Happy Kwanzaa!

Yes, t’is the season once again when all people of good will join together with our melanin-enriched brethren to celebrate the ancient traditional extravaganza that is Kwanzaa, the completely fictitious pretender to all the things Christmas actually, y’know, is. Kwanzaa was made up out of whole cloth by a racist, rapist, torturer, Marxist revolutionary, and habitual felon named Ron “Maulana” Karenga. The thug Karenga was also a college professor, as one might expect.

First, let’s delve a bit into the history of Kwanzaa, after which we’ll examine the nitty-gritty details of what it’s all ultimately about. From Wikipedia:

American Maulana Karenga created Kwanzaa in 1966 during the aftermath of the Watts riots as a specifically African-American holiday. Karenga said his goal was to “give blacks an alternative to the existing holiday of Christmas and give blacks an opportunity to celebrate themselves and their history, rather than simply imitate the practice of the dominant society.” For Karenga, a major figure in the Black Power movement of the 1960s and 1970s, the creation of such holidays also underscored the essential premise that “you must have a cultural revolution before the violent revolution. The cultural revolution gives identity, purpose, and direction.”

According to Karenga, the name Kwanzaa derives from the Swahili phrase matunda ya kwanza, meaning “first fruits”. First fruits festivals exist in Southern Africa, celebrated in December/January with the southern solstice, and Karenga was partly inspired by an account he read of the Zulu festival Umkhosi Wokweshwama. It was decided to spell the holiday’s name with an additional “a” so that it would have a symbolic seven letters.

During the early years of Kwanzaa, Karenga said it was meant to be an alternative to Christmas. He believed Jesus was psychotic and Christianity was a “White” religion that Black people should shun. As Kwanzaa gained mainstream adherents, Karenga altered his position so practicing Christians would not be alienated, stating in the 1997 book Kwanzaa: A Celebration of Family, Community, and Culture that “Kwanzaa was not created to give people an alternative to their own religion or religious holiday.”

Okay, a self-serving, manipulative liar too, then. As Wiki says, Kwanzaa is a celebration of “the seven principles of Kwanzaa,” which go by the following titles:

  • Blubalubu
  • Ungowa-ungowa
  • Kalonga-linga
  • Jujuwanapasee
  • Killdewhitemon
  • Neekerbreek
  • Zh’sangulima

One of the many wonderful aspects of Kwanzaa is the delicious African delicacies, a series of daily feasts crowned by a rich traditional dish called Ungajalungo. It’s a stew consisting of a slow-cooked blend of fell meats; various magical roots also valued for their usefulness in the casting of spells, hexes, and curses; herbs and spices made from the powdered blood of a rival tribe’s vanquished warriors—all garnished with live grubworms, freshly pulled from the good Earth by the tribe’s youngsters using long sticks.

The ingredients are combined in a large cast-iron cauldron and simmered for exactly 12 weeks over an open fire, the process carefully supervised throughout by the tribe’s juju-man Elder with all of his slave-bitches assisting. Should any tribesmen sicken or die after consuming a subpar batch of Ungajalungo, the juju-man and his slaves will be put to death, their flesh, bones and blood rendered for use in next year’s Ungajalunga feast. Mmmmmm-mmmmm GOOD!!

During Kwanzaa, celebrants often use a traditional African phrase when greeting one another: Shub-niggurath! This warm, friendly way of saying “howdy, neighbor!” is actually an invocation of a beloved and respected African deity also, whose name translates roughly as “The Black Goat of the Woods with a Thousand Young.

Sadly, some blue-eyed Christian devils—frightened by the threat to their false god posed by Kwanzaa’s exploding popularity—have maliciously sown the falsehood that the festive decoration of homes and neighborhoods that make the Christmas season so joyous is forbidden for Kwanzaa celebrants, hoping to dampen enthusiasm for the ancient African tradition. Is it true? Au contraire, mon oppressaire! During Kwanzaa, participants enjoy sprucing up their homes, businesses, and gathering places with such adornments as random sticks or tree limbs attached by a spackle of ox or wildebeest dung to the walls of their crumpling shacks; dismembered rodent skeletons scattered around the unkempt lawn in patterns that also act as wards against mischievous or malificent spirits; and lit candles all through the house, sharing their warm glow in a way that tacky colored bulbs can never hope to rival.

But what about the Christmas tree, you ask? Well, Kwanzaa goes Christmas one better yet again. Instead of the ordinary desiccated fire-hazard tastelessly festooned with wasteful, obnoxiously strobing light-strands and environmentally destructive, cat-strangling tinsel just waiting for the opportunity to burn your home to the ground, Kwanzaa people prefer their own holiday’s traditional centerpiece: a pyramid made from the stacked skulls of an enemy tribe’s dead, all lit up by the blaze of a host of large candles whose tallow was gleaned from the marrow of said enemies, their wicks plaited from human hair.

Beats any boring old Christmas tree like a big bass drum, wouldn’t you say?

Kwanzaans even have their own version of Santa: a jolly, multi-tentacled old imp bringing gifts and good cheer to all African chirruns who managed to keep themselves off of his “Naughty” list over the past year, leaving big, happy smiles in his wake and eating the souls of the not-so-“Nice.” An artist’s rendering of Kwanzaa Claus in his sleigh:

Making a list, checking it twice

Just think, kids, he might be on his way to visit your house right this very minute! Exciting, huh?

Yes, the rich traditions, cultural heritage, and long, fascinating history of Kwanzaa give it a soulful cachet uniquely its own, making it unquestionably superior to all other holidays. Particularly white people’s holidays, goddamn them all to Hell. So happy Kwanzaa, everyone. May that good old Kwanzaa spirit never leave us, dwelling forever in our hearts until the Outer Gods break through at the end of days. Until then, I’ll leave you with one last thought, in honor of its founder.


Highbrows going low

The rich are different from you or I. Except when they ain’t.

The by-product of New York-area real estate demand isn’t just limited to staggering price tags. It also tends to create cachet with areas that other, less intense markets might consider just plain peculiar. Case-in-point: Montauk Shores, a trailer park with million-dollar listings, billionaire residents, and a parking lot filled with six-figure cars. A stone’s throw from Andy Warhol’s beach getaway and Dick Cavett’s famous estate and situated along Ditch Plains Beach, Montauk Shores —“the park,” as it’s familiarly known throughout the Hamptons—got its start as a modest campground for surfers and beach bunnies, becoming a co-operatively owned mobile home condominium park in 1976, before its recent reinvention as a real estate juggernaut.

Peter and Lois Moore, husband-and-wife brokers with The Corcoran Group, have had several exclusive listings in Montauk Shores over the years, so AD caught up with them to discuss property trends in what has become a heated real estate enclave. “About seven or eight years ago, these trailers became rather popular, and the waterfront lots came to be acquired by high-net-worth individuals,” Peter explains. For units along the water, the Moores say to expect a seven-figure price tag, while lots a few rows inland tend to hover between a half-million to a million. “It’s been a steady climb,” Peter says. “We have seen more consistency in pricing on an upward curve than we have in other residential areas.” Because of its proximity to the beach, the units have been subject to another only-in-the-Hamptons real estate trend. “Oftentimes, they’re second homes for buyers who don’t stay in them; they just use them as beach cabanas,” Peter explains.

7 figures? Okay, I come from a long line of confirmed trailer trash on my mom’s side. I have friends who have lived in trailer parks, and have whiled away many a pleasant hour hanging out in their homes. I have lived in a trailer park my own self.

Suffice it to say, then, that I have no problem whatsoever with the mobile-home lifestyle. So I feel qualified to state with perfect confidence that the article’s accompanying photo shows what is definitely a very nice trailer park—EXTREMELY nice, probably the nicest I’ve ever seen. Neat, well-kept, organized, clean. No sign of the decay, neglect, and chaotic clutter common to such places.

The first trailer I lived in had been my mom’s years before, a custom job she purchased when my folks split up in 1979. She sited the trailer on land bought by her folks way back in 1937, around eight-ten acres that my grandparents farmed right up until my grandpa dropped dead of a heart attack on his way home from an all-night poker game, in 1976. After living there for several years, my mom moved into the renovated farmhouse that still shares the family plot with that old trailer, which her sister and brother-in-law took over in their turn. They happily lived there for the rest of their lives. My aunt Sarah went first, her old man Rabbit (actually Hubert, which he just hated) succumbing to his overwhelming grief shortly after.

The old trailer sat empty for several years after that, gradually going to hell just as all houses will when left to sit unoccupied for long periods. Then, when my own marriage blew up in my face, I moved in. After I’d been in the place a few months, I was struck with the idea of getting hold of some iron pipe and fabricating a submarine periscope, to be mounted up on the rusty roof just for giggles. Unfortunately, I never did it. My uncle Larry bought the house and land from my mom and stepdad years back. An old WestPac Navy man, he moved his Filipino wife and her young ‘uns in, and they live there still. One of his stepsons is in my mom’s old trailer now, having done extensive renovations and repairs with assistance from his American wife, who’s a dab hand at projects of that nature.

I’m perfectly fine with trailers. But I don’t care HOW nice the trailer (or the park it sits in) is, or how much family history is wrapped up in it, trailers are basically just cheap tin cans—flimsy, cramped domiciles shaped exactly like your standard box of saltines. Not very many people move into a trailer intending to stay there forever. The things are only built to last for around twenty years or so anyway. After that, the place will start to cave in around your ears, with leaky roofs, drafty windows, holes in the floors, sagging cabinets, and such-like suddenly cropping up as if they were on a strict schedule.

Standard trailer doors are nothing but two thin layers of aluminum over a styrofoam core. Any healthy pre-teen could easily kick his way through one without straining himself, and I’m sure plenty of them have. The fixtures are all cut to odd-ball sizes and dimensions, and you can’t just trot on off to Lowes when you need to replace a window or a sink. There are mobile-home stores expressly dealing in that stuff, at surprisingly high prices, too.

A trailer is NEVER an “investment.” Not even close. It’s a product with a depreciation rate higher than a three-owner Yugo’s, one which appeals exclusively to the niche-est of niche markets. A trailer is typically either A) a temporary stand-in for the real house you hope to step up to later; B) a crash pad for bottom-of-the-societal-barrel types to get roaring drunk in on weekends, and/or cook meth in; or C) a place where destitute older people go to die. Also scattered in amongst the aforementioned categories are miscellaneous misfits, ne’er do wells, and recently-paroled convicts. Then you have the uncharacterizable weirdos who can never quite shake off the nagging feeling that they wound up there by mistake—like, say, myself. Those last often think of themselves as being IN the trailer park, but not OF the trailer park. It’s a comforting thought, but they’re probably wrong.

“Half a million to a million” for a trailer? Proof positive that some people have more money than sense…but at those rates, not for long. Maybe a nice, long visit from a true trailer-park maven like Ricky might wise those spendthrifts up to a thing or two.



(Via Bill)

Kill Bill

Nobody brings the heat quite like Ace does. Exhibit A:

Cartoonishly Fat Democrat Huckster Bill Kristol Dream-Journals for Hours on Twitter About What the New Political Party He’ll be Leading Will be Called
—Ace

Serious. People.

Who’s going to follow this obese, cognitively-declining traitor anywhere?

Fuck, I wouldn’t follow this gelatinous pile of failure and decay into an Arby’s. And I would actually like to go to an Arby’s.

He’s just sitting there on Twitter like an unemployed grifter (hey… ) noodling about what he’s going to call his Fantasy Political Party.

He’s going to be a leader of men?

How does that work? Are we now choosing male leaders based on cup size?

It’s fucking pathetic. He’s so far gone he doesn’t understand that obese, elderly men talking about their fantasies on twitter should be a source for embarrassment, not a high point of his professional career.

Hey Fatso, if you’re going to fantasize, maybe fantasize about a heart-healthy cheesecake that won’t go straight to your hips.

Dude, OUCH. Also, heh. He goes on from there to savage “Dr” Joette Biden, Fake First Lady of whatever we’re gonna be calling the fake pseudo-nation formerly known as the United States of America from now on.

True colors update! Another backstabbing NeverTrump retard gets the smackdown he deserves.

And there it is…

Steve Schmidt is now officially a Democrat.

And he’s already pissed at people using “Democrat” instead of “Democratic.”

Alt Headline: Lincoln Project member fully endorses party of slavery:


OUCH and heh again. Additional bitchslappin’ hilarity here.

Although in Li’l Stevie’s defense, the ig’nernt asshole is most likely totally, blissfully unaware of that whole “party of slavery, Jim Crow, and segregation” business. Doesn’t excuse it, merely explains it. Now do Li’l Ricky “My Favorite Martian” Wilson for us, ‘kay?

Thanks for all the fish

Don’t let the door hit ya where the good Lord split ya, sez I.

President Trump announced via Twitter that following a meeting to discuss the current state of 2020 election fraud with Attorney General Bill Barr, the U.S. AG will be departing his position before Christmas.

Barr’s resignation letter is…well, see for yourself.

Dear Mr President,  
I appreciate the opportunity to update you this afternoon on the Department’s review of voter fraud allegations in the 2020 election and how these allegations will continue to be pursued. At a time when the country is so deeply divided, it is incumbent on all levels of government, and all agencies acting within their purview, to do all we can to assure the integrity of elections and promote public confidence in their outcome.

I am greatly honoured that you called on me to serve your administration and the American people once again as Attorney General. I am proud to have played a role in the many successes and unprecedented achievements you have delivered for the American people. Your 2016 victory speech in which you reached out to your opponents and called for working together for the benefit of the American people was immediately met by a partisan onslaught against you in which no tactic, no matter how abusive and deceitful, was out of bounds. The nadir of this campaign was the effort to cripple, if not oust, your administration with frenzied and baseless accusations of collusion with Russia.

Few could have weathered these attacks, much less forge ahead with a positive program for the country. You built the strongest and most resilient economy in American history – one that has brought unprecedented progress to those previously left out. You have restored American military strength. By brokering historic peace deals in the Mideast you have achieved what most thought impossible. You have curbed illegal immigration and enhanced the security of our nation’s borders. You have advanced the rule of law by appointing a record number of judges committed to constitutional principles. With Operation Warp Speed, you delivered a vaccine for coronavirus on a schedule no one thought conceivable – a feat that will undoubtedly save millions of lives.

Downright effusive in his praise for Trump. Unexpected? Or perfectly in character? Barr has a knack for saying all the right things, and being quite eloquent in doing so, too. Whatever he may actually be—dithering, ineffectual-but-honest-in-the-main pedant or conniving Deep State malefactor—after years of tail-chasing “investigation” with no significant results in sight, it’s time for him to go.



Chip off the old block

Via our old friend Stephen.



In case anyone is in the dark regarding the backstory to that sidesplitting rip, I’m most happy to hip ya—not least because re-rubbing Shartwell’s smarmy face in his own public humiliation is always the right thing to do.



There won’t be another non-Democrat-Socialist “president” until well after the Coming Unpleasantness concludes, if then. But if such a thing were possible, I’d hope and pray it would be Trump Jr. The guy’s like his old man, only cranked up way past 11.

I do so love a woman with spunk

Looks like the theme for tonight’s posting is gonna be “unity.”

Independent journalist Megyn Kelly knocked Democratic presidential candidate Joe Biden and other left-wingers over Biden’s calls for “unity” after “viciously” attacking President Donald Trump and his supporters for four years.

Kelly first mocked a tweet from Biden’s account calling for a nation “united,” “strengthened,” and “healed.”

“Written like a man who’s been in his basement for a year,” Kelly said.

Her quip brought numerous Biden defenders into her replies, criticizing her for mocking Biden’s call to unity. Kelly refused to back down, however, and pointed out that Biden’s message is disingenuous considering the vitriol and hate that has been directed toward Trump every year of his presidency as well as the tens of millions of Americans that voted for him.

“Half of the country has been demonized as awful for four years just for supporting their president who was falsely accused of Russian collaboration, wrongly impeached & attacked relentlessly by the [left] & a dishonest media. And now it’s ‘let’s heal!’ ‘Unity!’ Good luck,” Kelly responded to University of Chicago economist Austan Goolsbee.

Biting as those ripostes were, they’re mild stuff indeed compared to what Megyn had waiting in her bandoleer for them. Don’t know quite what’s going on with that girl of late. But after her early tussle with Trump, bringing on the disastrous personal consequences that typically befall those who have committed a similar miscalculation, she’s surely been in fine form since. She’s demonstrated some serious mettle, skillfully wielded, and I have to say I’m digging the show. So I’ll just offer Ms Kelly a hearty “You GO, girl!” while I sit back in eager anticipation of more.

Publick Notice

So as I was mulling our current sorry pass over earlier today, out of the blue I was struck by visions of a cpl-three new T-shirt design ideas for Ye Olde CF Emporium, one of which I’ve already put together a first draft of:

Revolt-shirt.png


No situation so grave that some asshole won’t try to turn a buck off of it, eh? More to come as and when, folks. If the mood prompts ya, feel free to sing this one’s praises or condemn it as an unpitied sacrifice in a contemptible struggle in the comments, whichever suits.

Clown show

Treating THEVIRUSTHEVIRUSTHEVIRUS!!!™ with precisely the gravity it merits.

The Oregon Health Authority, offering a public service announcement for Halloween, featured two doctors dressed in costumes, with one dressed as a clown while she announced the daily death statistics and new cases of COVID-19 in the state.

Wearing a red tie, polka dot shirt, bright yellow pants, and a clown face made from makeup, senior health advisor and pediatrician Dr. Claire Poche stated:

Hello. I’m Dr. Claire Poche. I’m a general pediatrician and also a senior health advisor here at the Oregon Health Authority. I’m here with Shimi Sharief, my colleague, who’s also a senior health advisor, and we thought we’d start by giving you a quick update on where we are as a state with COVID-19. As of today, there have been 38,160 cases of COVID-19 in Oregon, with 390 new cases being reported today. Sadly, we are also reporting three deaths today, bringing the statewide total for COVID-19 related deaths to 608.

I know I said I was going to resist embedding any more Tweets from now on unless it was absolutely necessary, but I think we can all agree that in this instance, it most certainly is.



It’s not a good idea; it’s a fucking great idea. I mean, come on: even confirmed clown Lori Lightfoot will never top this.

What he said

Can’t argue with this. I mean it literally can’t be done.

The way Trump—the way China will respond is when we gather the rest of the world that in fact [unintelligible] in… in… fr- in in in in open trade and making sure that we’re in a position that the world uh that, that we deal with WHO the right way that, in fact, that’s when things begin to change, that when China’s behavior is going to change.

Absolutely! Thanks for “clearing that up” for us there, Gropey.

FLASH!!! BREAKING NEWS!!! MAN BITES DOG!!! PIGS TAKE FLIGHT!!! STOP THE PRESSES!!!!

Hold onto your hats, people. Sit down, swallow whatever you might be drinking, and brace yourself for the most unexpected, unprecedented, and incredible event since the Great Flood.

Ready for it?

Here we go: Today, on some rando’s podcast blatherfest, JOE BIDEN ACTUALLY SAID SOMETHING THAT’S TRUE!!! Probably for the very first time in his entire worthless life!

Inadvertently, natch.

Was he misspeaking or just opening his mouth and removing the filter between his brain and mouth? Was it a Joe Bidenesque Freudian slip sniff?

Biden was holding a rare campaign event – via video – when he boastfully proclaimed that his campaign operates “the most extensive and inclusive voter fraud organization in the history of American politics.”

Worse? He was cribbing from notes.

CF FACT CHECK: The claim that Joe Biden said something that was not a bald-faced lie, whether on purpose or not, has been rated by our investigative staff as 100% percent ACCURATE.

Verily, the End Times are nigh.

Having a stroke

Defending the indefensible.

Penn prof defends Jeffrey Toobin’s Zoom mishap

“Mishap”? More like a “misfap,” I’d say.

University of Pennsylvania Graduate School of Education professor Jonathan Zimmerman argued that New Yorker columnist and CNN legal analyst Jeffrey Toobin’s accidental self-exposure during a work video conference call was a “pseudo-scandal” rooted in Americans’ “collective unease with masturbation.”

Toobin was suspended from the New Yorker after he left his camera on while engaging in an act of self-pleasure during a Zoom meeting with colleagues. He said he believed that he had turned off his camera.  

“We Americans love to talk — and talk, and talk — about sex,” noted Zimmerman while discussing the incident in the New York Daily News. “But there’s one topic that remains taboo, and Toobin is paying the price for it.”

“You might say that he shouldn’t have been pleasuring himself during a work call, but that’s his business rather than yours,” said Zimmerman, noting that Toobin’s exposure was not intentional.

Au contraire, bub. The chicken-choker made it everybody’s business when he failed to make the critical but very easy distinction between what “Mute” means, and what “Video ON” means.

But should we just accept on faith that the Rub A Dub Schlub really IS that stupid in the first place? This is a Mark-1, Mod-0 Enemedia propagandist we’re talking about here, after all. Going strictly by the available evidence, every one of those people—from Charlie Rose to Matt Lauer, Male, Female, or one of the 73-and-counting flavors of Other—is a perverted, bizarre sexual sicko. Hell, even the Demonrat candidate for POTUS is a confirmed creepazoid who gets his jollies sniffing and snoodling little girls, ferchrissake. So, bearing the core truth of twisted shitlib sexual obssession in mind, just how sure can any of us really be that Toobin’s live-streamed weenie-wrangling was all that “accidental,” anyway?

DID he hit the wrong button out of nothing more than profound ignorance? If so, maybe someone should pull (ahem) Toobin aside and explain to him the modern miracle of a small piece of black electrical tape; placed carefully over the computer’s camera lens before going trouser-spelunking in front of a live monitor, it makes for an inexpensive and wonderfully effective prophylactic measure.

Or is it far more likely—well into the computer/internet/tech era, when even a relatively slow pre-pubescent comprehends that “Mute” has NOTHING WHATSOEVER to do with video—that Loobin’ Toobin was trying to get his rocks off via exposure of an act of solo self-indulgence,in flagrante dick-yecchto, to all and sundry? That forcing unwilling others to become active participants in his own personal kink, and the concomitant humiliation, is part of the thrill for him?

Either way, let the horselaughs and making of sport continue, sez I. The rest of us have every bit as much right to our own preferred brand of fun as pud-pounder Toobin does.

Would that it were so

Okay, I gotta admit, this one tickled the heck outta me.

Just before I went on air with Tucker last night, word came that the directors of the FBI and National Intelligence needed to rush onto our screens right now with an emergency news conference on “election security”. In a country where judges extend mail-in deadlines at random and postal workers dump completed ballots in the trash and multiple vote forms are sent unsolicited to addresses of foreign nationals, “election security” is a joke of which all US citizens should be ashamed. As I’ve said on Rush and elsewhere, the looming chaos of November 3rd is a conscious choice.

Nevertheless, this brace of national-security hotshots, John Ratcliffe and Christopher Wray, somehow felt obliged to seize the nation’s telly screens and inform Americans that Iran and Russia were spreading “disinformation”, a hitherto foreign-intelligence concept now domesticated, mainstreamed, and turned on the American people every two years:

The U.S. government has concluded that Iran is behind a series of threatening emails arriving this week in the inboxes of Democratic voters, according to two U.S. officials…

The messages appeared to target Democrats using data from digital databases known as “voter files,” some of which are commercially available. They told recipients the Proud Boys were “in possession of all your information” and instructed voters to change their party registration and cast their ballots for Trump.

After the last half-decade, my instinct is not to believe a single word the FBI says about anything, and to support any candidate who vows to dissolve the bureau and start from scratch. Setting aside the Strzok-Page-Comey-McCabe stuff, this is a national police agency that devotes more resources to investigating a Nascar garage-door pull-rope than to a Hunter Biden laptop bursting with oligarch money-laundering and alleged kiddie porn: I would be surprised if such bizarre priorities could get them elected as village constable in the average New Hampshire township. Yet we are now assured, at a time when Big Social are more powerful than any government on the planet and are openly suppressing one of the two presidential campaigns, that the big problem is mullahs posing as “Proud Boys”.

Heh. The Proud Boys: is there ANYTHING they can’t do? One does have to just love the thought of dweebish Democrats all across the land soiling their Underoos in fright at the scarifying prospect of having a group of pissed-off Proud Boys invade their quiet neighborhood to come a-knocking at the door, seeking to wreak retribution on them in the dark of night.

Y’know, exactly like their PantiFa/BLM goon squads have been doing to us all summer.

Busted!

As I just cross-posted on MeWe: I love this story SO DAMNED MUCH.

The New Yorker has suspended reporter Jeffrey Toobin for masturbating on a Zoom video chat between members of the New Yorker and WNYC radio last week. Toobin says he did not realize his video was on.

Two people who were on the call told Motherboard separately that the call was an election simulation featuring many of the New Yorker’s biggest stars: Jane Mayer was playing establishment Republicans; Evan Osnos was Joe Biden, Jelani Cobb was establishment Democrats, Masha Gessen played Donald Trump, Andrew Marantz was the far right, Sue Halpern was left wing democrats, Dexter Filkins was the military, and Jeffrey Toobin playing the courts. There were also a handful of other producers on the call from the New Yorker and WNYC.

Both people, who spoke on the condition of anonymity in order to speak freely, noted that it was unclear how much each individual person on the call saw, but both of the people we spoke to said that they saw Toobin jerking off. The two sources described a juncture in the election simulation when there was a strategy session, and the Democrats and Republicans went into their respective break out rooms for about 10 minutes. At this point, they said, it seemed like Toobin was on a second video call. The sources said that when the groups returned from their break out rooms, Toobin lowered the camera. The people on the call said they could see Toobin touching his penis. Toobin then left the call. Moments later, he called back in, seemingly unaware of what his colleagues had been able to see, and the simulation continued.

And we’re all supposed to believe that it’s Trump who’s the degenerate.

Update! Didn’t think of it until just now, but I believe I’m gonna put up permanent links to MeWe, Gab, and Duck Duck Go over in the right sidebar. Just as a public service, y’unnerstand.

Simple human decency

While the vile, soulless Left in its entirety celebrates today’s horrible news in the usual fashion—ghoulish gloating over the suffering of their political opponents, fervent wishes for a long, painful death, etc—the Last Sane Democrat demonstrates yet again why I’ve always referred to her that way.


Bless you, Ms Gabbard; would that we had many more like you. Alas, it’s our poor, bleeding nation’s tragedy that we don’t—emblematic of why we are where we are, and are headed where we’re headed.

Update! Heh.

Trump Preemptively Pens Dying Wish Canceling Out RBG’s Dying Wish
WASHINGTON, D.C.—Lying ill in the White House, Trump weakly asked for a pen and paper. Once these had been retrieved for him, he wrote out his dying wish — just in case the worst should happen — canceling out Ruth Bader Ginsburg’s dying wish.

“I, Donald Trump, your favorite president, hereby state that my dying wish is for Amy Coney Barrett to be confirmed to the Supreme Court,” Trump wrote as friends and family looked on somberly. “She’s a great nominee. The best, maybe ever. That Kavanaugh guy was alright, he was pretty good. But Barrett is the real deal.”

Legal scholars frantically tried to find a loophole so the nation could honor Ginsburg’s dying wish but not the president’s, but unfortunately for them, the plan was foolproof. “We are forced to honor this as legitimate,” they said. “There’s no way around it. Since we accepted Ginsburg’s dying wishes as constitutional law, now Trump’s are also legitimate. Should have thought that one through.”

Probably so, yeah.

Who’s laughing now?

Trump and his supporters have all the fun.

If there is anything President Donald Trump enjoys more than a rally, it’s a political victory. Tonight in Middletown, Pennsylvania, just outside Harrisburg, he had both. Fresh off his announcement that Amy Coney Barrett will be his historic third Supreme Court nominee, Trump headed to the Keystone State to celebrate with several thousand of his most dedicated supporters.

It is hard to underestimate what a shot in the arm the Supreme Court nomination and the impending confirmation fight has been for the president and his supporters. It is as convincing a conservative victory as the GOP has seen in some time, and it could not have come at a better time. Under gray clouds of impending rain, the crowd braved the skies and the president’s questionable musical tastes — Backstreet Boys? Really? — to see their champion.

About two hours before the president spoke, the music stopped and the big screen displayed the White House where Trump introduced the new justice-to-be to thunderous applause. If there was any question as to whether his supporters were digging the selection, those were put quite to bed.

One of the special moments of an airport Trump rally is the arrival of Air Force One. It is difficult to imagine a more dramatic entrance, and if it is an unfair advantage of incumbency, then Trump is not shy about using it. The crowd exploded at the sight of it, but not quite as much as they did when he finally took the podium in a drizzle, abandoning his umbrella, and announced Barrett’s name. Trump is not always one to share the spotlight, but tonight he seemed glad to.

Despite some tech difficulties, resulting in chants of “We can’t hear” and “Turn it up,” the crowd was jubilant, and Trump even seemed to raise his own generally loud voice in response. Nothing seems to dampen Trump’s parties.

There’s a good, and obvious, reason for that: Leftists are dour, miserable wretches. They hate their country. They hate their countrymen. They hate freedom. They hate guns. They hate cops. They hate having to live under a Constitution that, however badly it’s been weakened, is yet functional enough to provide some small protection against their ability to rule over We The Inferior absolutely.

They hate prosperity. They hate the internal combustion engine. They hate air conditioning, and the coal-fired power plants that provide reliable electric power to run it. They hate the Big Agriculture complex that feeds an entire planet. They hate music that has anything resembling a coherent, pleasant melody. They hate individuality, noncomformity, and independent thought. They hate Big Macs, or any food that actually tastes good. They hate heterosexuals. They hate normal, happy, traditional families. They hate freedom of speech, and of religion.

The list goes on and on, but perhaps even more than all of that, they hate that so many of us remain perfectly free to reject them, to denounce them, to mock them, and to refuse to join them in their lifelong immersion in pure, abject frustration and despair, like all Good People should. Don Surber provides us with a little compare-contrast between the two irreconcilable types:


That vid manages to be two things at once: 1) the most entertaining political ad EVAR, and B) a wicked, mortal slash across the Left’s jugular. And then you see this:



Yeah, I know which side I want to hang out on. As Bill Murray so memorably put it in Stripes:



Back to Surber for the wrap-up:

I concluded today’s Highlights of the News with the Texas Reloaded ad because it was fun. I want to go back to it because, well, the ad was fun, and fun is what Trump supporters are having this year.

People get the parody. People identify with the ad. People want to be part of the team because the team is having fun.

And as the headline says, Trump supporters are having all the fun. They get to hold rallies. They get to see their candidate belittle the media. They get to enjoy watching Wile E. Coyote Democrats blow themselves up again and again. I truly believe now that all Acme Products are made in Red China.

There is nothing Democrats can do to stop Republicans from making the Supreme Court 6-3 conservative. That is our cake. That it frustrates Democrats to the point of irrationality is the icing.

Biden supporters aren’t having fun because they don’t exist. If they existed, he would have won in Iowa and New Hampshire instead of finishing fourth.

Oh, there will be people who vote for Biden. Millions of them. But they are voting against President Donald John Trump, not for anyone. They have no candidate, and that is not fun because they have no team really. So in their anger, they tear up cities, they tear up campaign signs, and they tear up their own cars.

The polls say this, the polls say that. Trump supporters don’t care. We are having fun. We did it before and we will do it again — despite mail fraud, the media, and Karens flipping the bird and screaming in their cars.

And we will laugh as we are doing it.

Hey, laughter ain’t just the best medicine; it’s the best revenge, too. What better closer than this immortal classic?




That’s actually a flexi-disk which came as in insert in an issue of Mad magazine that I had back when I was but a budding juvenile delinquent. Wonder whatever happened to that thing…

A gem of invective

As Wanda Jackson sang: he’s a mean mean man.

I don’t think most people realize how many random jerkoffs show up to scream at me anytime I post anything. Which is why I get all these other well-intentioned types going “tsk tsk, Larry Correia is SO RUDE on the internet. He should be nicer.”

Of course, if these people who chide me about my rudeness had to put up with my social media feed for 24 hours, they’d either be curled up the fetal position on their shower floor, weeping. Or they would lose their shit and go on a tri-state killing spree.

I don’t think some of you realize what it is like to be a little bit famous with the wrong politics, but here, let me try to help. Let’s say that you put up a post about anything from current events which is even sort of controversial.

When I do that, people start to share it to their pages, where various strangers see it, and are inevitably compelled to come back to my page to tell me how I’m a horrible person who should die. Then the morons come flooding in. An endless stream of idiots, barking, hooting, screaming, throwing their feces, and dragging their diseased anuses on my carpet. And all of them feel compelled to share their bullshit hot takes with me, a total stranger, in the mistaken belief that they’re going to browbeat me or shame me into silence.

Good luck with that!

I’m pretty sure there is a mathematical formula to this. Y number of shares, R is the rate of controversy, find for X, which is the number of vapid morons blundering onto my page.

Three days ago I put up that post refuting the meme about the RNC speakers. By the time it got shared a thousand times, off the top of my head I think that thread got me an insane healing power of crystals hippie, five morons calling me names who were so incoherent that I couldn’t actually tell what they were upset by, a couple Common Internet Shit Gibbons, a Socialist Lemming, some pseudo-intellectual gotcha attempts from people who aren’t smart enough to pick up dog turds in the park for a living, and one incredibly boring dope who babbled about his asinine philosophy on EVERYTHING for THREE DAYS STRAIGHT. By the end I was reading all his posts in the voice of Colin Robinson.

That was ONE POST. But not a single death threat, or anyone wishing for me to get cancer… So that was actually kind of nice. I had one last month, with 8,000 comments, where I ended up blocking over 100 people in 24 hours. That was nuts. Apparently, where all these people come from, blundering into a stranger’s living room and screaming in his face is a “conversation”. And if you don’t put up with their endless abuse, you’re obviously a bad person.

Awesome. I’ll be the bad guy.

And THEN he takes the gloves off.

A match made in (someplace far from) Heaven

Mickey Dolenz lays out the fascinating backstory to one of the most peculiar chapters in rock and roll history.

The odd pairing might have been doomed from the start, given the two artists’ very different audiences. But Dolenz had been a fan of Hendrix since the guitar god was still known as “Jimmy James” and performing in Greenwich Village nightclubs with the Blue Flames. “It was 1966 or so, and the Monkees were in New York on a press junket,” he recalls of the first time he saw Hendrix live. “Someone said, ‘You gotta come down to the Village and check this cat out.’ The actual act was, I think, the John Hammond Band or something. But when we went down there, I remember sitting in the front row and there was this young kid, and he was playing guitar with his teeth! I didn’t even know his name at the time. I don’t even know if he was introduced, but he was going under the name Jimmy James at that point. He was just great.”

When Dolenz witnessed Hendrix’s iconic performance at the Monterey Pop Festival (a year later), he recalls, “All of a sudden this act comes on, not very well known yet, but very flamboyant — the clothes, the music. And I said, ‘Hey, that’s the guy that plays guitar with his teeth!’ I recognized him. And so simultaneously, just by coincidence really, we were looking for an opening act for our first tour. So, I suggested the Jimi Hendrix Experience to our producers, because obviously it was incredible music, but also very theatrical. And the Monkees were a theatrical act, if you really examine it. I guess that’s why it made sense to me. I just thought it would make a great mix.”

Apparently the admiration wasn’t mutual at first, as Hendrix had previously blasted the Monkees in the U.K. press, describing their music to Melody Maker as “dishwater” and saying, “Oh God, I hate them!” But once the Monkees’ “people went to his people,” says Dolenz, “Chas Chandler and everyone thought it was a good idea.” And so, on July 8 — less than a month after Hendrix had been the breakout star of Monterey Pop — the Jimi Hendrix Experience joined the Monkees for their first joint tour date in Jacksonville, Fla.

While the audience was vicious and unwelcoming, Dolenz was too wrapped up in watching Hendrix’s electric stage show to actually notice what was transpiring in the venue. “I didn’t even pay attention to what the audience reaction was, because I was just mesmerized by Jimi and his art,” he confesses. “We were just blown away by him every night — I know Nez [the Monkees’ Mike Nesmith] especially was. We would just stand in the wings in awe. I was fascinated by Jimi’s showmanship, by his persona. All I knew was, I liked it. And to this day, I don’t care much what people thought.”

Hendrix apparently did care what people thought, as he decided to quit the Monkees’ tour just eight days later, after dates in Miami, North Carolina, and a three-night run at New York City’s Forest Hills Tennis Stadium. Later, a seemingly bitter Hendrix told British music paper the NME that he’d been replaced by “Mickey Mouse.” Dolenz can neither deny nor confirm the longstanding rumor that Hendrix flipped the bird at the combative crowd during that final NYC show, though he quips, “I’ve never seen evidence of that rumor, but if it’s true, he certainly ain’t the first person to flip off an audience.”

In retrospect, Dolenz says he “wasn’t totally surprised” that the Monkees/Hendrix tour didn’t work out. “It was just night and day,” he admits of their clashing musical styles. “And we all knew, because he was fairly unknown at the time, that those thousands and thousands of kids were there to see the Monkees. Jimi knew that too.” As for whether he thinks the negative reaction Hendrix received had anything to do with racism, he insists, “No, it had to do with the fact that these fans had spent so much of their money to see the headliners. And if fans like that are really, really anxious and passionate, they’ll make their feelings known.”

Despite Hendrix’s poor reception, reservations about joining the tour in the first place, and that NME shade, he and the Monkees did hit it off, getting up to all sorts of rock ‘n’ roll adventures during their week on the road. “We spent a lot of time together. We went to clubs and wandered around aimlessly, and sometimes non-aimlessly,” says Dolenz fondly. “We got along great and had a great time. We partied; we hung around in the hotel rooms jamming and just singing, having little aftershow parties. I remember once we went to the Electric Circus in New York, a very famous psychedelic place back then.

The article comes complete with a cool photo of Hendrix sitting on a hotel-room bed beside Mike Nesmith, with one of Nesmith’s beautiful Gretsches in hand and Peter Tork looking on in what could only have been stunned delight. A friend of mine, a big Monkees fan back in her pre-teen years, told me once about how her mom had taken her to the disastrous Charlotte show, although she claimed to have little recollection of any details now. I kinda felt sorry for her, actually.

The story of horribly ill-considered combinations of headliners and support acts is a long and old one in the music biz, at just about every level. I’ve been on both sides of that same brand of miserable mismatch more than once my own self, just as any other road-dog touring act either has or will sooner or later. It’s almost inevitable if you’re out there long enough, just part of the game, and can even be looked back on with a certain fond amusement once the passage of time has healed the painful wound. But the legendary Hendrix/Monkees misfire is definitely one for the ages.

Street protest

Street justice, more like. As SteveF quips, the title says it all.

Peak 2020: Man Takes Dump on Pelosi’s Driveway in San Francisco – Live-Streams It

Man, I’m loving this story already. There’s video, which you may be forgiven for not being terribly interested in viewing. Steve continues:

Normally I disapprove of open defecation on hygiene grounds but I’ll make an exception for every politician in and of San Francisco. (And Portland, Seattle, Minneapolis, New York City, and Atlanta, on the chance that someone reading this is near one of these cities, knows where a politician lives, and is willing to take leave one for the team.)

Add Chicago to that list, buddy. Just for starters.

So 13 percent of the population wants to start a “race war” against 70 percent of it?

I don’t think they’ve thought this thing all the way through.

Low intelligence, poor impulse control, defective future orientation, emotionalism, difficulty with abstractions. So say psychologists who study racial differences. The literature is voluminous, though suppressed. (The predictable assertion that these scientists, nearly all white, are racist is belied by their consistent finding that Ashkenazi Jews are at the top in intelligence, followed by East Asians, then whites. Racists do not establish the inferiority of their own race.)

These traits, plus poor understanding of the world beyond their visual field, and difficulty with abstract reasoning perfectly explain the senseless murders, the periodic yet unceasing riots and burning of cities, usually of their own neighborhoods and stores. Watts in 1965, much of the country in 1968, LA in1992, more recently Baltimore, Ferguson, Minneapolis. They explain the young black woman on network television sobbing that she is afraid to leave her house because the police might kill her, the black man roaring that he is tired, tired, tired of the police hunting down blacks to kill them. The absurdity of the first claim, the fact that blacks kill far more of each other than whites do, do not occur to an emotional, poorly informed and innumerate people.

Many students of black behavior have concluded that it is innate—genetic, as we say. This thought is of course verboten, an ender of careers, so many who know of it remain very quiet, as do the millions who have long suspected it. Liberals also seem to suspect it as otherwise they would say “Let’s study the matter carefully and find out.” Fairly obviously they fear what they might find, so instead they shy away from the questions in something resembling terror. In human affairs, questions avoided are questions likely to have the wrong answers.

If blacks as a race (there always being degrees and exceptions) cannot fit into a modern society, as seems to be the case, what now? It will be pointed out that blacks are decent people when not enraged or impulsive, that they are emotionally warmer than whites, immensely talented in music and acting, that they are human beings and should not be forced by circumstance to live in grim ghettos, that some are highly intelligent. All true. It can also be pointed out that many of my age grew up listening to the Platters, James Brown, the Supremes, to bebop and doowop and later Coltrane and Davis and so on at endless length, and that is somehow disagreeably ungrateful to think of their race as incompatible with mainline civilization. True…uncomfortably true.

But the killings, the crime, the arson never stop.

Whatever the answer might be, what we are doing now isn’t it.

Probably the single worst thing that could ever happen to them would be for them to get what they claim to want.

(Via WRSA)

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Notable Quotes

"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

"There are men in all ages who mean to govern well, but they mean to govern. They promise to be good masters, but they mean to be masters." — Daniel Webster

"It is terrible to contemplate how few politicians are hanged." - GK Chesterton

"The only way to live free is to live unobserved." - Etienne de la Boiete

"History does not long entrust the care of freedom to the weak or the timid." — Dwight D. Eisenhower

"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

"There is no better way to stamp your power on people than through the dead hand of bureaucracy. You cannot reason with paperwork." - David Black, from Turn Left For Gibraltar

"The limits of tyranny are prescribed by the endurance of those whom they oppress." - Frederick Douglass

"Give me the media and I will make of any nation a herd of swine." - Joseph Goebbels

“I hope we once again have reminded people that man is not free unless government is limited. There’s a clear cause and effect here that is as neat and predictable as a law of physics: As government expands, liberty contracts.” - Ronald Reagan

"Ain't no misunderstanding this war. They want to rule us and aim to do it. We aim not to allow it. All there is to it." - NC Reed, from Parno's Peril

"I just want a government that fits in the box it originally came in." - Bill Whittle

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