Short but True (and Funny)

Greetings Me Droogs N Droogettes!

Now, shit’s been too serious lately. I’m dropping this at my place in the A.M., but figured we got to lighten the mood up round here at Cold Fury, lest our Host Mighty Mike finally flips his shytte Aye? So vorwarts as Die Chermans would say:
Rolling down “memory lane” I came across’t another picture set that was EPIC in it’s entirety.  Now… this was Christmas 2006… We had a BIG Corporate Party under the Prime, ITT… what it -ackchully- stood for is lost on me and my shitty TBI induced memories, but we always called it “International Thugs n’ Thieves”.  One of the larger more corrupt outfits to have ever run a Middle Eastern Grift… I was with Stanley under as a subcontractor.

So, being a miiiiiiiiiiiiiiillion miles away from the Untied Statz, the company tried to lay on a pretty BIG parh-tay, despite the ‘no booze rules’ of Kuwait.  Now, don’t get me wrong, Booze was ostensibly available, however it was of two varieties, one being home-made moonshine called Siddique, pronounce Sid-deek-key or more often “That undrinkable bullshit that’ll leave you blind” and then real ‘Murican Booze smuggled in by various factions… however, a single 5th of Jack?  Yeah, try almost $200 USD.  

#7 @ $200? Fuggedaboutit.

Waaaaaaay outta my league.  Not that I didn’t have the cash, but man, even for me, that’s faaaar too much dinero for a buzz.

So, anywho, the company threw a big assed party… booze free of course.  At the party, me and my bros went together, and the grub was good, and it was at a BIG mall in Fahaheel, which was a major high-end shopping District of Kuwait City.  At the party, they even had a gen-you-wine camel and drover of said-Joe-Camel there, for us to get rides and pictures taken.

Harris and Byron?  Well, they stood there and Joe camel seemed to be aight with it.
Then it was my turn.

Now, I wanted to get a -bit closer-… so shot #2 was needed:

It’s blurry, but that’s because the camel started getting ‘ornery’ and Bryon who was taking the picture yelled to me at the last second “Big Country, watch out!”
Next thing I know, I got a camel chomping down on my right shoulder fucking vicelike and hard.
Bryon of course kept taking pics sorta-kinda

Motherfucker done went and bit me…
And me? Well, I lost it…
The last pic is of Bryon going to pull me off the drover, cause I done went and did a Conan IRL.

Yeah,… no shit, it was sort of like this:

I right hooked and cold-cocked that big sumbitch.
Knocked ole Joe Camel on his one-humped ass.
I was positively covered in Camel drool and loogies mind you, and my right shoulder bruised up for weeks. The drover wasn’t none too happy I had knock Joe Camel into next week, but realized I was fittin’ to ‘pack him a lunch’ too so to speak… I was fucking bullshit man

I fucking hate Camels…
Motherfucking ornery nasty assholes.
Yeah… Fuck ’em.

Only -other- Camel story I got was when I –first- hit ground in Kuwait.  They piled us alllllll on a microbus.  Not sure if’n y’all have ever seen them Jap minibuses, but man, they sure as shit-shootin’ ain’t made for us Big Ole Corn Fed Norte’Muricanos.  Itty-Bitty Seats.  They packed us in like sardines, and then ran us up and around the city… there was some sort of Festival going on… BIG holiday.  We got stuck-like-Chuck in horrible traffic near, what I found out later was the Fahaheel Woman’s Magic Mall.

Because of the whole Islamic ‘wimmenz is subhuman’ and whatever, the Magic Mall is a cross between the Insane Clown Posse Mall, a daycare, and the “no men allowed”, leastways Kuwait/Ay-rab men.  Us ‘Muricans never caught flak for going in.  It had an amusement park, carnival rides, hell, even a roller coaster.  We got stuck outside of it for quite a spell in the traffic that day.

There was a whole pen of camels hemmed up in that parking lot too… Seeing’s the whole ‘festival atmosphere and whatnow, I started debating on bringing the X and Kinder over for a few months… I mean shit.  Free apartment, 4 bedrooms, total luxury, and a mall with Clowns, a roller coaster and camels?  (Mind you this was pre-my-ass-getting-chomped)  Sounds like good fambly fun!

So, as we’re sitting there, waiting in the sweltering heat, Haji the Camel Handler takes one of the Camels out of the pen… walks him over to the back of his Bongo Truck.  Mazda has a little utility Pickup called a Bongo… google it… so Haji the Camel Handler ties the lead to the back of the truck.  He then reaches into the bed and comes out with a ginormous sword/cleaver looking thing… one of the broads on the bus literally said “What’s going to happen to the camel?” when >WHOOOOSH<

Hackity Hackity, Whackity Whackity, Ole Joe literally got it in the neck.

Head pops off, and the blood positively jetted ALL over the side of our microbus…
Like OMFG… and I was thinking about bringing my kids here?

Oh Holy Hells No to the Fuck Nos.

One of the chicks on the bus started ralphing.. THAT put me off more than the blood let me tell yaTHAT took the final cake for me… locked in a microbus with puke and blood everywhere?

Good times, good times.

What was, to me, the hysterical part was the –other fucking camels still in the pen-  I could almost hear the dialog: “Oh holy shit!!! Jimmy just got his fucking head cut the fuck off!  Oh fuck oh fuck oh fuck!!!”  The looks on them other motherfuckin’ camel-faces were something to behold.

We were stuck there for about another 40 minutes.  Long enough to see “Jimmy” as I had dubbed him in my head-cartoon reduced to ribs, steaks and chops.  On our ride back, we went by the same area, and the camel population in the pen had been significantly reduced by Haji The Headchopping Camel Killer…
Seems for the Festivus, Joe Camel was most definitely on the menu.

Yeah…we sure as fuck ain’t them, and they sure as fuck ain’t us.
We should keep it that way
Knowutimsayin?
Hope You Enjoyed the Laugh or Two…
And BTW:  I’ve had plenty of revenge… 
Camel meat (when I can afford it) is on the menu here
Camel Tacos and Burgers anyone?

More Later I Remain The Intrepid Reporter
Big Country

7

Had to Share

Greetings Me Droogs N Droogettes!

Figured I’s share here as well, well because it’s funny
Aesop took the original image over at raconteur used my pic for his poast “Too Soon” and made a pretty funny meme out of the pic I did of the dude falling from the C-17.  It’s here: https://raconteurreport.blogspot.com/2021/08/too-soon.html (And BTW Bro, WTF? seriously? You -still- don’t link my shithouse?  I got yers on at the top of the pile under AESOP.  How about a back scratch man?)Anyways…I had a few MOR memes about that particular shytteshow that I figure since I’m housecleaning… some of them are going to need explanation to the non-airborne folks tho, as they’re a bit more specific…

No explanation needed there Aye?

Anyone who’s ever played a vidyagame knows that one…

Lil story there… I kinda-sorta did 5 DotMil freefalls… that’s the requirement.

Problem: I had been out of the DotMil, medically retired, for 3 months when I got to jump.
I was a fucking civvie 

Now for those who want to throw the bullshit flag, let me explain.  When I finally got out, I was supposed to turn in my ID card.  I was getting medically retired, but it was at Fort Hood (and we’ve gone over just how fucked up  that particular place is before) and the GS doing the ID Card turn-in/retirement card issue was out sick the day I was leaving.  And man, I was leaving-leaving as in that motherfucking day  “Run Away!!! Run Away!!!”… I literally pulled up in a 24 foot moving van for my final out.  So the kid, and I mean kid, 18 year old private told me, “Ah hell Corporal, I don’t know how to run the machine to make a new card for you… why don’t you hold on to your current one, and use it til you can get to your home, and get the nearest base to do the ID swap for you.”

I was like (in my head) BONUS!

So, I had a valid military ID instead of a retiree card like I do now.  And mind you this was BEFORE the majority of shit was computerized… they were still hand-jamming paperwork.

What happened then was 3 months after I was out, my best bro of the time, who I ended up in Iraq with, Lil Country as he’s now known as, had finished parachute riggers school, and gotten posted to my Alma Mater, Fort Campbell.  He was on the 5th Special Forces Rigging team.  Needless to say, I went down for a long 4 day weekend.  Where he took it on himself to set up a Chinook for a day of free-fall “parachute testing” and yeah… they do that on the weekends, or used to legit.  Parachutes gotta be tested don’t you know… 

Since I had a valid ID, the proper uniform, (yeah I was still in shape) the beard and such was overlooked as it -was- 5th Group… Lil told everyone I was a new team member of the ‘dirty platoon’ which was and probably still is a group of operators no one questions, and has relaxed grooming standards…

So I got my 5 qualifying jumps.

We got caught though.  Lil was known not to work on weekends… especially long 4 day weekends, so the Group Sergeant Major showed up.  Wanted to know why Lil was working when normally, he was a slacker…  CSM, well, he didn’t recognize me, and maaaan I was shitting rabbit pellets up while Lil explained the scam, and up until until he started laughing his balls off I thought “I’m going to jail, I’m going to jail…” 

However, the CSM loved the scheming that we did to do it.  The CSM said it was some “real operator SF shit we pulled”… I got a free-fall certificate and group coin with my name engraved in the mail a few weeks after I went home… the note enclosed said he couldn’t get it on my 214, but that I was quall’d and that I was welcome back anytime…  I mailed him a bottle of his favorite bourbon as a thank you for not throwing me and Lil in prison… He was fucking awesome and so was that time… days of wine and roses indeed.So to continue:

Now, this one?Bit more to it if you weren’t DotMil or ABN.  ABN stands for “Airborne” meaning you jumped out of perfectly good aircraft for fun, prizes and jump pay if you were on full jump status with the 82nd or 173rd.  101st?  Notsomucho. 

The guys like me who only did the required 5? 
Usually derisively called a “5 Jump Chump”Mainly because it was officers who only got the wings to ‘punch the career checklist’So, this guy?  Yeeeeeeeeeah… 

And to close it out, The 82nd Airborne Chorus doing “Blood Upon The Risers”

No risers means no blood on ’emWhat a hell of a way to die…No shit Aye?More Later I Remain The Intrepid ReporterBig Country

Forgot the anniversary of the A-Bomb…

2

OK, I LOL’d

Greetings Me Droogs N Droogettes!

Cross-Poasting this One Here at Mike’s as some y’all don’t hit ‘mah house’ on the reg… so what the hell, I had to share…
Funny not funny this A.M.
Apparently the entirety of the Biden Admin has gone of Vacation.  (Permanent one would hope) while Affy fails and falls apart faaaaar worse than Saigon did.  Proof is in the puddin’ so to speak.  Now, the link here?  Tragic. BUT RTWT to get a handle on the scope of just how fucked up things are, and watch the embed vidya and try -not- to laugh:
https://www.dailymail.co.uk/news/article-9897561/ALL-Embassy-staff-Kabul-evacuated-airport-five-people-killed.html
Wow…Even in Saigon we didn’t have that happen
Those who didn’t go to the link, the pertinent pic that LOL’d me was this:

That’s a C-17 leaving…
the lil black dot) about an inch from the bottom?

One of three dudes who earned “lawn dart” status…
Talk about Airborne Desperation Aye?
Horrifying, but God Forgive me I LOL’d
Mainly b/c I’m former Airborne, and all I could think was “Ain’t no risers for blood to be on!” 
Man, that purely had to suck… you only see shit like that in the movies… but now?  It’s being broadcast everywhere but in the US.  Even FauxNews is saying that it’s “purportedly” “theoretically” that “Afghanis were clinging to aircraft as they taxied…” NOT that motherfuckers achieved lawn dart status and freefall wings. ZERO mention of that.

UGH

Seems the Haj were positively swarming the C-17’s as they rolled out.  The pics last night IF you could find them on any of our Ministry of Propaganda Organs that is (not!) showed chaos and terror… people beating on each other in shear terror trying to GTFO of Dodge…

Tell you what… The DHS is correct to ‘raise the terror alert’
BUT
For the wrong reasons.  It ain’t us Whypeepo who’re gonna be coming for them… Nope.
Fuckin Afghanis man, allllll them ‘terps who made it out, or anyone who made it out and had to leave someone beloved behind.  One thing I do know over there, man, the “Blood Feud” is literally like the finest wine to them… to be nurtured and savored… and Slo and the Ho, well, no wonder they’re in hiding

‘Cos that’s what it is… hiding.
They just fucked over a group of folks who really get a hard-on for Blood Feuding.
These tribal motherfuckers make the Hatfields and McCoys look like pikers.
Smartest thing that the American People could do is reach out to the Taliban, congratulate them on taking over (they did earn it) and then tell all them Jihad Motherfuckers that we had nothing to do with it and by the way, here’s the names and addys of all the members of the Administration.  Tell them to work their way from the bottom up… small fries to the big fish last so to speak…

Doxx them motherfuckers
Let the Jihadis go after the motherfuckers actually responsible for this shit.
NOT the average Joe and Jane Sixpack.
You want to strike at the Great Satan?
Go after the minor policy secretaries and aids…Start small
Leave the rest of us OUT OF IT.
WE ain’t had shit to do with this. 
WE weren’t consulted
WE ain’t had word one in our governing for quite a spell.  You want payback, go for the people responsible
‘Cos payback is a Bitch, Cold, Stone, Type: Many Each.
And these guys live and breathe payback.
More Later I Remain The Up Too Early Intrepid Reporter
Big Country

3

Maaaan the Fun -Never- Stops

Greetings Gang!

Just the ole I.R., BCE jumping in. Figgered that me Host Mike has been busier than a one-legged man in an ass kicking contest, so I figgered on Jumping In and keep the party jumping. Not much going on ’round Casa El Grande Campesino… just trying to unfuck the unemployment sit-rep. Even the people at the bureaucracy at the Employment can’t figure out -why- I’m not getting paid. Go figure… the geniuses of “our” civil servants… IQ must be less than or equal to 70. Must be female or trans, and must be from a sub-Saharan country.

FML.

So, doing a blegg here at Mike’s, I’m not going to bore the hell out of you all. I did however through the gloriousness of Private Email, get a feed on something that I and y’all will prolly find interesting.

I find it that, and worrisome

Not so good Aye?

So, seems that and according to all the sources I can find, NATO (the North Atlantic Treaty Organism, and yeah intentional misspelling) got a sign installed at Norfolk International Airport proclaiming that Norfolk is now part of NATO. Now, ordinarily? No BeeEffDee. Lots of ‘Commands’ allllll over the world and places that one would expect and NOT expect. Norfolk? What of it? BIG naval shipyard, and every single time there’s some North Atlantic Wargames, ALL the aligned DotMilNav tend to dock and party up and around.

Hell… true story. MomUnit said when they raised the Hunley in Charleston Harbor, and held the funeral for the “First Submariners” killed in action, something like every single country, outside of North Korea sent a sub into Charleston Harbor for the festivities. Told me that shit was lit like a motherfucker with all the bubbleheads drinking the Bowery dry… would have loved to have seen that… anywho.

Not uncommon for our ‘theoretical allies’ to be ‘in town’ or ‘representing’. What is unusual is that in October of 2020, we put up signs welcoming them. OK, fine, no biggie. Then in July of this year:

Wait….. Whut?

‘Scuse me?

Whiskey Tango Foxtrot?

nato.PNG

“By: Web StaffPosted at 9:56 AM, Jul 15, 2021 

NORFOLK, Va. – NATO’s newest headquarters is now fully operational in Norfolk.

Joint Force Command Norfolk, has reached Full Operational Capability (FOC) and held a ceremony on Thursday at 10 a.m., to mark the occasion.

This new command is part of the allied command operations structure, the Navy said. It will provide a United States-led, joint multi-national operational command, supported by component, Allied and partner commands, responsible for the North Atlantic and the High North.

Its mission is to protect the Strategic Lines of Communication across all domains, and enable the reinforcement of Europe, according to the Navy.”

OK… did we all miss a meeting or something? I mean last time I looked, we –might– have foreign advisors temporarily attached to our DotMil, or OUR guys attached to another locale, but a “Joint” command? What the fuck over? NOT what I ever expected. See, as a DotMil, the rules of the game are that in foreign countries, we advise, assist, but in no way, unless it’s where the ‘host country’ is more fucked up than a Football Bat, does there ever get a point where the ‘visitors’ get carte blanche on the ‘home team’s’ DotMil.

Now?

I ain’t so sure. Especially in light of the ‘who’ the ‘visiting team’ is from so to speak. Seems that the head of NATO currently? At least the DotMil arm of ‘rape and pillage’ NATO? Well, that’d be General Philippe Lavigne, one of France’s big wheels so to speak. Currently in charge of the French Air and Space Force (LOLZ, get the fuck outta here!) as the French Air and Space Force Chief of Staff. He’s been now nominated to the post of Supreme Allied Commander Transformation. Meaning this frog motherfucker is going to be Numero Uno NATO wise in the Estates Uni…

Why is my Spidey Sense tingling?

Now, they can ‘blow all the happy smoke’ they want up our fourth point of contact, but man, NATO Troops… on US Soil… with overall joint command of both US AND NATO forces? They can try and sell it that this’s a strictly DotMilNav thing, but we ALL know how that particular song and dance goes these days. Remember kids, “Just 15 days to flatten the curve” equates to “NATO Troops will only being assisting in civil disturbances temporarily” Not a far jump to that Aye?

Add on how the Frog DotMil has been called out over the scamdemic to crush the protests on numerous occasions it means that Froggy the Admiral probably has less than a hesitancy to unleash his Congolese or Nigerian Armed Forces here in the States IF and WHEN the need arises. It also give Slo, Hoe, and the Gin Hag ‘clean hands’ when it comes to the nut-cuttin’. “We disavow any actions taken against our glorious and helpful allied DotMil troops…”

Yeah, not that I’m overly worried, BUT the fact remains that Slo and The Hoe and the Gin Hag signed off on this particular shytteshow? I mean it’s been in progress since 2018, but at the same time, seeings that Orange Man Bad was in the dark about lo oh so many things somehow I don’t think his Orangeness was made aware of these particular shenanigans.

Yeah… might get ‘sporty’ soon

I hope

One of those will look good on my trophy shelf… Jes’ Sayin’

So, things to think on.

More Later I Remain The Intrepid Reporter

Big Country

4

What’s the Rush, Bub?

Greetings Me Droogs N Droogettes!
BCE here for a non-hostile takeover for a poast. Couple o’tings mon. First, I’m hitting the NonVax. Me n Sapper been bouncing some ‘stuff’ off of each other on the daily-daily. Usually it’s like a mini-intel confab here during the Koffee Klatche in the A.M. Nothing like a good cuppa to get the brain juices flowing, and usually during my normal a.m. ‘get up to speed’ on the news. One thing that stuck out today was over at Vox Day’s place, where he’s got a Soon-to-Be Doctor emailing him on how the Medical Industry is putting the screws on the docs to get the shot.

The Link to it is HERE

The thing that hit me though is the updates at the end of the writeup.

Soooooo
Seems to me that there’s strange things afoot at the Circle K so to speak. Word -I’m- hearing is that anyone with the NonVax are the ones getting sick. Mike has even hit on it, and a whoooole lotta others, Borepatch, Miguel, Pete at WRSA and Peter from Bayou Ren have been asking “Why the rush?” I mean as far as we know, yeah yeah, “Winter is Coming”. Cold and Flu bugs mutate and usually if a pretty nasty bug is out there floating around, Round #2 is usually worse than Round #1.

Now, consider this. COVID-19, IMO and FWIW, was a ‘wet fart’ of a bug for like 99.3% of the population.
They however, in order to secure control and oust Orange Man Bad and stop the nasty tweets ramped up the rhetoric to 11 on the Amp. Shit… they actually dialed that fucker up to 19. Scared ALL the old folks…/ and then sucessfully stole the election… shit, we’ll call it the ‘selection’.
But for -some unknown reason- they then started rolling out the NotVax.
Even though it, by all past measures, shouldn’t have been rolled out.
The Swine Flu vax rollout in the late 70’s? Kil’t aboot 100 people, numbers fluctuate depending on sources,

BUT

100 deaths was enough to shut that shit down cold
The NonVax? We can’t get any sort of straight answer, but we -do know- either by their own slips and or anecdotally from personal experience (my ex-nephew being one) that this NonVax is dangerous and is fucking up ALL sorts of people across a VAST demographic. And yet they’ve been ramping up the rhetoric to MOR Vax Hurry Hurry Faster Faster!!!!

So, this begets the question of “What’s the rush Bub?
Think I have an idea, lemme bounce it offa ya.
Reason they’re now in full on panic mode is they (Our Madmen/Powers That Be) know that Joe Chink made AND released a manufactured bio-war weapon, designed to fuck us up during the election. I think it was done as a ‘slap on the wrist’ for Orange Man Bad’s Economic Sanctions against them. What was unexpected (I think) was that the fact that everyone (including meselves) bought in initially so hard and were scared silly.

This right there, then gave those fucking guys, whoever or whatever you want to call them, call ’em the “Ones who Want to Rule”… that Gates geek motherfucker… Soros… all the suuuuuuper billionaires who think that the world is theirs to be ruled over, and we’re useless eaters and dammit, there’s just too damned many of them.
Well, to fuckers like that, who have made no secret of their wishes to depopulate significantly?

This became the Golden Opportunity

Run with me on this a bit more. They saw a perfect chance to start the process, and make it look like it was a natural event, much like the in real life Black Plague which damned near wiped out Europe back in the day. Numbers vary because of time, but at least 30% of the world population got aced out, and upwards of 60% bought it. Now, we know and they know this ain’t and wasn’t no gorramned Black Death.
HOWEVER
In order to make sure there’s a BIG wipeout later, they made and designed a NonVax, and have been using it to start the process. They used the fear factor to get as many people on board as possible, and set a date to ‘trigger’ it off. Reason I say that is, they’re currently freaking the fuck out because ONLY 56% is supposedly vaxxed. And right now? Part of the freakout is that the naturally occurring mutation (Delta Variant) is starting to activate the kill shot too early.

People ain’t completely stupid
And as I like to say God is an Absurdist
Don’t Fuck with Mother Nature
She too, is a bitch
It’s becoming MOR and MOR obvious that the NonVax ain’t working and wasn’t supposed to.
That the “Delta” variant IS a -bit- more lethal, but mostly to those who’re supposedly now vaxxed

CDC Guidelines and Definition for Immunization and Vaccination: “Vaccine: A product that stimulates a person’s immune system to produce immunity to a specific disease, protecting the person from that disease. … Immunization: A process by which a person becomes protected against a disease through vaccination.”

To me peepers, the NonVax is just that… a non-vaccination.
So then just what the fuck is it?
Telling ya, it’s a depopulation plan. And the reason for the near-psychotic race to get ALL the people NonVaxxed is because those who aren’t are gonna start to realize that bad things were/are planned, and that the nebulous “They” are responsible for a whoooooooooole lotta deaths.
And as Mike n Me both say payback is a stone-cold furious Motherfucker
Tell you what. Hope I’m wrong.

But

If around what should be the ‘normal flu season’ comes, and the Lambda or whatever fucking variant comes out and starts mowing down people in wholesale lots, I’ma thinking ‘enemy action’. What say you? Discussion please in the comments. Am I right or do I need to get the tinfoil adjusted again?

More Later I Remain The Intrepid Reporter
Big Country





16

Let Them Starve

Greetings Fellow Furyans!
Gawd… that sound like that meme: “Greetings Fellow Whypeepo/Patriots!”… Lets try something else…
Greetings to the CF Gang! (better)
This may or may not cause some butthurt out there, but hey, Fuck you if’n you can’t take a joke.  Thing of it is, the truth hurts.  As does stupid.  And there’s a whoooole lotta stupid going on worldwide out there.
How stupid you ask?  Wait til 00:15 seconds into this:

Stereotypes are a stone bitch sometimes Aye?

Seems Sou’Frica has been going through quite the spell of bullshit.  Now, I have my own theories on it.  Mainly that they did this intentionally.  Ostensibly, the -reasons- for the riots were that the Zulus were rioting because ‘their guy’ got convicted of being a piece of shit… corruption in Sou’Frican Poly-Ticks is like corruption everywhere in Africa.  There are no legit and honest politicians –anywhere– in Africa. 

Motherfucking Diogenes?  Rots O’Ruck there buuuuuuuuuddy.

For the less informed visitors, “Diogenes the Cynic, also known as Diogenes of Sinope, often resorted to theatrical devices to demonstrate a philosophical point. According to Diogenes Laërtius, Diogenes once roamed the streets of Athens carrying a lit lamp. When asked what he was doing, Diogenes said, “I am looking for a human being.” This quote is more commonly translated as “I am looking for an honest man.”  Hat Tip Quotesfromthepast dot com for that… Either way, an “Honest Man” nor “Human Being” is NOT going to be found in Africa among the melanin-supreme.  

So, according to the BBC: “The catalyst was the arrest last week of Zuma, with his supporters blockading major roads – the economic arteries of the nation – as they demanded the release of their political hero.

Low income levels and unemployment – standing at a record high of 32.6% among the workforce and even higher at 46.3% among young people <bold mine>  – are seen as the ticking bombs that have exploded.

Many South Africans have been shaken by the riots that have swept through Zuma’s political heartland of KwaZulu-Natal and the economic hub of Gauteng.

And many feel that his successor as president, Cyril Ramaphosa, has failed to provide decisive leadership – either to calm anger over Zuma’s imprisonment or to reassure South Africans that they will be safe.”

Now, MY analysis:  Ramaphosa had Zuma locked up a full week before this shit kicked.
LOTS of Sou’Fricans are saying that this was planned waaaay in advance.
Nothing– spontaneous about it.  
Very specific targets were chosen, mainly food distribution and logistics hubs

I think that they’re looking for a bailout.
The ANC (Apefrican Nutjob Communists) ran South Africa completely and utterly into the ground
Took a metaphoric Concorde Jet going Mach 2, and aimed it at the ground, screaming “Equity” and “Equality”, nevermind “We wuz Kangz and sheeeee-it!!!”  And of course, that finely tuned, highly sophisticated metaphoric Jet plowed into the ground at warp factor 5, leaving a smoking fucking crater.  And, methinks that Ramaphosa and HIS goons, well, they’ve been watching the Untied States and the Burn Loot and Murder chimpouts, and figured “Hey, they ain’t done sheee-it to stop their own, and they love- to be “The Great Whyte Savior”… IF we BLM dis place, the Liberal Whypeepo of ‘Murica will come to our rescue!!!  ‘Member ‘We are th’ Wurld?’  

See, I think, and this’s me, and I haven’t seen anyone else talking aboot it, but I think Ramaphosa wants to ride the ‘nigger guilt train’ back to some semblance of economic stability.  After all, we paid for, well, shit… everyone, everywhere, whenever decimation happens, us moronic guilt ridden Whypeepo seem to step into the breech to pay for and assist everyone.

‘Cept this time.

I say
LET THE FUCKERS STARVE.
FUCK. THEM.

After all the shit the fucking ANC has done?
Fuck those guys
I look forward to the vidya of 2023 being chewed on by 2024.  ‘Cept word is that it’s already in progress.  MANY tweets from various black retards who rioted now complaining that “Dere ain’ts no foods”.  Uh, yeah… you fucking thoughtless jungle bunnies done destroyed ALL the infrastructure and food distribution… 

Let. Them. Starve. 

Of course they won’t though.  Back in the day, The Congo had some ‘supply issues’ and first thing the natives did was went all in, back to cannibalism.  Let ’em eat each other.  Fuck ’em.  And tell you what, usually I do not get involved in any sort of letter writing or shit to any asshole in DC, but if they start and “Aid for Apefrica” and NOT for the Whypeeo?  I’m all in on stopping that retarded shit.  Only thing I’d do if I had the wherewithal is help sponsor a Whypeeo fambly OUT of that shithole.

In fact, ANOTHER factoid being left out, which also, leastways to my thought process was that the ANC was just about to remove the ability for the common folks to own a gun ‘for self defense’… meaning they were in-progress to eliminate private ownership.  They’d already started by making ALL the people who owned guns get ‘training and/or retraining’ from my understanding, with the intent of collecting up the non-compliant folks guns… that was suppose to happen in a few weeks.

Instead, everyone who got retrained used that training and the places that saw the least looting/pillaging were the places defended by the gun owners who self-organized, as the Police were either out of ammo, outnumbered, or, most commonly part of the looting and pillaging.

Takeaway Lesson:  NEVER. EVER. GIVE. UP. YOUR GUNS.

So More Later I Remain The Intrepid Reporter
Big Country

Guest Deviltry

Greetings… hmmn… dis ain’t mah house, so I guess ‘Droogs n Droogettes’ is off the table. Guess I’ll just have to use the term “Furyans” mebbe?

What else you gonna call The Cold Fury Gang?

Me and Mike been talking quite a bit, so he done went and gave me permission to throw one out into the wind here at his house. Mucho Gratitude Bossman. Hope you like it.

Subject of the day goes on about the “P-Resident” Grampy Fingerbangs plan to have his ever-loyal and well meaning Believers of the One True and Just Church of the Branch Covidians doing the door-to-door dirty. Knowing the way things really work out there, there’s a couple of things aboot it that have me a bit of the concerned side, over and above the whole “Your Papers Please” STASI-State actions… I mean shit, THAT in itself is bad, but I also saw a recent TikTok vidya of a team of these clowns -somewhere- (looked like Georgia, judging on the terrain/trees weather), but the ‘former intel squirrel’ side of me, well, let’s say I’m worried.

Part of the reason is that there were Three people in the vidya. One of whom, well… there were two chicks and a dude. I can’t find the Vidya unfortunately… it was on Gab… (that and I’m a moron on embedding vidyas like TikTok on a blog) Anywho, the three, two chicks… standard Issue Covidians. Fat, short, out of weight, one of them all tatted up, and BOTH with the “Karen” haircut.

Do they have a central casting when it comes to looking for these people to do this sort of shit?
Methinks Aye.

Dude on the other hand. Tall, and what I’d call the standard issue DotFed/DotMil/DotPD haircut. Was also in shape. Not round like me, but “run-and-gun” shape. Raised my hackles when the guy shooting the vidya yells at them: “Git the hell offa mah propert-tie!!! Y’all are tres’pahssin’!!! Call yor boss!” (Like I said, Georgia methinks…) is yelling at them, and Dude, Dot-whatever Dude… he starts talking about, and gets his voice trampled a bit by yelling dude, about him knowing “‘former’ law enforcement buddies who live in the neighborhood…” or some such, after which Old Curmudgeon cuts his rant, tells the broad to “get the hell out of there but you can stay” to Dude. Makes me wonder IF they’re going to embed a Dot-Whatever Law Enforcement as part of the intel Gathering.

‘Cos that’s what the entire process is. Gathering Intel.

It’s obvious that the shirts and ID cards that the three were wearing/carrying is some sort of door-to-door outfit. Much like the solar power people who regularly, despite the big “NO SOLICITATION” signs in my A.O. entries, come in and bug the fuck out of us. Now, unfortunately, the leaked intel out there is that the Believers of the One True and Just Church of the Branch Covidians who’re doing the intel gathering, well they’ve been told to ignore that sort of thing. Go and bother people despite being told and or warned to “Fuck the Fuck Off” thankee very mucho. Hell… after all MY hassles before, my doormat, no shytte sez “You Better Have a Warrant”. Which then gets me to the next level of How do we deal with this?

Well listen Linda, we got an Idea. Might not be the best, but go with me.

There’s an app and website out there that years ago, I got sucked into it. It’s called “Nextdoor”. VERY annoying.

It’s literally a “Karen App”
Now it does have some useful aspects. It’s where I found Bob-the-Cat on it. The people who found him were desperate enough to put out pics of him to find him a good home, and I jumped on the frag, and he’s been a great part of the fambly ever since. Now to join, your neighborhood has to be in it, and the registration is a pure suckfest.

However

The “Karens” use it like ALL THE TIME to rant and rave and bitch, piss and moan at each other, the neighbors… man… soooooooooooooo much drama on that motherfucker… Reddit can’t even touch it sometimes. Now, that being said, I proposed we weaponize it. Use it against the Branch Covidians doing the door-to-door. One of the things is, if you allow it, and load it on your fon, you get alerts. And many times I get the alerts that there’s some ‘shady motherfucker’ (my words) going ’round ye olde neighborhood… anytime someone shady comes round too… and invariably, the local Sherriff/PD get called in by all the Karens to investigate…

Karens purely love to call the Sherriff/PD

Not that you’d be calling the fuzz, but say IF you spot the Believers of the One True and Just Church of the Branch Covidians going around or entering your A.O. (oh yeah, new house, forgot to define A.O. for the Furyans… it means your ‘Area of Operations’, be it your house and/or hood… your ‘turf’ so to speak… sorry ’bout forgetting that… I’m a guest and not all y’all are familiar with DotMil terminology). SO, as I was sayin’, if the BOTJCBC kids look like they’re rolling in, put them on blast on Nextdoor.

‘Cept don’t say they be Believers of the One True and Just Church of the Branch Covidians.

Say that they are suspicious people casing houses.

Possibly to do dirty deeds later

Yeah, they may look legit but how many times have we had a home invasion/break in here by people wearing ‘official’ looking electric company, water company or cable company uniforms (here it happens quite a bit unfortunately)
Down here in Flor-ree-duh! That all it’ll take. There are whahmyns who literally sit and WATCH for alerts like that and call in the ‘suspicious characters’ in their A.O.s.

Now, Imagine if every. single. time. the Branch Covidian Investigators get hemmed up by the Nextdoor App and the local PD, never mind the fact that some folks tend to be a bit more, shall we say reactionary? (i.e. a salesman here in my AO was held at gunpoint til the Sheriffs showed up to unfuck the sit-rep.) and viola… they’ll have to stop this bullshit lest someone gets capped (perish the thought! < /sarc >) or the local PD bans their asses, as there ARE covenants stopping door to door in MY AO, and a lot of others…

Hell, quick true story time, just to be irritating. 2006. Had a no-shit $25,000 bounty on MY head by Al Queda In Iraq. Preferably dead. Not uncommon for some of us contractors who’re a bit better known. I was on R&R… Went home to the new house here in the HOA Run neighborhood… (had no idea what an HOA was, and another curse on my XBitch for ever getting me stuck with that shit (spits).) So, I’m in the living room, and I notice a car pulls up. Sort of kinda parked where you really can’t see ’em unless your head is on ball-bearings after being on high alert for 9 months in a war zone. Passenger, well he rolls the window down, and starts taking pictures with a camera… sort of medium sized lens.

I naturally freaked the fuck out.
Screamed at the wife to get the kids and her ass in the safe room (internal closet I had set up in the master bedroom that was reinforced with liberated Kevlar Blast Blankets) and call 911. I told her “No fucking around get it done!!!” and I scrambled like the Flash to my gear. Yeah… I know… paranoid doesn’t even touch on how ‘live-wire’ I was back then. I’m much better now but then?
Nutjob Nonpareil.
I doffed my battle rattle (level 4 plate carrier vest, with 9mm and mags) Helmet, grabbed my ready M-4 (civvie semi auto only version but hot loaded with a full rigout), went out the slider at the back of the house and assaulted through to the vehicle. I had visions of AQI doing surveillance on the crib to ‘get me’… we still believed there were sleeper agents possibly in the US back then… around every corner was a fucking Haj amiright? So, I quickly, quietly slipped up on the drivers side and yanked the fucker out.

Now, mind you. Nice hot Florida Day. ALL the neighbors out, everyone WATCHING the local merc coming out in ‘combat mode’ to include the Serbian War Criminal. He sees me, does the math, and without my asking, he shows up like two minutes later as I was pulling the driver out and flex cuffed him (the driver) with his AK and HIS battle rattle. He snatches the passenger and I then hear the approaching police sirens… Only then did he ask in thick assed Eastern Euro Accent: “OK man, what we do this for?” Told him I thought they might be Haj (one was dark enough to be for damned sure) and the two of them, well… driver and passenger were sort of babbling and freaking the fuck out. I didn’t say a word when I pulled the driver out except til his ass hit the concrete while I kneeled on his back while holding the passenger at rifle point… then it was “DON’TMOVEDON’TMOVEDON’TMOVE!!!”. Sherriff showed up in force and had been told that the ‘good guy’ was in tac-rig. The Serbian with the AK, that was a touch and go for a minute, but he’d already put it down before they showed, so a plus there. Gawd I miss that dude…

Took a few to unfuck the situation.
Seems they were with the HOA.
Apparently my garbage cans were placed in the wrong area.
Thank Christ I didn’t get sued. Or arrested. That being said, it would have looked bad all around. PTSD was just becoming a ‘thing’ and the local PD were cool, as were the guys who I snatched up. Needed to change their underpants I think, but very understanding once I explained everything. The HOA company, in all seriousness quit doing our neighborhood… the HOA board had to get a new management company, and for like 8 years no-one came even remotely near mi casa.

Win-Win in my book. So, anyways…

Now, don’t do anything illegal… like I did when I was crazy-(er). Just alert your neighbors to the possibility and let the Wild Karens run their natural ways.

I’m pretty sure a couple dozen or so times of the local yokels getting ‘suspicious person calls’ and being hustled out to investigate the Believers of the One True and Just Church of the Branch Covidians that they -might- put a blanket ban on that shit. Hell, I’m thinking in some areas after someone gets the treatment I gave the HOA kids that it’ll get shut down toute le suite.

Either way… my worthless 2 cents. Hope you enjoyed. To my host Mike, I thank you sir. Been an Honor and a Pleasure (and he’s gonna pull my privileges… any bets?) Hope not and hope I didn’t bore ya to tears. To Ye Olde Furyans, I thank you for the opportunity.
More Later I’m the Intrepid Reporter

Big Country

41
8
1

IN THE NAAAAVY…

Another one I’ve had open in a tab for a cpl-three days and now can’t remember where I first ran across it.

The same US Navy that once got sunk at Pearl Harbor, turned around, rebuilt the fleet, then put the entire Tojo navy on the bottom of the ocean in four years. The same Navy that braved the Nazi U-Boats of the Atlantic to supply the war effort in Europe. The US Navy that prepared at a moment’s notice to rain thermonuclear death onto the Soviet Union from the cold, pressing, silence of the deep.

Ahh, but there’s the rub, see: it AIN’T the same Navy, any more than it’s the same nation.

They are afraid of a fucking virus with a more than 99.9% survivability rate for anyone young and healthy enough to serve in the US Navy.  When COVID broke out on the USS Roosevelt, there were 1,156 cases, three hospitalizations, and one death.

But the Navy is so scared that they had to pervert the symbol of the United States Navy and virtue signal with it.

The Navy is under the command of cowards.

Utterly, utterly pathetic. But fitting enough for all that, seeing as how, like I just told ya, the larger society said Navy is burdened with defending has shown itself to be composed mostly of ditto over the last year, for the selfsame piss-poor reason. Bearing that in mind, there may be something of a bright side here: the Navy’s shiny new Be Saaaafe!!! approach to warfare—whatever that even means in Amerika v2.0—in combination with the American “military” establishment’s unswerving commitment to Diversity Is Our Strength™, just might be enough to entice this mentally-ill freakamuffin into signing up for a hitch:

Dude(ette), I just…just…can’t even. The above rampant psychosis was found at the joint from which I hijacked the disgraced-eagle image and commentary above, a place yclept Gun Free Zone, which clearly needs to be cast into my bookmarks and Ye Olde CF Blogrolle with a quickness. Thus was it written, and thus it has been done. Welcome aboard, fellas.

Will no one rid him of this loathsome pest?

Never forget the CF creed: They will not stop. They will NEVER stop. They will have to BE stopped.

LGBT Activists Haul Jack Phillips Into Court Again, This Time Over Transgender And Satan Cakes

LGBT Activists Haul Jack Phillips Into Court Again, This Time Over Transgender And Satan Cakes
Hearings began in a new case against Masterpiece Cakeshop over a Colorado baker’s refusal to bake a cake celebrating a man’s decision to become transgender.

You’ll all remember this perfectly sane, normal, reasonable legal professional, I assume. More on him anon.

Hearings began Monday in a new case against the Masterpiece Cake Shop located in suburban Denver over a transgender male suing for the owner’s refusal to celebrate his transition.

Jack Phillips, a devout Christian who runs the cake shop in Lakewood, Colorado, is a defendant in court again this week after fending off discrimination charges in a more than half-decade-long legal battle that reached the U.S. Supreme Court when, based on his faith, he denied to bake a custom wedding cake for two gay men in 2012 but offered other items.

“I don’t make cakes for same-sex weddings, but I’ll sell you anything else in my shop, cookies, brownies,” Phillips told the couple, who, out of all the bakeries in the area, sought out the baker who would deny them the very specific service that compromised his faith.
The couple, David Mullins and Charlie Craig, filed a complaint with the Colorado Civil Rights Commission arguing Phillips violated the Colorado Anti-Discrimination Act (CADA) which prohibits any business that offers services to the public from discrimination based on race, religion, gender, or sexual orientation.

The controversy went national, provoking harassment campaigns and death threats against the suburban baker that ultimately cost him 40 percent of his income when Phillips stopped baking cakes following a lower court’s decision against the shop. The case inspired another against Phillips after the Supreme Court announced in 2017 it would re-examine the lower court’s ruling, which it ultimately overturned on narrow grounds.

Autumn Scardina, a transgender female-identifying attorney in the Denver area, called Phillips to demand a custom cake celebrating his gender transition after he heard the Supreme Court would consider the initial case against the Colorado Civil Rights Commission. Twice, Scardina had already emailed Phillips to call the baker a “bigot” and a “hypocrite” while mocking his religious beliefs in 2012 when the controversy first arose.

A 2012 email presented as evidence in court also show Scardina offered to be a plaintiff in a discriminatory case against the cakeshop in the gay couple’s absence if they chose not to move forward with litigation.

The cake shop denied Scardina’s 2017 request for a pink and blue cake after he said it was to celebrate his gender transition. Scardina responded with a new complaint picked up by the Colorado Civil Rights Commission that was dismissed in 2019 by the group after Phillips filed a lawsuit against the state in federal court. Months later, Scardina chose to pursue charges of his own seeking damages, fines, and attorney fees to wreck Phillip’s finances rather than appeal the commission’s decision to drop the discrimination claim.

So at what point does persistence become obsession, anyway? Because whatever it is, it’s apparent that loony-bin refugee Mr Scardina long ago blasted right through the barrier and kept the pedal to the metal from there, passing huge nuisance, if mostly harmless to come to rest deep inside actually, literally quite dangerous, really ought to be locked up territorial boundaries. Background on this demented freak and his ceaseless vendetta:

Of course, it’s no accident that Phillips, owner of Masterpiece Cakeshop, was targeted. It’s part of what I’ve called a “pacification process,” where the Left is following its culture-war victories with an effort to stamp out remaining dissent.

As the Federalist’s David Harsanyi puts it, the “campaign to destroy Phillips’s business was never merely about punishing a single man for refusing to submit to prevailing leftist orthodoxy. It was also a warning to all would-be apostates that thought crimes could lead to fiscal ruin, public denunciation, and endless harassment. In that sense, the prosecution has probably already paid off.”

It’s not the first warning, either, as Christian businessmen have already been driven out of business by the sexual devolutionaries.

Helping to effect this targeted-harassment action, Scardina had called Masterpiece Cakeshop on June 26, 2017 — the very day the Supreme Court ruled in Phillips favor in the first suit — “to design a custom cake with a blue exterior and a pink interior to symbolize a transition from male to female,” as Harsanyi relates it. (Interestingly, Scardina is still “blue” on the inside and has only, and can only, effect a pink appearance on the outside. That said, aren’t we told that the ol’ blue-pink Neanderthal-think is “gender stereotyping?”)

But Scardina is way too busy with the Christian persecution business to worry about ideological purity. “Previously, Scardina — going by ‘Autumn Marie’ and other monikers — was the one who allegedly asked for ‘an image of Satan smoking marijuana,’” Harsanyi also tells us. “In another request from ‘the Church of Satan’ — also, according to a complaint, likely Scardina — Phillips was asked to make ‘a three-tiered white cake’ with a ‘large figure of Satan, licking a nine inch black Dildo.’ How creative, right? ‘I would like the dildo to be an actual working model that can be turned on before we unveil the cake,’ went the request.”

Oh, I just bet you would at that, you warped sicko. The war of harassment and persecution being waged by the abominable Mr Scardina, for the purpose of punishing Phillips for the crime of

  • Being a practicing Christian man who takes his faith seriously
  • Daring to uphold Christianity’s precepts, tenets, and obligations
  • Living his faith without either apology or shame, relying on morality and conscience as his guide
  • Wanting to have nothing whatever to do with obnoxious, pushy mental defectives entirely consumed with forcing all infidels everywhere to swear fealty to the Left’s madhouse catechism

And on the topic of pestiferous, unhinged freaks, permit me to share a few tidbits of potentially pertinent info:

Scardina Law
Get in Touch!
(720) 420-9068

1245 East Colfax Avenue, Denver, Colorado 80218, United States

Autumn@ScardinaLaw.com
Todd@ScardinaLaw.com
Sean@ScardinaLaw.com

Hours
Open today
09:00 am – 05:00 pm

There’s also a link to the firm’s blog, although it appears to be somewhat, shall we say, neglected.

OBLIGATORY DISAVOWAL OF ALL RESPONSIBILITY FOR THIRD-PARTY UNSEEMLY AND/OR CRIMINAL ACTIONS: Please understand that notice of this information is intended purely as a helpful convenience for any Denver-area CF readers who may be shopping around for lawyerly assistance. BY NO MEANS should this information be used to, say, make fifty or more nuisance, prank, or hang-up phone calls on a daily basis; send scores of offensive emails—with an attached image featuring, ohh, maybe a hideously explicit image of Satan licking a nine-inch dildo, let’s say—and/or use Mr Scardina’s email address to enlist him on numerous spam mailing lists; clog the firm’s snail-mail box with scads of puzzling picture postcards; or any and all other nefarious purposes. Nor should anybody in the Denver area get any bright ideas about making an in-person appearance at the firm’s office—shabbily dressed, poorly groomed, reeking of alcohol, sweat, and sundry gag-a-licious filth—to request “a nice handie” from the receptionist, piss in the potted plant, break wind in a raucous fashion, then flee the scene with a loud and scornful laugh.

The proffering of said information shall in no way be construed as endorsement, encouragement, or incitement of similar acts in addition to those listed, all of which this blog’s proprietor hereby abjures.

Days of future past

Nightmares really DO come true.

Nearly a year ago, after COVID hit us hard, I spent my endless at-home time online, looking at whatever I could find on pandemics. I found one treatise on possible methods of dealing with a pandemic. One method was presented as a cautionary tale about how not to treat a pandemic — and naturally, it was a template for 2020’s treatment protocols minus (if I remember correctly) developing a vaccine. Although I believe that the article was 10 or 15 years old, I thought at the time that it had been looked at, and someone (Fauci, I’m guessing) said, “Oooh!  Let’s try all that!  What could go wrong?”

Sadly, I didn’t save a copy, and I can’t find it now. I’m not making the same mistake again. Now that I have a platform to write about this pandemic, I am sharing what I read.

A friend sent me a link to a 2010 document that the Rockefeller Foundation produced, called “Scenarios for the Future of Technology and International Development.” Take the time to look it over, please. It is based on a workshop on identifying “critical uncertainties” and exploring their potential effects on technology and international development. It specifically examines how mankind would adapt to unanticipated shocks over the next 15–20 years.

The authors identify four possible reactions to an event. Two are most relevant: one is called “lockstep,” defined as “a world of tighter top-down government control and more authoritarian leadership, with limited innovation and growing citizen pushback.” Another is “hack attack,” an “economically unstable and shock-prone world in which governments weaken, criminals thrive, and dangerous innovations emerge.” There are two more on page 16. For my purpose here, they are less relevant.

Flip, if you would, please, to page 18. The lockstep scenario posits a pandemic. It is virulent and, in the model, kills mostly healthy adults, 8 million people globally in seven months. It describes society coming to a screeching halt, with industries like tourism, travel, local businesses, and offices all closed. In this scenario, the one country that fares best is China, which uses a seemingly admirable totalitarian approach, sealing its country, quarantining all citizens, and swiftly ending its pandemic.

It then describes a world with national leaders imposing draconian rules and restrictions, from face masks to temperature checks. “Even after the pandemic faded, this more authoritarian control and oversight of citizens and their activities stuck and even intensified[.]…[L]eaders around the world took a firmer grip on power.”

Anybody who finds that at all surprising is either deep in denial or just an out and out knucklehead. It’s not a difficult or outlandish prediction to make, seeing as it how it’s perfectly in line with what we know about those “leaders” and their unslakable thirst for more power and control.

The scenario posits that at first, people willingly give up privacy and sovereignty to more paternalistic states, in exchange for greater safety. Independence of thought is stifled. In the narrative, it takes 13 years for citizens to weary of this control, which enables rampant cronyism and corruption.

It also provides space for tyranny’s consolidation, entrechment, and expansion, with the added bonus for the Power of a concomitant spread of intimidation and uncertain among an already-cowed populace, for whom the challenge of rising from their knees to do battle with their despotic masters will eventually become insuperable.

From the start of the contrived Covid panic I maintained that no matter how threatening THEVIRUSTHEVIRUSTHEVIRUS!!!™ might or might not actually turn out to be, the disaster guaranteed to ensue should Americans docilely yield up their liberty and rights in response would be orders of magnitude worse. As Bill Barr said, there is no pandemic exception to the US Constitution. The past year’s wretched stream of encroachments and abuse provide a yardstick to gauge the depths of irrelevance into which that once-revered document has plummeted, tragic as that is.

I repeat once more: if this way-oversold virus was really the extinction-level menace they told us it was, they wouldn’t have needed to repeatedly lie about the damned thing. There’s no way to conceal a disaster of such enormity; there would be no need to prompt or persuade. We’d all be surrounded by the reality of it, which would be inescapable and undeniable. The hospitals wouldn’t have been dangerously overtaxed; they’d have been wrecked, thenm abandoned—those that weren’t actually on fire, that is. I probably WOULD have had to don the humiliating Mask Of Submission—not so much to “do my part to fight this virus and BE SAAAAFE,” but to at least partially fend off the gruesome odor of decaying corpses stacked head-high in the street. We’d all be up to our eyeballs in 53-foot reefer trailers warehousing the overage of deaders; very few of us would have the slightest desire to socialize, closely congregate, or even risk venturing outside their own homes. HIDE such an event? It would be impossible to avoid it.

But that’s exactly what they did do: they lied a year ago, they lied all summer long, and they’re still lying today. Full stop, end of story. It’s one reason why the only way they’ll ever get a single drop of their shady “vaccine” in me is to rassle my ass into stout full-body restraints beforehand. FREE ADVICE: better bring help. Admittedly I’m not as young and strong as once I was, but I’m still a reasonably feisty old sumbitch just the same. If it’s a fight you think you want, I promise I’ll do my utmost to give you one. MORE FREE ADVICE: it will NOT be fair.

I don’t care how frightened you are, I don’t care how grave the goobermint tells us our situation is, I don’t care what scary numbers the CDC, Praetorian Media, ProPols, or anybody else gin up in order to stampede the herd: you must never, ever, EVER give up essential liberty to purchase temporary security. NEVER. Those who do…well, you know the rest of it.

The dismaying spectacle of multitudinous “Americans” quietly allowing themselves to be frightened into lily-livered compliance with blatantly authoritarian edicts, all bereft of Constitutional authority, all based on fraudulent premises, pseudoscience, and naked propaganda, says one hell of a lot about their character, not a bit of it complimentary. Liberty is but a memory, the economy wrecked, uncountable millions of lives ruined—all of that and more a direct product of the shameful refusal to resist—to stand athwart tyranny and yell STOP! Is it too late for Americans to reclaim their rights, restore their dignity, and renew their sacred birthright? Only time will tell…and there’s precious little of it.

Okay, I just had to share…

I thought I was done for the night after that last one, but then this came along:

January 9, 2021

INSTAPUNDIT’S CUCKING NOW? Don’t go crazy, people. They want you to go crazy. Posted by Glenn Reynolds at 8:58 am

Glenn Reynolds at InstaPundit

Inspired by this:

With all due credit to the incomparable Chris Muir.

Sorry but not-sorry Glenn: I’m with Muir on this one.

Her Name Was Ashli Babbitt

Our Boston Commons moment was yesterday:

Woman fatally shot in Capitol identified as Ashli Babbitt

https://banned.video/watch?id=5ff6857e00bac0328da8e888

All of the nominally “Right Wing” and “Conservative” pundits, media figures, and legislators who sat around and watched and made excuses for or mealy-mouth pro-forma condemnations of BLM and Anti-fa rioters all this summer long and suddenly decided to go squish and cuck and sternly condemn the Stop The Steal protestors at the Capitol yesterday should read that and watch that video and mark it well and remember…

Remember that name. And remember the other names:

His name was Cannon Hinton.

His name is Kyle Rittenhouse.

His name was Aaron “Jay” Danielson.

Her name was Ashli Babbitt.

And all of the other people over the course of the last four plus years who’ve been beaten, shot, burned out, and murdered by Anti-Trump protestors that I haven’t listed all have names. Go look them up. And remember them.

And remember this:

We see you now.

And we remember.

The Left isn’t going to eat you last just because you decided to cuck and refuse to stand behind people who were rightfully and righteously demanding that a traitorous thief not be installed in the Oval Office via the largest and most blatant act of election fraud in the entire history of the United States.

But we might decide to eat you first.

And, yeah: I’m looking at you, Glenn Reynolds. I’m looking at you, John Hinderaker. I’m looking at you, Ed Driscoll. I’m looking at you, Bob McManus. I’m looking at you, Tyler O’Neil. I’m looking at you, Kim Hirsch.

We expect the Pences and the McConnells to shoot us in the back when the Left calls for our heads.

We don’t expect it from you.

We don’t forget. We won’t forgive.

Rome never looks where she treads.   
   Always her heavy hooves fall   
On our stomachs, our hearts or our heads;   
   And Rome never heeds when we bawl.   
Her sentries pass on—that is all,
   And we gather behind them in hordes,   
And plot to reconquer the Wall,
   With only our tongues for our swords.

We are the Little Folk—we!
   Too little to love or to hate.   
Leave us alone and you’ll see
   How we can drag down the State!
We are the worm in the wood!
   We are the rot at the root!   
We are the taint in the blood!
   We are the thorn in the foot!

Mistletoe killing an oak—
   Rats gnawing cables in two—
Moths making holes in a cloak—
   How they must love what they do!   
Yes—and we Little Folk too,
   We are busy as they—
Working our works out of view—
   Watch, and you’ll see it some day!

No indeed! We are not strong,
   But we know Peoples that are.   
Yes, and we’ll guide them along
   To smash and destroy you in War!
We shall be slaves just the same?
   Yes, we have always been slaves,
But you—you will die of the shame,
   And then we shall dance on your graves!

We are the Little Folk, we

A Pict Song
By Rudyard Kipling

We’ve all already gotten way past tired of all this, and we’re getting a bit testy. And the jackal and the kite have a healthy appetite.

The other side is not the one you really want to be identified with.

No facts please, we’re Leftists

Reality dysfunction.

Cannon Hinnant’s murder shocked America last week. A 5-year-old boy murdered in front of his home is a horror few can comprehend. Why would a man execute a child riding a bike, especially one with whom he had broken bread just the night before? Yet, only conservative media seems interested in the story.

The racial dynamics of the murder explain why it’s largely ignored: the alleged killer is black and the victim is white. No one doubts this would be the number one story in America, if not the world, if the races were reversed.

The relative lack of attention implies this horror is just an ordinary part of life in modern America. It’s a sad tragedy, but there’s nothing you can do about it. The media and political elites tell you to move on and hope the justice system delivers the right punishment. It’s a very different attitude than their typical response to a police-involved killing or a minority’s claim of discrimination. Unlike Hinnant’s death, those are treated as grave injustices our society cannot abide. 

Hinnant’s senseless murder is not an ordinary crime and we shouldn’t shrug it off as a sad, but typical tragedy in modern America. That’s the mindset that smothers us into apathy and acceptance of things we should never tolerate.

His death is certainly more relevant to crime trends than George Floyd’s death or the “noose” discovered by NASCAR driver Bubba Wallace. Both of those widely covered events were treated as representative of the discrimination all blacks suffer in America. Unarmed blacks, we were expected to believe, are at an incredible risk of being murdered by cops, as Floyd’s death allegedly proves. And blacks can suffer horrible discrimination and harassment regardless of their income, as Wallace’s phony hate hoax allegedly showed.

Both of those narratives are more important to the Left than the death of an innocent child. The first narrative is based on false assumptions. Only 10 unarmed blacks died at the hands of police in 2019; most of the cases were ruled justifiable homicides. The cases included a black man who attacked and stole a police officer’s taser before being shot and another man who drove his car into police.

But those 10 cases, we are assured, amount to a “genocide” and justify rioting, anarchy, looting, the destruction of American heritage, and defunding the police.

In contrast, and in fact, crimes like the Hinnant murder are far more common. There were 514 black-on-white murders committed in 2018. That’s more than two times higher than the number of white-on-black murders. That same year saw more than 500,000 black-on-white violent incidents; just under 60,000 white-on-black violent incidents occurred in 2018. Blacks are only 13 percent of the population, yet commit the majority of interracial violence.

Blacks themselves live under much greater threat from black-on-black violence than they do from murder-by-cop. There were 2,600 black-on-black murders in 2018, a much higher figure than the number of unarmed blacks killed by police.

If the facts are inconvenient to the advancement of the Left’s agenda, then the facts must be ignored. Trouble is, the facts always ARE inconvenient for them.

Chris Pfouts

A good friend of mine recently hipped me to an obit for another good friend, my brother-in-deliquency Chris Pfouts. The obit was written by Pfouts’s co-editor at the long-gone and lamented Iron Horse magazine, a second or third-tier biker rag that Snow and Pfouts redeemed from the nefarious clutches of Paisano Publications and, for a glorious while there, put on the top of the heap.

Under Snow’s and Pfouts’s capable direction, Iron Horse quickly became renowned as the verymost literate and intelligent of all the biker rags, while still retaining that all-important seedy, true-biker edge. It was a razor-fine line to try to walk, but Chris and David did it with style and class.

I never actually knew David at all, but I can tell you that pretty much every word of his tribute to his erstwhile partner is heartfelt and true. The link to the whole megilla is here, but I’m gonna swipe a goodish chunk of it as an “excerpt.” I can’t see any way around it.

25 years ago, on a rainy, late winter Friday night the phone rang in my dinky Brooklyn apartment. High-stepping Harley frames, engine cases and the general detritus of the Project Shovel, I leaned an ear to the answering machine to screen the call. The voice on the other end sounded strangely distant and wasted. I almost didn’t recognize it.

“Listen, man, I’ve been shot. This is for real. I’m shot in the leg, right above the knee. I need you to call 911. I already called ’em, but you’ve got to make sure they’re on their way. Then call me right back. I need you to stay on the phone with me til they get here. Don’t forget to call back.”

My bike was in pieces and Deborah had driven her Chevy C-10 to a gig in Manhattan, so running the five miles through Flatbush to Chris’ pad wasn’t an option. I dialed 911. NYPD and ambulances were enroute. I called Chris and stayed on the line with him for about 15 minutes until the cavalry arrived. He didn’t want to pass out from shock.

Chris had too much California in him. At that time, the year was 1988, NYC was in the full-throttle death-grip of the crack epidemic that had turned the city into a shrieking WFO urban nightmare of the Wild Wild West. It was New Jack City on every corner, and Chris was shot for the inexcusable offense of taking out the garbage after dark. He’d had words with a dealer in front of the Williamsburg apartment he shared with Indian Larry, and what would’ve merely been a spirited exchange of unpleasantries in a more civilized part of the country, like Cali, escalated in a New York Minute into a life-or-death proposition. Chris told me of being on his knees, pleading for his life, looking up the smoking barrel of the pistol that had just shot him, inches away from his face. Of the crack dealer hesitating, considering the coup de grace, and then packing his piece and strolling away. Chris humped the stairs back into his apartment, his boot filling with blood. He kept his life and his leg, but that night all the California had been shot right out of him and bled away onto the mean streets of Brooklyn.

Not too many people have such vivid recollections of Chris Pfouts. Most readers of the ‘90s-era Iron Horse know Chris only as the guy who stepped in to edit the magazine at the end of its run. It’d certainly be a disservice to Chris’ memory to selectively recall his somewhat cynical deconstruction of Iron Horse in ’97-’98 and be done with the matter. That ain’t even half the story and a great big tip of the hat to ol’ Top Hat is richly deserved here.

Chris was with Iron Horse for four years, from late ’86 to late ’90, issues #63 to #94, and was instrumental in the transformation of the mag from a slimy, thinly-disguised skin rag into the compelling document of East Coast biker muscle that earned the loyalty of a wildly diverse and wildly devoted audience. Before Chris arrived, I was a lone voice crying in the wilderness, the sole staffer with any kind of motorcycling experience among an unholy cabal of cheapass pornographers, industry burnouts, hustlers, scammers, and ripoff artists. Even though I’d been listed as the editor since since 1984, I held the position in name only. I had no pull or leverage, and had been told very plainly that if I didn’t like it I could leave. Thus, I quit once in frustration and went to work for Dian Hanson of Outlaw Biker, before we both got fired by her publisher Harvey Shapiro. (Harvey then usurped Dian’s pseudonym as well as the magazine she created and proceeded to attend biker events around the northeast as the nonexistent “Casey Exton.” But that’s another story.) I returned to IH, determined to hang in there, convinced that, this being New York City, anything could happen at any time. Sure enough, in the fall of 1986 everything changed. The immediate powers-that-be took themselves out of the picture. Editor Peter “Wolfman” Wolf got deathly ill and checked into the hospital for a lengthy stay, while his henchman, John “Littlejawn” Littel, moved on to a gig in the straight publishing world. Vice President Tony DeStefano was left as the magazine’s sole overseer. None of these Three Stooges had known or cared anything about bikes or bikers, and with two stooges out of the way, the sleazy, ever-downward trajectory of Iron Horse was about to shift dramatically. Ad astra!

“So you’re the only one here who rides?”

The inquiry from the tall, lanky dude with the mid-‘80s mullet and the perpetually quizzical expression required a response crafted with no small measure of delicacy and diplomacy, yet I knew I was gibbering answers with the manic intensity of Dennis Hopper in Apocalypse Now. The prospect of a potentially friendly face chancing upon the heart of darkness that was IH inspired simultaneous heights of hope and depths of dread. There was a responsibility to bring Chris up to speed ASAP regarding the bizarre situation he’d wandered into via Tony’s ad in the New York Times classifieds. At the same time, I desperately did not want to scare him off. “The heads. I know, the heads… he gets carried away…” Chris didn’t blink as I related the casual atrocities inflicted upon Iron Horse over the past two years— how third-rate porn publisher Murray Traub had reduced the once-proud Paisano title to a product that was literally and figuratively slimy. The printing was so bad that ink would slick off onto the reader’s hands, and the editorial content was on par with what you’d scrape off your shoe at a 42nd St. whack-off theater. It seemed no coincidence that the Iron Horse offices were right next door to NYC’s most infamous porn palace, Show World. Genuine motorcycling articles and story ideas had been routinely stifled by Wolf, Littel, and DeStefano, fueled by an underlying disdain expressed for the mag’s audience. Every time I’d propose something like Biker Lit Crit, a road trip article, or a serious editorial or industry critique— anything to give Iron Horse an identity beyond that of a sleazy party rag— I was informed that such material wasn’t necessary because “bikers don’t read.” The arrogance and contempt that limited Iron Horse’s potential wasn’t just stupid and short-sighted, it was extremely dangerous. People could get hurt. For instance, photographer Bobby Hanson, Dian’s ex, was found flat on his back in a pool of blood while on assignment at the New York City Custom Motorcycle Show. For years, I’d had my suspicions about the incident, which were later confirmed when I interviewed Chuck Zito for IH #114. Bobby had mouthed off at the Hells Angels booth and Chuck had promptly knocked him out for his bad manners. Later on, Harvey Shapiro said something stupid as Casey Exton and got one of his editors put in a coma via some freelance batting practice by irate clubbers. Unlike Bobby or Harvey, Chris Pfouts was a stone biker who was of the culture and understood it, and as an added bonus, was smart, hip, ironic, and a great writer. Tony had interviewed several other applicants, mostly porno sleazeballs and a couple of cornball jap junkers, but I kept insisting on the biker dude. In the end, with his stooge partners no longer on the premises, Tony just didn’t want to be bothered.

Alas, I can confirm Snow’s low opinion of Shapiro/Exton, having worked for him at Outlaw Biker myself for about six years before its inglorious collapse thanks to Harvey’s mismanagement and chronic thievery. Shapiro was a grifter and total sleazeball from way back yonder; even his “Casey Exton” nom de pen was stolen outright from a former female OB editor in the wake of her escape from his grubby clutches. She was reported to have been quite unhappy about the petty larceny, too.

On the other hand, though, Chris, with his characteristic cynicism and perverse sense of humor, wasn’t repelled by Shapiro as most people were, but found him amusing instead. Don’t kid yourself, though, that a streetwise hardcase like Pfouts was at all taken in by Harv’s cheery, friendly facade; he liked him okay, he was fine with having a beer with him now and then, but he was keenly aware of how untrustworthy and dishonest he was. When I was offered the OB job, Chris urged me to take it…and also vehemently advised me to count every single penny in my pay envelope, to always cash the checks without delay, and to never, ever sit with my back to a door when Harvey was in the office. Mercifully, that wasn’t very often.

The decision to hire Chris was an immediate force multiplier. Far beyond the simple arithmetic of names added to or subtracted from the masthead, editorial control shifted into the greasy hands of a couple of mangy bikers and the potential for Iron Horse as a real-life motorcycle mag expanded exponentially. No longer were stories and articles screened by porno degenerates— degenerate bikers were now calling the shots. Chris and I had no idea of what we were doing, we just winged it everyday, writing what we wanted to read in a bike mag. Each issue pushed the envelope of what we could get away with. I remember Tony nervously inquiring about the iron cross imagery I’d been inserting into the mag— ending each article with an iron cross dingbat. Seems that Murray was offended, but we refused to remove it— it was A Biker Thing, man, you don’t have to understand. Biker Lit Crit became a regular feature and was excerpted by SPIN magazine. Iron Horse was cited in the Encyclopedia of Bad Taste and I was quoted by the New York Times fashion page. Regular features like Jap Junk, project bikes, our editorials and the often contentious give-and-take with the readers in the Back Talk section gave IH a confrontational, no-bullshit rep.

I always thought Chris was older than me, 10 or maybe 15 years older. It wasn’t until I read of his passing on the Greasy Kulture blog that I realized he was only six years my senior. He always seemed an old soul or at least someone with old wounds. He really didn’t speak much of his past, I considered him an “original”— a California biker who rode during the ‘60s and helped define the subculture as it became codified in films, books and magazines and popular culture. I believed that the guys who had gravitated to the bike scene before it had been popularized by niche magazines and movies were special. I’m sure he would’ve been repulsed by the notion, but Chris seemed to me to inhabit the hippie end of the biker spectrum— a shorthand reference to his essentially artistic nature. I used to be intrigued by evocative blasts of graffiti on the Lower East Side that read “war hippies,” and I used the term in a later Iron Horse cover line. It seemed a perfect descriptor for those sensitive souls who rode choppers but weren’t afraid to kick motherfuckers in the teeth— the kind of people who appeared in and read and wrote Iron Horse. That was Chris.

I knew he rode an Indian back in the day, and his tales of SoCal biker life were always fascinating. A lot of his stories appeared in his Junkman column and I especially liked one about his XLCH riding buddy, Tommy, who crashed his Ironhead and terrorized children with his skull-stabilizing halo. Chris was also known as Top Hat, and it was under this pseudonym that he chronicled his excellent Project Indian series for the mag, #66 through #82— one of the very best ongoing magazine projects ever published, shepherded as it was by guru Indian Larry. That bike was raw and brutal and would’ve been right at home in the pages of Greasy Kulture today. If I recall correctly, Chris was introduced to Larry by legendary upstate Indian freak Chuck Myles, whom we visited several times in Deb’s pickup, sourcing parts. I definitely remember being surprised that Chris was unaware of Indian Day. Within a couple of months of moving to NYC, I’d ridden my Super Glide in Sept. ‘84 to the annual Redskin rally on Hendee St. in Springfield, Mass., the site of the Indian Museum housed in one of the original factory buildings. Chris, Larry and I made the trek in 1987 in photog Rob Sager’s van and covered the rally for IH. In one of the pics, you can see an Indian frame, tanks & basket going for 1500 bucks!

I rooted around a bit and came up with this old pic from the IH series on building Pfouts’s almighty Chief:

Pfouts-N-Larry.jpg


That’s Chris on the right sporting the mullet Snow mentioned, Indian Larry on the left, and the famous Indian project in its birthing stages front and center. Snow is correct again: that classic Chief bobjob was one of the coolest damned customs I ever saw (or rode proudly beside, in both NYC and NC after Chris moved down here) in my entire life. It featured more tricky wizardry than you could take in without long and careful study. The linkage Larry and Chris came up with for the dual-Linkert carb setup was a real brainbender all by itself, as was the generator—robbed from a junked 70s Opal GT, it fit in the space provided as if it was made solely for the purpose; according to Chris, the Opal unit was the only thing out there that would, and Indian originals, while still floating around out there, were both kinda hard to find and pricey as all hell.

Larry was an experienced Indian guy and a bona-fide genius when it came to tranforming those noble Crimson Steeds Of Steel into true works of mechanical art, keeping them choogling on down the road in matchless style. In fact, Larry’s own Chief, also featured in the hallowed pages of the resurrected Iron Horse, was a gorgeous masterwork that pretty much redefined the bobjob genre while still paying respect to its fine heritage.

Larry and Chris had been roomies on the Lower East Side until shortly after I moved to the LES myself, then had something of a falling out and blew apart to go their separate ways. Larry is long gone now too, sad to say. Ironically enough, he too has a Carolina connection: he died back in 2004 no more than thirty miles from where I sit typing this, in a crash while doing a little closed-course stunt-riding exhibition at a big bike show in Concord. Back to the Snow obit:

Chris and I parted on less than cordial terms. He headed downtown to work on Mavety’s tattoo mag, and I continued with Iron Horse. Though Chris was a biker, I don’t believe he ever considered Iron Horse as anything more significant than an exercise in exploitation. Not to get too psychoanalytical with Chris no longer around to debate the point, but it seemed to me that the shooting understandably changed him. There was maybe too much New York cynicism now in place of the mellow California vibe.

When I read of Chris’ passing on the Greasy Kulture blog, I didn’t want to accept it. I always thought that one day we’d meet again and share a Guinness or three and maybe I’d give him a tat. Over the years, I enjoyed seeing his profile shots in each issue of International Tattoo Art that accompanied his editorials— he’d grown into the curmudgeon he’d been all along. I hoped he’d get around to chronicling his biker experiences, especially those on the NYC biker scene, but there is never enough time. As it was, I could only slump back from the computer screen with the finality of Chris’s death. I cracked a cold Miller, poured a libation, took a ride on Animal Mother, and contemplated the miles and memories that lay between that simpler, more dangerous slice of New York life 25 years ago. I was thankful for each mile of the ride and all the miles that hopefully still lay ahead.

A last memory now seems a glimpse of a dream or fable. It’s a brilliant spring day in New York City, the trees luminous green with sunlight. We’re in Sager’s van. Rob’s driving, his blue-eyed hound dog, George, is in the very back, while Chris, Larry, and I are balanced on milk crates or ragged seats. We’re coming back from covering an event for the magazine, or maybe we were helping somebody move, or perhaps transporting bike parts around the city. Rob pulls the van over in front of my Brooklyn apartment to drop me off just as Deborah is walking up the sidewalk with her guitar and mic stand, her blonde hair flashing like a siren, her sundress radiant as the day. Chris leans out the window and asks, “Hey sweetie, wanna go for a ride with a van full of bikers?” Deb’s been performing Memphis Minnie songs on 7th Ave. and doesn’t miss beat. “No thanks, mister, I already got me a chauffer.” A fortunate convergence of souls. All gone so young, all deserving of so much more. All made Iron Horse a continual, ongoing journey to a limitless, unbounded horizon.

Those were the days, all right. I miss Chris greatly myself; he was one of a kind, a true American original of a type they just ain’t making anymore, and never made all that many of anyway. Rest easy, my brother, till we meet again. And thanks to David Snow for penning such a poignant, straightforward piece memorializing him.

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