Non-event

And suddenly, there may be a reason to care about the fucking Olympics.

Olympic Madness: Women’s Beach Handball Team Fined for Not Showing Enough Booty

“Madness”? Waitwaitwait a minute—is this guy saying he thinks showing more booty is a BAD thing?

Is it just me, or did the Olympics, once upon a time, actually have some credibility? Didn’t the Olympics used to be a gathering place for champions? A moment where nations shined and personal bests were achieved? The first stop on your way to a Wheaties box? I could swear it was not that long ago.

Credibility? From everything I’ve read over the years—which isn’t actually all that much, since I never did give a tinker’s damn about any fucking Olympics—and from what I saw living in Atlanta during the Olympics there back whenever the hell that was, the fucking Olympics have pretty much always been all about the corruption and graft, on the behind-the-scenes business end at least. Throw in whacking great gobs of gooey-eyed nonsense about “promoting international understanding and cooperation” and other such rot and it shouldn’t be too tough to understand my iron determination to avoid the whole emetic shebang.

That being said, can someone pinpoint for me exactly when the Olympics went from being something we all could believe in to the godforsaken sideshow it and the events that surround it are today? Can someone tell me why we should give more than 60 seconds of our time to whatever beleaguered media event is scheduled for Tokyo?

Not really, no. But I’m probably not the guy you wanna be asking.

The Norwegian Women’s Beach Handball team (and btw, what the hell is beach handball and when did it become an Olympic sport? What’s next, shuffleboard?) was fined $1,700 for choosing to wear shorts instead of bikini bottoms during competition. The team noted that the shorts were easier to play in, and I am reliably informed by an actual woman and not a “menstruating person” that during a woman’s period, bikini bottoms can be problematic at best, and disastrous at worst. 

A measly 1700 clams? Hell, I doubt that will be anything like enough to get the Norwegian lassies back into the bikinis again, blast it. Although I will concede the point about the menstruation issue, if somewhat grudgingly.

Although the sanction was played down, the message is clear, whether the league officials approve it or not: People are expected to tune in to the Olympics to see scantily clad women, not athletes. Apparently, there is money to be made by blurring the line between sports fan and hormone-stricken teen. Or dirty old man.

NOW you’re singing my tune, buddy.

On the flip side, track and field Paralympian Olivia Breen was told at the English Championship that her shorts were too short.

Unpossible. Ain’t no such thing. Except on a fat broad, of course.

And as if that were not enough, another Paralympian, Becca Meyers, has withdrawn from the Tokyo games. Meyers is a swimmer and is blind and deaf. She was told she could not bring her caregiver with her. Did I mention that her caregiver is her mother? Never mind Becca Meyers’ needs or her dignity. Let’s get that blind and deaf girl in front of the cameras.

Okay, I will agree that does seem a pretty shitty thing to do. Pointless, petty, and self-defeating also, just a bonehead move all around. One wonders just what the hell those people were even thinking with that one.

So, the Norwegians are sanctioned for not showing enough skin—because, you know, sex and ratings and stuff. The Paralympians are sanctioned for being people and not merely disabled and checking the right box for the IOC, sponsors, and broadcasters. They have no value as athletes or as people. Once again, human beings are made into products.

So, for the sake of the Norwegian Women’s Beach Handball team, Olivia Breen, and Becca Meyers, when the Tokyo games begin, I would tell the IOC and whatever idiot legacy media outlet has the temerity to broadcast the games to go to hell. Go directly to hell.

Oh, I assure you I will be. The last few fucking Olympics came and went with me being completely unaware they were even going on at all, a streak I intend to extend by ignoring them again this year, or whenever it is these fucking Olympics are scheduled to take place. Not having to pretend I give a lumpy fart about the Games is a big ol’ win as far as I’m concerned.

2

You’ll LOVE him when he’s annoyed

Our pestilential victim classes have Francis waxing…annoyed.

Perhaps we should go in the other direction: toward individual aspects of nuisance that can be identified and fought on the micro level. Everyone has a few he’s particularly un-fond of. Just now, at the top of my list is a huge (150 lb.) Newfoundland puppy named Joy who sheds continuously and frequently demands that I put one or both of my hands in her mouth. Unfortunately, she’s too cute to remain annoyed with for very long.

But slightly above the level of Joy we have the great American Panoply of Victims. Great God in heaven, how I despise people who seek attention, fortune, and privileges by claiming to be victims of this or that. Yet these days they seem to be everywhere.

Women: “victims” of a bio-social arrangement that has led to them being protected, cared for, even pampered by the male half of Mankind. (Shut up about the word Mankind, bitch; you can use whatever words you prefer at your next hen party.) Meanwhile, men do all the dirty, unpleasant, and life-threatening jobs while you whine about being “oppressed” by the “patriarchy.”

Negroes: “victims” of a society that has bent itself into a pretzel – not one of those Philadelphia-style straight pretzel sticks; the twisty ones – striving to improve the economic, political, and social conditions of the melanin-oversupplied. “Structural racism,” you say? Damned right – structured in your favor, DeShawn and LaShondra. You’ve tested our patience to the limit. Go just a little further, why dontcha?

Homosexuals: “victims” of a society that has awarded them above-average incomes, high places in the arts and entertainment fields, and innumerable perches from which to claim – simultaneously! – that “we’re born that way” and “we’re proud to be ‘gay.’” All the while evangelizing to young boys that “you’ve got to try it before saying you don’t like it.” One more “Gay Pride” parade that features nudity and public sex acts, and I might just unpack the Barrett M82 and the emergency package of Oreo Double-Stufs®. There’s this really nice clock tower I’ve been meaning to climb…

Muslims: Viktor Orban, where are you when we need you?

I could go on. Be grateful that I’ve stopped here.

Grateful? The hell you say. Frankly, I’d rather you hadn’t, but can readily understand why you would need to. No sense putting oneself at risk of a stroke or fit of apoplexy, after all. They ain’t worth it.

I could add a few more to Fran’s list, and maybe I will at some point. But it strikes me that—excepting the Mooselimbs, who are a big ol’ basket of primordial, full-strength Hopeless—the aforementioned groups all have something in common, as would any candidates I might come up with to expand the list. This commonality also happens to be the selfsame trait that makes them so witheringly tiresome: they’re all liberals, Leftists, whatthehellever you prefer to call them. As I’ve often insisted regarding Da Joooze, the real problem with these head lice isn’t so much their gender, their ethnicity, or their sexual orientation; it’s the gawddamned Leftism.

Which unsavory trait, unsurprisingly, is also what drives them to make human afflictions of themselves, instead of just leaving everybody else alone and tending to their own knitting like decent, civilized non-Leftists usually do. Just fix the Leftism, and viola! We can all get back to living together in relative comity again, and won’t be nearly so miserable.

3
1

Today’s totalitarians

They’ve far surpassed their spiritual mentors and antecedents.

Compared to today’s woke left, Hitler’s methods for seizing power look like something out of the technological Stone Age.

This statement is not to dismiss the horrors unleashed by Nazi rule. It is rather to focus attention on how much easier it is for today’s totalitarians to operate compared with their musty-looking predecessors. The fashion standards for totalitarianism have clearly been updated.

Well, I can’t quite agree with that last. If there’s one thing the original Nazis were known for, apart from—well, you know, the rest of it—it’s those snappy, snazzy, sharp-looking uniforms. Today’s hippie-dippy-flowerchild sack dresses, Birkenstocks—or, for the younger generation, cargo shorts, natural fiber T-shirts, and scraggly-ass beards—fare mighty poorly in comparison, like somebody might have spent the night before sleeping in an over-full restaurant dumpster or something.

As Halperin’s book makes clear, those looking at the Nazi takeover in Germany were not aware of later technological advancements which would make mass control light years easier than it was roughly 90 years ago. In interwar Germany, regional, cultural, and religious differences remained strong. In the U.S., however, most people are now subject to uniform indoctrination, much of it supplied by leftist schools and universities as well as the all-pervasive media. Homogenization, or what the Nazis called Gleichschaltung (“coordination”), has already taken place on a scale that the Nazis had to work years to achieve and could only attain by threatening the public with imprisonment and torture. Compliance need no longer be enforced through acts of terror, acts which Hannah Arendt in Origins of Totalitarianism gave as distinguishing marks of Soviet and Nazi dictatorships.

Today the media, the “democratic” administration, and the educational establishment can robotize their subjects by continuously harping on the same themes from the same perspective. The many films, news reports, and even advertisements with which we’ve been flooded in recent months show this particularly as they stress the glories of the black racial identity over the white one. Some of these sources also broadly suggest that whites have been overrepresented in American life, except as oppressors. The simultaneity and effectiveness with which the power elites now operate in such matters make the Nazi ministry of propaganda, with their static-filled radio broadcasts, seem like inept novices in comparison. Like clothing and speech, totalitarian control has been updated.

In the case of EvilMedia, one can only assume that Goebbels would have been mighty proud of his ideological offspring. With good reason, too.

3

Hangin’ at the spa

S’cuse me while I whip this out.

A number of female customers of a luxurious Los Angeles spa were outraged after the staff did not intervene when a man who thinks he’s a woman displayed his private parts.

“That’s traumatizing to see that,” one lady said.

Rilly? Traumatizing?!? Jeez, lady, but that seems a bit much to me. I mean, rude, sure. Inconsiderate, obnoxious, offensive, all fine. Mind, I’m not advocating, minimizing, or excusing the dude’s actions. But any grown woman who sincerely does consider the sight of unexpected public pecker traumatizing might need to get herself some help for that. I mean, come on—as if she’s never seen a schlong before?

Granted, the egregious flashing of weinage in inappropriate settings is unacceptable, of course. But if there’s anything here for a normal, healthy, adult female to be “traumatized” by, it’s an obviously mentally-disturbed, possibly even dangerous, weirdo running around loose in public, getting his sicko jollies at the disturbance he created.

Thankfully, somebody had the wherewithal to lay down a little common-sense factuality.

One spa worker explained that California law allows the man to use the women’s spa — because of his sexual orientation.

“What sexual orientation,” the female customer shot back. “I see a dick. It lets me know he’s a man. He is a man. He is not a female.”

At some point a woke male customer interjected himself into the conversation and lectured the biological woman about transgenderism. But that lady was not in the mood.

“He is not a female, sweetie,” she replied. “You’ve got a man with a penis talking about he’s a woman. He’s no woman. There’s no such thing as transgender. He’s got a dick.”

Nothing but 24-karat solid-gold truth, right there. How bizarre that our society has been dragged so far into PC degeneracy where daring to say such things aloud is considered hateful, bigoted, even illegal in certain quarters. The spa staff was likely terrified of being arrested, prosecuted, and doing time themselves had they dared to utter a single syllable of reproach against the pud-pulling sicko, and had damned good reason to be. THAT’S what we all oughta be concerned about, seems to me, and to heck with feeling all “traumatized” over the mere sight of unexpected goob.

5

Happy Nigger Day!

I hereby denounce myself for that title. Actually, I used it advisedly and intentionally, which I shall explain anon.

Happy Juneteenth everyone! Officially, this long tradition dating back to Monday is celebrated on Saturday, but the ruling regime has declared the preceding Friday as a day off for our hardworking civil servants. The rest of us, of course, will have to continue slaving away at the salt mines, but the people who really make this country work will get the day off to celebrate the people who built the country. Even as we toil, we should take a moment to think about both groups.

In a way, the ridiculousness of this new holiday fits perfectly with the absurdity of modern liberal democracy. The show this week is mostly about how the system is nothing like it is claimed. Instead of bringing the citizens into the decision making process, it systematically excludes the majority. This new holiday is a great example of how it works. Exactly no one wanted it. Few even heard of it. The people have many higher concerns, but they are ignored in favor of this novelty.

It is also good timing for Charles Murray’s new book. The thesis of the book is that the elites need to accept biological reality or face the wrath of the angry Saxon. This new holiday is a good example of what he means. Ruling class whites pandering to blacks creates friction between whites and blacks over trivial items. It encourages nonwhites to embrace tribal politics, which discourages whites from embracing the active indifference necessary to make a multiracial society work.

There are other things wrong with Murray’s argument. The great Roger Devlin has posted a comprehensive review on VDare. There will be other reviews from dissidents in the coming weeks. Ed Dutton may have summarized it best when he said that Murray is right, but he should have written this book in 1965 or even 1985. At this point, the die is cast and there is no escaping the thing he is warning against. The fact that Washington just created this absurd new holiday is proof of that.

Of course, the fact that both parties eagerly embraced this idiotic idea makes clear that the elites will never face reality on their own. History says they will have their awakening as the trap door swings open. The system we have today is unsustainable, for the simple reason the people at the top define themselves by their hatred of the people over whom they rule.

Au contraire, mon frere: it is perfectly sustainable, for as long as the serfs consent to sustain it. The moment they decide to withdraw that consent the trap door will drop, the rope will be stretched, and the sick joke ends. Not before.

Now, I’ve had many black friends since childhood, and I still do today. I enjoy and treasure those friendships, and have no wish to hurt or insult them or any of my darker-complected brethren out there. I titled this post the way I did for one and only one reason: as an expression of profoundest contempt for the increasingly-strident army of shrieking Leftards who continually condemn all Whypeepo as irredeemably racist—that being “racist” is the inevitable consequence of one’s birth as a Person of Caucasian, and that this “disease” is an “incurable” condition.

They’ve actually said this. They believe it, too. I only wish I was joking.

Yes, an airtight argument that this itself is actual, bona fide racism can be made, and has been dozens of times. I don’t care; it’s a waste of time, annoys the pig, and I will no longer bother with any of that futile tail-chasing. Any and every chance I get to hurl a big, fat “fuck you!” their way, I will take. The more obnoxious and hateful those rectal polyps find me, the happier I’ll be.

So yes, B’rer Shitwit, please do keep right on calling me racist, white supremacist, Nazi, Literally Hitler, whatever. Accuse me of All The Things. In return, I promise to do my utmost to reinforce your erroneous perception of me, and will make every effort to surpass your expectations of intolerable Wrongthink.

Then, while you’re flopping around on the floor like a landed fish, I’ll sit back and laugh myself sick at you. Suck on it.

YouDid.jpg

If I were King

So today I tried to earn a few extra shekels to add to my meager pile by working lunch, and got a pickup at a local KFC. When I got there, exited the car, and tugged on the front door expecting the dining room to be open, imagine my disgust to find the joint locked up tighter’n Dick’s hatband instead. Naturally, the drive-thru line I would now have to endure sitting in my beloved Yaller Streak under a blazing sun, awaiting my turn at the window, snaked completely around the building and out into the street.

If I haven’t mentioned it before, the Yellow Peril Focus is without A/C at the moment. I glommed a replacement compressor out of a junkyard already, but am still trying to accumulate the scratch to cover labor. Hence, y’know, that whole working-lunch thing, something I hardly ever bother with since you make hardly anything, there’s only available work for an hour and a half, two at the outside. Plus it’s getting uncomfortably warm out there. Working nights is a whole lot better all the way around.

Anyhoo, having already accepted the KFC run—which paid beans, by the way, just to rub salt in the wound—there was no way out of it but through it, since they penalize you for failure to complete a run kinda harshly, as well as declining one. Your driver status drops, which in turn affects how many runs you’re offered. Having only recently clawed my way back up to Top Dawg level after falling a notch due to a bonehead error on my own part and seeing how that impacted my income, I have no intention whatsoever of letting that happen again if I have any say in the matter. Which I do. Which meant I was definitely stuck, but good.

As I sat sweating and gasping in the excruciatingly slow line, I got to thinking (frightening, I know) and it hit me how ridiculous it was for the KFC dining room to still be under lockdown, even after the edict commanding it had been so graciously rescinded by Komrade Kooper weeks ago. Then I thought about all the quaking nitwits out there who are still masking up all over the place despite the planet-killer virus having failed, in spectacular fashion, to live up to its planet-killer billing.

This all gave me what I consider to be a pretty good idea. To wit: Any restaurant, bar, or fast-food franchise whose dining room is still closed at this point will be legally required to keep it that way, forever. If you can sustain your business via drive-thru sales alone, fine and well. Do so, and be damned to you. If you can’t, well, tough noogies.

The only allowed exemption is for those establishments struggling with staffing problems, which many are and the aforementioned KFC may well have been. They get a bye, along with my sympathy and best wishes. Everybody else? BE SAAAAAFE!™

Likewise: All craven Branch Covidians still wearing a mask in Wal Mart, the grocery store, just wandering around out-of-doors, and especially—MOST especially—those drooling neurotics who wear one while driving in their car alone, are now legally required to be masked at all times. All day, every day, from now until the Sun goes supernova. Yes, in your home. Yes, whilst lying in bed trying to sleep. Yes, in the shower, pool, or hot tub.

Moreover: any Karen or Ken who has ever given a sane person so much as a dirty look over walking around barefaced without an Obedience Rag on must double-mask, as urged by the heroic Herr Doktor Fauci. Forever. NO exceptions, NO exemptions.

AT. ALL. TIMES. Hey, seems fair enough to me.

There’s a new sherriff in town, and his name is…uhhh…ummm…uhhhh…..I forget

It was a masterful tour de force for “President” Grampy Gropey today in his much-anticipated face-off with soulless Russian murderer Vlad “The Impaler” Putin. Grampy certainly exceeded all expectations with a truly stellar performance; even white supremacist Trump cultists were forced to acknowledge that our Dear Leader—inarguably the greatest “President” since Jefferson, if not before—had Pooty-Poot in the palm of his hand from the word go. After mopping the floor with the overmatched Russian despot, Grampy summed up his smashing victory in a few well-considered words:

Well, I walked in, sat down, and simply told him in plain language how things were going to be from now on. He didn’t have a lot say to that, seemed a little resentful about having the law laid down to him that way. So right quick, before that asshole could jump salty with me, I whipped out the straight razor in my boot that I never leave home without and waved it in his face. Son of a bitch if old Cornpop didn’t back down right away! I don’t care if you people believe me or not, that really is the way it all went down.

Hey, has anybody seen my shoes? Where the hell are my shoes? Jill! JILLLLL!! I can’t find my shoes, and these people are starting to…OOOO! ALL THE PRETTY COLORS!!!

Easy there, Grampy; just ease on down there, bud. It’s gonna be allllll right.

In light of all this, Tonight’s Tune Damage selection ought to be obvious:



Another, by way of explaining where it was that Senile “President” Gropey actually believed himself to be during the farcical sit-down with Cornpo…uhh, Putin.



Everyone is helpful, everyone is kind. Plus, on Wednesdays we get fruit cups.

Update! Dan McLaughlin rips The Last True Conservative a new one.


Remind me: was Bill Kristol always this bugfuck-loony, or is this some kind of new low for the despicable shitheel? Not that anybody cares anymore what he might spew on any given day, nor should they. But, I mean, seriously: who on earth does the guy think he’s kidding with this droolcase bilge, anyway?

Updated update! Slick move, Gropey.

President Joe Biden said Wednesday he gave Russian President Vladimir Putin a list of places he considered critical infrastructure in the United States, warning Russians not to attack them.

“I gave them a list. If I’m not mistaken, I don’t have it in front of me, 16 specific entities,” Biden said. “Sixteen defined as critical infrastructure under U.S. policy from the energy sector to our water systems.”

So, a list of fat, juicy targets, then. Moron.

Biden spoke about his list for Putin during a press conference with reporters after his summit with the Russian president.

He warned Russia that the listed critical infrastructure in the United States was “off-limits” in future attacks.

“I talked about the proposition that certain critical infrastructures should be off-limits to attack. Period,” he said. “By cyber or any other means.”

Another problem I have with this is the tacit admission that attacks against everything NOT on the aforementioned list would be permissible. So in effect, what Gropey just did was present Putin with two quite useful things: a Take Down First list, and a No Harm, No Foul list.

I’ll say this much: the rest of the world has never before seen a statesman of this caliber. For which the rest of the world is mighty grateful, I’m sure. More:

Ever since Joe Biden was installed into the White House, I’ve waffled back and forth between believing his administration is made up of incompetent morons and thinking they’re actually pretty smart and engaging flawlessly in their efforts to destroy America. Their latest move may be the biggest headscratcher in the history of White House headscratchers, and that’s saying a lot following Obama, the Bushes, and Carter.

Another fine occasion to embrace the healing power of “and.” There’s no contradiction whatsoever here, after all. Consider: they’re inarguably doing a most capable, thorough job destroying what little was left of America That Was. But ATW was and still is the goose that lays the golden eggs for them; without the taxes Real Americans pay, without the wealth generated even yet by the battered remnants of semi-free-market capitalism, all their spendy schemes would die a-borning. So how smart could destroying all that really be?

It may be the ultimate display of weakness to tell one of our greatest adversaries that it’s okay to commit cybercrimes against the vast majority of America’s infrastructure, but we’re going to take it personally if they hit any of these 16. It’s like telling a bully not to hit you in the nose right before they beat the tar out of you.

Most in conservative media (including me) focused on his odd exchange with reporters after, but the content of the discussion he had with Putin ahead of time is the real story. I know in his own mind (or whoever is doing the thinking for him today) he thought he was being strong by threatening to retaliate harshly over certain pieces of infrastructure being hit, but a real leader would say any cyberattacks that harm Americans will be met with an asymmetric response. That’s how we used to do it in the old days and it worked.

Oh, the Biden/Left approach is working too, all too well. You just have to Get Woke to what the real goal is, and what it is not. Their definition of “work” is nothing like ours, that’s all.

Cat toy

Putin is batting Senile Grampy Gropey around like one, and I’m enjoying the hell out of it.

Vladimir Putin sat down with NBC News for his first on-camera interview with a western news agency in more than three years.

For the most part defiant, and in some instances just plain trolling the Biden Administration, Putin showed the citizens of this country, using NBC News, why it is he’s going to wipe the floor with addle-minded Joe Biden as long as he remains in the White House.

“Did you order the assassination of the woman who walked into the Congress and who was shot and killed by a policeman?” Mr Putin said, referring to Ashli Babbitt, a California woman who died during the riot after being shot by a member of US Capitol Police, who was cleared of wrongdoing in her death.

“Do you know that 450 individuals were arrested after entering the Congress? And they didn’t go there to steal a laptop. They came with political demands,” said Mr Putin.

The US, he reasoned, was guilty of the same intolerance for political dissent as his government has been accused of harbouring.

Putting aside for the moment his reference to the death of Ashli Babbitt, his broader point regarding January 6 being a political protest that Democrats have demonized for political advantage is not inaccurate. Yes, some number of individuals — mixed in with the thousands there only to protest — came to the Capitol on January 6 prepared to undertake violent action if the opportunity presented itself.

Izzatso? Name three of ’em. That weren’t actually pAntiFa/BLM/Leftist provocateurs or FBI plants, that is.

More from Putin’s interview:

Putin said the U.S. allegations that Russian hackers or the government itself were behind cyberattacks in the U.S. were “farcical,” and he challenged NBC News, and by implication the U.S. government, to produce proof that Russians were involved.

“We have been accused of all kinds of things,” he said. “Election interference, cyberattacks and so on and so forth. And not once, not once, not one time, did they bother to produce any kind of evidence or proof. Just unfounded accusations.”

Asked about Biden’s criticism that Russia had added to global instability, he accused the U.S. of doing the same in Libya, Afghanistan and Syria. And the Russians aren’t cracking down on internal dissent, he said, any more than the U.S. is doing with its laws against foreign agents.

No doubt the press and Democrats will seize upon his words of praise for Trump but once again Putin is merely trolling both. The context of his comments, and what he says about Biden makes it clear that Putin is happy to see Trump gone as Biden is someone Putin believes will be much easier to manipulate and/or ignore.

More than once, Biden has recounted how he told Putin to his face that he doesn’t “have a soul” during a Kremlin visit in 2011 when he was vice president.


“I do not remember this particular part of our conversations,” Putin said when he was asked about the characterization.

That’s because, as usual with Grampy Gropey, it was a baldfaced lie. He’s always been that way, in case you didn’t know.

Asked what he thought of Biden, Putin said he was a professional and suggested that he could work with him.

Work him over, more like.

“He has spent virtually his entire adulthood in politics,” he said.

“Mr. Trump is an extraordinary individual, talented individual. Otherwise he would not have become U.S. president,” Putin said. “He is a colorful individual.”

But he also stressed the need for “predictability and stability” in Russia’s relationship with the U.S., adding, “This is something we haven’t seen in recent years.”

Keep in mind what I noted at the start — this is Putin’s first interview with a US news organization since 2018. He quit speaking in public during the Trump Administration because President Trump was not shy about responding bluntly and in public to things Putin said or did.

Now he’s taken the measure of the Biden Administration — and he’s happy for the change. He can “work with” Biden, and he’s free to speak out in public without fear of meaningful rebuke or repercussions from the feckless foreign policy team now in charge.

After all, he got Nordstream 2 approved and the Keystone XL pipeline shut down. Energy prices are high, and energy products are the No. 1 export from Russia to the world that keeps the Russian economy afloat.

Putin is going to say whatever he wants to say safe in the knowledge that Biden is unable to formulate or articulate anything other than a rehearsed response.

Well, what else can anybody expect? The raddled old fraud can’t even remember how to tie his own shoes or walk up a flight of stairs without breaking his fool neck. He never was the sharpest knife in the drawer anyway; nowadays, he’s so cognitively bereft he couldn’t find his own ass without using both hands and a compass. He’s nothing but a prop, a puppet, a front for the nefarious shadow-men who are actually in charge. It’s a measure of their contempt for Real Americans that they’d so brazenly foist such a hapless, inept clod on us and fully expect we’d just sit back and take it.

Personally, I’d be perfectly fine with shuffling “President” Gropey on off to some sort of home and installing Putin in the White House instead. God knows we’d be better off with him than the rolling abortion we’re afflicted by currently.

Update! It would take a heart of stone not to laugh.

And laugh, and laugh, and laugh, and laugh.

Home truths

Two articles that are chock-a-block with ’em.

Let’s be honest: the federal government hasn’t looked in tip-top shape for a long time, and now it’s a train wreck waiting to happen.

It’s made up of millions of petty bureaucrats who couldn’t care less about “serving the public.” Rather, they use their sinecures to exert power over (and not on behalf of) Americans and turn a tidy profit in the process. As was made clear while President Trump was in office, the president’s prerogative is routinely thwarted by an unelected administrative Leviathan that has no foundation in the Constitution’s division of government but does move to the Democratic Party’s marching orders. Congress is made up of below-average-intelligence scoundrels and prima donnas who pretend to be statesmen and lawmakers while outside lobbyists, corporate kingmakers, and foreign governments write the laws that punch the rest of us right in the gut. And the federal courts have become home to too many political hacks camouflaged in priestly robes who distort the rule of law in pursuit of partisan objectives.

Notwithstanding the timely re-emergence of fiscal conservatives every few years who promise to have an answer to America’s budgetary crisis and looming financial Armageddon, nobody honestly believes there is any way to arrest America’s runaway debt explosion and unfunded liabilities spiraling past 250 trillion dollars while one quarter of the money supply now in circulation has been created out of thin air in just the last year.

Meanwhile, the U.S. military is engaged in war in some eighty countries — or nearly half the nations on the planet — and most Americans have no idea what kind of fighting is being done on their behalf or why. They do know that while the federal government finds the logistical legerdemain to engage in global conflict, it cannot (and will not) be bothered to use any of that skill to secure the southern border — preferring instead to enable drug-traffickers and criminal gangs to wage war against American citizens while at the same time demanding that Americans relinquish their Second Amendment rights to self-protection.

But do not worry. Have no fear. We have an Intelligence Community in America that is keeping everyone safe by reading all of our emails and text messages, spying on our phone calls, and generally making sure that any American objecting to the State-enforced political correctness struggle sessions of the day be added to the government’s growing list of “extremists.” The same bunch of propagandists who could be counted on to push the Russia hoax for Barack Obama and Hillary Clinton, and who will now make sure that the origins of the Wuhan Virus get covered up for the political benefit of Joe Biden, are the wizards who regularly engage in national disinformation campaigns against the American people for their own good. Was the CIA lying about Russian bounties being paid for the killing of American soldiers in Afghanistan in order to manipulate White House policy? Sure. Is military intelligence pushing UFO sightings today to distract the American people from emerging crises on the horizon? Maybe. Is there any check whatsoever on the powers of the Intelligence Community? Not likely. Does anyone in Congress seem to care? Nope.

Every last syllable a pure, 24-carat nugget of solid-gold Truth. But one way or another, directly or indirectly, all the above can be laid in the lap of the Evil Left.

Yes, I did say Evil. With a capital E. And I meant it, too.

This Weekend We Remember – The Left Is Evil
If you remember one thing this Memorial Day weekend, let it be this — leftists are horrible, cloven-hoofed sub-humans.

The word, “evil” gets tossed around like Marilyn Monroe at the Kennedy compound. Leftists believe voter ID, the wall, ICE, Trump supporters and Christmas are all “evil.” Words are like baseball mitts. The more you use them the softer they become. Kind of like how the word “racist” no longer has meaning.

FACT-O-RAMA: Using a word until it loses its meaning is referred to “semantic satiation.”

Let’s take a look down memory land and look at some classic evil.

He has a little list, consisting of but a few items. That’s okay, though; there’s no way in Hell (ahem) a complete one could ever be compiled, since there are too many new examples every day for any mere mortal to even keep up with. Anybody who tried would probably die from choking on all the sulfur and burning-pitch fumes anyway.

1

Plugs in

Steyn gives us one more perfect Prince Phillip quip, with a Shirley Bassey bonus thrown in.

If you’re a Royal consort, you wind up going to a lot of nights out you have not the slightest interest in, like the Royal Command Performance and the Royal Film Premiere and the like. In November 2002, arriving at the Royal Albert Hall for the world premiere of the James Bond film Die Another Day, His Royal Highness was informed by an excited person in the welcome line that Madonna would be singing the title song. He turned to the Queen, and remarked drily, “So we’ll need earplugs then.”

He was quite right. Shirley Bassey had neglected to bring hers, and so, just a few minutes later, the opening titles and the song ended, and Dame Shirl yelled from the stalls, “Rubbish!” She was quite right, too.

Hey, when you’re right, you’re right.

Enemies in common update! If they’re ag’in him, I’m for him.



I imagine Philip’s “legacy” will be just fine, thanks, whatever caviling PC nudniks may think, say, or do. In fact, I’d wager the Prince will be fondly remembered long after CNN is dead, buried, and forgotten. I’m with the WSJ’s Gerard Baker all the way:

I had the privilege some years ago to be invited to a July 4 dinner at the American ambassador’s residence in London. Queen Elizabeth and Prince Philip were the guests of honor, there presumably to bear witness that, after a couple of centuries, the unfortunate business over the repeated injuries and usurpations inflicted by one of her ancestors had been quietly forgotten.

The ambassador rose to give the not-so-loyal toast.

He began with the inevitable nod to the two nations’ divergent histories, noting that some time earlier, in their great wisdom, his compatriots had decided to go it alone. “Oh yes!” cried the prince from a sedentary position, fortified, no doubt, by a couple of glasses of the embassy’s very good wine. “And how’s that working out for you?” It was a good question then, and it’s more apt than ever now given America’s current predicament. The people that once boldly threw off the tyranny of a distant monarch now seem to be meekly submitting to the diktats of a regnant class and ideology that tolerate less independence of thought and action than King George III did.

As the prince did at that dinner, he had an unerring capacity to ask awkward questions, speak inconvenient truths and challenge polite orthodoxies.

When we are obligated to toe an increasingly stultifying conventional line, the queen’s consort was the human antidote to the virus of verbal oppression that has us in a death grip. You’d search a very long time to find a less woke individual than the duke of Edinburgh.

He got all the right knickers in a twist, and he’s still doing it, which makes him a-okay in my book. The unhappier shitlib types are, the better I like it. Kruiser says it well:

Three cheers to Prince Philip for being able to annoy our worthless woke morons first from beyond an ocean and now from beyond the grave.

I don’t care how rich he was, I would have bought him a drink in a heartbeat.

Rest in peace, Phil.

Amen to that.

Raise ’em Right

Another fine idea whose time has…well, not come, exactly. More like been crammed down our throats.

Whew, digging a 300 square-foot bunker suitable for young children is hard work. My back isn’t what it used to be. So far, we’re 50 feet down in the backyard and are about to pour 10-inch thick WiFi-proof concrete walls. The kids will have goldfish, coloring books, a Kindle that contains all of Western classical literature, Play-Doh, and a hose for drinking water. They’ll be lowered into the hole when they turn six, and we’ll let them climb out when they turn 18.

We plan to tell any nosy neighbors that we sent the kids away to a new progressive anti-racism academy.

Cruel, you say? Not if you’re trying to insulate your precious children from the all-powerful wokeness algorithm. In fact, it’s the only way to be sure.

Will I miss them? Sure, but I’m comforted knowing they’ll be among the few who survive the radioactive wokelear fallout released this year.

Oh, you don’t want to chain your kids up in the basement and seal all the doors? Rather not ship them to an ice floe off Greenland, or a yurt in outer Mongolia?

Then, friends, you’re going to need to become a master of anti-wokeness.

They—you know who I mean—wish to consume your children: skin, muscle, bits, and bone. You must therefore make your children taste awful, like the little orange tree frogs who coat their skin with poison so hungry toucans spit them out. Force society to spit your children out of their ravenous maws. Make your children undesirable. Make them unbearable to the predations of the Left. It’s your job to ensure that the only way to change your kid’s minds is under threat of death, which, if present conditions hold, we may be approaching before they reach adulthood.

No one is pumping the brakes, like, at all. It’s only getting faster. You’re going to have to leap off the train, and push your babies out ahead of you. Fingers crossed you land on a soft patch of hay in a quiet ravine with no Wi-Fi or public schools within 100 miles. But you’ve got no choice. You are their only hope! Do not fail them. If you do nothing else as a parent, you must do this: prevent wokeness from colonizing their developing brains.

I dunno, but I get the feeling that maybe, just maybe, the author intends this piece to be taken as satire—it’s just so hard to tell nowadays. Be that as it may, the first recommendation seems practical enough.

ONE: Speak truth to gender, and never shut up.
I spent years pointing out decrepit junkies by the freeway on-ramp to my kids as a real-life anti-drug lesson. “See that sunburned hobo covered in open sores, Son? When he was a teenager he smoked pot once—once—and now look at him.”

When it comes to gender, beware! Lack of confidence and moral uncertainty in otherwise normal, educated parents have given the Pronoun People an easy port of entry into your child’s hungry cortex, and they are rushing into the breach.

Despite what the clowns running this circus want you to think, it actually IS possible to be 100% certain which gender your baby will identify with, as long as you commit as a parent to stopping entry of brain worms. Fake gender identities are a modern progressive social epidemic induced by the Internet, so it requires some avoidance techniques to prevent this infection.

First, you must shun gender neutrality. Dress your girls like ladies and your boys like off-duty firemen. If your little boy requests to wear a dress to school, tell him firmly that boys do not wear dresses, only girls do, and you refuse to allow him to entertain fantasy notions. If boys are allowed to wear dresses at your school, find a new school. If your children insist there are more than two genders, spend some time at the zoo and challenge them to identify these elusive other genders.

Oughta clear things up nicely, I believe. When it comes to dispelling the shitlib brain-fog, there’s no better fan than reality.

Humblest apologies

For I was wrong, so wrong. SteveF, as is his wont, makes a good point.

I’ll tell you the same thing I told Matt Bracken yesterday: I have no problem with the flag going to half mast because of a few dead hookers. The flag goes to half mast when a retired politician dies, and half a dozen hookers were worth more than almost any politician, working or retired.

Can’t argue, won’t try. What I’d really like to see, though, is for “president” Bai-Ding to bring the bodies of those dear departed Hotlanta dollies to lie in state in the Capitol Rotunda. As Steve says, hooers are just as deserving of the honor as any sleazeball politician, and more so than most of ’em.

In fact, contra my earlier gripe about our national unseriousness, perhaps a start at becoming a more serious country would be to start taking official notice of certain realities. Prostitutes provide a genuinely valuable service to people who need it—the universally-familiar witticism describing prostitution as “the world’s oldest profession” ought to be proof enough of the eternal market for that service to deflate any doubts.

Professional politicians, on the other hand, provide nothing whatsoever that anybody wants, let alone needs. They are not producers, but usurpers. They present themselves to those who create, build, manufacture, repair, &c as a blessing instead of an affliction, persuading the productive class of the essential, existential necessity for a Government Class empowered to organize, regulate, moderate, mediate, and protect all those who actually do useful things. Once they’ve conned the serfs into playing along with the swindle, the Governing Class will straightaway begin the process of gradual exsanguination of the host society, like the parasites they actually are.

Our GC boasts of the “advancement” of the very society forced to drag them along as dead weight; of “improving” the things they ruined; of “rebuilding” the things they destroyed; of implementing “solutions” for the problems they created. They puff out their chests and flatter themselves about how vital, how indispensible they are, when the truth is that we’d all be a lot better off without them. If the entire dismal lot of them were sucked bodily off into outer space tonight, society would waste barely a moment tomorrow wondering where they all might have gone.

They boost “efficiency” via imposing a smothering layer of bureacracy, red tape, and intrusion on the now-“streamlined” organization. They hinder while bragging about the many ways in which they’re helping. To hear these swine tell it, the only sensible way to increase the wealth of ordinary individuals is to confiscate at least a third of their income; sift that ill-gotten gain through the government’s waste, administration, and corruption filters; then hand the poor victims a tiny fraction of their own money back to them as “stimulus,” “reparations,” “benefits,” etc—all of which will be taxed also, of course—even as they constantly remind one and all of the selflessness of their big-hearted “benefactors” in government, without whose generosity all would surely be lost.

When the hapless suckers have gotten a bellyful of having their lifeblood sucked out of them, they may become restive. If so, the Government Class will usually begin to round up the disgruntled opposition to be put on trial (maybe, someday) for “treason,” “insurrection,” “disloyalty,” “incitement,” or “hate speech.” Some could be brought up slightly lesser charges for offenses such as “conspiracy,” “uncooperativeness,” “obstruction” or “interfering” with an arrest, investigation, surveillance, a government agent or agency, or any official procedure, function, or activity.

As the slow implosion of the whole farcical system accelerates, the grip of the Government Class will paradoxically tighten—until one fine day it too fails. At which point all hell breaks loose, and the whole circle-jerk begins anew.

So yeah, I think it’s high time we elevated our Ho’ Class and started viewing those noble, courageous heroes from a different vantage. Hey, if the choice is between them and the GC vermin, I can easily tell ya who gets my vote, six days a week and twice on Sunday. Meanwhile, in light of my aformentioned error, I’ll leave you with this.



Publick Notice

Expect blogging to be sparse over the next several days, as I have just received some intriguing emails notifying me that not only are beautiful, sexy Russian girls acutely interested in meeting me, but Asian ones are as well. Apparently there’s an unexpected shortage of old, sickly, unattractive, and penurious American white males afflicting those locales, which has led to quite a surge in demand. As you can readily imagine, I’m going to need to spend some time investigating this most welcome development, in case my luck has finally turned.

KIDDING. I’m only kidding here, folks. Now, as is reputedly said in Hell: Coffee break’s over, everybody back on your heads.

Poohsecution

You’re gonna get a fair trial, followed by a first-class hanging.

A solemn silence turned collective gasp in the District of Columbia Woke Circuit courtroom as two bailiffs entered the door beside the jury box with the small cream-colored bear suspended between them, his stumpy hind legs wheeling fruitlessly to seek purchase in the unavailing air. The Queen of Hearts, presiding, banged her gavel as the little bear was seated at the table for the defense beside another rather small, darkish, furtive figure.

The Queen of Hearts peered over her half-glasses at the defendant and snarled, “State your full name and residence.”

“Winnie-the-Pooh,” the defendant said. “From the Hundred Acre Wood.”

“What is your personal pronoun?”

The bear looked perplexed. “Oh, bother,” he said. “Nobody I know has such a thing?”

“Of course they do,” the Queen said.

“Perhaps it’s ‘the’,” the bear said.

“That is a definite article, not a pronoun!” the Queen barked. “Are you an imbecile?”

“I’m not sure.  Maybe it’s ‘dear’”—

“That’s enough out of you!” the Queen said. “And let’s have no more impertinence! Do you have counsel?”

“Why, yes,” the bear said. “Mr. Kafka, who is seated beside me.”

“You are mistaken,” the Queen said. “That is a cockroach seated beside you, and the court is displeased to see it. Bailiff, please remove that disgusting cockroach from my court.”

Mr. Kafka, gesticulating in protest with all six arms and legs, had to be dragged out.

“First witness!” the Queen screeched. “Counsel for the prosecution….”

“Calling Uncle Remus,” said the prosecutor, Andrew Weissmann, famous for his exploits in the Enron case and with The Mueller Team in the old Russia collusion days.

An elderly gentleman-of-color with white beard and a kindly face limped forward and took the witness stand.

“Do you know this bear?” Weissmann asked.

“I knows a Brer B’ar,” Uncle Remus said. “But he a black b’ar. Dishyere one a white b’ar.”

“Exactly!” Weissmann said. “Dismissed.”

“Dat all?” Uncle Remus asked.

“It’s plenty,” Weissmann retorted and smirked at the jury, composed of members from the United Federation of Teachers, the Southern Poverty Law Center, and Antifa, who all nodded amongst themselves.

“A white bear!” Weissmann repeated for emphasis, shaking his head. “And not a polar bear, either. A white bear. From England. Think about it…!”

The jurors emitted growls of opprobrium.

Alas for poor Pooh; like so many unassuming, innocuous Normals out there, he never knew what hit him. Kafka himself would be paralyzed with stupefied disbelief at how Kafkaesque the world has become.

CANCELLED!

Right back atcha, assholes.


Any similarity to the numerous recent calls from tolerant, compassionate Lefty diaper-stains for “reeducation” of Trump supporters and their children is purely intentional, and funny as hell. A small, nearly meaningless gesture, perhaps; I can’t imagine that there could be more than the tiniest handful of Biden-Harris voters willing to share the same zip code with a functional firearm, much less looking to buy ammo for one. But who cares, you gotta love it anyway.

No matter who you voted for last November, you’re probably going to be looking high and low to get ahold of any ammunition for the foreseeable future. Everyone I’ve spoken with in the firearms industry expects that demand will remain high for at least the next few months, and with Biden set to move on his gun ban plans in the next few weeks according to press secretary Jen Psaki, I think we’re going to see another surge in interest on the part of Americans; both current gun owners and those prodded off the fence by the Democrats’ attempt to curb their Second Amendment rights.

As for those gun owners, new and old, who cast their vote for Joe Biden; they may have had very good reasons in their mind, but they’re going to be living with the consequences when it comes to being able to protect themselves and their families.

As they damned well should be. After marauding bands of mostly-peaceful home-invaders have stripped them of all their worldly possessions, then set the house afire as they depart the ruins, let Bidentards one and all be roasted to a crispity, crackly crunch for all I care—trapped inside and doomed, unable to escape their grisly fate for want of any effective means of self-defense.

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)

Thrilla in Ma…Phila?

You gotta love this.

Joe Frazier voted this year in Pennsylvania.

Frazier is a former heavyweight boxing champion.

Joe Frazier has been dead since 2011.

He was registered to vote in New Jersey.

It’s like they’re barely even trying at this point.

The end is near!

About damned time, too.

Experts at NASA have discovered a large object heading towards earth, made up completely of Joe Biden ballots. After calculating its mass, the scientists concluded that the meteorite contains approximately 19,000,000,000,000 galactic mail-in-ballots. An astronomical number, indeed.

When asked how they are so sure the ballots aren’t cast for the incumbent, a NASA employee said that there is no evidence that pro-Trump mail-in-ballots even exist in the universe. Team Biden has already promised to grant citizenship to all extraterrestrial aliens, even if they are bent on destroying humanity and devouring mankind.

It will take about 400 years for the meteorite to strike earth. Pending the unavoidable arrival, Fox News has already called this election, as well as all other elections for all eternity, in favor of Biden and any other Democratic candidates running for office throughout the Galaxy.

400 years? Well, no problem, actually. I mean, the debates made it apparent that they’ve gotten reanimating Cadaver Joe’s rotting corpse down to a science. Still, I do kinda hate having to wait that long for SMOD to finally show up.

Well, bye

They keep promising to leave, but they never follow through.

The latest is Bruce Springsteen.

“The Boss,” as people with bad taste in music call him, said he’d be “on the next plane” to Australia if Donald Trump is reelected. “I love Australia. Every time, we have nothing but good times down there. It’s always a treat to come. Love the people, love the geography, great place for motorcycle trips, it’s close to our hearts. If Trump is re-elected – which he will not be; I’m predicting right now he’s gonna lose – if by some happenstance he should be, I’ll see you on the next plane,” Springsteen said in a recent interview.

Added bonus: there’s an incredible variety of the world’s deadliest wildlife Down Under, from insects to seamonsters to snakes and beyond. But let’s get right down to the real meat of this thing, shall we?

I don’t believe he’ll actually leave, and I don’t have any feelings about Bruce Springsteen living in the United States one way or the other. I just think it’s about time we, as a country, acknowledge a universal truth: Bruce Springsteen sucks.

He doesn’t suck because of his politics, though that doesn’t help. He sucks because his music sucks. He can’t sing, and even if he could, his songs suck.

Bruce Springsteen has spent his whole career rewriting the same “story” as a song. Here’s every Springsteen song rolled into one:

Becky’s dad doesn’t approve of the guy she’s dating, probably named Johnny, but she’s not going to let that stop their love. The factory has closed or is about to, making life in this small town even tougher than it was before. The young lovers are going to meet somewhere, probably on the outskirts of town, and go off to start their lives together, even though the odds are stacked against them. (Cue the guitar or horns.)

Enough already. Bruce Springsteen is the most overrated musician in history, followed closely by Jon Bon Jovi, who apes Bruce’s style while spending more time on his hair.

Maybe it’s something about New Jersey that makes crappy musicians, I don’t know. But I do know that being lectured, lyrically or otherwise, about how rough it is out there by a multimillionaire with a guitar and a guy on the payroll whose only job is to rip the sleeves off jean jackets to make him seem “edgy” is not talent, it’s a marketing gimmick.

Seconded, every word of it, with great big bells and a cherry on top. So just this one time, just for once: don’t talk, DO. Far as I’m concerned, the quicker that limousine liberal can put himself in the way of a funnel-web spider, a cassowary, or an eastern brown snake, the happier I’ll be.

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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

“The illusion of freedom will continue as long as it’s profitable to continue the illusion. At the point where the illusion becomes too expensive to maintain, they will just take down the scenery, they will pull back the curtains, they will move the tables and chairs out of the way and you will see the brick wall at the back of the theater.” – Frank Zappa

“The right of a nation to kill a tyrant in case of necessity can no more be doubted than to hang a robber, or kill a flea.” - John Adams

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

"I predict that the Bush administration will be seen by freedom-wishing Americans a generation or two hence as the hinge on the cell door locking up our freedom. When my children are my age, they will not be free in any recognizably traditional American meaning of the word. I’d tell them to emigrate, but there’s nowhere left to go. I am left with nauseating near-conviction that I am a member of the last generation in the history of the world that is minimally truly free." - Donald Surber

"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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