Cold Fury

Harshing your mellow since 9/01

Wrack and ruin and race

Did somebody mention barbarians just now? Why yes, I believe someone did.

In 1989, the Virginia Beach party animals called it Greek Week — one of dozens of such gatherings of black college fraternities and sororities up and down the East Coast over a several-year period. All leaving crime, trash, destruction, and excuses in their wake as they were run out of one town after another.

Today, local reporters are eager to minimize the violence from that time or attribute it to white racist police.

But back then, no one in Virginia Beach questioned whether 50,000 to 100,000 black people were creating incredible levels of mayhem by destroying 100 shops, fighting cops, and breaking the law.

They killed a horse. They threw a cinder block at its head.

Um. Well. Okay, then.

Reporters had trouble describing the epic racial violence and hostility that 40,000 black people brought to Virginia Beach in April of 2013. So let’s start here: Black College Beach Week was organized by black people, for black people, promoted by black people, on black radio stations, at black colleges.

They sent buses to pick up members of black fraternities and sororities. And they brought them all to Virginia Beach. And they raised holy, violent, unapologetic, race-conscious hell.

On Fox43 news, a black woman said mayhem and lawlessness at Black Beach Week is nothing to worry about. “I think it’s still fun,” said Kharizma Jackson. “It happens when you get a lot of people together this stuff happens everywhere you go. It’s like that.”

Well, a lot of SOME people, actually. Best not to talk about that, right? Otherwise, one of those “national conversations” the Left is so enamored of might ensue, with all the accompanying risk of a little truth coming out. But as Virginian-Pilot reporter Mark Morrell said, it doesn’t matter; there’s really no need.

PSA: There were no persons of any other race on the videos perpetrating those crimes. None. Not stealing the bikes, or starting the brawls, or any other illegal, crazy action. Have I mentioned any race at all? Nope!!! Because you know exactly what I’m talking about, I most certainly don’t have to. You can identify me all you want, I’m not scared, and I don’t hide behind my screen — or my newspaper. There is an elephant in the room, Pilot. WHATCHAGONNADOOOOO ABOUT IT???

There is some good news here, and it’s at the beginning of the piece. Lest anyone think that the the Va Beach chaos is in any away unique, or an outlier, I will first commend your attention to the requiem I wrote for the end of the annual Myrtle Beach Spring Rally, reachable via the Leatherballs link up top. MYB was one of the longest-running rallies in the country, until it was stopped. I went every single year myself, and loved it. Never failed to have a good time there, each and every year, for well over a decade.

With my Outlaw Biker article, I had committed my first, last, and only act of true journalism: I interviewed people, reported the facts as they were laid out for me, and tried to look at both the impact of the events and where they might lead in the future. The thing is, though, there’s a story behind the story that was given to me, and then presented. I didn’t find this out until much later, and there’s a reason for that.

See, for all those years the MYB Rally had been a gathering mainly of what most would probably think of as old-school biker types: burly, long-haired, tattooed, leather-clad Harley riders. Lots of MC’s were represented, from true One Percenter clubs and their affiliates to the Blue Knights, although patches were generally not flown in the interest of keeping the peace. The thing happened in early to mid May, and the official Rally itself was run by the NC and SC branches of the HD Dealers Association.

The Rally was relatively sparsely attended; I myself only ever went out to it once or twice. Most of us were there for the riding, the bars, the bands, the asphalt flat track races at Myrtle Beach Speedway, and the general atmosphere of raucous, rollicking good fellowship. Oh, and to gawk at all the other Harleys. And the girls, most definitely to include the bare tits that can be found at any biker event.

The week after the H-D event was always known as Black Bike Week. For this one, a somewhat different and darker atmosphere prevailed. The problems at Black Bike Week were legendary. Shoplifting, out of control near-riots, assaults, stabbings, and even murders, discourtesy and outright belligerence, dine-and-dash incidents—all of these things saw a rise during BBW for which the descriptor “stratospheric” is wholly inadequate. Waitresses, bartenders, and retail staff put in for vacation en masse that week; if they couldn’t finagle the time off, they called in sick. Many establishments made it their practice to just shut down for the week every year.

The Myrtle Beach town officials and influential businesspeople eventually decided enough was enough, and started discussing ways to shut the thing down. One problem was noted right off the bat, and, as Morrell said above, you already know what it was. No way could Myrtle Beach put an end to the wantonly destructive, costly, and downright dangerous catastrophe for the area that BBW had become while allowing the H-D event to continue. Nobody needed a crystal ball to see the howls of outrage over “racism,” the national bad press, and the lawsuits coming.

So the decision was made to avoid all the controversy by killing them both off. This didn’t work out too well for the city of Myrtle Beach. The H-D Rally and its accompanying events just relocated to the surrounding beach towns like Ocean Drive, Cherry Grove, and Murrell’s Inlet—and so did the spike in revenues they generated. Attendance fell off at first, but gradually bikerdom got the word and the numbers came back up; oddly, the name didn’t even change. Even Black Bike Week is still going strong up in the town of Atlantic Beach just north of Myrtle, which back in the days of segregation was traditionally the place where blacks went for their beach vacations.

I don’t know if the accompanying anarchy, disorder, and lawlessness are still prominent features of BBW as well. But I bet I could make a pretty good guess.

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One more reason to abandon Gilette

Please, make it stop. PLEASE.


After citing a few facts on the many, many ways obesity is unhealthy in the extreme, Cristina puts the thing simply: “Obesity is not something that should be promoted or celebrated.” And it really, really isn’t. “Slay the day”? Might want to ask your doctor about that one, Jumbo, and pronto. Until you step away from the AYCE buffets and Double Whoppers with Xtra cheese and get yourself on some kind of exercise plan, the only thing you’re gonna be slaying is your jiggly, misshapen self.

For my own part, I’ll say it again: the cheap feel-goodery of this “everyone is beautiful” flapdoodle actually negates the very idea of beauty itself. By definition, beauty is rare; if everyone is beautiful, then “beauty” has been dumbed down to just another synonym for “common.”

Semantic arguments aside, what really IS rare is people who seriously think blubberous, grotesque manatees such as this are in any way beautiful. Well, aside from the statistically-negligible handful of twisted pervs skulking around those chubby-chaser Pr0n sites, that is.

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Sad, sad story

The world’s first legally-declared “nonbinary” person tells a heartbreaking tale of dysfunction, maladjustment, and misery.

Four years ago, I wrote about my decision to live as a woman in The New York Times, writing that I had wanted to live “authentically as the woman that I have always been,” and had “effectively traded my white male privilege to become one of America’s most hated minorities.”

Three years ago, I decided that I was neither male nor female, but nonbinary—and made headlines after an Oregon judge agreed to let me identify as a third sex, not male or female.

Now, I want to live again as the man that I am.

I’m one of the lucky ones. Despite participating in medical transgenderism for six years, my body is still intact. Most people who desist from transgender identities after gender changes can’t say the same.

But that’s not to say I got off scot-free. My psyche is eternally scarred, and I’ve got a host of health issues from the grand medical experiment.

Sorry, but I got myself a very strong hunch your psyche was “eternally scarred” right from jump, bub.

In fact, if you read the whole thing (and you should) it’s evident that this poor tormented schmuck is pretty much a total dumpster fire when it comes to mental health, and probably always will be. I hope he can somehow get it together someday, at least to some reasonable degree, but I doubt it’s gonna happen.

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The little coup that couldn’t

VDH performs the post-mort.

In sum, the Left and the administrative state, in concert with the media, after failing to stop the Trump campaign, regrouped. They ginned up a media-induced public hysteria, with the residue of the Hillary Clinton campaign’s illegal opposition research, and manipulated it to put in place a special counsel, stocked with partisans.

Then, not thugs in sunglasses and epaulettes, not oligarchs in private jets, not shaggy would-be Marxists, but sanctimonious arrogant bureaucrats in suits and ties used their government agencies to seek to overturn the 2016 election, abort a presidency, and subvert the U.S. Constitution. And they did all that and more on the premise that they were our moral superiors and had uniquely divine rights to destroy a presidency that they loathed.

Shame on all these failed conspirators and their abettors, and may these immoral people finally earn a long deserved legal and moral reckoning.

Yes indeed; t’is a consummation devoutly to be wished. But I won’t be holding my breath, and neither should you. Which brings us right ’round to this truly dismal prospect:

“Imagine, if you will, the momentary hysteria of the Kavanaugh nomination,” this individual writes, “revived and extended into a permanent state, with a real sense of existential threat animating all participants. That is our probable 2019.

“This doesn’t stay inside the Beltway. This means heightened ideological conflict as a permanent feature of ordinary American life,” the writer continues.

“We haven’t seen much of this before — the strife of the 1960s and 1970s being fairly localized in many ways, and that of the 1860s being mostly regionalized — with one major exception. That exception is the American Revolution itself, when neighbors really did turn upon one another in the name of political theory in a process more brutal and merciless than popular memory recalls.”

The writer reminds us that “in our lifetimes, the single most significant threat to the life, liberty and property of the average American citizen has always been the federal government. The danger in 2019 is that a consequence of that federal government’s crescendoing dysfunction will be the replacement of that most significant threat with one far more grave, far more vicious and far more relentless: our own neighbors.”

“This is about people burning down their neighbors’ houses and businesses, to run them out of town, over ideological differences. Look at the Balkans in the early 1990s. This is about a group from one side, murdering the entire family — Dad, Mom, Brother and baby Sister — of their neighbors, over political differences.”

Barring that extreme (or maybe not), “This is the probable 2019 and you should prepare for it,” continues Mr. Robb’s anonymous friend.

Unlike the American Revolution, there will be no black hats or white hats: “There does not seem to be much by way of partisans for liberty in 2019. More apt, probably, is the example of France with its own tradition of ideological self-terrorization, devoid of any good guys, whether in 1792-94, 1870-1871 or 1958-1962.”

Yikes.

You can say that again, pal.



(Via Wes Rhinier)

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Double bubble trouble

YIKES! With (urk) pictures.

DESPERATE for a fuller bust Jacqueline Harvey spent her life savings on a boob job.

But the 23-year-old was left distraught after the “botched” op left her with malformed, “double bubble” boobs.

The graphic designer saved for five years, before splashing out £4,500 on the op – boosting her bust from a 34C to DD.

However, after waking up and looking in the mirror, Jacqueline immediately regretted her decision.

She realised her implants had caused a second bulge under her breast bone – creating what looks like four “bubble” boobs.

The average cost of breast augmentation in Australia is $13,000 [£7,000], so Jacqueline was thrilled to find a discounted price of $6,000 (£4,500).

But she now regrets choosing the knock-down rate as she will have to spend the same amount on corrective surgery.

She added: “It was a lot more affordable than what I had previously been quoted for breast augmentations, which range around $13,000.

There’s a reason for that. There usually is.

“But I regret my decision as I now need to spend this amount to correct the damage that was done in the first operation.”

Rule Numero Uno, kid: never, ever, EVER bargain-shop for tattoos, tools, shoes, surgery, helicopter pilots, or high explosives. It’ll end up costing more than if you just bite the bullet and drop the coin to get the good stuff right out of the gate. WAY more, and in more than just money, too.

I just don’t get the store-bought-titties thing, I never did, and I never will. For whatever it might be worth, I find synthetic fun-bags repellent—notwithstanding my having more than one or two female friends to whom I will never willingly disclose that opinion, in the interests of my own physical well-being. Not knocking anybody for their preference in knockers, mind, whatever it may be and however they may have arrived at it. To each his/her own, I say.

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Mother Nature’s plan

Forecast: bleak. And cold.

There were four ice ages during the Pleistocene Epoch, the last 1.7 million years. The most recent glacial period began melting 20,000 years ago, not withdrawing from the Great Lakes region until 10,000 years ago. I wonder how cold the future Chicago was back in those days when covered with a mile-thick layer of ice?

What caused the ice ages and the subsequent warming that ended each ice age? Humans were scarce and those that were around were not driving SUVs or exhibiting toxic masculinity by grilling burgers in their back yards. Who’s to say the planet is not now slowly cooling, heading toward another minor or major ice age? Some scientists are predicting just that, a mini ice age in the next 30 years, based on the sun’s natural cycles.

Newsweek predicted a new ice age back in 1975 in an article called “The Cooling World.” What if they were right in principle, but off in timing?

Climate scientist S. Fred Singer made the case for an upcoming ice age last year in American Thinker, noting that we are currently nearing the end of a cyclical 10,000 year inter-glacial warming period which would be followed by a 100,000 year glaciation. Is the shifting polar vortex an early sign of global cooling?

Perhaps the climate warriors are correct, but not in the way they intend.

Indeed, the climate may be changing, but cooling rather than warming. If so, this would be a legitimate cause for alarm. Cooler temperatures mean a shorter growing season, with less food to support a much larger world population than existed during the last ice age. Those concerned about an overpopulated planet may discover that Mother Nature has a plan for culling the population.

If anything, whatever man-made global warming actually exists may serve to delay the next cooling period or ice age for a decade or a century. But planetary cycles will continue, regardless of the rantings of Al Gore or Alexandria Ocasio-Cortez.

We all may well end up wishing that CO2 was actually a significant factor in Climate Change (formerly Global Warming, formerly Global Cooling, formerly “the weather”) so we could avoid a near-extinction level event for humanity by pumping as much of it as we could into the atmosphere. But that is unlikely in the extreme to save us. Our relationship to the planet is more along the lines of fleas on an elephant’s back than it is some almighty colossus astride a helpless world entirely at our mercy. We’re fleas on an elephant’s back. George Carlin knew it years ago:




Watch all of it. Ol’ George wasn’t right every single time, Lord knows. But when he was, he really, really was.

Common sense update! Climate, like true science, is subject to change.

The fact is, our climate changes all the time. As a highly complex system, climate is inherently unstable. Saying “climate change” is merely stating an obvious fact: it’s never not changing. And claiming it’s all due to human-made CO2 runs into a central issue: All of the statistical models assume that increases in CO2 will lead inevitably to higher temperatures. It’s science, the activists say.

Unfortunately, for 20 years now, average temperatures have shown little if any change at all, even though CO2 concentrations have gone up. This is contradiction can’t be argued away.

This goes to the very heart of what science is, and isn’t. It violates a primary tenet of experimental science put forth by the late Karl Popper, considered by many the greatest philosopher of science in the 20th century. In layman’s language, Popper said that to prove something in science, you must first be able to test it for being false. Otherwise, what you have isn’t science, it’s religion, or faith. It’s a “nonfalsifiable hypothesis.” It can neither be proven nor disproven.

That’s exactly where we are today. Climate extremists, activists and the media repeatedly claim that any and all phenomena are due to climate change or global warming. No debate possible. They reject any possible other explanation. Anyone who expresses skepticism, is immediately labeled a “denier,” a cheap slur linking those who disagree with Holocaust denial.

When you say anything and everything is a cause of global warming, and no amount of evidence can possibly disprove that hypothesis — indeed, you call those who doubt your beliefs “deniers” — it’s no longer science. It’s faith.

Yes, we call ourselves skeptics. The climate change science isn’t proven, despite media claims to the contrary. Spending trillions of dollars to lower CO2 output won’t end our cold winters. But it will end our prosperity.

That’s the whole idea—which, in turn, will bring us more completely into government’s tyrannous clutches, perhaps even lead to the establishment of a global government like they’ve always dreamed of.

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The notorious RBG

She’s dead, Jim.

Supreme Court Justice Ruth Bader Ginsburg will miss a second week of oral arguments as she continues to recover from cancer surgery she underwent last month, court spokeswoman Kathy Arberg said Friday.

But Ginsburg’s recovery is on track, there is no evidence of remaining cancer in her body and no further treatment is planned. 

Glad her treatment was so successful. The nice thing is, said treatment seems to have had a salubrious effect on her physical appearance too:

BrideOfGinsberg.jpg


Once those scars on her neck heal up, RBG is gonna be quite the looker, ain’t she?

(Via Bill)

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Death has no dignity

The Lefty death cult has another of their “suggestions” for you.

It’s getting very dark in euthanasia-land. Not content with legalizing assisted suicide for the terminally ill in six states plus the District of Columbia — with Canada, Belgium, the Netherlands, Luxembourg, and Colombia allowing lethal jab euthanasia — and unsatiated with Switzerland’s suicide clinics to which people from around the world attend — the so-called “death with dignity” movement now is pushing self-starvation as a splendid way to die.

Before I explain, two crucial distinctions. First, this essay is not about the common circumstance when a dying person stops eating as a natural part of the dying process. Nor is this essay about feeding tubes, which are deemed a medical treatment that can be legally refused or withdrawn. Rather, this essay addresses the growing advocacy in the assisted suicide/euthanasia movement and within bioethics to redefine self-starvation — known as “voluntary stop eating and drinking (VSED)” in movement parlance — as a means of attaining “death with dignity” in circumstances in which assisted suicide is illegal.

At this late date in my life I’ve seen enough of death up close and personal to be able to say with absolute confidence and authority: death HAS NO dignity, none whatsoever, for anybody involved. It is ugly, squalid, sordid, and degrading. It is messy, and it smells. Excepting the cases I’ve witnessed where the person is completely unconscious, it appears to also be quite painful.

The notion of “death with dignity” is preposterous. Like the stories you see on the teewee news about someone “dying instantly” in fatal car accidents and such, it’s a fiction we use to comfort ourselves a little, to make a little space between our instinctive revulsion at death and the gruesome reality of the thing. It may be a necessary balm for some of us, but fiction it most surely is.

I’m by no means reflexively opposed to a person having the right to have control over the time and manner of his own demise when possible. But anybody nattering about “death with dignity” just demonstrated to my satisfaction that they really don’t know the first damned thing about it. And given the Left’s usual MO in just about any matter you care to consider, chances are they’ll try to make it mandatory. You can’t trust those fascist, sneaky, lying goons with anything at all, least of all dying.

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Are you hearing your words?

Irony so incandescent it actually hurts to look directly at it.

I listened to a remarkable bit of self-parody on National Public Radio on Tuesday: a moderator, a pair of experts, and some very earnest listeners trying to figure out how to most politely tell climate change skeptics they are dangerous idiots.

Yes, on NPR’s “1A,” finding a way to convert those neanderthals, or at least move the “conversation” in the right direction, was the topic of nearly 40 minutes of chatter that was at times quite unintentionally funny.

To be clear, this program was not about debating the existence of climate change. That was already settled for everyone whose head isn’t stuck in a microwave. This was about talking to pea-brains who do not fully believe drastic policy changes are required to combat climate change, and—this is important—having these “conversations” in a way that would not frighten or anger these stunted children.

That the entire segment presupposed that the panelists are so much smarter, wiser, more virtuous than skeptics—or “deniers,” to borrow that creepy nomenclature—and thus, extremely condescending, seemed to escape everyone involved. Let’s dig in.

Said moderator Joshua Johnson at the outset:

Clearly climate change is tough to discuss, despite overwhelming scientific evidence of its existence. Or maybe because of that evidence. I mean, think about it. If someone tried to hit you over the head with a bunch of facts and figures, supremely confident that they are right and you are wrong, how would you feel? Or, if someone flat out refused to hear you out, despite the facts being really clear, and just dug in their heels to avoid feeling like they lost an argument, what would that be like? We want to elevate this debate, to change the way we talk about climate change.

Bold mine, of course, because…wow. These people would seem to possess not even trace amounts of self-awareness.

Bledsoe took a question from a caller who wondered why President Trump and other skeptics are so “adamantly ignorant” on the issue, and he warned of not talking about it in terms that are too science-y.

“We who talk about climate change have to talk about it differently. We can’t make it a technocratic or scientific issue,” Bledsoe said.

No, you really can’t. But not for the reason you think.

Myhre was more scathing and then neatly shifted into how gender dynamics fits into all this, showcasing what I’m assuming she learned in Intersectionalism 301 at UC-Davis.

“My view is that we need to indict public leaders who are trafficking in science denial as a form of misconduct and a form of putting the American public into danger,” she said. “However, I do think that we as scientists have engaged nonstop in trying to confront denialism and often that engagement is a very—it’s coded male power brokering that is very problematic in the culture because it pits people against each other instead of focusing on shared values.”

Bold mine, again, because, again…wow. She’s really hitting all the libtard buttons she can reach, ain’t she? C’mon, honey, work some transgenderIslamophobicNaziracistcapitalistgreedbigotedsexism into the mix, whydon’tcha? I got faith in you; I know you can do it. In fact, I suspect you couldn’t stop it if you tried.

Bledsoe interrupted to say the U.S. problem with climate change was unique in its political and cultural aspects, but Myhre responded:

I would agree with that, but I just want to reflect back again that the entire world, by and large, and the world’s global resources are run by men, and those decisions are made by men, and so one of the fundamental aspects of solutions for climate change has to do with anti-racism and anti-misogyny, and that is at a global level. The closer we get to an equitable and safe society for everyone, specifically for the rights of girls and women, then that’s a component of the pathway for us to get to climate solutions.

Ahhh, there it is. Earlier, though, she accidentally let a little raw truth slip out:

I mean, you can talk about the science until you’re blue in the face right? But then when we are actually trying to sit in relationship with people, that’s a two-way street. That is an experience where you have to listen in order to engender trust and relationship, and part of the piece around this is that realizing as scientists, we’re trying to broker power and authority in the public. We’re trying to gain agency and authority, in order for the science that we are stewarding to be integrated into public decision-making. But that piece around brokering for power, man, you gotta get curious about that, right? Because there’s all sorts of lines that divide our culture around, who is trusted? Who gets buy-in? Who has authority?

And that’s what it’s REALLY all about; for the Left, it always is. They can’t ever keep the mailed fist hidden in the velvet glove for very long. I got lots more to say about that, but I’m going to hold onto it for another post.

The crazy bint then went on to have a total moonbat-meltdown on Twitter over having been “disrespected” and “patronized” by the men in the discussion, which I find quite a bit less than surprising (before tootling off to a “sexual harrassment” meeting, naturally). Yeah, I can totally see this seized-up nutbar engaging in a calm, rational, trust-and-relationship engendering chat with a truly well-informed skeptic expecting to bring him or her around to Her Truth on the climate-change scam. I’d give her about a sentence and a half of being able to maintain her obviously precarious sang-froid before going bughouse and getting violent, no more.

A lot of religious discussions seem to end that way, you know.

(Via MisHum)

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“This is a remarkable moment in American life: A man is killing actual living, gurgling, bouncing babies on an industrial scale – and it barely makes the papers”

Steyn reveals what the Kavanaugh fight was really all about, via movie review.

On the day that Brett Kavanaugh was confirmed as a judge on the highest court in the land, this new film is as appropriate a choice as any for our Saturday movie date: it was America’s abortion absolutism that drove both the fanatical opposition to Justice Kavanaugh’s nomination and the media blackout on the case of Dr Kermit Gosnell, and their opposition to anyone telling his story. Gosnell opens in movie theaters this coming Friday, but a few days ago The Mark Steyn Club Cruise hosted a special screening with filmmakers Ann McElhinney and Phelim McAleer as we sailed through the Gulf of St Lawrence. The audience was profoundly moved. One lady, having worked in a very famous West Coast medical facility, said that Dr Kermit Gosnell’s preferred method of “abortion” – live births – was common there too, and that we were all “complicit”. Another viewer focused on his own profession of anesthetist, and teared up as he recalled the untrained fifteen-year-old who functioned as Gosnell’s and used a handmade color-coded chart to remember what to give whom. In fact, unlike the older women with whom she worked, the teenager had at least some semblance of sympathy for the patients, a rare sighting of human feeling in a building from which it had otherwise fled.

In the course of bringing one Philadelphia “doctor” to trial, almost every person in a position of authority in Pennsylvania cautioned that this case “is not about abortion”. And thus the tale as told by the writers and director Nick Searcy: it starts out as a story not about abortion, but about illegal drugs, and a multi-agency federal/state investigation that leads to a particular inner-city clinic. When they enter, they find a garbage-strewn dump where cats wander in and out of operating rooms defecating freely, where “medical waste” is piled up wherever space can be found, and where the kitchen fridge is filled with dozens of jars containing tiny baby feet preserved as if they were pickled eggs. The doctor arrives with food for his pet turtles, who are treated better than any of the women. “This is normal?” asks Detective Stark (Alonzo Rachel). “I dunno,” says his partner (Dean Cain). “I’ve never been in an abortion clinic before.”

Their curiosity is resented by the bigshot feds from the DEA and the FBI, who don’t want abortion getting in the way of their routine drugs bust. Likewise, the Department of Health has sent along a hatchet-faced nurse to ensure that the raid does not in any way impede the “procedures” being performed at the clinic: No one wants this case to be “about” abortion – not the District Attorney, concerned about the politics of being seen to oppose “reproductive rights”; not the Assistant DA’s own obstetrician or the doctor next door, both of whom refuse to testify; and certainly not the lady judge, who’s more concerned about the welfare of Gosnell’s turtles than of his patients.

Wandering genially through the squalor and degradation is the abortionist himself. Earl Billings is the spitting image of Kermit Gosnell and plays him as an affable black man with a beatific smile and a soft-spoken manner that never rises to any epithet stronger than “Oh, my!” It is a remarkable performance of a man of many contradictions, not least in the strange mix of refined esthetic sensibility and total indifference to minimum hygiene standards: in one memorable scene, he plays Chopin on the parlor piano as millions of fleas swarm up the legs of the cops in the basement below.

If Kermit Gosnell isn’t to be considered the living embodiment of evil—evil incarnate, evil made flesh—then the word truly has no meaning at all. And I say that as someone who is NOT blanketly opposed to all abortions always; I still believe that there are circumstances where they are tragically, sadly necessary, the lesser of two evils. In fact, I have a close friend who was forced to resort to it in an extreme circumstance, when he and his wife…well, that’s a topic for another day, maybe.

And it isn’t relevant to this particular case anyway. Gosnell was a warped, inhuman monster operating not a “clinic” but a real, true chamber of horrors straight out of a B-grade horror flick. That the Abortion At All Costs Left has so deftly swept him under the rug to protect their gruesome sacrament blackens their very souls. And there’s even more sick-making, near-incomprehensible horror throughout the rest of Steyn’s post, if you can believe it.

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Make it stop!

Why is it always the homeliest and dumpiest among ’em who just can’t refrain from getting themselves all nekkid in public, and will find any excuse at all to sound high-minded about indulging their exhibitionist kink?

Well, okay, I guess for a middle-aged Feminazi college professor, she ain’t all THAT bad, really. Considering the beached-whale gravy boats stripping off at Lefty protest-cum-riots from sea to shining sea in our own nation, we’ve all surely beheld worse. But still: nope, ain’t no unseeing that.

I have to believe that someday, a reasonably cute Lefty chick willing to let ’em breathe in broad daylight will surface, thus negating the endless parade of blubberous, screeching, pink-mohawked tuna schooners and making our long national nightmare worth all the suffering that led up to her welcome emergence. I hereby pledge to do my little all in securing her internet-sensationhood, should that frabjous day arrive while I’m still young enough to give a damn.

Thanks for nuthin’ to Heartiste, who quips: “Forget it, Jake, it’s Vaginatown.

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NUTS!

You folks in farther-flung corners of the world may or may not not have heard about this, but the story is getting a fairish amount of play around here.

The 18-year-old sister of Charleston, S.C., church shooter Dylan Roof was arrested Wednesday for carrying pepper spray, a knife and marijuana in her high school, authorities said.

Morgan Roof also posted on Snapchat a critique of Wednesday’s National Student Walkout protest against gun violence, the Post and Courier of Charleston, S.C., reported.

“Your [sic] walking out for the allowed time of 17min, They are letting you do this, nothing is going to change what (the expletive) you think it’s gonna do? I hope it’s a trap and y’all get shot we know it’s fixing to be nothing but black people welkin out anyway,” Roof posted, Fox 57 reported.

Jeez O PETE, man. Definitely something nasty afloat in THAT genetic cesspool.

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Go, Obama, go!

And take Hillary!™ with you.

I would say Michelle and Barack Obama are back in the news, but they’ve never left the news since the 22nd Amendment mercifully exiled them from the Oval Office last year. When President Clinton took the oath of office in 1992, President George H.W. Bush went away. When President George W. Bush assumed power in 2000, President Clinton went away (until the prospect of being the first gentleman came a-knockin’). When President Obama placed his hand on President Lincoln’s Bible in 2008, President Bush went away.

When President Trump made his miraculous win constitutionally official last year, President Obama went away, back to Chicago, to administer the death and destruction left in the wake of 30,000 consecutive days of Democrat rule over the Windy City.

Just kidding: Obama moved into a $5-million D.C. mansion – but only after the wall surrounding the 8,000-square-foot mansion was completely erected. Oh, and Obama’s former senior adviser, Valerie Jarrett, moved in with the Obamas, which is just bizarrely weird. It’s like House of Cards meets Three’s Company; rumor has it that Val makes a mean Belgian waffle with an Iranian secret touch.

Obama knows that the Democrats have no one on deck to challenge President Trump in 2020, and we’ll likely have Trump and Mike Pence as president for 12-16 years. (Republicans: Don’t you dare stay home on Election Day – red states no longer exist, and we cannot afford to lose the House of Representatives.) Knowing that Trump and Pence will likely occupy the White House for nearly two decades, Obama has comfortably assumed the role of the face of the “resistance” and will have carte blanche from the DMIC and sycophantic Democrat voters to undermine President Trump ad infinitum. Never mind the mountain of scandals accumulated in Obama’s 96 months as president, including an alleged spying scandal that’s shaping up to be an all-time Mother of All.

Democrats don’t care, just as they disdain our Constitution and Electoral College. Democrats believe they have the right to be right, and they will beat you into submitting to their will. No, Donald Trump isn’t a traditional president, but the American people don’t mind, just so long as President Trump keeps his promises (and kept promises he has). Too bad Tessio Republicans in Congress can’t seem to support the president for consecutive days.

Barack Obama promised a “fundamental transformation” when he took office in 2008, and he was true to his word. When google-eyed, Ludovico-induced Obamaites cheered “four more years!” at his farewell speech, Obama smilingly reminded them that our Constitution prohibits that. Prior presidents always bid adieu to the nation from the Oval Office, but Obama broke tradition and, predictably, was praised by the oh, so devout DMIC. Hell, even Canadians wanted another Obama term. Does that qualify as collusion?

He’s no class, all ego—a scrawny runt who fancies himself a colossus among men. The truly depressing thing is that, had he brazenly attempted a third run in defiance of the Constitution, he probably would have won. You just know the abominable git gave it some VERY serious consideration before deciding reluctantly against it. I’d bet fear and uncertainty over how the military would have reacted had a lot to do with that. Which makes it the wisest decision he ever made.

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One-way freakery

Well, THIS could sure explain a lot.

During last Tuesday’s minor off-year elections, a glorious total of “eight openly transgender candidates” swept to victory, squashing the hopes and stomping on the necks of transphobic bigots nationwide, who really need to either repent or curl up and die already.

While this is all undoubtedly cause for celebration, for joyously sniffing amyl nitrite and having unprotected felching parties far beneath manholes in urban sewers across this nation, are you noticing a pattern here? Yes, I am, too—all six of these winners were born men—or, if you prefer to sound like a crazy person, had the male gender assigned to them at birth—and decided one day through magical thinking and varying degrees of medical intervention that they were women.

Eight trannies elected to office in one night? That’s good. Only two of them now identify as men? That’s bad—especially if one wants to pretend that gender is fluid. If one even dares to notice a firm statistical pattern that the roaring majority of trannies are men who claim they’re women, one risks subverting the entire Tranny Gospel. If, as the case seems to be nearly everywhere worldwide, the overwhelming majority of people who desire to change their sex are men who seek refuge in womanhood, this might suggest that our current cultural climate offers very few perks for men and plenty for women.

Unfortunately for the egalitarian-minded and those who wish to believe that the current transgender craze is anything more than a reaction to a culture that demonizes maleness, Japan stands as a sole exception to the global one-way tranny stampede, which overwhelmingly involves men proclaiming that they’re women.

Studies in Europe from the 1980s and 1990s found that when it comes to declaring you’re not the “gender you were assigned at birth,” men chose to become women at anywhere from 2.3 to 4 times the clip that women chose to become men. A study in England from the 1970s found that men chose to be women three times as often as women decided to be men.

Even more overwhelmingly lopsided is this Wikipedia page on “Transgender and transsexual politicians.” Of 45 international tranny pols listed, only two were born women. The rest were born men.

I strongly suspect that the current tranny mania which infects and clogs up so much of our popular discussion does not represent some new, bold, post-gender frontier in human development. If it did, the genders would be swapping genitals at an almost equal rate. But since it’s almost entirely male-to-female, I sense it’s nothing more than a cultural reaction to the fact that in the current climate, there’s almost nothing good about being a man.

Y’know, bizarre as it might seem at first blush, I think he just might be onto something here. Makes one wonder a bit what those comparative numbers might have looked like back when the manly virtues were admired, and men were treated with respect rather than revulsion—before the word “masculinity” was always paired with “toxic” or some other epithet.

(Via Steyn)

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Delenda frigging EST

Just when you think they’ve reached Peak Lunacy.

I wrote an essay in The Washington Post last year, during the height of the Brock Turner case, about my sons and rape culture. I didn’t think it would be controversial when I wrote it; I was sure most parents grappled with raising sons in the midst of rape culture.

Well, actually, ummm, no. Most parents know that “rape culture” is complete fucking horseshit—the sane ones, that is. Or so I would hope.

One of my sons was hurt by my words, although he’s never told me so. He doesn’t understand why I lumped him and his brother together in my essay. He sees himself as the “good” one, the one who is sensitive and thoughtful, and who listens instead of reacts. He doesn’t understand that even quiet misogyny is misogyny, and that not all sexists sound like Twitter trolls.

If he’s at all intelligent, he understands that not all of what a twisted freak like you calls “misogyny” is actually, y’know, misogyny.

He is angry at me now, although he won’t admit that either, and his anger led him to conservative websites and YouTube channels; places where he can surround himself with righteous indignation against feminists, and tell himself it’s ungrateful women like me who are the problem.

“Ungrateful”? No, not so much that. Demented, hate-filled, obsessive Feminazis like you, yeah.

I teeter frequently between supporting my son and educating him. Is it my job as his mother to ensure he feels safe emotionally, no matter what violence he spews?

What “violence” he “spews”? I’d really have to see an example of such before I’d believe it. As for translating the rest of it: For “supporting my son,” insert “being an actual loving mother.” For “educating him,” substitute “lecturing, hectoring, bullyragging, and intimidating him out of any trace of normal masculinity.” Your “job as a mother”? You haven’t the vaguest fucking clue, you sick bint.

As a single mother, I sometimes wonder whether the real problem is that my sons have no role models for the type of men I hope they become.

Of course they don’t. That’s because the “men” you hope they become aren’t men at all; they’re emasculated, steercotted little pussies, pushed around and bullied out of any truly masculine identity at all. I repeat: sick bint.

I know I’m not supposed to cast an entire sex with a single paint brush — not all men, I’m sure some readers are thinking and preparing to type or tweet. But if it’s impossible for a white person to grow up without adopting racist ideas, simply because of the environment in which they live, how can I expect men not to subconsciously absorb at least some degree of sexism? White people aren’t safe, and men aren’t safe, no matter how much I’d like to assure myself that these things aren’t true.

How very sad for you, you weak, pathetic freak. Every single premise presented in this paragraph is simply fucked beyond redemption. And with that, we draw near to the nut of things.

My sons won’t rape unconscious women behind a dumpster, and neither will most of the progressive men I know.

Neither will most of the men you know, period, de-balled Progressivists or otherwise.

I love my sons, and I love some individual men. It pains me to say that I don’t feel emotionally safe with them, and perhaps never have with a man, but it needs to be said because far too often we are afraid to say it. This is not a reflection of something broken or damaged in me; it is a reflection of the systems we build and our boys absorb.

And there it is: it most certainly IS a reflection of something broken and damaged in you. This whole wretched screed is nothing BUT a public display of just how badly damaged, how completely broken, you are.

This deranged bitch is a perfect exemplar of the dank, twisted hole into which Progressivism drags everything within its reach. Pity the poor boys raised by such a diseased mind; what hope have they of ever leading a normal, sane life after having been endlessly harangued during their formative years by the kind of woman who would put her petty politics ahead of properly nurturing her offspring?

It’s easy enough to mock a sicko like her, sure enough, and it should surely be done every chance we get. But we should never lose sight of an important fact: the damage done by her despicable ilk is real, and most likely irrevocable. Her sons may have the strength to rebel against her, and throw off her malignant influence in the end. But it’s likely going to cost them. And in the end, it will cost all of us.

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So sad

Remember the other day when I regretfully told you I expected to be getting a lot of use out of my “Freaks!” category?

Yeah. Well.

A WOMAN who had six ribs removed to look like Jessica Rabbit has vowed to carry on having plastic surgery.

Pixee Fox has spent £80,000 on 17 surgeries, including the £6,000 rib removal, four boob jobs, a Brazilian butt lift and labioplasty.

She now boasts an unbelievable 16in waist and 30J bust – and says it has always been her dream to look like her cartoon heroine.

She said: “People often come up to me and say, ‘Don’t take this the wrong way, but you look like a cartoon.’ But for me that’s a compliment, that’s what I want to achieve.

“Those cartoon characters represent the idealisation of the female body.”

Um. No, they do not. They represent the exaggeration of the idealization into an absurdity. They’re CARTOONS, for fuck’s sake.

Know what’s saddest of all, though? This is a pic of the deluded, mentally-ill woman before she decided to turn herself into a horrible, grotesque caricature of the female form:

Pixee-before.jpg

She was stunningly beautiful, about as flawless as they get. Yet somehow, her brain became twisted enough to decide it was preferable to turn herself into an appalling human gargoyle (click on through for plenty of scarifying pictures). A lot of people might be inclined to try to read all sorts of things into that, making it a demonstration (or remonstration) of what it says about people, or society, generally. But it ‘s no such thing. The only thing it speaks of is the mental state of this single sad, wretched, damaged woman. And that’s bad enough.

And no, she doesn’t get her own special bathroom for it.

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Cherchez la feminist

Can’t live with ’em, can’t shoot ’em let ’em run things.

Much of what is going wrong in the West is some version of what we are seeing with the endless hashtag campaigns run by women. The female of our species has a biological purpose. That’s to find a suitable mate, bear children and raise them to sexual maturity. That’s nature’s assignment to women. Anything else is either in support of that purpose, frivolous or in opposition to biological necessity.

The result of a century of feminism is a society that works against the interests of women. Young men are no longer obligated to get married and be family men. In fact, being a traditional male is routinely mocked by popular culture. All the pressure on men is to not get married. Instead, males have easy sexual access to females, to whom they have no obligation, other than cab fare to the abortion clinic.

It’s not just young females who are suffering from a century of feminism. Middle-aged women have always faced a difficult time. The kids leave and the mother’s purpose expires. Every man over the age of 40 understands that women often go bonkers at this stage of life. They get into weird causes or begin to obsess over trying to look young. Because we live in an age where so many women made it to this age without bearing children, we now have a surplus of women like Melissa Click.

At the risk of sounding like a neanderthal, Mx. Click should be somewhere doting on grandchildren right now, not out making a nuisance of herself. Instead, the self-defeating religion of feminism guides her into self-destructive behavior that has led to a life of frustration. That frustration comes from pursuing an endless list of causes and movements that can never satisfy the biological urge. Her life is an endless itch that can never be scratched.

We are learning the hard way that Aristophanes was right all along. A society run by women can never work. And the West is run by women, make no mistake. This pic of the defense ministers of Europe is a regular on twitter. The most powerful country in the EU is run by an old maid. The US could very well install an old lesbian as president this fall. Liberal men spend their days watching cuckold porn and trying on sundresses, while writing angry posts about bathroom laws.

This is not a stable arrangement, which is why the West is struggling to perform the basics of a human society.

Well, Nature has ways of correcting for it–usually involving Gods of a certain type, with fire and slaughter returning.

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

"To put it simply, the Left is the stupid and the insane, led by the evil. You can’t persuade the stupid or the insane and you had damn well better fight the evil." - Skeptic

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