GIVE TIL IT HURTS!

Greatest meme EVAR?

I know I’ve said that several times before, but this one just might top them all to permanently retire the crown.

FokkerVsFucker

Heh. Fuckers.

Update! I knew of Bader from all the Battle of Britain histories and historical fiction I’ve read over lo, these many years, but went poking around for more info on him. And BOY, did I ever find it. To wit (bold mine throughout):

Group Captain Sir Douglas Robert Steuart Bader, CBE, DSO & Bar, DFC & Bar, DL, FRAeS (/ˈbɑːdər/; 21 February 1910 – 5 September 1982) was a Royal Air Force flying ace during the Second World War. He was credited with 22 aerial victories, four shared victories, six probables, one shared probable and 11 enemy aircraft damaged.

Bader joined the RAF in 1928, and was commissioned in 1930. In December 1931, while attempting some aerobatics, he crashed and lost both his legs. Having been on the brink of death, he recovered, retook flight training, passed his check flights and then requested reactivation as a pilot. Although there were no regulations applicable to his situation, he was retired against his will on medical grounds.

After the outbreak of the Second World War in 1939, however, Douglas Bader returned to the RAF and was accepted as a pilot. He scored his first victories over Dunkirk during the Battle of France in 1940. He then took part in the Battle of Britain and became a friend and supporter of Air Vice Marshal Trafford Leigh-Mallory and his “Big Wing” experiments.

In August 1941, Bader baled out over German-occupied France and was captured. Soon afterward, he met and was befriended by Adolf Galland, a prominent German fighter ace. Despite his disability, Bader made a number of escape attempts and was eventually sent to the prisoner of war camp at Colditz Castle. He remained there until April 1945 when the camp was liberated by the First United States Army.

Bader left the RAF permanently in February 1946 and resumed his career in the oil industry. During the 1950s, a book and a film, Reach for the Sky, chronicled his life and RAF career to the end of the Second World War. Bader campaigned for disabled people and in the Queen’s Birthday Honours 1976 was appointed a Knight Bachelor “for services to disabled people”. He continued to fly until ill health forced him to stop in 1979. Bader died, aged 72, on 5 September 1982, after a heart attack.

A truly remarkable man, no? His legs were amputated after that ill-advised aerobatics attempt, one BTK (ie, Below The Knee) and one ATK (Above etc), in amputee jargon (mine was ATK, just so’s ya know). Baden was flying a Bristol Bulldog, a single-seat, unequal-wingspan (ie, lower wing shorter in length than the upper) biplane of some renown and excellent reputation at the time. His logbook entry after the crash was a true masterpiece of dry, laconic, British stiff-upper-lip understatement:

Crashed slow-rolling near ground. Bad show.

— Douglas Bader

In 1932, after a long convalescence, throughout which he needed morphine for pain relief, Bader was transferred to the hospital at RAF Uxbridge and fought hard to regain his former abilities after he was given a new pair of artificial legs. In time, his agonising and determined efforts paid off, and he was able to drive a specially modified car, play golf, and even dance.

Daring, dauntless, utterly without fear and indomitable, Sir Douglas Bader was outstanding even amongst an entire generation of real, true men; clearly, the words “quit” or “give up” simply were no part of his vocabulary. We shan’t see his like again, to our incalculable cost. Lots more great, great stuff at the link, of which you should damned-skippy read the all.

Ironically enough update! As it happens, Leigh-Mallory and Bader’s “Big Wing” theory, along with the resultant political battles with Air Vice-Marshall Keith Park, was recounted in great depth in one of those historical-fiction novels I’ve always been so fond of, namely Vol 2 of John Rhodes’ gripping Breaking Point series (highly recommended, if you’re into that sort of thing at all). “Big Wing,” while still controversial, was nonetheless pretty much a disaster.

After the Battle of Britain Leigh-Mallory never really had a chance to use the Big Wing defensively again, and it quickly mutated from a defensive to an offensive formation—Bader would eventually lead one of these new wings on massive fighter sweeps over France. To this day there is debate over the effectiveness of the “Big Wing” as it was used during the Battle. Although Leigh-Mallory and Bader argued it was a great success, post-war analysis suggests the actual number of German aircraft shot down by the wing was probably a fraction of those claimed (the claims for the Big Wing were never credible even at the time. On 15 September 1940, the Big Wing was scrambled twice against incoming raids and claimed 52 kills, eight probables and others damaged. (German records showed that six aircraft were lost). Some senior officers like Leigh-Mallory and Sholto Douglas wanted to believe these claims so that they could use the Big Wing as a political tool against Dowding. This would seem to support the idea that, for a “Big Wing”, there were “not enough enemy to go around”; the Wing had too high a concentration of aircraft in the same air space looking for targets.

It could be argued that 12 Group had more time to get fighters into position but even then it failed to do so. When 11 Group was stretched to its limits and required support, due to the delay imposed by 12 Group, 11 Group airfields were left undefended. This was due not only to time wasted in forming up the Big Wing but also due to 12 Group commanders not following 11 Group’s instructions and thus arriving in the wrong place. Not only did 12 Group fail to support 11 Group, they left their own airfields undefended; a large portion of UK airspace was left undefended while Leigh-Mallory and Bader tested their Big Wing theory. The time taken to form a Big Wing also wasted fuel and combined with the limited range of the fighters, reduced time over the combat zone. When 10 Group was asked to provide cover for 11 Group in similar circumstances, it was provided and 11 Group airfields defended.

Casualties for the “Big Wing” were significantly lower than in the smaller formations—suggesting that they did indeed benefit from protection in numbers. The “Big Wing” invariably joined combat with the enemy over Northern London, where the German fighter escort was at the very limit of its range and effectiveness. Consequently, the Big Wing also made very few interceptions, and as a result lower casualties would be expected on both sides. Park’s tactics (which had included the occasional use of two- and three-squadron wings) were correct for the conditions he had to fight under. The most powerful argument against the Big Wing in the Battle of Britain is that without a clear idea of a target as a raid assembled over France, it was impossible for the Big Wing to get airborne and form up in time to meet it.

Not all of the problems with “Big Wing” can be attributed to the concept itself; as always, the 7P Rule (Proper Previous Planning Prevents Piss Poor Performance) axiom comes into play. That, in concert with the unavoidable influence of Murphy’s Law and the proverbial “fog of war,” all had their own part in things, also.

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Laying the hate

Okay, from this diatribe I’m gonna guess that Ace is pretty much off the Trump train.

Wow, you would never guess that Donald Trump paid off a stripper to keep quite the adulterous affair he had with her, or that he’s been found culpable of sexual assault against a woman.

Before you object — stuff it. I’m always being told “Gee I don’t know why DeSantis people are so angry about Trump’s constant scumbag lies, this kind of thing always happens in a primary, just deal with it.”

Well Trump was found liable in a rape lawsuit. Deal with that.

We have ONE RULE here, people. Not one rule for the Trump scumbag and another rule for his opponents.

I guess Trump will be running on morality now.

Trump, who has spent most of his campaign money and time attacking Ron DeSantis rather than Joe Biden, now calls upon his opponents to drop out of the race because, you see, just by contesting the nomination, they’re attacking other Republicans instead of Joe Biden.

Are you kidding me? Are you kidding me?

Even by Trump’s slimy standards, that is outrageous. He has done nothing but attack an actual conservative Republican who, unlike him, is able to achieve win after win on conservative policy, instead of ranting on Twitter all fucking day.

The former president and GOP front-runner said it was time for Florida Gov. Ron DeSantis and others he dismissed as “clowns” to clear the field, accusing them of “wasting hundreds of millions of dollars that Republicans should be using to build a massive vote-gathering operation” to take on Biden in November.

How much of the money you’ve grifted from supporters have you spent on that, Mr. So-Tired-of-Winning-That-You-Just-Stopped-Winning?

Trump’s brand lately is losing. Losing his own races, and making horrible picks based just on whether someone is 1, a celebrity (or, really, a “celebrity;” Trump is desperate for anyone that he can pretend is in “show business”) and 2, willing to kiss his ass.

And these picks also lose.

He has to prove he is capable of winning — and of answering the many, many criticisms that the media/left has of him, but also the criticisms that (the) actual conservative right has of him.

But…but…but WAIT. You mean there’s still an “actual conservative right” out there? Man alive, that’s good to hear. I thought it had gone extinct years ago.

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Was it Kenyacide?

Only Bathhouse Barry really knows for sure.

Last week, Barack Obama’s private chef, Tafari Campbell, fell off his paddle board and sank below the surface of Edgartown Great Pond. His drowned body was recovered on Monday morning in the water off the former president’s Martha’s Vineyard estate. Currently, there’s no foul play suspected, and it’s worth noting that Campbell was not wearing a lifejacket.

However, certain peculiarities have presented themselves, causing some people to raise questions. For example, the reason for the 911 call that prompted the search was left blank in official logs. The person Campbell was with at the time of the accident remains unidentified, and the police have refused to disclose the person’s name.

Adding to the intrigue is that Barack Obama appeared with what looks like a black eye and a bandaged hand, playing golf at the exclusive Vineyards Club on Friday while Michelle Obama played tennis elsewhere on the grounds. Photos of Obama reveal a bruise or ‘black eye’ beneath his left eye, along with bandages wrapping fingers on his left hand.

Some dispute the significance of the bandages, insisting that they are sports bandages meant to prevent blisters from playing golf. Perhaps that explains it. But other details are being noticed as well. For example, some have called out the media for reporting that Campbell could not swim as an explanation for the drowning — when his own social media posts prove he most certainly could.

Initial reports claimed that the Obamas were not at their estate at the time of the incident, though later reports indicated that Barack and Michelle Obama “were out of the house” but on Martha’s Vineyard when it happened. It is unclear if their daughters, Sasha and Malia, were at home at the time, though they were seen leaving Martha’s Vineyard the following day.

The individual who was with Campbell at the time of the accident and the woman who reportedly called 9-11 both remain unidentified.

Oh, I just bet they do at that. You can be certain they will remain “unidentified,” as the sordid, rank-smelling mess gets hurriedly tossed down the deepest, darkest memory hole Praetorian Media can possibly contrive, beginning in 5…4…3…2…

Actually, the thing that leaves me most skeptical about the whole deal is the idea that Barry might have offed the chef, rather than Mighty Moochelle—after all, she’s always been the REAL muscle in the (notional) family. Moreover, they could quite easily have spoken to HILLARY!™ about having “her people” take care of business for them, without all the fuss, muss, and anxiety of getting their own hands dirty. As it happens, Aesop was way out in front of everybody on this one:

ObozoCoincidence

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Decrepitocracy

Bayou Peter on Yertle McTurtle’s Bidenesque mental lockdown the other day, whereupon he was whisked away from the podium in the arms of a couple of nearby handlers.

One gets very tired of politicians (irrespective of their party) when they’re performing business as usual, jabbering on inanely about subjects of which they know little or nothing, and expecting us to support them while they actively undermine our interests. When their general incompetence is augmented by diminished capacity due to age and its effects, it gets even worse. Based on what we saw this week, I daresay a case could be made that both Senators McConnell and Feinstein should be mandatorily retired as incompetent to exercise their office. The signs are very clear that they’re both “past it” – and they’re not alone in that.

I might have a suggestion or three regarding that “mandatorily retired” option myself, which I shall refrain from going into details of for the nonce, because Glowniggers reasons. Anyways. Onwards.

Perhaps a general age limit for elected political office (and, for that matter, appointed office, too) isn’t a bad idea. The Catholic Church requires bishops to tender their resignation to the Pope when they reach the age of 75 years. He doesn’t necessarily have to accept it, but in most cases he does, giving him an opportunity to bring in “fresh blood” to the episcopacy, and (hopefully) “cleaning house” of those who’ve become ossified in their thinking and reactions. Perhaps that’s a reasonable age limit for our politicians as well. If 75 isn’t right, what is?

That’s one of the reasons I’m very dubious about voting for former President Trump. Regardless of his policies, he’ll be 78 years old if he’s re-elected in 2024. Joe Biden was that age when he assumed office – and we’ve all seen the very visible signs of age-related problems in him even before that.

There’s simply a human and medical reality that as we get older, our capabilities and performance deteriorate to a greater and greater extent. Can we ignore that in our national and political leaders? I don’t think so. There’s nothing stopping an older person from offering really useful advice and insights, but to have such a person’s finger on the “nuclear button”? To have such a person making and/or approving national policy that directly and immediately affects not only our future, but the future of the world? To me, that’s a very dangerous situation.

I’m generally good with the idea, were it not for the part I put in bold, which is another instance of an assumption not in evidence: that the marionettes paraded around for We Duh Peepul as “our national leaders” in fact are the “people” in charge of FederalGovCo. In reality, they are no such thing. The people who actually DO run the whole dumbshow don’t ever stand for “election,” don’t ever make speeches on TeeWee, and are basically unknown to us, unless something goes horribly awry.

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Mad, bad, and dangerous to know

For the D卐M☭CRAT criminal organization masquerading as a political party, it ain’t just a mildly-amusing slogan anymore. It’s a way of life.

It says a lot about the modern Democrat Party that its prominent figures like Rep. Eric Swalwell (California representative) and Beto O’Rourke (perpetually unemployed) would actually support and pose for a photo with Stacie Laughton when he was running for a seat in the New Hampshire state house.

For the uninitiated, Laughton has the distinction of being the first transgender person elected to a state legislature. More importantly, he was charged in connection with the sexual exploitation of children, specifically by receiving and talking about explicit photos of children possibly as young as 3 years old. Laughton allegedly obtained the photos in text messages from his then-partner, Lindsay Groves, who authorities say took nude photos of the young minors at a daycare center.

To be mentally ill, dangerous, or both is quickly becoming the norm in Democrat politics. Time magazine on Thursday ran a lengthy, sympathetic profile on Pennsylvania Sen. John Fetterman, who in March mustered the strength to emerge from a mental wellness facility, where he spent six weeks being treated for severe depression. And that was only after suffering a near-fatal stroke that has left him unable to communicate without advanced computer software and nearly incapable of speaking at all.

“For so many years, we have demanded our politicians be perfect—free of scandal, perfectly groomed, never a hair or a word out of place,” wrote Time’s Molly Ball. “To admit to being broken was to admit to being ­deficient. But Fetterman was never the kind of pol who put much stock in seeming perfect.”

That’s not completely accurate. True, Fetterman is a proud slob in his perpetual uniform of a hoodie and basketball shorts that must make his office staff exceedingly uncomfortable every time he moves, but it’s not so much that he doesn’t “put much stock in seeming perfect.” It’s that the media throughout the final months of his 2022 Senate campaign were fully invested in dragging his body across the finish line no matter the cost, even as anyone with functioning eyes and ears could see that he was incapacitated by the deadly stroke and had not recovered.

Oh, well! Democrats had a Senate seat to win. Money is no object, let alone the quality of life of a father of three. Besides, Time and Molly Ball assure us that “many people loved their broken Senator—not in spite of his brokenness but ­because of it.”

Fetterman’s debilitating condition is not a bug. It’s a feature!

From there, the author moves on to “Biden” junta hire Samette “The Brute” Brinton, a clearly disturbed kleptomaniacal cross-dresser whose mental health issues are piled so high, wide and deep modern psychiatry is unable to even catalogue them all, much less treat ’em. And the above compendium of freaks, geeks, and flat-out nutjobs is just the start of it; daylight barking moonbats like Maxine Waters, Hank Johnson, Anthony Weiner, and HILLARY!™ don’t even rate next to these Ha Ha Hotel habitués, they seem perfectly sane and normal in comparison.

Any poor soul setting out to make a more or less comprehensive listing of D卐M☭CRAT lunatics is gonna have his work cut out for him, to put it mildly.

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Great moments in unflinching honesty

And the Award winner for Most Blunt And Perceptive in a Political Role goes to…

WASHINGTON — A bombshell FBI informant file describing a $10 million bribery allegation against President Biden and his son Hunter was released Thursday by Sen. Chuck Grassley, showing that a Ukrainian oligarch claimed that he was “coerced” into making the payoff.

Mykola Zlochevsky, the owner of natural gas company Burisma Holdings, told the FBI informant in 2016 while meeting at a coffee shop in Vienna, Austria, that “it cost 5 [million] to pay one Biden, and 5 [million] to another Biden,” according to the redacted FD-1023 form.

“Zlochevsky made some comment that although Hunter Biden ‘was stupid, and his (Zlochevsky’s) dog was smarter,’ Zlochevsky needed to keep Hunter Biden (on Burisma’s board) ‘so everything will be okay,’” the June 2020 document says. 

The source asked whether Hunter Biden or Joe Biden told Zlochevsky he should “retain” the younger Biden; Zlochevsky allegedly replied, “They both did.”

The federal informant — a Ukrainian-American who has been a trusted, highly credible FBI source for over a decade and been paid “six figures,” according to Grassley — described four conversations with Zlochevsky, beginning with a meeting near Kyiv in late 2015 or early 2016 and continuing through a 2019 phone call.

The rest of it I did not read, because who cares; after all, it’s not as if anything will ever be done about it. But no way could I pass on posting the part I put in bold.

(Via Quick)

Thinkers vs Repeaters

David Solways ponders Great Schism v2.0.

On Politics, Evil, and Stupidity
In a lengthy interview with Tucker Carlson, the controversial but rather impressive Andrew Tate suggested that the standard political distinction between Left and Right, liberal-progressivist and conservative, is not in itself the polarity that explains the culture wars we are undergoing or the social divide that is tearing apart our countries. The distinction, he argues, is between people who think and people who don’t, or as he put it, between “the thinkers and the repeaters.” It’s between those who endeavor to acknowledge reality — for example, that there are two and only two biological sexes or that Socialism, as defined by Thomas DiLorenzo in “The Problem with Socialism,” is “the biggest generator of poverty the world has ever known” — and those who merely repeat the ideological sedatives of the day or the tectonic lies that have become the trademark of the so-called legacy media. Tate should know. He is one of the prime victims of rampant and unscrupulous media disinformation.

But the schism goes even deeper than Tate’s antitheses. Quite bluntly, however problematic or elusive the definition of the concept may be, it has to do with the question of what we call “evil,” which has always resisted a definitive answer. In the moral structure of Judeo-Christian civilization, evil is theologically and philosophically understood as a rupture in the creation of the inhabited universe, the existence of groundless or unprovoked pain and suffering, or the handiwork of the Devil, as the early Christian Gnostics believed. Especially in the human world, evil is construed as the perennial tendency to lie or suppress observable truth, to cause harm for personal advantage, to inflict gratuitous suffering, and to bring misery and destruction upon whole societies in the interests of unworkable theory, unprovable assumptions, vaunting ambition, or what Samuel Taylor Coleridge, psychoanalyzing Shakespeare’s Iago, called “motiveless malignity.”

Admittedly, it is often hard to distinguish between perduring evil and “repeater” stupidity, between people who act with malice aforethought to deceive or injure others and those who clearly evince a deficiency of intelligence, doing harm unintentionally, going with the turbid flow, and embracing realistically implausible or absurd ideas and practices. Stupid is as stupid does.

“When stupid people are at work,” writes Carlo Cipolla in The Basic Laws of Human Stupidity, “the society as a whole is impoverished.” The damage is more than likely to be irreparable. “A stupid person is the most dangerous type of person,” he concludes, though an evil person will give a stupid person a run for his money. We might better say that stupid people are the readily accessible prey of evil people. An infallible sign of a stupid person is the susceptibility to programming and propaganda — what Mike Adams calls an “obedience idiot.”

Or what, in AA parlance, is known as an “enabler.” Be that as it may, the Stupid and the Evil are co-dependents: ie, each relies on the other for affirmation, endorsement, and support both practical and *shudder* moral. They are in effect indivisible, thus leaving any attempt to distinguish between them an exercise in picking the fly shit out of the pepper—a mug’s game, worse than a waste of time.

As a bonus, Solway also throws in Einstein’s cogent observation: There is a major difference between intelligence and stupidity; intelligence has its limits. True, dat. But seeing as how the end result of the collaboration betwixt the Stupid and the Evil is reliably the same—advancement of the Evil agenda—then they should all hang together, in a manner of speaking.

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Lede: BURIED

This amusing GP riff misses the point entirely.

Joe Biden late Sunday arrived in London to meet with King Charles III before departing for the NATO Summit in Lithuania.

80-year-old Biden looked like a feeble old man as he shuffled across the tarmac.

Notice Biden’s stiffened gait as he walked to Marine One.

Biden is in such bad shape that had to board Air Force One with the shorter staircase.

The real news story here is that the pathetic old geezer actually managed to stagger a fair distance across some of the flattest, levelest, most meticulously-groomed and -maintained ground to be found on the entire planet—namely, an airport tarmac—without once falling on his stupid ass, nor even tripping slightly over some imaginary impediment. No, in this signal instance he somehow managed to negotiate the local terrain without beclowning himself and/or embarrassing us all, however painfully slow he was about accomplishing such a miraculous feat. UNEXPECTED!™ For this shambolic clod, that’s gotta be a first, at least since the pResidency was hijacked for him.

So stand up and take a well-earned bow, Too-old Jaux! You have to much to be proud of, “sir” (spelled in the time-honored Demo Dick Marcinko fashion, natch, with a “c” and a “u”).

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The Four Big Things

Which, according to Mike’s Iron Law #4,689, one should never, ever try to bargain-shop for, looking for the cheapest possible alternative: shoes, meat, doctors, and tattoos*. Free? Thanks, but…NO.

FourThings

Wouldn’t work anyhow, the target audience isn’t the least bit interested in showering.

(Via Arthur Sido)

* That first one, shoes, I can’t honestly claim as my own; that one was an Iron Law of my dad’s

Sen John Kennedy: a national treasure

Can’t say I have any real problem with that statement, especially in light of how handily he sliced, diced, and pureed Willie Brown’s onetime side piece—or, as Jesse Kelly so memorably dubbed her, Brown’s bratwurst bun. But before we get to that, I have a quibble to lodge with what Sister Toljah says in boldface first.

It has often been said that Sen. John Kennedy (R-La.) is a national treasure and that there will never be another like him in our lifetimes nor anyone else’s.

I suspect that despite their political differences even Kennedy’s opposition on the left would agree that those two statements are undoubtedly true, though his most recent round of “tellin’ it like it is” might not sit too well with them.

My GOD, girlfriend, what in the ever-lovin’ blue eyed world would make you think such a loony-tunes thing as that, prithee tell?!? Perhaps such an across-the-aisle show of respect and comity would have been at least somewhat conceivable twenty-forty-sixty years ago, but today? No way, Jose; once the Loyal Opposition had wilfully self-transmogrified to become The Enemy—which they did, and are—all such possibilities became extinct. Now, Kennedy is as loathed and reviled by the Rabid Left as the rest of us; even the prospect of playing nice with their own hated and despised opponents leaves them frothing at the mouth worse than Old Yeller, just before he was put down.

Anyways. Onwards.

Kennedy appeared Friday on Fox News, where one of the topics of discussion was the wacky word salad Vice President Kamala Harris gave us during the annual Essence of Culture Festival, which took place at the end of June in Kennedy’s backyard of New Orleans.

When Kennedy was asked by anchor Trace Gallagher for an analysis of what Harris said, the Senator first pointed out that he did “not hate the Vice President,” and remarked that during her time in the Senate that they had worked together on the Judiciary Committee, noting that they got along “very well” for the most part.

And after that happy make-nice horseshit is when we come to the truly toothsome tidbits, which I’ll again put in boldface to make sure you don’t miss any of ‘em. Direct quote, straight from the horse’s mouth:

She’s struggling, and you don’t have to be a senior at Cal Tech to know that, just look at the poll numbers. She’s struggling for a couple of reasons. Number one, she doesn’t appear to be prepared. Number two, no matter how well-prepared you are, you have to be able to express yourself. And with respect, I would say the Vice President needs to work on being a little more articulate. Some [in the Senate] might say that based on her performances, that English is not her first, second, third, or even fourth language.

But number three, you know, I think sound advice for anyone, politician or not, is always be yourself unless you suck. If you suck, have enough self-awareness to know you suck, and try to do better. And I just don’t get the impression that the Vice President is — she’s not being herself. She’s trying to sound smart instead of just saying what she believes and saying it in a clear, articulate manner that the average American who is busy can understand.

Heh. Good, artful rip, sir, and well done. Very well done indeed.

Right back atcha, Slick

The hippier than thou asswarts of Ben and Jerry’s get a little of their own splashed back on ‘em.

Ben & Jerry’s has called on the US to give back “stolen Indigenous land” including Mount Rushmore — and now a Native American chief in Vermont said he’d like to talk about the land that’s under the ice cream maker’s headquarters.

The “Chunky Monkey” maker — which previously has waded into controversies around Israel and Palestine — divided customers this week with a July 4 tweet that said: “The United States was founded on stolen indigenous land. This Fourth of July, let’s commit to returning it.”

Ben & Jerry’s added that the US should “start with Mount Rushmore,” writing, “The faces on Mount Rushmore are the faces of men who actively worked to destroy Indigenous cultures and ways of life.”

On Friday, Don Stevens — chief of the Nulhegan Band of The Coosuk Abenaki Nation, one of four tribes descended from the Abenaki that are recognized in Vermont — told The Post in an interview that he “looks forward to any kind of correspondence with the brand to see how they can better benefit Indigenous people.”

“Correspondence,” hell. File a lawsuit, Chief. Or better yet, as Glenn recommends, a lien.

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WE’RE ALL DEAD! Women and children hardest hit, film at 11

Climate Change (formerly Global Warming, formerly Global Cooling, formerly The Weather)™ is officially o-v-e-r OVER, there’s no longer either need for nor use in worrying about or even mentioning it ever again. Mark it on your calendars, folks, because as of yesterday, June 22—according to “a top climate scientist” as quoted by a moderately well-known teenager with some neurodevelopmental issues, which affliction she prefers to refer to as “her superpower”, in the grand old shitlib tradition of comforting self-delusion—it is too late to do anything to save ourselves, like eliminating all usage of “fossil fuels.”

Nope, no use in even trying now; we’re all as good as dead, and that’s flat. Homo sapiens sapiens entire is absolutely, positively headed for the bone orchard, probably sooner than later, although no specific date has yet been given for the Big Die-off. According to Teh SCIENCE!™, the extinction of all humanity is now a dead cert, and completely irreversible. So,  y’know, act accordingly. Might as well throw a big party, that’s what I think.

Of course Greta Thunberg was wrong about fossil fuels
Climate activist Greta Thunberg tweeted five years ago that catastrophic climate change will wipe out humanity unless the world forgoes fossil fuel usage and ceases consumption. 

But to Thunberg’s dismay, her prediction didn’t exactly pan out. On the contrary, realizing this, she quietly deleted her tweet in March in anticipation of Wednesday’s anniversary. While gone, it forever lives in our hearts as a reminder not to fret over reactionary, alarmist predictions.

Aww gee, I sure do hate it for the wee on-the-spectrum harpy. The heart bleeds just thinking about how very disappointed she must be; the Climate Change (formerly Global Warming, formerly Global Cooling, formerly The Weather)™ religion has seduced, then betrayed another True Believer by dumping another tremendous letdown on her poor addled noggin. Since, according to her own forecast, there’s no longer any use in scolding everybody else about the goddamn climate, wonder what she might be planning to do with the rest of her life now?

How was Greta wrong? Let the WashEx count the ways.

In fact, humanity has sustained itself today due to continued fossil fuel usage, not in spite of it.

Let’s begin with oil, which is often blamed for our societal woes. Despite being assigned a dirty image by preservationist environmentalists, it’s the lifeblood of civilization and an essential resource here in America. Could you imagine our first-world society without oil? Life would be miserable, uncomfortable, and harder. Petroleum and its byproducts are ubiquitous in our daily lives. We fuel our cars, boats, and homes with it. Our clothes are derived from it, as are our cellphones and computers. It’s inescapable. Why get rid of it?

Another unappreciated energy source is natural gas. It’s arguably a clean-burning fuel that produces lower emissions. During the Trump administration, the U.S. became a net exporter of liquefied natural gas ( dubbed “molecules of freedom”), propelling our nation into energy independence while continuing to lead the world in overall emissions reductions.

Natural gas stoves, for example, are found in over 40 million homes and are preferred by 90% of chefs . Why? They boast faster conduction rates, make meals tastier, and are more economical to use compared to electric stoves. But these benefits, sadly, haven’t stopped many elected Democrats — along with the Department of Energy and the Consumer Product Safety Commission — from trying to phase them out through unrealistic “electrification” efforts.

Last but not least is coal, a common scapegoat of environmentalists despite it being an abundant domestic energy source.

Coal is undoubtedly reliable for heating and powering homes. Globally, it remains the top source of electricity generation and will remain one for years to come despite nations, including ours, closing down plants and curbing its mining. Additionally, there are myriad nonenergy uses, such as cement production, medicines, and carbon fibers. Metallurgic coal also happens to be a key component to steel, a popular building material.

Coal, oil, and natural gas cumulatively supply nearly 80% of American energy. This industry also supports nearly 13 million jobs and pumps billions into the economy. Additionally, continued use of these resources will help families save an average of $2,500 a year in energy expenses. And paradoxically, fossil fuels make intermittent clean energy sources such as solar and wind possible.

To be fair about it, I guess we really shouldn’t be so hard on poor little Greta the Greenhouse Grinch; after all, she’s but the latest in a long, “distinguished” line of auto-beclowning Leftard enviro-nuts whose we’re all gonna DIIIEEEE!!! screeching and preaching didn’t exactly pan out.

2

Strung up, strung out

Yet another excellent Quora digest edition drops into my email inbox.

Why does Billy Gibbons use 7-43 guitar strings? It seems odd.

Billy uses 7–38.

Billy used to use 11s & 12s because he thought that’s what all the blues guys did: Big string = Big sound

He was in the green room of a gig with B.B. King and BB wanted to see Billy’s axe. BB was noodling with Billy’s guitar and asked Billy why he was running such heavy strings? Billy said, “I thought that’s how all you blues guys got your tone.” BB said, “Why do you want to work so hard?” I think Billy dropped down to 9s almost immediately and eventually worked his way down to 7s and 8s, which is what a lot of the classic music of the 50s, 60s, and 70s was done with.

7’s will teach you about control PDQ because they respond so easily. If you want to sound super-tight on 9s or 10s go play on 7s and 8s for while.

.007s? Dang, I don’t think I ever have played with strings that light; in fact, I don’t recall being aware that they even made ‘em that light. My uncle started me out on .008s, a jazz set of his preferred Black Diamonds with the wrapped G (as a snot-nosed punk kid already gravitating heavily towards rock and roll, I didn’t like that worth a damn, believe me; wrapped third strings on electric guitars is definitely a jazzbo thing). Then, once I’d mastered the essential chords, scales, and runs, followed by guitar adaptions of a few old songs, most of which Murray had transposed and committed to staff paper himself (Sweet Georgia Brown*, I remember ye fondly, old girl!), I went out on my own hook from there.

POINTLESS CF DIGRESSION™: I still have one of those jumbo-sized plastic totes crammed full of Murray’s old sheet-music transcriptions in climate-controlled storage over in my friend Wendy’s living room, safely tucked away between her two (2) pianos. It’s all promised to my friend Jeremy, a great player in his own right, who damned near collapsed in stunned but delighted disbelief when I first showed him that plastic-tub treasure trove and spent an evening pawing through it with him. Jeremy took guitar lessons from me back when I was still willing to take on students; he’s probably the best pure musician I’ve ever known, and I’m happy indeed to turn over all that 24-karat musical history to him, knowing as I do how much he’ll love it, and what good care he’ll take of it.

Anyhoo, when I began playing professionally, I had to change strings before every show, either in the green room or at the hotel. I could count on breaking at least one any night I got lazy and didn’t—usually the D or B, don’t know why that would have been. And believe me, I tried like hell to figure it out. It was annoying as hell, but then again all the onstage angst and aggro was easily avoided just by the simple expedient of changing the blasted things.

Uncle Murray, by contrast, only replaced his strings once in a blue moon; he’d boil ‘em when they started to feel limp and flaccid, then put ‘em back on for another year’s worth of abuse. Murray and I never discussed the way I went through strings; I figure he would have been genuinely horrified at the needless waste, the grotesque profligacy of any nephew of his buying strings not by the pack, but by the case. Why, the very idea! Surely he’d taught me better than THAT!

I DO know that Stevie Ray Vaughn famously used strings so painfully heavy they more closely resembled low-register piano strings, or perhaps telephone-pole guy wires. Don’t know how in the world he managed to play the way he did—bending notes with no apparent effort, fingers zooming wildly all over the fretboard like honeybees in a field of wildflowers—on strings that big, night after night after night, for years. But then, that’s why he’s Stevie Ray Vaughan, and I, y’know…ain’t.

My own calluses, laboriously created by set after set of comparatively wimpy D’Addario Jazz/Rock .011 to .049s, are still there, and I haven’t picked up a guitar since 2017. Hell, I can still feel the lip-callus you get from trumpet-playing when I run my tongue across my upper lip; apparently, they never do go away completely. The calluses on Stevie Ray’s left-hand fingertips, then, must have been something to see indeed. By the time he died, his fingertips must have been rutted as deeply as a New Mexico desert valley after a sudden monsoon.

.007 to .038 gauge strings, Gibbons? Ya fuckin’ pussy.

Update! Having mentioned Jeremy up there, please enjoy one of my all-time favorite songs from his surf band nonpareil, the Aqualads.

Great band, great tune. Written by the late, lamented Bob Nelson, may he forever rest in peace.

* I keep thinking of stuff I want to add to this post, so I put in a link to Django Reinhardt and Stephan Grappelli’s version of SGB, just because they were two of Murray’s favorites.

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