and I don’t care who…that is, I wouldn’t…uhhhh…wait, what?!?

Oh. Never mind.

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I hereby personally condemn whoever he or she might turn out to be

Oh, the courage of this courageously courageous woman! She’s a real hero all right, bless her honest heart. Her, and the forty or fifty other sad sacks and head cases the Demonrats no doubt already have lined up and fully briefed on their heartrending stories, ready to trot out for the usual confirmation shitshow.

This is incredibly difficult for me to do but I feel that it’s necessary to come forward and expose the type of person that Trump will select for the Supreme Court of the great country.

I was raped by whoever Trump selects to replace Ruth Bader Ginsburg for the Supreme Court.

It was in the 1990s and the details are a little fuzzy. We were at a party and I distinctly remember this person coming on to me and rubbing up against me.

I told this person I wasn’t interested but whoever it was persisted and when we were alone forced himself or herself on me, pulling off my clothes and penetrating me while I constantly said, “No!”

I haven’t come forward yet because I was ashamed and afraid. This person is clearly very powerful, but now that this person is being considered for the Supreme Court, I think it’s necessary to let people know who they’re dealing with, especially after Trump picked a literal serial killer last time.

And the Soros money doesn’t hurt.

No, it never does, does it? Via Glenn, who also professes himself mightily impressed with the bravery of this paragon of integrity and virtue.

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Yeah, yeah, yeah

Dirty Harry Reid thinks you should be Alarmed.

Time is running out to act on climate change

And it always is. And it always will be.

Today, the Nevada deserts — along with environments throughout the country and the world — are facing threats much greater than bulldozers, shovels and unscrupulous mining operations. That threat is climate change.

There’s no denying the disastrous effects climate change is having on every corner of Nevada, our country and our planet. Even the beautiful Joshua Tree forest 5 miles from my Searchlight home is in distress. In the last few years alone, we’ve seen record wildfires in the West, multiple 100-year floods and a drought that left Lake Mead 4 feet away from a federal water shortage.

OH NOES!!! A “federal water shortage?” Heaven help us. Not sure what exactly a “federal water shortage” might actually amount to, mind. But it’s bound to be horrible, and will surely kill us all.

I won’t be around to see the worst impacts of climate change, but my children, grandchildren and countless families around the world will be. They’ll suffer the brunt of this crisis. They’ll bear the burden of cleaning up my generation’s mess.

Aw gee, you won’t? So somehow we’ve gone from AlGore’s “only ten years left” “planetary emergency” alarum back in 2006, to AOC’s “only 12 years left” revision, to..what, three or four weeks, maybe? Actually, Democrat-Socialist knucklehead Andrew Yang insists that it’s “already too late,” and that we should all head for the hills already. Literally. Hey, give the guy props for having balls enough To Boldly Go where no lunatic has gone before, I guess.

Meh. I won’t bother with any more of Reid’s silly-assed twaddle; I mean, what’s the point, really? I just wanted to bask in the idea that he doesn’t expect to be around much longer for a bit here, and enjoy the delicious frisson of anticipation it brought me.

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And now for a somewhat less depressing and/or infuriating post

Some secrets ain’t so bad.

The U.S. Air Force’s Boeing X-37B just broke the record for the most amount of time spent in Earth’s orbit by a spacecraft. Everything else about the spacecraft is still a mystery as information about the spacecraft is classified.

The mission is X-37Bs fifth mission, known as Orbital Test Vehicle (OTV-5) and recently, it completed 719 days in orbit. Previous record for the longest time spent in Earth’s Orbit was held by OTV-4 with 717 days, 20 hours and 42 minutes. The spacecraft was launched on September 7, 2017 and since then, the ‘mini space shuttle’ has been revolving around the Earth.

She’s still up there, too. Which is great and all; very cool stuff, to be sure. But…well…if you click over and look at the pic, see, it’s like…that is, I mean to say…

DAMN, but she’s an ugly booger. Not that it matters, of course. But still. We’re a long, LONG way from Buck Rogers yet, folks.

To boldly go update! Related.

The sixth branch of the United States military was launched in a Rose Garden ceremony yesterday when Donald Trump inaugurated SpaceCom — Space Command.

“This is a landmark day, one that recognizes the centrality of space to America’s security and defense,” Trump said in a White House ceremony.

Some critics have dismissed SpaceCom as a childish fantasy. Former Defense Secretary James Mattis opposed the formation of SpaceCom, believing it was redundant and would add unnecessary bureaucracy to the Pentagon.

But considering the money and personnel being poured into space by China and Russia, it seems a good idea to hedge our bets.

Plus, it’s just way cool, and inspiring as all getout too. Gives a new and deeper meaning to one of my all-time favorite poems:

Oh, I have slipped the surly bonds of earth, 
And danced the skies on laughter-silvered wings; 
Sunward I’ve climbed and joined the tumbling mirth of sun-split clouds – 
and done a hundred things You have not dreamed of – 
wheeled and soared and swung high in the sunlit silence. 
Hovering there I’ve chased the shouting wind along 
and flung my eager craft through footless halls of air.

Up, up the long delirious burning blue
I’ve topped the wind-swept heights with easy grace,
where never lark, or even eagle, flew;
and, while with silent, lifting mind I’ve trod
the high untrespassed sanctity of space,
put out my hand and touched the face of God.

Beautiful.

(Via Larwyn)

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The last word

So last night I posted on Schlichter’s latest essay positing that our supposed “elite” is, as he put it, anything but. Francis mulled over the idea a bit himself, before boiling things down to a dazzling one-liner:

A nation whose “elite” has taken it from putting men on the Moon to putting men in women’s lavatories has no substantive claim to its status.

Heh. Nothing to add to that, folks.

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Fear the Bee!

How many liberals does it take to screw in a lightbulb? That’s not funny.

Progressives take their partisan comedy seriously. It helps that they have a stranglehold on the comedy landscape. When David Spade announced he wouldn’t attack President Donald Trump it made headlines.

Which brings us to The Babylon Bee.

For the uninitiated, the Bee serves up Christian satire with a heaping helping of political humor. Yes, the site often pokes fun at President Trump.

That’s what any respectable humor outlet would do, no matter who’s in the Oval Office. It’s also what comedians did prior to Obama’s election.

What the Bee produces that few, if any, comedy institutions attempt are stories that tweak the Left, often sans mercy.

Snopes rigorously fact checks Bee stories over and again that are obviously false, funny and targeting progressive stars like Rep. Alexandria Ocasio-Cortez. Bee stories skewering conservative figures? Snopes.com leaves them unchecked.

Here’s why it matters.

Few comic voices are standing up to the Snopes.com bullies…yet. That’s not surprising. While Jimmy Kimmel laments Kathy Griffin’s struggle after posing with a president’s bloodied head he hasn’t, to our knowledge, rushed to the Bee’s defense.

Kimmel stands behind Griffin because they’re on the same ideological side. He wouldn’t dare mock Ocasio-Cortez, even if she’s the most mockable politician in our lifetime.

Why? Mocking her could ding her credibility and, by extension, hurt the Democrats. It’s why Snopes.com can’t leave The Babylon Bee alone. The outlet fears the power of their very funny viral jokes aimed at the Left. They may wish Twitter would ban their account already.

Given Twitter’s usual speedy resort to the ban stick for everybody else who isn’t a dyed-in-the-wool fellow traveler, it’s amazing they haven’t already. Must be time for me to post another Bee excerpt.

ATLANTA, GA – According to a report from the Centers for Disease Control released on Thursday, people with inside, compromising knowledge of Bill and Hillary Clinton’s financial and political dealings are 843% more likely to commit suicide.

“We’ve never seen a single risk factor cause a spike of this magnitude,” a CDC spokesperson told reporters. “Interestingly, in spite of their increased suicide risk, people with dirt on the Clintons rarely show any warning signs of suicide, and they never leave a suicide note.”

As always with the incredibly deft satirists at the Bee, it’s funny ’cause it’s damned near true. Their adroitness at skating along today’s increasingly rapier-thin line between the literal truth and the completely absurd makes their work all the more effective against the humorless Left. It’s a dead cert that many of them find themselves reduced to unmanned, spluttering discombobulation under the Bee’s withering assault on their lunacy, their hypocrisy, and their tail-chasing self-contradiction.

Laughter is not only the best medicine, it also makes a damned fine weapon too—especially when wielded against the scolds, killjoys, and whey-faced schoolmarms of the Left. Alinsky knew it:

Rule 5: “Ridicule is man’s most potent weapon.”
Rule 6: “A good tactic is one your people enjoy.”

So nice to finally see their own Rules being used to shred the Radicals into bloody gobbets.

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Dullards and dimwits and dolts, oh my!

Oh, how I love this one.

A case out of South Carolina is highlighting the fact once again the drug-testing kits used by local police officers can be wildly inaccurate. On Thursday, drug charges were dropped against Shai Werts, Georgia Southern University’s starting quarterback, after he and his attorneys battled against accusations from Saluda County police earlier this summer that a white substance found on the hood of his car was cocaine.

Okay, everybody, wait for it…wait for it…WAIT FOR IT…

It turns out, it was bird crap. 

WHOOOAA, that’s good squishy! More details at the link, which lead me to conclude that the kid was probably lucky he didn’t get himself shot. But still: who on earth spends a wad of cash on blow, dumps it on the hood of his car, and then drives merrily on down the road that way? I mean really, people; cocaine is, y’know, a powder. You don’t foot the bill for that buzz and then just idly watch as the wind scatters your stash all over the friggin’ roadbed. Or not that I ever heard tell of, you don’t.

Again, though, there’s a more serious point to be made here about the incompetence and stupidity rampant amongst our authorities, wardens, and rulers. Which puts me in mind of an observation made in this Popehat Tweetstorm, via AP:


I remain convinced that Epstein’s alleged “suicide” was something far more sinister than just that, mind. But in most cases, it does indeed pay to bear Occam’s Razor closely in mind, along with the corollary adage about not attributing to malice things that can readily be explained by incompetence and stupidity.

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Mo’ bettah hilarity

The great Godfrey Elfwick is back, and in the very nick of time too.

Refusing to wax a woman’s balls is transphobia at its most blatant… and yet here we are, in 2019, still disrespecting trans women’s rights by denying them a smooth nutsack.

I’m referring of course to the recent publicity surrounding Jessica Yaniv, a stunning and brave trans woman who has filed complaints against more than a dozen female waxers with the Human Rights Council in British Columbia. And what is the justification these women have attempted to make in order to disguise their obvious bigotry? Well, among other flimsy excuses, ‘religious grounds’ (the majority of these women are immigrants) and the bizarre claim from one of them that her husband feared for her safety due to the fact that she works from home and has small children to take care of. What on earth does a woman have to fear from a 200+ lbs trans woman who is simply asking to come round to her home and have the hairs removed from her testicle satchel? 

As a trans woman myself, I’ve lost count of the amount of times I’ve been misgendered in Dorothy Perkins because of my beard, and so I have skin in the game here, so to speak. I understand all too well the shame that a denial of service can bring. For the past two years I’ve been trying to get my doctor to give me a Pap smear which he has point blank refused purely based on his misguided logic of me ‘not having a cervix’. As a medical man, I would expect him to understand that biological sex has nothing to do with gender and if I feel that I have a cervix, that should be more than enough for him to throw his anatomy charts into a bin and never refer to them again. These days, doctors know nothing compared to people like myself who have spent six months doing Gender Studies before being forced to quit due to the stress of being made to write essays twice a month.

Okay, that oughta be plenty enough to convince y’all you need to read the rest of it, which is not nearly as long as I’d like it to be. Don’t be such a stranger, Godfrey, the world needs you now more than ever before.

(Via MisHum)

How you slide down a slippery slope update! Gradually at first, then all at once.

One of the first articles I ever wrote about the transgender movement was in 2014, when I argued that the Chicago Tribune was wrong to retract Kevin Williamson article in which he stated that trans women are in fact men. This particular trans-identifying man was actor Laverne Cox, and pulling the plug on Williamson’s sensible column was an early salvo in a fight that has gone on now for five years.

At that time, most of the blowback I received from the left had to do with minding my own business. What did it matter to me, this early line of argument went, if men become women or women become men? Why couldn’t I just live and let live? It was such a tiny group of people, after all. Why was this such a big deal?

In response, I began to argue that if society allowed this monumental change to the very nature of sex and gender, then there would be policy implications. I talked about women’s sports, set-aside programs for women-owned businesses, and women’s-only spaces. Shortly thereafter, the bathroom wars began.

But hey, the past is the past. What seemed obvious and troubling to conservatives seemed impossible and nonsensical to progressives. What else is new? But here we are. Right now, the leftists who promised that it would never come to this, that it would never come to men forcing their penis and testicles into the faces of unwilling women, need to address the fact that, to their shock, this is exactly what happened.

I’m all for letting bygones be bygones. But can we now please finally all realize that there are real policy and personal implications to this rash decision to suddenly change the definition of men and women? Can the left stop pretending that none of this matters? Can we protect women who don’t want to wax the testicles of men, or women, or whatever the left wants to call them?

No, you BIGOTED HHH888RRR BIGOT, we most certainly can NOT. We must now move on to the next step: forcing MEN to wax the testicles of men. After that, we’ll move on to forcing cisgender het binary HHH8888RRRR men to date gay men, transgender mish-mashes, and eventually, say, squirrels.

Yeah, you readers probably think I’m being facetious here. You just wait.

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Wrong, righted

What the heck, why not.

HOUSTON, TX—As a tribute to the 50th anniversary of its fake moon landing, the National Aeronautics and Space Administration has announced a reboot of the staged event that fooled billions worldwide, only this time featuring an all-female crew.

NASA officials confirm they will release a shot-for-shot remake of the meticulously concocted phony moon landing, originally filmed at an undisclosed soundstage 50 years ago this week. The rejuvenated hoax will follow in the footsteps of other recent all-female reboots like Ghostbusters and Ocean’s 8.

So, an unwatchable flop, then.

Rumors claim the part of Neil Armstrong will be played by Scarlett Johansson, with Melissa McCarthy acting in the role of Edwin “Buzz” Aldrin. The Michael Collins character will be portrayed by Dame Judi Dench.

According to sources, the only change in the script is a more inclusive update to Armstrong’s famous words when setting foot on the moon, which will be replaced with the line “That’s one small step for a woman, one giant leap for womankind, mankind, transgenderkind, genderfluidkind, and otherkin.”

Hey, you forgot to include the Muzzrats, RACIST!™

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Gropey Joe flubs again

And “not a whisper of scandal,” either. Right, Gropey?

Former Vice President and 2020 Democratic candidate Joe Biden drew widespread criticism after he claimed that Russian meddling “didn’t” happen “on my watch” in a recent cable news interview.

During the interview with CNN’s Chris Cuomo aired on July 5, Biden expressed his disagreement about the current foreign policies and accused President Donald Trump of “dissing” allies and “embracing thugs.”

“Look at what’s happened with Putin. While he—while Putin is trying to undo our elections, he is undoing elections in — in Europe,” Biden said.

He continued, “Look what’s happened in Hungary. Look what’s happened in Poland. Look what’s happened in—look what’s happening.”

“You think that would have happened on my watch or Barack’s watch?” the former vice president then asked. “You can’t answer that, but I promise you it wouldn’t have, and it didn’t.”

Okay, who wants to be the one to tell him? I believe I see Rep Scalise’s hand in the air. You have the conn, Steve.

Y’know, if I didn’t know the Democrat-Socialists have the long knives out for poor Gropey already and probably don’t give a damn about stuff like this, I’d be worried about another one of their in-house violent psychopaths trying to murder Scalise again.

You gotta wonder, though: is Gropey trying to deflect attention from the Ogabe/Biden junta’s myriad fuckups by lying about them, or is he just flat-out retarded?

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Gallopin’ gourmet

Okay, I DEFINITELY just threw up in my mouth a little. The only thing more puke-inducing would be seeing Lena Dunham eating it, in the bulky buff.

CHICAGO (AP) — Officials say U.S. Customs and Border Protection agents at Chicago’s O’Hare International Airport thwarted a man’s attempt to import several pounds of African rat meat.

Customs spokesman Steve Bansbach said Tuesday that the man declared the 32 pounds of meat on June 26 when his flight arrived from the Ivory Coast. The meat was confiscated and destroyed.

Bansbach says the man did not face a fine and continued on his journey because he was forthcoming about what he was bringing into the country. He says customs officials prohibit the entry of African meats to prevent the spread of African swine fever.

In fairness to the poor rat-munching slob, he’s from a primitive, backward part of the world, and his culture is not our culture. Too, when a man gets hungry enough he’ll eat anything. And where he hails from, it can oftentimes be a choice between rat and starvation. They don’t call it the Dark Continent for nothing, you know.

Hell, I hear some of the beastly savages in this world’s more benighted places even favor dog meat for vittles, considering Fido filet to be just good eatin’.

Appetizing update! Seems like a good excuse to sneak this tasty old classic in.



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Jim Rockford: a great American

What the hell, I’ll buy it.

The Rockford Files (1974-1980) is not only the greatest television show ever made; its lead character is the greatest American ever brought to the small screen. The Sopranos, The Shield, Breaking Bad, Mad Men, Lost… All are fantastic television shows, and I could name many others, but none tops a 1970s private eye series that ran for six seasons on NBC.

You see, there was only one James Garner…

Garner was as ruggedly handsome as Clark Gable, as roguish as Errol Flynn, as masculine as Burt Reynolds, as stoic as Gary Cooper, as tough as Robert Mitchum, as cool as Steve McQueen, as funny as William Powell, as cynical as William Holden, as likable as Jimmy Stewart, and as charming as Cary Grant.

There was no one else like him, and for more than 40 years, audiences went where Garner went, from TV to movies to TV movies — many of them classics: The Great Escape, The Americanization of Emily, Murphy’s Romance, The Notebook, Support Your Local Sheriff, The Skin Game, Victor Victoria, Sayonara, Grand Prix, My Name Is Bill W., Streets of Laredo… Just to name a few.

And no one else could have played Jim Rockford. It was tailor-made for Garner, lightning in a bottle, and, yes, the most American television show ever made.

Here are all the ways in which Jim Rockford is TV’s great American…

Rockford is a Veteran who was wounded and won the Silver Star in the Korean War. (Garner, who was also a great American, earned his own Purple Heart in Korea. He also marched for civil rights before it was cool, took no crap from any man or employer, and was married to the same woman for 56 years.)

Rockford’s an entrepreneur who ekes out a hand-to-mouth living as an independent, self-employed private investigator. He could never survive in the government bureaucracy or corporate culture he frequently sneers at.

He regularly challenges, insults, and dismisses authority. Rockford spent years in San Quentin for a crime he didn’t commit and has no love for the corrupt System that put him there, but plenty of love for the Bill of Rights that won his pardon.

He eats junk food and meat.

He owns a gun. Better yet he doesn’t have a permit to carry it and still does on occasion.

He smokes cigarettes.

He exceeds the speed limit.

He burns fossil fuels.

Above all, Jim Rockford is first, last, and always his own man. His independence, his unwillingness to conform to anyone’s idea of how he should live his life, work his profession, or bow to authority is as American as it gets. He doesn’t tell anyone else how to live their life, and as long as you don’t cross that busybody line with him, there won’t be a problem.

What could be more patriotic than shoving the Bill of Rights up the ass of an officious authority figure abusing his government power or turning down a case because you’d prefer to go fishing and drink beer with your dad?

Mind your own business. Don’t take anyone’s shit. Distrust authority. Keep a gun in the cookie jar. Never conform. Drive a fast car. Pay your own way through life…

Jim Rockford isn’t just an American…

He is The American.

Heh. Pretty much. Still can’t figure out how we lost the country to fucking Pajama Boy and a Mardi Gras parade-float’s worth of angry chicks with dicks when we had guys like Rockford in our corner. Oh well. I’ll add one thing more to Nolte’s list: Rockford also had theme music that was released as a single, and became probably the biggest TV theme song hit ever.



That song was ALL OVER the radio back then; I can’t recall hearing a single person say they didn’t like it. Nice guitar work, too.

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Envy is always an unlovely thing

Oh shut up, Whoopsie.

It’s beginning to sound an awful like victim-blaming.

Actress Bella Thorne leaked her own personal, private pictures on Saturday in an effort to take power back from an alleged hacker who threatened to release them to the public. The 21-year-old posted on her Twitter account screenshots of the NSFW images, along with text messages from the hacker who demanded money in exchange for not posting the pictures.

Many fans and other Twitter users offered support and praise for Thorne’s actions, but on Monday’s episode of The View, Whoopi Goldberg  essentially blamed Thorne for taking the nude photos in the first place.

“If you’re famous, I don’t care how old you are. You don’t take nude pictures of yourself,” Goldberg said. “Once you take that picture, it goes into the cloud and it’s available to any hacker who wants it, and if you don’t know in 2019 that this is an issue, I’m sorry. You don’t get to do that.”

Thorne responded with a note posted to her Instagram Story. “Dear Whoopi, I have loved u for so long but honestly I’m so displeased and saddened by your response to my leek [sic],” she wrote. “Blaming girls for taking the photo in the first place? Is sick and honestly disgusting.”

Just because nobody wants to look at nekkid pics of Goldberg’s ugly old ass is no reason she should go bustin’ on Thorne. You go, girl. Let ’em breathe, I say.

Reminds me of a good old joke: a little boy is at the beach, swimming in the surf alongside a comely, buxom young lass in a tiny bikini. A serious rogue wave comes a-crashing over them both, rough enough to rip the hottie’s skimpy top right off and away. As she’s desperately trying to keep her arms over those fun-bags and hold them underwater so’s nobody gets a free peek, the boy says to her, “look, lady, if you’re gonna drown them puppies I’ll take the one with the little brown nose.”

If I was at the beach and such a thing happened to Whoopie, I’d hold her damned head under, for as long as it took.

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The ground has shifted, no further notice

As promised, more defiance from one of Kurt’s more enjoyable pieces.

Take this idiocy about the newly discovered TREASONOUS TREACHERY OF TREASON that is taking oppo from grimy foreigners. Trump said (and I paraphrase), “Sure, I guess if some alien offered me dirt on whichever groper, fake Cherokee, Mad magazine mascot or skateboarding furry the Democrats nominate I’d listen,” and the lib elite lifted off into the highest of dudgeons.

“This is his worst treason since his last worst treason!” they thundered. “This is even more treasonous than when The Bad Orange Man called us ‘traitors’ for our treachery after we called him ‘traitor’ for two years!” 

They got really, really upset. Fake upset, of course, but they committed to the bit and kept straight faces. And you know that Trump pulled the pin on that hand grenade of truth on purpose in order to make the dummies explode just like they did. 

You have to wonder if the garbage elite really thinks their brand of blatant hypocrisy disguised as moral outrage works, or if this is just a reflexive response to a president who not only sees them for the useless slugs they are, but says so.

Oh, I’m quite sure it’s both. But why wouldn’t they expect it to work? It always has before, and there are still plenty enough outdated, vintage Republicans perfectly willing to bend the knee, tug the forelock, and apologize for their outrageous incivility rattling around the old DC digs to convince them that, after this Brief Unpleasantness, things will slide comfortably back into the same old greasy grooves.

Still, do any of them truly think that we Normals will listen to them sounding off about the perfidy of perhaps considering the possibility of maybe accepting dirt on their freak show candidates from outsiders and not recall that Felonia Milhous von Pantsuit famously did just that with the pee-pee dossier, or that Adam Schiff got punked by a couple of Russian Howard Stern wannabeskis offering him pics of the POTUS au natural?

When Staggers O’Cankles does it, it’s cool? When Congressman Leaky does it, it’s fine? Yet when Trump says he might do exactly what they did, it’s the greatest betrayal of our Values, our Constitution and our Democracy since his last greatest betrayal of our Values, our Constitution and our Democracy, which happened last week?

They have to hope we will. At this point, it’s all they have left.

Who actually still cares about this nonsense? It can’t be aimed at converting us. We know they think we’re dumb, but are they so stupid, so utterly unable to correctly and objectively assess their opponents (us), that they really believe they can Ted Lieu on our legs and tell us it’s raining, and that we’ll just nod and join in their never-ending chant of “Orange Man Bad?”

I don’t they hope to convert us. I think they hope to cow us—to intimidate us, to shut us down. Like I said, it’s worked quite nicely for them until now. Anyone looking for reasons why Trump unhinges them so completely will find plenty of them. But really, you could stop right there, with just the one.

To the extent our modern elite had retained any residual credibility from back in the distant past when our elite wasn’t totally corrupt and incompetent, that goodwill has been squandered in the wake of its war to crush Trump, which is actually a war to crush us and restore the elite’s unchallenged power. 

Annnnd BINGO. Right there it is.

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Great minds

Richard hips us to this article from the Bee wherein they recognize the awesome, awesome greatness of a certain band—both musically and, umm…well, uhhh…

Study: AC/DC’s ‘Highway To Hell’ More Theologically Accurate Than 96% Of Modern Worship Songs

Yes, it’s the Bee again. I am, however, unprepared to render judgment as to whether or not it’s satire in this particular case.

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Unclear and confuscated

Obligatory disclaimer: yes, it’s the Bee, and I do know it’s satire. Or, as their new subscription-solicitation box pronounces: “Fake news you can trust, delivered straight to your inbox.”

And yes, I signed up for it.

WASHINGTON, D.C.—In a special session called to order Friday, Congress voted unanimously to do a complete overhaul of Father’s Day, renaming the holiday “Toxic Masculinity Awareness Day” and redefining the day’s meaning to encourage citizens to heap shame and disgust on all fathers, current or potential.

Americans across the country excitedly prepared to celebrate the updated holiday designed to shame fathers and all things masculine as the weekend approached.

“It was just time,” said House Speaker Paul Ryan, citing the high numbers of depression and anxiety among men as “a good sign things are progressing in the right direction, but we still have a lot of work to do before all men, everywhere do the right thing and hate themselves with the appropriate level of vehemence.” The new initiative seeks to have all men wailing in the streets in sackcloth and ashes, flagellating and weeping with shame and regret for their harmful, problematic masculinity.

The rewritten holiday guidelines suggest cancelling any gift orders for cigars or plans to take dad out for steak and instead sitting dad on the floor in the living room and repeatedly shaming him for being part of the problem, saying things like “Take that money you were going to spend on a beard trimmer and instead donate it to women’s rights.” The government also established an associated website, ToxicFathersDay.gov, where you can download a free card to give your father that reads, “This isn’t your day any more. Do better.”

Okay, I THINK it’s satire. Maybe not; it’s so hard to tell these days, and attaching that “statement” to Paul RINO ain’t helping to keep the lines clear either. Here, let’s try another one.

U.S.—While everyone has a mother–a necessity in every family for raising and providing for the children–there is a second type of parent some people have called a “father.” It is unknown what purpose this seemingly vestigial parent provides, but today is a holiday known as Father’s Day, where the existence of fathers is acknowledged even if their purpose is unknown.

There had been concerns in the past that fathers actually were harmful to families because of their toxic masculinity, but that masculinity has been tamed in recent years. Now they’re relatively harmless and can help with chores around the house–though usually only under tight supervision, as they’re not very good at them–and can occasionally watch the children–though this again can cause trouble, as they often irritate the children with bad jokes.

While no one recommends having a father, if you know of one, today is the day to tell him, “There you are.” Scientists expect fathers to completely disappear in the next few decades, though, as they’re replaced with an automated device that can both kill spiders and say, “Nice to meet you, Hungry.”

Yep, I think it’s satire. I THINK.

Know what the real problem with the Bee is, though? Every danged time I look in over there I wind up wanting to excerpt EVERYthing here. They just suck me right in every time, and whenever I find myself immersed therein it’s so enjoyable that I don’t want to come back out again.

Update! Exhibit A in support of that last ‘graph of mine.

Covert Navy SEAL Team Really Starting To Regret Wearing These Pride Month Uniforms
RAQQA, SYRIA—A Navy SEAL Team recently expressed regret in showing support for Pride Month after their new uniforms gave away their position in a covert operation to infiltrate an ISIS stronghold. Seal Captain James McKeever says they endured heavy gunfire after the little rainbow flags poking up off of their shoulder area drew the enemy’s attention. “The whole mission was a bust. We barely made it out alive.”

The SEAL team is now being investigated for hate speech after expressing such clearly unpatriotic and anti-gay opinions. “To refuse to wear a bright, rainbow-covered frog suit on a covert ops mission is the definition of anti-gay bias,” said investigator Janice Gillespie. “They will be duly reprimanded.”

See? You SEE what I mean, dammit?

Updated update! An incredibly moving Father’s Day tribute that is DEFINITELY not satirical.

The men of 8th Company were much older now and not as lean as the men — boys, really — who appeared in the photos from 1950-51. Most carried extra weight around the middle, had the leathery skin that came with years of overexposure to the sun, and old tattoos that had purpled with age on biceps and calves that were not as hard and chiseled as they once were — but you didn’t try to tell them that. Like old athletes, they spoke with as much bravado as ever.

I had to smile. It had been my privilege to be raised in the company of such men. They could be profane and the jokes were always off-color. They were, to a man, hard-drinking and chain-smoking. They incessantly complained about the army and were fiercely proud of their part in it. Ornery and ready to fight each other, they were nonetheless ready to die for each other, too. Their vices were ever near the surface and yet, I cannot imagine where America would be without their kind.

I was 20 years old and sat silently watching and listening as I so often did when my father swapped war stories with other veterans. But this time it was different. These weren’t just any veterans; these were the men with whom he had shed blood. This would be his last reunion and it was important to him that I be there. As the son of an 8th Company Ranger, I was, like other sons, an honorary member of this very exclusive club and therefore allowed to participate on the periphery of their banter — and fetch them beer. Lots of beer. Ranger reunions were impossible without beer. And with middle-aged men, that meant frequent trips to the bathroom.

With my father away for a moment on just that sort of mission, one of his old buddies leaned in as if to tell me a secret:

“If any man was ever born to be a soldier, it was your father. Some men have an instinct for the battlefield, and he damn sure did. Absolutely the best shot I ever saw. Could hit flies at a hundred yards. And, man, he was fearless…”

My father, returning, rolled his eyes: “That’s bulls–t, Mike. I was as afraid as any man.”

He turned to me. “It’s as I’ve told you before, son, a man who is truly fearless will get you killed. There’s something wrong with him. His instincts don’t tell him to be afraid when he should be. You want a man on point who wants to stay alive just like you do and whose senses are telling him ‘something’s not right here’ when there’s reason to believe you’re walking into an ambush. Now Mike here, was a helluva point man…” This was all very typical. They extolled each other’s battlefield heroics, but not their own.

All of these men dealt with the psychological wounds of war whether they ever received a Purple Heart or not. My mother tells me that my father suffered from hideous nightmares to the day he died, a recurring one being that he had fallen into a thinly covered mass grave full of bodies in a state of decomposition. Though he fights to climb out over the bodies, the rotten flesh slides off the bones as he grips them and their flesh remained on him for days until he could bathe, a luxury not afforded to men behind enemy lines. Though he would never say, she thinks the nightmare reflected an actual occurrence. I wager all of these men had nightmares of war.

Years later, as he lay on his deathbed delirious from the heavy doses of morphine, he returned to the battlefield. I will never forget his words, a command shouted with urgency and authority: “Cover the left flank! Cover the left flank! Move! Move! Move!” The order was repeated along with something about laying down suppression fire. Whatever the battle he was in, he was reliving it and he was determined to hold the line. In that moment, I prayed that the Lord would take him. He was suffering the horror of war all over again.

The next afternoon, his chest, heaving and belabored for days, relaxed and the air left his lungs in one long sigh. My father was dead.

Trust me when I assure you that you absolutely MUST read all of this. Keep the hankies close at hand when you do. And wonder where we ever found such men, and whether we’ll ever see their like again. Pray to God that we do; sooner or later, as surely as the Sun rises, we’re going to need them.

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“Why is San Francisco such a mess?”

Sorry for going dark most of this week, folks. Been spending all my time trying to work out a deal on an old beater car, having been without for two months now—which definitely cramps a Door Dash-driver’s style, as one would imagine—due to a bunch of crap I ain’t gonna get into now. So, laying all that troyerik mishegoss aside, let’s clear out a few open tabs, shall we?

Lemme see, lemme see, what do we have lying around here…oh, this one looks like it could be fun.

Sooner or later, every San Franciscan is going to have to answer this question: Why is the best city in the world such a mess?

Meanwhile, everyone else is asking: Why—San Francisco inarguably being the shit-strewn Third World mess that we all know it to be—do some people there cling so desperately to the delusional conceit that it’s still somehow “the best city in the world”?

The Washington Post is the latest to be on San Francisco’s case. It was once the Paris of the West. Now it’s “Too homogenous, too expensive, too tech, too millennial, too white, too elite, too bro.”

Too complicated, too desperatively evasive, when all they had to say was: too liberal, for too long—a conclusion based on an Everest of real-world evidence provided by every other urban shithole in America run for the last five or six decades by liberals.

And everyone knows it. I heard from a woman who was one of the neighbors when I lived on 21st Avenue, years ago. She was a kid then and played with my daughters on the sidewalk — jump rope, games like that. “This is not the city I grew up in,” she wrote. “I will never come back.”

You hear that a lot from expatriate San Franciscans. They moved out for a hundred good reasons, but a lot of us loyalists stayed with the city. We still like the city — the feel of it, the small-town nature of San Francisco, the neighborhood restaurants, the corner stores, the nutty vitality of the place.

A lot of those nuts readily to be found right on the streets, if you don’t mind sorting through the stuff they’re embedded in. Kernels of corn too, I bet.

True confession: first West Coast tour time the band did way back in the mid-90s, I myself absolutely LOVED SF. I had a couple of friends there who showed me around some; the three or four Bay Area (one was in Oakland, I believe) shows we did were very well-attended and received, too. Overall, I had a great time there. I still consider it the single most beautiful city I ever did see, although I was quite surprised to find so many of the people I encountered to be stiff, prickly, standoffish assholes—this, at a time when I’d been living in New York City for several years already, supposedly the world’s capital of Rude. Not so, folks; SF was WAAAAY worse, to my great shock and disappointment.

But this is no little “cable cars climbing halfway to the stars” view of the city. People who have lived here for a long time can see clearly what’s wrong with the city. But it’s San Francisco. It’s like a romance gone awry. It’s complicated.

No, it isn’t; much as you might like to think it to be, it really, really isn’t. It’s liberal governance, producing the exact same results it does any and everywhere it’s tried.

To cope with these problems, the citizens have continued to elect weak city governments, all built on compromise and deals with competing pressure groups. At City Hall everybody is responsible for everything and nobody is responsible for anything.

Another perfectly-typical, Mark-1 Mod-0 hallmark trait of liberal governance, which is never anythink like as weak as it needs to be.

To make a complex problem worse, the city has so many rules and regulations that it has become nearly impossible to build anything.

Ahem. Typical. Hallmark. Etc. Problem NOT complex. Problem very, very simple. It’s beginning to seem jaw-droppingly incredible to me that even this poor schlub can remain oblivious to it. But now we get to the truly pitiful part.

The Washington Post is right. It’s too too. So why do we loyalists stay? Why don’t we cash out, sell our modest homes for a million bucks and buy a mansion in Broken Bow, Neb.?

It’s the people you find here. People like Fran Martin and Anne Seeman and their neighbors, who turned a neglected eyesore in an out-of-the-way neighborhood into a 6-block-long showplace called the Visitacion Valley Greenway. People like Nancy Windesheim and Joan Carson, who headed an effort to repair and landscape a one-block section of Esmeralda Avenue in Bernal Heights and turn it into a small treasure, complete with a children’s slide.

OOOOH, A SLIDE? Woooo-weee, that there’s some high-class living right there, you betcher. Why, out here in Benighted Ign’ernt Knuckledragger Hell, you only ever come across one of them thar fancy slidey-board thingies at, oh, EVERY FUCKING SCHOOL, PARK, AND PUBLIC PLAYGROUND YOU HAPPEN PAST. Usually more than just one of ’em, actually. Yes, such things are a good bit less rare than hen’s teeth to us hicks from the sticks. Only ’round these parts, you don’t have to worry about the big, steaming pile of fresh-cranked wino turd you’ll find yourself deposited face-first in at the end of the ride. That would seem to be a feature exclusive to these urban liberal utopias the poor souls trapped therein tell themselves we’re all so very envious of.

There are other people with smaller visions who built community gardens all over the city; the neighbors who put in a kids’ swing just off San Jose Avenue.

Waitwaitwaitwait: do you seriously mean to tell me that in addition to a slide, SF also boasts A SWINGSET TOO BESIDES? I can’t believe it. I WON’T believe it.

Many of these people are not native San Franciscans pining for the good old days and complaining about how the city has gone to the dogs, dammit.

They moved here because they saw something special in this place. They did a lot of work to make San Francisco better. Not just talk. Hard work.

And in return, got the same payoff doled out by liberal governance everywhere, every time: a stinking bag of shit. Just remember folks: what they’ve done for SF, they can damned sure do for you too. And fully intend to, whether you like it or not.

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Dominance and submission

Even as the parent of a daughter who will most likely end up confronting this nonsense sooner or later, I still can’t help but enjoy how end-stage “feminism” and chaotic, anti-science Leftard gender fuckwittery have been crushed under the weight of their own contradictions.

U.S.—Declaring that “the future is female” and that they would “no longer bow to toxic male faux-dominance,” Americans on the left of the political spectrum solemnly vowed Saturday to topple the Patriarchy once and for all by allowing biological males to dominate all women’s sports.

“The Patriarchy needs to be smashed, women need to be empowered, and men who identify as women need to be active in women’s contact sports!” one Portland LGBT activist told reporters. “Once every single female sport in America is utterly dominated by biological males who identify as women, the criminal hierarchy of men utterly dominating all aspects of life will be broken—this is not hard!”

“Not allowing men who identify as women to participate in women’s sports is patriarchal oppression, and probably transphobic, or maybe sexist, we think?” she added sternly.

Questioned about CeCe Telfer—formerly Craig Telfer—the biologically male NCAA runner who went from a ranking of 390th to becoming national champion in one year after identifying as transgender and switching from competing against men to competing against women, the activist said “what CeCe has done is affirming and marvelous.”

“Crushing the hopes and dreams of females who’ve trained their whole lives only to be suddenly forced to compete against physically superior biological males is the perfect way to uplift women.”

Men and women are NOT equal—physically, mentally, or emotionally. Gender is genetically assigned and immutable, not subject to change according to one’s “feelings” or whim. A male may have himself surgically and hormonally altered to accomodate his psychological aberrations, but cannot make himself a woman thereby. There are some things a woman simply can NOT do “every bit as well” as a man. Them’s the facts, ladies; you might not like ’em, but you damned sure have to live with ’em. Just like the rest of us do.

And if you don’t believe me, you just go and check out the pics of the “female” athletes accompanying the article.

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Making waves in Britain

Trump bitch-slaps Londonistan mayor Mohammad Abdullah al Farouq Shabeeb Hussein Saddiq bin Laden, among other deserving pustules, right between his beady little eyes.

President Trump on Tuesday, in a press conference with outgoing U.K. Prime Minister Theresa May, blasted his British left-wing critics as a “negative force” — and confirmed that he snubbed the leader of the opposition Labour Party when he sought a sit-down.

“I don’t know Jeremy Corbyn, never met him, never spoke to him — he wanted to meet today or tomorrow and I decided I would not do that,” Trump told reporters at the London press conference.

Trump also took another shot at longtime foe and London Mayor Sadiq Khan, who had also opposed Trump’s visit to Britain.

“I don’t think he should be criticizing a representative of the United States that can do so much good for the United Kingdom,” Trump said. “He’s a negative force, not a positive force.”

Of the mayor, Trump said: “He’s done a poor job, crime is up, a lot of problems.”

Ahh, but does it get even better? Hold onto your hats, boys and girls.


“Stone cold loser”? How could you NOT love the guy? But it gets better still, as the shitlibs at NPR hilariously jump in to “fact-check” Trump’s wicked jab regarding Mayor bin Laden’s height, then accuse him of “lying.”

No, seriously, gang. I really mean it. They did that. They really, really did.

Morning Edition host Rachel Martin cued up the lying accusation by highlighting Mayor Sadiq Khan’s dislike of Trump.

Martin then asked NPR London reporter Frank Langfitt what Trump was up to ahead of the trip.

“Well he fired off on Twitter criticism of Khan,” Langfitt said. “He said Khan had done a terrible job as mayor of London, called him a stone-cold loser, compared him to — in the opinion of the president — the very dumb and incompetent mayor of New York City, Bill de Blasio.”

“One difference, Trump said, between the two mayors, he said that Khan is only half the height of de Blasio,” Langfitt said. “That’s not true. Mayor Khan is 5 foot 6.”

NPR did the math and discovered that if the mayor were half the size of de Blasio’s 6 feet 5 inches, he would be just over 3 feet tall.

WELL, thank God those intrepid, dauntless NPR “journalists” got to the bottom of that one for us. What would we do without these heroes, eh? Loads more from Ace, including a report on the wanton murder of the Londonistan Left’s infamous Baby Trump blimp by an apparent Trump supporter. I dunno, call it a “post-birth abortion,” maybe.

Update! NPR is gonna want to fact-check this one too, I bet.

ENGLAND—England has reluctantly ceded control of their country over to Donald Trump after the visiting US president was given a sword by a strange woman lying in a pond.

Trump was walking by the lake, taking in the beautiful sights of the English countryside, when the woman emerged from the surface of the waters, her arm clad in the purest shimmering samite. Trump began to bellow at her.

“Hey, very fine woman over there!” he shouted. “I very much appreciate English girls. Maybe the best girls in the world. Great teeth. How’d you like a tour of the White House sometime? You should see my office, it’s literally an oval.” Trump then attempted to wade out to her to continue their conversation, but the frightened lady of the lake tossed a sword in his direction to ward him off before disappearing.

“Have it your way!” he called out as he walked away, Excalibur in tow, his hosts in shock as they realized they now had to bend the knee to Donald Trump.

Political analysts attempted to point out that supreme executive power derives from a mandate from the masses, not from some farcical aquatic ceremony, and that just because a watery tart throws a sword at you, that doesn’t mean that you’re a king. But Trump ordered them to be quiet.

It’s good to be King. Even if it’s only England.

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Pure brilliance

Bill links to an AOSHQ commenter who has quite the way with words.

Saira Rao, just shut the fuck up. Shut the whole fucking fuck up. Shut the new extended three hour director’s cut edition the fuck up. Once you’ve shut that fuck up, put in the bonus disc and click on the deleted fucks and shut those the fuck up. And once you have finished shutting the physical fuck up, redeem the code on the back, download the digital fuck from Amazon and shut those fucks up. And once your mouth has receded into itself with such force from shutting the fuck up that your entire digestive system collapses into a black hole, shut the fuck up one more time.

I got chills here. I swear, I’d consider having that tattooed on me someplace if I had enough blank fleshly real estate left for it. Only one response possible to such a glistering delight of precious-metal FOAD:



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