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Flatbed fundraiser

This ‘un ain’t for me, broke as a joke though I am and shall almost certainly remain, but for my brother Jeff. To wit:

Jeff’s Flatbed Fund!
The photo is of my brother Jeff Hendrix. I’m writing this and putting this fundraiser together for him because he’s not the most web-savvy guy in the world, while I’ve been designing, building, and adminning websites for many years, in addition to driving trucks between web-design jobs.

The truck-driving gig is something Jeff and I have had in common for a long, long time—going all the way back to 1981, in fact, when I got my first freight-hauling job with Emery Air Freight, the pioneering air-freight pickup and delivery/logistics/freight forwarding company started by US Navy veteran John C Emery, Sr right after the end of WW2, in 1946. Two years after I was hired there, I put a word in with my boss and helped Jeff get on with Emery, driving cargo vans and straight-trucks like I’d been doing.

From there, both Jeff and myself went on to long stints at Emery competitor Airborne Express, working for two different sub-drayage contractors. Next, it was a stretch at Bax Global, where Jeff trained for and got his Class-A license and moved on up to the big leagues: eighteen-wheel tractor-trailer rigs pulling 53-foot enclosed trailers, the final step in the truck-driver’s evolution.

After Bax went the way of the dodo, Jeff took his hard won rig jockey skills to Phoenix Metals, hauling a flatbed trailer loaded with sheet steel. He worked for Phoenix for 7 years, then decided to take the owner-operator plunge and buy his own tractor—a used 2000 Freightliner Classic XL in well-above-average condition—to haul containers from the Charleston, SC and Savannah, GA seaports as an independent B-drayage contractor for Horizon Freight.

After eight years at Horizon pulling in the most money he’d ever earned in his trucking career, the utter economic disaster that IS the Biden economy has put paid to all that, as the container-hauling business came to a screeching, smoking halt in January 2021. Jeff says that the collapse was almost immediate and quite noticeable, much like a Semi crashing into a brick wall. HIGHLY EXPERIENCED drivers who had worked the container runs for twenty, even thirty years, found themselves desperately looking for other trucking work. To hear him talk about it with his fellow Horizon drivers (which I have, several times), “disaster” is too mild a word for it; “apocalyptic” might be more apt.

Which, as we all know only too well, is in no way an overstatement. You can read the rest over at the fundraiser page linked above. In the event that any of y’all fellow Biden Economic MIRACLE!© victims have a spare nickle or three, please do consider throwing it his way so’s he can get on back to work again. I have a YUUUGE vested interest in the success of this hail-Mary venture myself, seeing as how I rent my living space from him and have no more desire to find a nice bridge to sleep under than he does. Thanks in advance either way for your kindly attention. This post will remain stuck to the top of this page; new CF ravings will appear below.


The Daily Donnybrook, and other fine things

Welcome to Ye Olde Colde Furye Blogge’s shiny new open-comments thread, where y’all can have at it as you wish, on any topic you like. Do note that the official CF comments policy remains in effect here, as enumerated in the left sidebar. All new posts will appear below this one. There will be blood…

Mike @Substack

New Eyrie posts go up every Monday and Friday, although the time of day may (and usually does) vary. Mike’s latest Eyrie offering is available for perusal here: Screamin’ meemie Monday! PLUS…

Please do consider subscribing to The Eyrie, gang; subscribers receive email notification whenever each new post goes live. All Eyrie articles are getatable (yes, that’s really a word—trust me!) for one and all to read and enjoy totally free of charge, regardless of subscription status. However, a paid sub is required to unlock commenting privileges—an almighty incentive to kick loose and chip in if ever there was one. Thanks!

Showdown at the Bundy ranch

Divemedic posts an important, timely reminder of how it’s fucking DONE, saying:

To those who say that citizens armed with AR15s can’t beat the Federal government, I remind you of the events that happened a decade ago…

Indeed. Suggestive of a little something of my own devising I’ll dub Bedford Forrest’s Law of Government©: If you keep the skeer on ‘em, they will retreat. Now for DM’s call-out:

Henceforth, Real Americans should celebrate April 12th as if it was Independence Day v2.0. Because, as historical events go, that’s exactly what it is.

Update! The classical station just played Rossini’s Overture to The Barber of Seville, which put me in mind of the perfect musical accompaniment to this post.

The ever-excellent Gioachino Rossini also, of course. One of my verymost favorite orchestral-music composers of them all, and small wonder.

Unrelated update! OT side-note: Just thought I’d let any interested parties know that the anti-spam plugin I installed last night, available here, seems to be working like a charm so far—not so much as a hint of a murmur of a whisper of a breath from the thrice-damned spammer hordes as of yet, thank goodness. Hope I didn’t jinx myself by mentioning it. Sort of like what I’ve always maintained: you never, EVER say things like “What next?” or ‘How much worse can it be?” in the midst of some travail or tribulation—because God takes that as a challenge or dare, and will assuredly get busy showing you what’s next, and how much worse it can be.

And the b(l)eat goes on

There’s just no hope at all for some “people.”

FAIR WARNING: It’s a long ‘un, brimming o’er with more of the same species of delusional codswallop, in case anyone wants to befoul himself by clicking over for the rest—an irrational, self-destructive inclination I won’t even pretend to understand. No, I will NOT be C&P’ing the extended post-“Show more” twaddle this time out, because fuck that noise.

Happily, Meestah COL Schlichter courageously steps in to flush the noxious turd down the stink-pipe and away before it can smell up the joint beyond hope of repair.

In the case of the esteemed COL Schlichter, unlike the previous asswart, I’m only too happy to provide the rest of the clickbait story for y’all.

…If he pulls out, it is a confession of his total inadequacy and failure, and I celebrate his humiliation. But he’s not going to be pulling out, because to do that would be to put the needs of other people and the country ahead of his own ego and he’ll never do that because he’s a bad, bad person.

And so is his wife.

WHOA, that’s good squishy!

As the overbooked proctologist reputedly complained to his frazzled assistant: Is there no end to these assholes?

Grateful thanks to Schlichter for the speedy, selfless save; hope your singed nostril-hairs grow back in with no complications or discomfort, Kurt. As for the blistered paint, cracked window-glass, and damaged thundermug, pas de sweat; that ain’t on you, buddy, you already did your bit and then some. Above and beyond the call, I’d say. Next time you’re moved to deal out another righteous smackdown to some deserving dumbass, may I recommend using both backhand AND forehand strokes in your delivery, so as to ensure the intended lesson is not merely learned, but permanently instilled. Additionally, as every serious golfer knows, a vigorous, complete follow-through is critical, particularly with the more stubborn, marginally-educable specimens.

Elsewhere, our pal Aesop examines another self-inflicted auto-da-fé, this one starring a violence-avowing, Biden-fellating punkass beeyotch who now faces follow-on consequences far more dire, including but in no wise restricted to:

  • Loss of employment, professional reputation/status, and career prospects
  • Federal criminal investigation, possible indictment and/or prosecution for issuing serial terroristic threats, aggravated by repeated witting, brazenly non-metaphorical exhortations to widespread murder, mayhem, civil disorder, even the assassination of a specifically-identified former President/current lawful major-party candidate as well as the respectable, law-abiding civilians who support his Presidential campaign
  • Social shunning, banishment, and/or informal exile
  • Eviction, homelessness, soul-scarring poverty
  • Sundry other dick-in-the-meatgrinder repercussions

It’s a joy to behold, far as I’m concerned.

Publick Notice

Jeez O PETE, but the bogus-user-registration tsunami shows no sign of abating, Lord knows how come. That being so, I’m denying and/or deleting like a fiend over here; any aspiring for-real registrant caught up unjustly in my feverish struggle to cope with the onslaught—I summarily dumped well over a hundred (!!) of the damnable nuisances yesterday alone—is hereby advised to shoot me an email at the addy in the right-hand sidebar so’s I can get ya straight.

After many placid months with nary a peep out of ‘em—nigh on a year, if I remember right—I can’t suss out the reason behind this out-of-the-blue and most unwelcome influx, nor what the reg-spammers might stand to gain from this shite in the first place. Perhaps nowadays they’re paid not per successful registration as seemed to be the case before, but per attempt, regardless of success or failure.

What I’m starting to wonder is whether the very act of denying/deleting the filthy shitweasels promptly might actually be incentivizing them, indirectly confirming the existence of an operational blog at this URL or some such. Maybe it would be best to just ignore the rat-bastards for the nonce: sit back and let the spurious registration attempts pile one atop another until the shit-storm has finally passed, then dispose of them all in one fell swoop afterward. Who the hell knows, I surely don’t.

Update! Annnnd of COURSE there’s a plugin for that, duly installed and activated as of now. Hopefully it’ll do the job for us without slowing down page-load times too atrociously.


The full (three-card) monte

For this next trick, ladies and gentlemen, please watch my hand closely—not that hand, the OTHER one!

Biden Administration Promises to Veto any Legislative Effort That Blocks Vote or Ballot Fraud
The people behind Joe Biden that used illegal voter registration, subsequent ballot harvesting, and ultimately corrupt ballot counting to install Biden into office, have threatened to veto any legislation that would impede their election fraud operation.

By now we should all know the essential process being deployed. This is the reason for the open border policies.

The Biden administration (DHS) is not “importing democrat voters.” Instead, DHS is importing people, names, that allows the state fraud process to generate ballots. This is an important distinction.

The migrants will not use the ballots. The DNC harvesters will collect them, fill them out (Team Obama), then the Precinct workers will scan them and count them (Team Clyburn). Illegals don’t need to vote. They only need to exist to create a ballot.

And suddenly, it all makes perfect sense. But what the heck, if they DO get more D卐M☭CRAT voters in the process, that’s even more gooder.

“Best of Both Worlds”

Having nothing worthwhile to add myself, I’m a-gonna just swipe Bill’s post entire, title and all, except for the source-links he included over at his joint. Hopefully, he’ll excuse my wanton thievery.

Liberals Say This State Has the “Craziest” Gun Laws – It’s Also the Safest State – WokeSpy – Unmasking Extremism, Empowering Awareness!

Vermont sounds like a scene out of Mad Max when described by the anti-gun lobby, but the state’s residents would probably laugh at the characterization. Vermont was the safest state in the nation in 2016, 2017, and 2018, second safest in 2019 and 2020, and the safest in 2021, 2022 and 2023.

While I’m quite sure that Vermont’s support of Second Amendment guaranteed liberties is a factor in its status as a mecca for public safety, I’m also fairly certain that such is not the most important factor. This is:

Vermont Population by Race & Ethnicity – 2023 | Neilsberg

Racial distribution of Vermont population: 92.93% are White, 1.27% are Black or African American, 0.24% are American Indian and Alaska Native, 1.68% are Asian, 0.03% are Native Hawaiian and other Pacific Islander, 0.49% are some other race and 3.37% are multiracial.

Huh, howzabout that. Gotta be a coinkydink, I’m thinkin’. GOTTA be.

The song that wouldn’t die

That would be “The Farewell Song,” author unknown, better known as…well here, see for yourself.

Thanks much to Lakeside Joe for reminding me of this one, in the course of making sport of hapless shitlib George Effing Clooney’s despairing agony over (not so) recent revelations regarding the collapse into senile dementia of his love-object Xombie Jaux “Walks Among Us” Bribem. Sayeth Joe:

According to news sources including the New York Slimes, Clooney made the call for a new candidate in an op-ed published in The New York Times, less than a month after he co-hosted a Biden fundraiser that raised some $30 million. 

I guess the song rings true after all…

Heh. It does at that, for all sorts of excellent reasons. Now, it must be acknowledged that Clooney’s lip-sync performance of the great old bluegrass tune in O Brother Where Art Thou? is nothing short of masterful. While we’re on the subject, the song’s backstory is fascinating, if a bit murky in places. For starters, although I put it in the “author unknown” category earlier, it would be more accurate to say that it’s a matter of some dispute.

Behind The Song: The Soggy Bottom Boys, “I Am a Man Of Constant Sorrow”
You’d think after one hundred years, “Man Of Constant Sorrow” would eventually get old. But the American folk standard, which has been covered by everyone from a young Bob Dylan to Norwegian girl-group Katzenjammer, and helped launch the modern Americana movement with its canny placement in the film O Brother, Where Art Thou?, has been on music lovers’ collective minds since at least 1913. Through many different melodies, rewrites, and iterations (“girl,” “soul,” etc.) “Man Of Constant Sorrow” has refused to die.

It’s the old-timey gift that keeps on giving; feeling bad never felt so good.

Anybody familiar with the Oscar-nominated O Brother and its multi-platinum-selling soundtrack can sing a verse or two. T Bone Burnett, who produces every third commercially released record these days, curated the music for the Coen Brothers’ celebrated sepia-toned satire, and made the song The Soggy Bottom Boy’s big, show-stealing number. Portrayed by George Clooney, George Nelson and John Turtorro, who may or may not be able to carry a tune, the real-life vocals for The Soggy Bottom Boys were provided by Nashville songwriter Harley Allen, bluegrass musician Pat Enright, and Dan Tyminksi, a guitar and mandolin player on loan from Alison Krauss and Union Station. Tyminski’s big, beautiful bear of a voice, echoed by Enright and Allen’s brown-sugared harmonies, brimmed with enough soul, grit and fire to make a distracted nation stand up and take notice. In a movie that featured strong vocal turns from Ralph Stanley, Gillian Welch and Alison Krauss, Tyminski more than held his own. He also sang the song as if he’d lived it, and with such conviction that it eventually made it to No. 35 on the Billboard Hot Country Singles chart in 2002. O Brother helped make Tyminski, Krauss, Welch and Burnett the highly respected (and marketable) artists they are today, and spawned a fantastic music tour and the live concert film Down From The Mountain. There was a trickle-down effect as well, which can be seen in the thriving careers of today’s heavily hyped, acoustic-leaning acts like The Avett Brothers and Mumford & Sons.

Neither movies, album sales, or inexplicably popular British folk acts were likely on the mind of the song’s creator, current name and whereabouts unknown. It’s speculated that it spilled from the pen of Dick Burnett (a distant relative of T Bone?), a mostly blind fiddler from Kentucky, but that’s not confirmable. Burnett, who published the tune under the name “Farewell Song” in a 1913 songbook, had a senior moment when he was asked if he had actually written it, stating “I think I got the ballad from somebody…I dunno. It may be my song.” Ralph Stanley didn’t think so. The bluegrass legend told NPR that the song was probably one or two hundred years older than Burnett himself. “The first time I heard it I was a small boy,” recalled Stanley, who named his autobiography after it. “My daddy had some of the words to it, and I heard him sing it, and my brother and me, we put a few more words to it, and brought it back in existence. I guess if it hadn’t been for that, it’d have been gone forever.”

Far be it from me to ever gainsay the legendary Ralph Stanley; if he says he wrote it, whether in part or in full, then by God it MUST be so, period. Anyways.

As The Stanley Brothers, Ralph and his brother Carter gave the song its big coming out party in 1951, when they cut it for Columbia Records. Once it was absorbed into the folk music canon, Bob Dylan took a shine to it, recording it on his 1961 debut covers album, Bob Dylan. Dylan’s version is far more sorrowful than the O Brother version, with a melody that’s quite different from Tyminski’s. And like the rest of the record, it shows off his unique ability to impersonate a weathered, phlegmatic old man (long before he would actually become one.) But Joan Baez, his future duet partner, got there first, spicing it up pronoun-wise (as she was wont to do) by turning it into “Girl Of Constant Sorrow” (perhaps taking her cue from widower Sarah Ogan Gunning’s lyrical rewrite in 1936). Judy Collins followed suit in ‘61; her debut album was dubbed A Maid Of Constant Sorrow, and it sure was melancholy.

If everyone could agree on the effectiveness of the song’s central conceit, no one seems to be able to come up with a consensus on the words. The O Brother version has this choice nugget: You can bury me in some deep valley / For many years where I may lay / Then you may learn to love another/ While I am sleeping in my grave.” Dylan’s version has no such verse, but plays up the young, rebellious boyfriend aspect: “You’re mother says I’m a stranger, my face you’ll never see no more,” he tells his soon to be ex-lover, before promising to sneak around with her in heaven. Dylan’s protagonist wanders “through ice and snow, sleet and rain,” while Stanley’s spends “six long years in trouble,” with no friends to help him now.

Whether the singer is saying goodbye to old Kentucky (Tyminski), Colorado (Dylan), or California (Collins), somebody is getting the big kiss off. “Man Of Constant Sorrow” is essentially one of America’s oldest breakup songs. “If I knew how bad you’d treat me, honey I never would have come.” It’s that sunny outlook that has helped “Man Of Constant Sorrow” remain an essential part of popular music’s long, constantly evolving story.

As any good Southern boy could tell you, it points up the strange paradox inherent in the bluegrass genre: instrumentally, it’s the ultimate feel-good music; no way can you be downhearted whilst listening to that good ol’ mountain music. The sound is bouncy, uplifting, joyous, making the spirit soar and the heart fairly leap up into your mouth with gladness. Seriously, now: banjos, mandolins, fiddles, guitars, Dobros, all played up-tempo with a lilting, infectious beat? I defy ANYBODY to keep from smiling, do-si-do-ing, and hand-clapping along! Pass me that jug of good old mountain dew, willya?

Lyrically, however, we’ve a whole ‘nother kettle o’ fish. Bluegrass lyrics are some of the verymost depressing you’ll ever hear, in any musical style, revolving around death and murder and suicide and loss and loneliness and heartbreak and regret. Even as unrelievedly morose a specimen of opera seria as Mozart’s troubling Don Giovanni isn’t in the same league with bluegrass. “Man Of Constant Sorrow” is a pluperfect manifestation of bluegrass’s bizarre built-in dichotomy. To wit:

[Verse 3]
It’s fare thee well, my old true lover
I never expect to see you again
For I’m bound to ride that Northern Railroad
Perhaps I’ll die upon this train
(Perhaps he’ll die upon this train)

[Verse 4]
You can bury me in some deep valley
And you may learn to love another
While I am sleeping in my grave
(While he is sleeping in his grave)

[Verse 5]
Maybe your friends think I’m just a stranger
My face you never will see no more
But there is one promise that is given
I’ll meet you on God’s golden shore
(He’ll meet you on God’s golden shore)

That last verse is the closest bluegrass lyrics ever get to sweetness, light, and cheery optimism. You can take my word for it on that, gang; I’ve loved the genre nearly as long as I’ve been alive, therefore know whereof I speak. Grim? Granted. Bleak? Beyond debate. Depressing? Well, I mean, duh. But somehow bluegrass just rocks me right down to my socks nevertheless, always has done. Could be it’s just a Southern thang, I dunno.

In fact, in my first decade or so of digging on the bluegrass I listened to the instrumental stuff exclusively; I didn’t really start paying attention to the with-vocals variety until I gave the vocal stylings of icons like Mac Wiseman, the Stanleys, Red Allen, and Bill Monroe in my late 20s a few reluctant listens rather than fast-forwarding to the next instrumental, the fruits of a remainder-bin compilation cassette I bought at some truck stop or other featuring those and several other fabled vocalists I’d studiously avoided up til then.

In addition to George Clooney’s excellent lip-syncing (and, of course, nonpareil jig-reeling), a big, bodacious tip of the CF chapeau is due to Dan Tyminski, the fellow responsible for the actual singing Clooney rose to the occasion of so adroitly. Note ye well, please, the flawless phrasing and emotive depth and breadth Tyminski brings to the party. Lots of musical-minded folks have insisted for decades that Sinatra’s phrasing has never been equalled, nor even approached, with which I won’t quarrel here. That said, Tyminski doesn’t suffer any from the comparison with Ol’ Blue Eyes, in my expert, well-trained opinion.

All in all, it’s no wonder “Man Of Constant Sorrow” has enjoyed over a century’s worth of staying power. Being one of those small musical miracles that can raise goosebumps on the forearms of even the most jaded, world-weary aficionado, it’s probably good for another century or two at the very least. And how many other pop/folk confections, of any sub-genre, can say that?

Seeing as how I’ve yet to bring up bluegrass around Ye Aulde Hogwallowe, for some unknowable reason, we’ll instate a new category just for that sort of thing.


Welcome to this week’s installment of our Wednesday meme feature, folks. Links to the “found via” sources will be attached to the specific MiQ’s (Memes in Question) whenever I can remember them, which likely won’t be very often. Only the first two memes will appear above the fold to save on bandwidth usage, since I assume not everybody who shows up at this here websty will want to see all of them. This intro will appear at the top of each week’s Memezapoppin’! post. Enjoy, funny pitcher-lovers.

Continue reading Memezapoppin’!


Not buying it. Not for a minute I ain’t, nor should you. As I said the other day, there’s a heckuva lot more going on here than meets the eye.

The Divorce of the Democrat Party and the Legacy Media – What it Means
Embarrassed and humiliated by four years of gaslighting Joe Biden’s deteriorating condition, the media turns on the Democrat Party in a CYA move.

The debacle surrounding recent events, including the Biden-Trump debate of June 27, spells the end of the Democrat Party as we know it. For generations, the media has been willing accomplices but the past 10 days have finally removed the protection and propaganda the media has provided Democrats for generations.

It was an unbelievable turnaround that was decades in the making. A compliant legacy media running cover for the Democrat Party as it worked to “fundamentally transform” America into a socialist paradise. The first step was to take over nearly one-fifth of the economy by nationalizing health care (Obamacare). The second step, even more damaging to our fundamental sense of the rule of law, was to weaponize the federal bureaucracy to punish citizens who objected to the trillions of dollars allocated to grow the administrative state.

It seemed as though the legacy media had the perfect strategy in place to divert attention away from the workings of the Democrats and to push narratives that were favorable to the party. Finally, after the legacy was shown to be an Emperor with no clothes, they struck back to cover up their complicity, saying, “We had no idea that Biden’s decline was this obvious.”

If you need a clear indication of this denial, watch this train wreck orchestrated by Mark Halperin on his 2Way podcast. Halperin, once a Morning Joe regular on MSNBC with John Heilemann, was unceremoniously dumped in 2017 in the aftermath of sexual harassment allegations dating back to the early 2000s when he worked at ABC News. On the 2Way podcast, Inside the Beltway elites—consultants like Mark Katz, pollsters like Whit Ayres, political operatives like Phil Singer, and politicians like John Sununu—now cover for each other as they try to distance themselves from Biden and his administration after almost four years of sucking up.

The incessant gaslighting was finally exposed to the masses by the debate. But not before it had served its purpose, which was to hide two stone-cold facts. The first was obvious: Joe Biden was not qualified to be president. Second, the American legacy media has been engaged in a broad series of disgraceful cover-ups for years that shielded the Democrat Party from the public finding out its worst actions.

This shredding of relations between Democrats and the legacy media is a watershed moment that will be remembered as the point where the mask of decency and the skinsuit of credibility were ripped off both from the Democrats and the legacy media. The conspiracy of silence over Joe Biden’s health is now fully on display for everyone to see.

There may well be a “divorce” in the works alright, but if so it’s a three-way tussle involving Enemedia, the D卐M☭CRAT Party, and Biden, aimed at jettisoning a senile ***”pResident”*** that overnight began to look like more of a liability than an asset. But the sacred D卐M☭CRAT/Enemedia union is a forever kind of deal, ’til death they do part. Those matrimonial ties are enduring, a bond as unbreakable as the cleanest, straightest TIG-weld bead—a seam laid down by the almighty hand of God His Own Self. What God hath joined together, let no floundering, suddenly-inconvenient ProPol put asunder.

“Divorce”? Not on your life, pal; Leftist catechism condemns it as a mortal sin—one of the top three or four, among the Unholiest of Unholies, right up there with Climate Carelessness and Indifference to LGBTQRSTUVWXYZ Issues. Don’t let yourself be gulled by flights of editorial fancy penned by long-suffering conservative media hopheads flying on yet another Hopium jag. On that path lyeth embarrassment, futility, and despair.

Likewise, don’t let’s anybody fritter away a minute of their valuable time writhing on pins and needles awaiting Enemedia’s shamefaced and penitent return to the D卐M☭CRAT Party flock. Fact is, it never left, and it ain’t ever gonna either. It’s a trick, a trap, a mug’s game—exactly the sort of thing we OG bloggers used to derisively jeer at back in the Aulden Thymes as “boob bait for the Bubbas.” If The Enemy wants us to believe they’re in full-throttle discord, disarray, and personal confusion—which appears to be the case, judging by the clangor and unprecedented unanimity of the mass-chorus of Leftwits proclaiming themselves to be so—then the question we most need to be asking ourselves is why that might be.

Shitlibs—“journalismists,” no less—humbly, honestly, and openly admitting error? Frankly and forthrightly ‘fessing up to having been deceived? No excuses, no  evasions, no attempts to blame Real American ignoramii/Trump/toxic White males/fully-semi-automatic assault weapon guns/“fossil” fuels and the deadly, antiquated ICE planet-killers which burn the foul hellbrew/genocidal UltraÜberMegaMAGA ReichWingNaziDeathBeast insurrectionists/Xtianists/RAYCISS!!© bigots/etc etc etc? Contrition and regret, followed by an uncompromising resolve to do better going forward? Conscientious, seemingly sincere self-examination to ascertain how these crusty, jaded, worldly reporter-types got snookered so resoundingly, without ever once twigging to the game? Sorrowful acknowledgment of the catastrophic loss of public trust in establishment media caused by the systemic perversion of the most fundamental tenets of adversary journalism?

Oh, how entirely characteristic of these tirelessly-dedicated, incorruptible “jouralismists.” Oh, how clearly I remember the last time we beheld such an inspiring display of these finer, nobler qualities, ethics, and/or inclinations after they’d shit the bed so appallingly, back in…umm…lemmessee now, it was…it was no more than…uhhh, yeah, I think that musta been…uhhhhhhh…errrr, wasn’t it only just…ummmmm

Yeah, NO. Sorry, not buying any. You’ll have to peddle that shit someplace else, ain’t no market for it over here. Leftists, may I remind you, with no plan, no program, no end-game, no orchestration, no objective in mind well beforehand; everything random, spontaneous, unrehearsed. When’s the last time you ever heard of so remarkable a thing? You haven’t…because it’s never happened. Remember the kind of priggish, preening, Church Lady-types we’re talking about here, folks. For them, the will to control isn’t merely a preference, an idle pursuit, or even a relatively innocuous habit of mind: it’s hard-coded into their DNA. Not a choice, but a compulsion; not a psychological eccentricity, but a biological imperative. Not a harmless quirk, but a deadly-dangerous, instinctual need.

If you think the above evaluation a mite over the top, unfairly harsh, perhaps even made up or at best exaggerated, I beg to inform you that actually,  it’s the product of many years of firsthand experience with the breed, up close and personal. Trust me, the music-biz is slap full of ‘em, full to overflowing. Yes, exactly like a clogged toilet. The parallels are downright uncanny. Also, disgusting.

For anyone still unconvinced on this, I suggest you try bucking a Leftist whilst he/she is deep in the thralls of flexing his/her Power & Control muscles, in even the most insignificant context. I guarantee it will be a revelation for you—a powerfully educational interlude you’ll remember always, vividly and painfully, regardless of how desperately you’ll wish you could forget it ever happened. Remain alert and aware as the contest of will progresses, on your toes and ready to run for your life the instant it feels needful. Which it definitely will, unless you back down and mollify your triumphant adversary with an intimate, candid, exhaustively specific recitative detailing what an insufferable asshole prick you are, always have been, and doubtless shall remain.

THEN run, just as hard, as fast, and as far as you can. That should get you far enough from the blast radius to be safe.

BOTTOM LINE SUMMATION: According to the known odds, contemporaneous evidence, the historical record, and the nature of the “journalismic” beast, this “divorce” alarum is poppycock—a pre-scripted ruse staged for purposes we know not of as yet, likely never will. Nothing more, nothing less, nothing but. Remember the Steyn Maxim:

This is happening because they want it to happen.

The guys running this soap opera know the ending they’re working up to, and any unexpected plot twists en route are designed to serve that end.

Indubitably so. Biden may be a goner himself, politically speaking, but the D卐M☭CRAT/Enemedia “divorce” story is a put-on, ninety-nine and forty-four-hundredths percent pure bunkum. A love like theirs can never die, and anyone trying to tell you otherwise is either a fool or no more to be trusted than your average Congresscritter, shitlib “journalismist,” or snake-oil peddler.


Hero in a grey hoodie

They don’t always wear brightly-colored tights and a cape, you know.

A Man Who Mows Lawns For Free Saved A Cat Sanctuary From Shutting Down
Today’s good news story comes from Corpus Christi, Texas.

In a heartwarming turn of events, Spencer, a dedicated man from SB Mowing who cuts overgrown lawns for free, recently found himself at the center of an extraordinary rescue mission.

Spencer, known for cleaning up neglected properties across the country and sharing his work on social media, stumbled upon an injured cat while on the job, leading to the revival of an entire cat sanctuary.

While clearing the overgrown lawn, Spencer discovered a severely injured cat hidden deep in the grass. The cat had an infected abscess under its arm and was unable to move.

“He seemed like he was ready to lay there until he passed away from infection,” Spencer recalled. Desperate to help, Spencer contacted several places, but none were willing to take the cat in.

His persistence paid off when he reached out to Edgar and Ivy’s Cat Sanctuary. The sanctuary, specializing in the care of injured, hurt, and abused cats, agreed to take the cat in and provide the necessary medical treatment. Moved by their kindness, Spencer decided to launch a GoFundMe campaign to support the sanctuary, aiming to raise $10,000.

Anissa Beal, the director of Edgar and Ivy’s, revealed that the sanctuary was on the brink of closure. “He said, ‘Maybe I can get you $10,000 or something.’ And I said, ‘That would be life-changing,'” Beal said. The sanctuary had been struggling financially, with Beal spending half of her income to keep it running. She had been praying for a sign to continue her work.

The response to Spencer’s campaign was overwhelming. Since sharing the GoFundMe link with his millions of followers, over $187,000 has been raised for Edgar and Ivy’s Cat Sanctuary. Additionally, four Amazon trucks loaded with donations arrived at the sanctuary, providing much-needed supplies.

“It was a miracle, and it makes me emotional to think that so many people could care about us and about this cat and what we’re doing,” Beal expressed. “I’m afraid I’m going to wake up and that it’s not true. This is beyond anything I could have ever imagined.”

Go watch the embedded video at the end of the piece to learn how very much dust there is floating around in your home-office or computer room; there’s bound to be a lot more of it than you suspect—enormous eye-stinging clouds of it, in fact. Be sure to have a family-size box of Kleenex close at hand when you do, that’s my advice.


Hell on holiday

Spencer graciously provides a long-awaited excuse for me to swipe that great Dashiell Hammett line, albeit abbreviated, from the mouth of his iconic Contintental Op character.

Sweden Is Safer in the Summertime, But No One Wants to Face the Reason Why
Recent developments in Britain and France are making it clear to everyone what European countries have done to themselves, but the full effects still won’t be seen for another few decades. Still, there are hints of what is happening, and what is to come, that are unmistakable to those who are paying attention.

The Swedish-language publication Fria Tider reported Tuesday that “in southern Sweden, it becomes quieter in the summer when the criminals go on holiday to their home countries, according to the police.”

Yes, you read that right: the people who commit most of the crimes in Sweden go on vacation to their countries of origin, and so their place of refuge becomes calmer and safer for the native population. Mats Karlsson, the head of intelligence for the police in the southern region of Sweden, explained: “Some of them, who originate in other countries, go there over the summer. Then we notice a big difference, a greater calm, in our vulnerable areas. In the second year when they are still in Sweden, they become messier.”

Now wait a minute. Aren’t many of these migrants supposed to be asylum seekers and refugees? So why are they vacationing in the countries they supposedly fled for their lives?

Also, who is paying for these vacations, with migrants receiving “65 percent of social welfare expenditures”? Swedish taxpayers, obviously. But why?

Oooh, I know I know, let me, let me! Because they’re pussified, weak-ass bitches?

The “foreign-born represent 53 percent of individuals with long prison sentences, 58 percent of the unemployed.” As if that weren’t enough, they receive “77 percent of Sweden’s child poverty is present in households with a foreign background, while 90 percent of suspects in public shootings have immigrant backgrounds.” What benefit does Sweden receive from importing a large criminal element?

Whatever good the Swedish elites think that the migrants are bringing to Sweden, they continue to ignore the fact that many of the migrants wish to transform Sweden and all of Europe and remake it in their own image. One reason for their high crime rate is their absolute contempt for the laws of the unbelievers, “the most vile of created beings” (Qur’an 98:6). Add to this mix a multiculturalist ethos that exalts the presence of foreign and non-assimilated cultures within Western countries perceived as large umbrella structures for a huge variety of diverse peoples, and the stage is set for a policy of appeasement and accommodation of the ideology of Islamic supremacism.

European elites today believe that by admitting large numbers of Muslim immigrants into their country and making special accommodations for Islamic culture and practices, Europe will achieve a new cultural flowering — but left unconsidered in this is the nature of political Islam, which when dominant is hardly hospitable to rival political systems or cultures.

Sadly, shamefully in fact, Moslem appeasement is by no means restricted to the Europeenie side of the Big Pond nowadays.


Said it before, gonna say it again: greatest USSC Justice EVAR

Guess who.

Justice Thomas: Of course, the AR-15 is legal under Second Amendment
Supreme Court Associate Justice Clarence Thomas showed his hand on Tuesday on the issue of whether AR-15-style rifles are legal. His Second Amendment analysis: They are.

In a brief dissent related to an Illinois ban on the “assault weapon,” Thomas said that the overwhelming popularity of the firearm, coupled with its non-military operation, makes it a clear fit under the Second Amendment.

His comments come as President Joe Biden is stepping up his assault on the popular “modern sporting rifle.” Biden was behind the 1994 ban and has been seeking to ban it since that law died in 2004.

The AR-15 has become the most popular rifle in America. The National Shooting Sports Foundation said that at 28.1 million, there are more AR-15-style firearms in circulation than Ford F-150s on the road.

The 7th U.S. Circuit Court of Appeals denied the petitioners’ request for a preliminary injunction, saying the AR-15 is not protected by the Second Amendment. The Supreme Court justices have declined to get involved for now.

“We are obviously very disappointed for the millions of legal gun owners in Illinois by today’s decision not to grant emergency relief, but we’re not giving up. And today’s decision does not impact the merits of our case for our upcoming hearing on September 16h in the Southern District of Illinois,” ISRA Executive Director Richard Pearson said.

“Our objective from the very beginning of the process that started the moment Gov. Pritzker signed the bill into law — was to take our case to the United States Supreme Court. And we followed through on that promise, and despite today’s decision — if given the chance, we’d do it all over again because it is the right thing to do,” Pearson said.

Thomas encouraged that plan. “If the Seventh Circuit ultimately allows Illinois to ban America’s most common civilian rifle, we can — and should — review that decision once the cases reach a final judgment. The Court must not permit ‘the Seventh Circuit [to] relegat[e] the Second Amendment to a second-class right,’” the Supreme Court justice wrote.

Give ‘em pure-T hell, Mr Justice Thomas, sir. Gee, wonder why the shitlibs hate the man with such bitter, wild-eyed ferocity.  Puzzling, innit?

Lest we forget, “nice guy” and “good, good man” Pedaux Jaux Bribem was one of the main players behind the fabricated smear-job accusations hurled at Thomas during his SC confirmation hearings high-tech lynching, an abominable circus that put paid once and for all to the ludicrous mischaracterization of the US Senate as “the world’s greatest deliberative body.”

Oh, and about that “good, good man” nonsense.

The talking points must have gone out within minutes of the end of President Joe Biden’s lame debate performance. Among the first to tell us just how fine a man Biden was Barack Obama, who called his former vice president “someone who has fought for ordinary folks his entire life.” It is, of course, a lie. Biden is not a good man, and the idea he’s “fought for ordinary folks” for even a single day of his “public service” is risible.

Obama’s tweet also claimed that Biden is the candidate “who knows right from wrong and will give it to the American people straight.” From there, the gaslighting grew exponentially worse.

At a July 2 fundraiser in Virginia, Democratic Rep. Don Beyer, whom Biden once called “Doug,” compared our disabled president to Jesus.

“​​He has been a good, good man. He’s resilient, optimistic, indefatigable, and above all courageous,” said Boyer.

On the day after the debate, New York Times columnist Thomas Friedman, who admitted that watching the debate made him “weep,” assured us that Biden is “a good man and a good president.”

There was even a book published in 2020 that had the title “A Good & Decent Man: Joe Biden: Rescuing America.”

After wading hip deep through the malarkey, let’s look at the Biden record.

Read on for the ugly reality, which bears not even a passing resemblance to the above hagiographic, knob-polishing codswallop.


Government playing God

YET AGAIN, that is.

To save spotted owls, US officials plan to kill hundreds of thousands of another owl species
To save the imperiled spotted owl from potential extinction, U.S. wildlife officials are embracing a contentious plan to deploy trained shooters into dense West Coast forests to kill almost a half-million barred owls that are crowding out their cousins.

The U.S. Fish and Wildlife Service strategy released Wednesday is meant to prop up declining spotted owl populations in Oregon, Washington state and California. The Associated Press obtained details in advance.

Documents released by the agency show up to about 450,000 barred owls would be shot over three decades after the birds from the eastern U.S. encroached into the West Coast territory of two owls: northern spotted owls and California spotted owls. The smaller spotted owls have been unable to compete with the invaders, which have large broods and need less room to survive than spotted owls.

Past efforts to save spotted owls focused on protecting the forests where they live, sparking bitter fights over logging but also helping slow the birds’ decline. The proliferation of barred owls in recent years is undermining that earlier work, officials said.

“Without actively managing barred owls, northern spotted owls will likely go extinct in all or the majority of their range, despite decades of collaborative conservation efforts,” said Fish and Wildlife Service Oregon state supervisor Kessina Lee.

The notion of killing one bird species to save another has divided wildlife advocates and conservationists. It’s reminiscent of past government efforts to save West Coast salmon by killing sea lions and cormorants that prey on the fish, and to preserve warblers by killing cowbirds that lay eggs in warbler nests.

“The Fish and Wildlife Service is turning from protector of wildlife to persecutor of wildlife,” said Wayne Pacelle, founder of the advocacy group Animal Wellness Action. He predicted the program would fail because the agency won’t be able to keep more barred owls from migrating into areas where others have been killed.

The shootings would likely begin next spring, officials said. Barred owls would be lured using megaphones to broadcast recorded owl calls, then shot with shotguns. Carcasses would be buried on site.

Sick, arrogant fucks. But don’t any of you Serf Class oafs be getting any bright ideas from this, mmmkay?

Public hunting of barred owls wouldn’t be allowed. The wildlife service would designate government agencies, landowners, American Indian tribes or companies to carry out the killings. Shooters would have to provide documentation of training or experience in owl identification and firearm skills.

Oh goodie, I feel better already! I’m confident it will all work out a-okay—y’know, just like every other one of their meddlesome, half-baked schemes has— now that I know that goobermint-vetted “experts” are involved. There DOES seem to be one other tiny, minor little problem though.

But there is more to this story than the “old growth” fabrication. Another misrepresentation is that the northern spotted owl is a unique species at all.

Endangered “northern spotted owls” are a “sub-species” of spotted owls, which means they are, in fact, the same species as California spotted owls and Mexican spotted owls, which also live on the west coast. Their difference is that geographic distance and separation have caused some differences in plumage and appearance. To call these spotted owls a different “sub-species” is like stating that Norwegians, Koreans, and Nigerians are different subspecies of homo sapiens. The notion of bird “sub-species” is actively rejected by many in the ornithology community.

This research piece from the Cooper Ornithological Society makes it rather clear that the spotted owl is all one species, noting that the northern spotted owl’s identifying features are based on a specimen from Puget Sound in Washington, while the California spotted owl is based on one from Southern California, but the identifying features of spotted owls gradually morph between the two locations.

In summary, two great lies are at the root of the environmental damage that has been done in the name of the spotted owl: 1) That logging was responsible for their decreasing spotted owl population in the Pacific Northwest; and 2) That there is even such a species as the “northern spotted owl.”

But hundreds of thousands of barred owls are now going to be killed in perpetuation of these lies. Considering that the “green,” anti-carbon advocates of the wind industry defend the senseless killing of millions of eagles, raptors, and migratory birds as a necessary religious sacrament, this proposed owl slaughter is consistent with the 21st Century environmental movement.

Ummm…OOOPS! Well, hey, ya wins some and ya loses some, I reckon. After all, it’s really the thought that counts, right?


Horse Puckey, it was always Horse Puckey

The BRICS countries are primarily 3rd world shitholes, commies (or both), or have petro dollars. They are not displacing the dollar, not today and not tomorrow. It’s a fantasy of the anti-American set and those caught up in the narrative of American decline.

The $ will not be displaced.

BRICS Currency Swap: Too Small and Complex to Dethrone the Dollar

The one and only

At long, long last, a candidate I can get behind with all my heart, soul, mind, spirit, and body, to my last ounce of strength.

Sometimes the right person emerges. When we needed a person to see us through the War for Independence and to serve as this new nation’s first president, Washington emerged. When Britain found itself fighting for its life against Nazi Germany, Churchill emerged. When our country was tearing itself apart over the slavery question, Lincoln emerged.

And now, in our troubled times, David ‘Iowahawk’ Burge has emerged.

Man, has he ever. And how.

The above infuriatingly-truncated “Read more” passage ends thusly: “…leave office after four years.” Which is of course a baldfaced lie, or so we must hope; President-for-Life the Right Hon Mr David NMI Burge would be totally jake with me, I gots no objection, although YMMV. If so, please keep it on the down-low, I really don’t wanna know. It would pain me no end to see any of my beloved CF Lifers permanently beclown himself by publicly confessing to such disgraceful Wrongthink as that.

At any rate, the laff-train keeps a-rolling all night long from there:

Lots, lots more after that one, every last syllable likewise meeting or surpassing the impossibly-high IowahawkCorp© standards for Beverage-Spewing Hilarity, Aggravated GutBustery w/HowlinglyFunny cluster, and/or RightdafuckON, Muhfuhgr! we’ve all come to expect from that crazy-ass fool.

FULL DISCLOSURE OF UNACCEPTABLE JOURNALISMIC BIAS: I’ve been good buds with the legendary David Burge (FACT CHECK: NOT his real name, nor is “Iowahawk,” astonishingly enough) for quite a few years, although over the last several we’ve fallen out of touch, to my boundless regret and ensorrowment.

Dave, if you happen across this, my phone # has changed since we last talked, so do please kite me one of them newfangled electronic-mail thingamabobbers instead (mike-at-cf-dot-etc) when you get a spare minute, wouldja? I realize you’re a busy, busy beaver and all, but I’d truly admire to hear from ya, old friend, it’s been way too long. Hope this missive finds you still fightin’ fit, happy as some clams, and generally doing well—seeing’s how “doing good” sorta cuts against your usual warp and woof and so would feel pretty dang weird, probably for both of us.

Best wishes for fair winds and following seas on your write-in White House run; we could certainly do worse for a Prez-mo-dent, MUCH worse, and likely will. Gaia knows we have, more than just once, twice, or thrice at that.

And to think, the Beltway (Butt)Bandits consider Trump an outsider.

T’would serve those never-to-be-sufficiently-damned Swamp-rats right, sayeth moi.


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