Mini-Mengele done unto death

Julie Kelly tears the Malignant Dwarf a richly-deserved new one.

It’s nearly impossible to select the most maniacal comment made by Dr. Anthony Fauci in his nearly 70-minute interview with “Face the Nation” host Margaret Brennan that aired over the weekend. Joe Biden’s chief coronavirus advisor and miniature global menace spent more than an hour denying responsibility for his documented mistakes, bragging about his self-appointed role as the world’s doctor, hogging credit for the vaccines, and attacking anyone who has challenged his unrivaled ego and track record of failure.

Portraying himself as a victim rather than the cruel, megalomaniacal tyrant he is, Fauci took aim at Donald Trump, Florida Governor Ron DeSantis, Senators Rand Paul (R-Ky.) and Ted Cruz (R-Texas), and Congressional co-sponsors of the “Fire Fauci Act,” which would zero-out the salary of the federal government’s highest-paid bureaucrat and audit Fauci’s correspondence and financial transactions during the pandemic.

While declaring, “I represent science,” Fauci humbly graded the scientific approach to the pandemic an “A+” while incongruently  warning about a “fifth wave” of the virus and explaining away one scientific stumble after another, from useless temperature checks to the need for bi-annual booster shots and randomly claiming the virus spread is “40 to 50 to 60 percent…asymptomatic.” 

Science!

Of all his alarming remarks, however, Fauci’s push to get experimental vaccines for babies and young children to market as quickly as possible is the most depraved. When asked by Brennan, who has spent the better part of two years asking Fauci how to run her life and the lives of 330 million Americans, when he expects vaccines for children between the age of six months and five years to be available, Fauci said he hopes the shots are ready by the beginning of next year. “I would hope it would be in the first quarter because the studies are being done right now on children from two to five and then from six months to two years,” Fauci told Brennan. “I don’t think there’s going to be an issue with efficacy. But when you’re dealing with children, it’s a very sensitive area. And that’s the reason why [it] may take a little bit longer.”

When parents question whether it’s necessary to vaccinate children, Fauci replies that, “yeah, we do want to be vaccinating the children because we want to vaccinate and protect everyone in society, including children.”

Now, that is not the conclusion of a sound man of science, as Fauci again insisted he is in the interview, or even a man of common sense and humanity—that is the raving of a madman.

Good, toothsome stuff so far, all of it. Following the above up with “demon,” “sociopath,” “sadist” and worse, though, serves notice to one and all that Our Jules, bless her savage heart, was only warming up.

In a just world, Anthony Fauci would be giving lengthy television interviews clad in an orange jumpsuit from the confines of a federal penitentiary. Aside from his crimes against humanity, especially the tragic toll on senior citizens and young people, Fauci has clearly committed a number of crimes including lying to Congress and the American people in his official capacity and misappropriating federal funds on ghoulish scientific experiments.

Disagree with the first sentence of that last ‘graph, muchly. No, in a truly just world this half-pint homunculus would be dangling by his scrawny neck from a high gibbet in some remote and lonely wood, his bulging eyes pecked at by ravens, his tangled, dripping entrails ripped loose from his flabby gut to sway gently with the midnight breeze, there to be the plaything of bobcats happily batting away at the rancid, gory goo with razor-sharp claws. Squadrons of buzzards would tear his putrefying flesh into bloody gobbets for their dining pleasure, swarms of blackflies the only crown ever to adorn this bargain-basement Messiah’s empty head—thorns being well above the station of such a lowly, miserable villein as he.

After all that, Fauxci’s unlamented corpus would, ideally, be left to hang in disgrace for a full month at minimum, speedily shrinking beyond its already laughably-diminutive stature due to the parallel ravages of carrion-beasts and the natural processes of decomposition—the noisome gases repeatedly belched forth in a cannonade of horror and shame; the fleshly shroud peeling back to commend the ghastly, undersized skeleton to the attentions of beasts inclined to gnaw and worry at such; whatever small dignity this sad, no-account wretch somehow managed to scrape up and retain over the course of a misspent existence suddenly collapsing into a vague, barely-perceptible feeling of shame—the kind that tugs weakly at a better man’s sleeve as he passes by, causing him not to slow down so as to either pay heed or offer respect for the departed, but to speed his pace, his departure made with a brief flash of mild annoyance at the useless distraction caused by one entirely unworthy of his, or anyone else’s, consideration.

Then, after the Animal Kingdom and nature’s elemental fury had all consumed their fill, the tattered, stinking remainders would be cut down and unceremoniously kicked into some unknown and unvisited crevasse or ravine, there to be reunited at long last with Mother Earth, whether She will or She nil—nobody asked what Her preference might be, I suspect—in the fullness of time to be erased from all memory of this mortal coil, all his futile works and flights if egotistical fancy gone and most definitely forgotten as well.

Now THAT, I think, is more like it. As I said the other night: why this contemptible gnome, this pluperfect Grey Man of Government, hasn’t been the recipient of some long-distance rifle-round lurvs way before now is beyond my ken. It’s baffling, is what it is, and I can see no explanation for it.

5

One for Big Country

I’m QUITE sure he knows about this deal already, but just in case it got by him somehow.

EXOTHERMIC TECHNOLOGIES PULSEFIRE LRT FLAMETHROWER, OD GREEN – PF-LRT
$799.99 $599.99

FEATURES:
The patent-pending Pulsefire is the ultimate compact, lightweight, fully handheld flamethrower that sends a blast of fire 25 feet away with the press of a button. Fill it like any other outdoor tool. With the system off, unscrew the cap and pour in gasoline or a gas/diesel mixture. When the battery gets low, take it out and charge it or swap in a spare to keep bringing the heat. The Exothermic Technologies Pulsefire is the safest and most effective way to apply fire at a distance. Includes everything you need to get up and running, besides fuel!

Is there a reason I immediately thought of BCE when I saw Bill’s mention, you ask? Why, yes. Yes, there is. Tried to embed the blasted vidya but it didn’t seem to be an option, so you’ll just have to motor on down to the end of the post to see it. Trust me, the maniacal laughter alone is well worth the wear and tear on your scrolling finger.

2

Golden opportunity: JUMPED ALL OVER

I may attempt a post later on the closing arguments in the Rittenhouse Kangaroo-Court Show, or then again I may not. What I do want to get to right away is the golden opportunity emphasized below:

Richards (the defense attorney) has finally woken up. Although he’s still not the clearest-thinking or most articulate guy in the world, he is hitting most of the most important points.

He called the prosecution’s dishonest photo manipulation “Hocus pocus that’s out-of-focus.” Rekeita’s panel liked this. Pretty cornpone.

“Cornpone”? Au contraire, mon frere. In my own estimation, at least, which is that Richards may have been giving a wry, undercover shout-out that Ace didn’t pick up on.



The golden opportunity I’m talking about is the serendipitous chance to expand on last night’s “offend the Progtards to death, literally” post and, better yet, to toss a third post into this here hat too.

Y’all may or may not remember the story about some moronic Wokeist bint proposing in a NYT op-ed that the next candidate for erasure from Western cultural history her fellow mental defectives needed to consider setting their sights on was classic rock. As you would expect, my response to said fascist bint was then and ever shall be the usual resounding Not just no, but HELL no, amongst several other choice expletives, personal insults, and marrow-freezing threats of crippling bodily injury and/or death.

So essentially what we have with the above embedded vidya might be thought of as sort of a lather, rinse, repeat. Of which I got plenty more, and ain’t a-skeered to use ’em, either, for as long as it takes these meddlesome, dictatorial baglappers to either give up and go home, or else wind up shot in their fucking empty gourd by some fed-up-and-then-some Deep Purple fan like, say, myself, don’t care which. I say again: Now go ahead and try to tell me something else you think you’ll forbid me to do, Proggy shitstain.

1

Words mean things…until they don’t

In order to subvert and then bring down any free society, first the Marxist counterrevolutionary must degrade the very language itself into a tangled, incomprehensible thicket of utter meaninglessness and confusion.

I have been writing a lot about the politically inspired perversion of language. The name “Orwell” crops up in any such discussion, as does the word “Newspeak,” that twisted mode of language that Orwell outlined in the appendix to Nineteen Eighty-Four. The goal of Newspeak, Orwell said, was to replace standard English with a sharply diminished patois whose linguistic poverty was its prime political advantage. By reducing the suppleness of language, the elites who controlled society hoped also to reduce dissent — not only the activity of dissent, but also the thoughts and emotions that guided it.

This has been a perennial dream of budding totalitarians, from the French Revolution to the varieties of communist tyranny. In our own society, the disease began, as do so many species of spiritual sickness, in the university, but it has metastasized into the body politic, infecting primary and secondary education, the media, commerce and even government. The current name of this nightmare is “wokeness,” but a swamp by any name smells as bad.

Hold the presses! The American Medical Association, together with the Association of American Medical Colleges, have just issued Advancing Health Equity: A Guide To Language, Narrative And Concepts. Is this the item of supreme self-infatuation that will begin the great awakening from wokeness? Maybe.

From first sentence to last, the aroma of scolding virtucratic entitlement is by turns noxiously cloying and comically rebarbative.

For the comedy, try on these opening words: “The field of equity, like all other scholarly domains…” You snorted, didn’t you? You know that “equity” — which is Newspeak for Marxoid attacks on private property and merit-based advancement — is not a “field,” much less a “scholarly field,” but a vapid epithet chosen because it conjures edifying moral associations.

I freely acknowledge that I’m just an elderly, out-of-it old geezer and all. Nonetheless, I seem to recall that back in the Cretaceous Period “equity” usually referred to the amount a homeowner has invested in his house, determined by the total of all mortgage payments made so far. His equity, if sizeable enough to qualify, could then be used as, say, a down payment to secure a second mortgage or other loan.

All of which has been redesignated by the Good People™ as nothing but racist, white supremacist Hate Speech by now, I’m sure. Maybe the aged and decrepit “equality” just wasn’t working well enough to be effective as a club against their hated enemies anymore, huh?

No sooner have we stumbled over the “field of equity” than we’re clobbered with a “Land and Labor Acknowledgement.” The Association of American Medical Colleges’ headquarters is “located in Washington, D.C., the traditional homelands of the Nacotchtank, Piscataway and Pamunkey people.” The headquarters of the AMA — the American Medical Association, for God’s sake — are “located in the Chicago area on taken ancestral lands of indigenous tribes, such as the Council of the Three Fires, composed of the Ojibwe, Odawa and Potawatomi Nations, as well as the Miami, Ho-Chunk, Menominee.”

It never stops. We must use capital-B “Black” when referring to black people but never capital-W “white.” “It is critical,” we are told, “to address all areas of marginalization and inequity due to sexism, class oppression, homophobia, xenophobia and ableism.” Whom have we left out?

At the center of this compact of rancid woke vocables are a number of tables listing deprecated words or locutions alongside their approved, “equity-centered” alternatives. Don’t say “illegal immigrant.” Say “undocumented immigrant,” because “illegal is a dehumanizing, derogatory term used to describe a person who resides in a country without proper documentation. No human being is illegal.” We can leave that ontological assertion to one side: plenty of human beings engage in illegal behavior, and that’s what we’re talking about here.

We’re not supposed to say “minority” anymore, but rather “historically marginalized or minoritized or BIPOC.” Don’t say “sex.” Say “sex assigned at birth.” Don’t say “slave.” Say “enslaved person.” Spartacus always did that, didn’t he? And I am sure the Islamic slavers in Africa are careful about their language right now, today.

Okay, I am so tuckered out and weary of all this happy horseshit that I’m willing to go all the way out to the very tip-end of the limb I’ve been forced onto at this point.

SO. You Leftard goosesteppers think you can tell ME what I’m allowed to say and not say, do you? Let’s just see how that works out for ya.

“Hate Speech” that I might or might not use, according strictly to my own whim, mood, or wish to piss all over some random Woke idiot in hopes that the inferno of apoplectic fury ignited in him will bring on a heart attack powerful enough to kill his stupid ass dead

Nigger, jigaboo, spearchucker, spook, burrhead, coon, bluegum, moon cricket • Jewboy, kike, yid, Bronx indian, Christ-killer • Limey, Pom, Frog, Hun, Jerry, Mick, bogtrotter, Dago, Guido, Wop • Spick, beaner, wetback, greaseball, taco bender • Raghead, sand nigger, camel jockey, Muzzrat • Chink, dink, zipperhead, slant, slope, gook • Dyke, bull-dagger, flatrocker, lesbo • Faggot, queer, rump ranger, ass pirate, turd burglar • Slut, tramp, roundheels, cockhound, THOT, cum dumpster • Honkey, cracker, white-ass, Casper, blue eyed devil, Yacoub

And if all that ain’t offensive enough to jack any shitlib’s blood pressure straight up to lethal levels and beyond, I got one more arrow in the quiver:

LET’S GO BRANDON!!!!

Now go ahead and try to tell me something else you think you’ll forbid me to do, Proggy shitstain.

Fake news

Not that I don’t believe absolutely in seizing all imaginable opportunities to slam the sorry bastards, but the “Fake White House” story really is much ado about nothing, I’m afraid. Or, shall we say, virtually nothing.

Fact Check-A fake set was not created for Biden’s COVID-19 booster shot
A misleading claim is circulating on social media sites that U.S. President Joe Biden received his booster shot for COVID-19 on a ‘fake White House set.’

A Twitter post (here) says, “Why did Joe Biden just give an interview from a fake Oval Office in a fake White House?”

The President’s immunization filming occurred at an actual location on the White House grounds.

According to Speeches and Remarks listed on the White House website (here), the Sept. 27 event was filmed and photographed at the South Court Auditorium located in the Eisenhower Executive Office Building. This building serves as the office of White House staff (here) and rests on the grounds of the White House next to the West Wing. A 2020 YouTube video captured during the Trump administration, which features a West Wing and Eisenhower Executive Office tour, is visible  here.

VERDICT
Missing context. The set used during press coverage of the President was not fake or at a fake White House. A Reuters photographer present described the set to be decorative, and it is in the South Court Auditorium located in the Eisenhower Executive Office Building.

Unsurprising in the extreme, how the shitlib propagandists at Rooters so valiantly leaped onto their snow-white chargers to ride to the rescue of their Kabuki State masters in their very hour of need, no? As I said, the whole “scandal” is perfectly explainable—a highly unusual case of FederalGovCo sleight of hand behind which there is really nothing whatever sinister. That said, though, there IS a slight problem with the overeager Rooters “debunking” above, which Bill caught right away.

The EEOB is not “the White House.” It is an entirely separate building. Even if the paid professional hack liars of Reuters received an invitation to The White House, they would not journey to the EEOB, because it is not The White House. Nor are any other structures on the grounds of the White House that are separate from the White House itself “The White House.”

So, the bottom line is: Reuters “debunked” the claim that the Joetato received his booster shot in a fake White House Office, by demonstrating that the “office” was a set (fake office) constructed in a building (the EEOB) which is not the White House.

Ooooops.

As for the fake booster shot, I know which way I’d bet.

I’ve assumed right along that all the higher-tier ProPols showily LEADING THE WAY! by making their “vaccinations” public were actually receving a dose of saline or the like, particularly once scads of people started dropping like Tasered fawns all the place after offering themselves up to the Überreich as candidates to play the “Lab Rat” role. I may have to rethink that assumption after Kommisar Newsome so delightfully keeled over the way he did, though.

Either way, the FWH setup makes perfect sense to anybody who has ever been professionally involved in movie production, TeeWee, or recording-studio work. If you haven’t, allow me to assure you that setting up any kind of stage or set for broadcasting, audio or film recording, or videotaping purposes is a mind-bendingly slow, intricate, and backbreaking procedure. There are so many gears that must mesh flawlessly to make the magic happen: mics and/or other pickups must be exactly placed and, if directional, properly aimed; multitrack audio levels and EQ’s must be properly adjusted, both individually and in relation to each other; cameras must be placed correctly; many, MANY lights must be hung, pointed, and checked; light levels, which will change constantly as the day wears on for outdoor scenes, must be measured and fine-tuned; ambient noise must be suppressed, if not eliminated altogether.

And that’s just the start of it. Then, on a film or TV set, throw in the miles and miles of cable required so the audio, camera, monitoring, and other systems I ain’t even gonna bring up can connect and “talk” to each other, as well as the even MORE miles and miles of electrical cords to power all that gear. All that and plenty more besides—schlepping, uncrating, stringing, hanging, hooking up, adjusting, testing 1-2-1-2-1-2, fiddling with, checking again, etc etc etc—has to happen before the crew has so much as shot a single inch of film, the band has struck its opening chord in the tracking room, or your local fluffy anchorthing has begun primping in the back of the Nitwitness News!!! mobile-unit van.

And then, at the end of the long, long day, everything has to be carefully packed up, reloaded onto the trucks in an organized fashion, and hauled back to the warehouse. Next morning: lather, rinse, repeat.

So yeah, I can’t find much to get in a lather over if somebody on the White House production crew got the bright idea of using a pre-prepped set for presidential speeches, announcements, press conference meat-beatery, and such—one that didn’t have to be broken down and then reassembled every damned day. Fake it might be, but what it also is is sensible, practical, and efficient. Might be nice if one of those well-paid Barad Dur minions could carve out a minute to see to it that the fake scenery visible through the fake window in the fake president’s fake office more closely lines up with what season it is outside, sure. But what the heck.

After the endless barrage of shit sandwiches our Mordor on the Potomac masters have rammed down our gullets one after another the past nigh on two years, a Fake White House soundstage isn’t all that difficult to swallow, seems to me. Nor is it anywhere near the nastiest-tasting thing we’ve had to gag down, not by a long yard. How wonderful it would be if this was the biggest, most dangerous issue Real Americans had to worry about, eh?

2

My apologies

It hit me ike a brick in the teeth on the way from work tonight just how badly I screwed the pooch with my “Brandon drops a deuce” title. What I should have gone with, what I fervently wish I had gone with, is this: Brandon drops an Il Dook-ay. Y’know, since the ***”Presidential”*** loss of bowel control took place in Italy and all.

Mea culpa, folks, mea maxima culpa. That is all. As you were.

3

Britrising

Fed-up Limey commuters show the world how it’s done.

Fuming motorists chuck ink at Insulate Britain protesters as they prepare to block A40

The subhed is a keeper:

After Insulate Britain intensified their tactics this week by gluing themselves to roads, angry commuters have responded this morning with a sticky substance of their own

Fuming motorists have drenched Insulate Britain protesters in ink today as the activists once again blocked London’s roads during this morning’s rush hour.

The eco warriors decided to target both the A40 and M25 today, but were met with fierce resistance from commuters.

Pictures from the scene on the A40 show gloomy activists with deep blue ink trickling down their faces and hi-vis uniforms.

One of the inked activists, 77-year-old retired doctor Christian, told the Metro that the inking was “unpleasant” but not painful.

He said: “The whole thing is sad, it is sad that we have to do this.

Not quite, bub. No, the truly sad thing is that—thanks to an unappetizing bouillabaise on your part of ignorance and boundless, insufferable self-righteousness—you deluded, Chicken Little rectards THINK you “have to do this.”

Footage from the A40 showed one angry motorist ripping away the group’s banners, demanding they “get out the road” before encouraging others stuck in the traffic to assist his removal efforts.

On Monday, one protester had to be forcibly unglued after sticking his cheek to the road at the corner of Camomile Street and Bishopsgate in the City of London.

He was eventually carried into a police van by two officers.

Weeping copiously from the agony of having one entire side of his fucking face ripped away and left on the motorway, one must hope. A pic of the freshly Smurfinated old fart is included, about which a commenter quips: “Old guy should be happy doesn’t he realize people pay a lot of money to have their faces tattooed just like that he got his for free…” To which I can only add: Heh.

Update! Clue to newly-blue and clueless.

Modern doomsayers have been predicting climate and environmental disaster since the 1960s. They continue to do so today.

None of the apocalyptic predictions with due dates as of today have come true.

What follows is a collection of notably wild predictions from notable people in government and science.

More than merely spotlighting the failed predictions, this collection shows that the makers of failed apocalyptic predictions often are individuals holding respected positions in government and science.

While such predictions have been and continue to be enthusiastically reported by a media eager for sensational headlines, the failures are typically not revisited.

There’s fifty of ’em, and even that barely scratches the surface of this stupidity.

4

New York tough

Much as I’ve enjoyed myself poking fun at DeBalledZero-era NYC, I still do think fondly of it as a sort of alternate Old Home Place for me. And if there’s one guy who might possibly save the Big Rotten Apple from itself a la Giuliani, it would have to be the great Curtis Sliwa.

This cat’s got nine lives.

Feline-friendly GOP mayoral candidate Curtis Sliwa — who once survived a botched alleged mob takedown — was hit by a cab Friday, breaking his left arm, but still proceeded on his way to a radio show before going for treatment at Lenox Hill Hospital, the pol and his wife said.

“As I was running here to fulfill the hour that I had purchased for this expose on Eric Adams, I was hit by the cab driver, thrust about 6 feet in the air right outside Rockefeller Center, where the Rockettes perform,” Sliwa said on WABC radio Friday afternoon during a paid spot he’d taken out on a show to go after his opponent, Democrat Eric Adams.

“I have a feeling this cab driver and others thought that I was dead,” Sliwa said about 45 minutes after the run-in.

“I flew in the air about 6 feet, scurried up and started running in order to get here in time. I just want to relieve that cab driver because I’m sure that cab driver thought that he had killed me. … I was trying to beat the light and get to the other side before the changeover,” Sliwa continued.

His wife, Nancy Sliwa, later issued a statement saying, “Curtis has been diagnosed with a fractured left arm, which requires a sling.

“In addition, he has swelling on his left knee, which will require an ace bandage wrap.  There is no internal bleeding.”

The candidate quipped on Twitter after the accident, “Don’t worry, everyone. The taxi is okay.”

That’s about as Noo Yawk a story as Noo Yawk stories come, as well as being one hundred proof vintage Sliwa too. Godspeed, Curtis, and good on ya. NYC needs you, about as badly as it’s ever needed anybody. If you can’t get the job done, the only hope left for The City is probably Batman.

3

Obnoxious child playing in the street

Boy, talk about a problem that solves itself.

A climate activist in Vancouver who is part of the infamous group Extinction Rebellion has gone so far as to literally glue herself to a road.

This group is really going for it with their full-blown plan to take down the establishment and save the planet during its “October Rebellion,” which sounds promising but has done nothing but get 33 of them arrested (so far).

When one of their members named Tara glued herself to the road, they couldn’t have been more proud and ecstatic!

Yeh, I bet so. Just try and imagine how proud and ecstatic I’m gonna be when I binge-watch the upcoming YT vid of her stupid ass getting run over and squashed like a mosquito by a big fucking K-whopper T680 pulling doubles.

6

Right back atcha, Slick

So how ya liking that sauce there, Gander?

Black students in Georgia were suspended for planning a protest after white students waved a Confederate flag and allegedly used racial slurs
A group of Black students in Georgia was suspended after they planned a protest in response to white students who waved a Confederate flag and reportedly used racial slurs against Black students while at school earlier in the month.

Students at Coosa High School in Rome, Georgia, were captured on video waving the Confederate flag during a spirit day event, but the students did not face disciplinary action from school officials, a student at the school told WGCL-TV.

The incident led other students to plan a protest against racism. The student organizer, Jaylynn Murray, told WGCL-TV that the Confederate flag “is a racist symbol” and “it makes me feel disrespected.”

Aww, did poor widdle snowflake get hims feewings all hurted? Nut up, punk, and get the fuck over it.

A recording of an announcement made over the school intercom last week obtained by the outlet said students should not participate in a protest, warning they’d be “disciplined for encouraging unrest.”

And so they were. Looks like Zero Tolerance for CRT-pimping race-hate mongers is the order of the day at this school, and I for one am all for that.

The protest organizers, comprised of a group of Black, Latinx, and white students, were called to the front office to discuss the demonstration with administrators, the students said, according to the report. During the meeting, the organizers said they argued with school officials over the lack of actions against their classmates who they said used racial slurs against Black students, WGCL-TV reported.

As many MAGA protesters, anti-pAntiFa and -BurnLootMurder counter-protesters, and other Real Americans have learned—via having been beaten bloody while cops looked on and did nothing, or being hauled off and gulagged indefinitely without benefit of legal counsel or bail—life ain’t fair, Buttercup. Deal with it.

Then, the students said administrators suspended only the Black students involved in organizing the protest, even though other non-Black students involved told WGCL-TV they had also been disruptive and argumentative with school administrators.

Ibid, fuckface.

“They didn’t suspend me and I was yelling and loud. It’s because I’m white,” student Lilyan Huckaby told the outlet.

I suggest you cavil and kvetch less and count your blessings more, young ‘un. Might also want to consider cracking a book now and then, which will accrue to your benefit much more than getting suspended, locked up, and/or doing hard time ever will.

“We’re not allowed to wear Black Lives Matter shirts or the LGBTQ flag, but kids can have Confederate flags, and they have said nothing,” a student told the outlet.

Which is precisely as it should be, far as I’m concerned. But hey, here’s a novel idea: how about you kids just drop the whole “protest” gig altogether and spend the school day attending to your fucking studies, eh? I know I run the risk of making the baby Jesus cry by making such an outlandish, impractical, and unfair suggestion, but you kids are in school for a goddamned reason. And “protest” DEFINITELY ain’t it.

A video posted by WGCL-TV’s Hayley Mason on Oct. 8 shows students protesting and shouting: “No Justice, No Peace.”

Ahh, exactly what I was waiting for from these little pukes: the direct and explicit threat of violence and disorder as redress for imaginary grievances. It’s as predictable as the sunrise any time they don’t get their way.

4

Putting it straight

Not sure where I ran across this one—it’s been just sitting quietly on my desktop for days now, waiting for me to make some P-shop adjustments and then put it to good use here—and I can’t say I know who this Langan fellow might be, either. But I dunno, the part I highlighted in blue just tickled me no end.

Don’t hold back, Chris, tell us how you really feel.

4

Happy Columbus Day Victory Over Indigenous Peoples Day!

The straight dope about the man, facts they don’t teach in government schools.

The explorer Christopher Columbus made four trips across the Atlantic Ocean from Spain: in 1492, 1493, 1498 and 1502. He was determined to find a direct water route west from Europe to Asia, but he never did. Instead, he stumbled upon the Americas. Though he did not really “discover” the so-called New World—millions of people already lived there—his journeys marked the beginning of centuries of exploration and colonization of North and South America.

Christopher Columbus, the son of a wool merchant, is believed to have been born in Genoa, Italy, in 1451. When he was still a teenager, he got a job on a merchant ship. He remained at sea until 1476, when pirates attacked his ship as it sailed north along the Portuguese coast.

The boat sank, but the young Columbus floated to shore on a scrap of wood and made his way to Lisbon, where he eventually studied mathematics, astronomy, cartography and navigation. He also began to hatch the plan that would change the world forever.

At the end of the 15th century, it was nearly impossible to reach Asia from Europe by land. The route was long and arduous, and encounters with hostile armies were difficult to avoid. Portuguese explorers solved this problem by taking to the sea: They sailed south along the West African coast and around the Cape of Good Hope.

But Columbus had a different idea: Why not sail west across the Atlantic instead of around the massive African continent? The young navigator’s logic was sound, but his math was faulty. He argued (incorrectly) that the circumference of the Earth was much smaller than his contemporaries believed it was; accordingly, he believed that the journey by boat from Europe to Asia should be not only possible, but comparatively easy via an as-yet undiscovered Northwest Passage. 

He presented his plan to officials in Portugal and England, but it was not until 1492 that he found a sympathetic audience: the Spanish monarchs Ferdinand of Aragon and Isabella of Castile.

Columbus wanted fame and fortune. Ferdinand and Isabella wanted the same, along with the opportunity to export Catholicism to lands across the globe. (Columbus, a devout Catholic, was equally enthusiastic about this possibility.)

Columbus’ contract with the Spanish rulers promised that he could keep 10 percent of whatever riches he found, along with a noble title and the governorship of any lands he should encounter.

Today, Columbus has a controversial legacy—he is remembered as a daring and path-breaking explorer who transformed the New World, yet his actions also unleashed changes that would eventually devastate the native populations he and his fellow explorers encountered.

The consensus view on Columbus the man is, and has been for many years, that he was in fact something of a grubby, treacherous little prick. I like the guy anyway, though, seeing as how the mere mention of his name usually reduces shitlibs to frothing paroxysms of rage, almost all of it centered on the “genocide” he unleashed on “Native Americans,” ie, the Red Injun. But the fact is, Columbus never even set foot on what we today know as American soil, thus never “genocided” any American Injuns, nor even set eyes on one to my knowledge. More little-known facts, randomly plucked from both hither and yon. First, the hither:

3. He Was a Cheapskate
On his famous 1492 voyage, Columbus had promised a reward of gold to whoever saw land first. A sailor named Rodrigo de Triana was the first to see land on October 12, 1492: a small island in the present-day Bahamas Columbus named San Salvador. Poor Rodrigo never got the reward, however: Columbus kept it for himself, telling everyone he had seen a hazy sort of light the night before. He had not spoken up because the light was indistinct. Rodrigo may have gotten hosed, but there is a nice statue of him sighting land in a park in Seville.

4. Half of His Voyages Ended in Disaster
On Columbus’ famed 1492 voyage, his flagship the Santa Maria ran aground and sank, causing him to leave 39 men behind at a settlement named La Navidad. He was supposed to return to Spain loaded with spices and other valuable goods and knowledge of an important new trade route. Instead, he returned empty-handed and without the best of the three ships entrusted to him. On his fourth voyage, his ship rotted out from under him and he spent a year with his men marooned on Jamaica.

5. He Was a Terrible Governor
Grateful for the new lands he had found for them, the King and Queen of Spain made Columbus governor in the newly-established settlement of Santo Domingo. Columbus, who was a fine explorer, turned out to be a lousy governor. He and his brothers ruled the settlement like kings, taking most of the profits for themselves and antagonizing the other settlers. Although Columbus instructed his settlers to make sure that the Tainos on Hispaniola be protected, during his frequent absences, the settlers rampaged the villages, robbing, raping, and enslaving. Disciplinary actions by Columbus and his brother were met with open revolt.

It got so bad that the Spanish crown sent an investigator, who took over as governor, arrested Columbus, and sent him back to Spain in chains. The new governor was far worse.

8. He Never Believed He Had Found a New World
Columbus was looking for a new passage to Asia… and that’s just what he found, or so he said until his dying day. In spite of mounting facts that seemed to indicate that he had discovered lands previously unknown, he continued to believe that Japan, China and the court of the Great Khan were very close to the lands he had discovered. Isabella and Ferdinand knew better: the geographers and astronomers they consulted knew the world was spherical and estimated that Japan was 12,000 miles from Spain (correct if you go by ship heading eastward from Bilbao), while Columbus held out for 2,400 miles.

According to biographer Washington Irving (1783–1859), Columbus even proposed a ridiculous theory for the discrepancy: that the Earth was shaped like a pear, and that he had not found Asia because of the part of the pear that bulges out towards the stem. At court, it was the width of the ocean westward that was in question, not the shape of the world. Fortunately for Columbus, the Bahamas was located about the distance he expected to find Japan.

By the end of his life, he was a laughingstock in Europe because of his stubborn refusal to accept the obvious.

Next, the yon:

7. He was stranded in Jamaica
When Columbus sailed for the New World for the last time, shipworms gnawed parts of his fleet, forcing him to abandon two ships and land on modern-day Jamaica. He and his crew were stranded, but the native Arawak Indians welcomed them and fed them for months.

8. A lunar eclipse saved Columbus in Jamaica
As months dragged on, Columbus’ crew mutinied, robbed and murdered some of the Arawaks. To quell the chaos, Columbus pretended to bring down the wrath of God. He had a copy of an astronomical almanac, which predicts a total lunar eclipse. Three days before the celestial event, Columbus requested an audience with the Arawak chief, saying that his God was angry for the lack of provisions for his men and that he would send a sign of his displeasure.

True enough, the moon turned a blood-red colour and terrified the natives. The Arawaks asked Columbus to intercede, promising to provide for them if his God restores the moon. Columbus pretended to pray in his cabin and emerged only when the eclipse has subsided. The Arawaks then provided for them until a caravel from Hispaniola arrived to fetch them.

9. Columbus didn’t prove that the Earth was round
Many credit the discovery of a round Earth to Columbus, but he wasn’t the first to prove it. Humans have known that the Earth was round since ancient Greece, so this wasn’t a surprising fact, even for Christopher Columbus. The Greeks observed the movements of the sun and other planetary properties to conclude that the Earth was a sphere. What he wanted to do was to create a sea route across the Atlantic towards Asia.

11. He miscalculated the Earth’s circumference
It’s a little-known fact that Christopher Columbus had many miscalculations during his journeys. He underestimated the circumference of the Earth by 25%. Also, his estimate of the naval distance to Marco Polo’s great port of Cathay was inaccurate.

12. His famous ships had nicknames
Columbus’ ships are known as Niña, Pinta and Santa Maria, but the first two are likely nicknames. In Columbus’ time, it was custom to name ships after saints and then give them a simpler moniker. The real name of Niña was Santa Clara, while Santa Maria’s nickname was La Gallega, after Galicia, where it was built. Pinta’s real name is unknown.

17. His death caused three decades of legal proceedings
When Columbus died, his heirs filed lawsuits known as the Pleitos colombinos against the Crown of Castile and Leon to assert the rewards for discovering the New World for Spain. Legal proceedings lasted three decades until the Crown granted honorific titles to Columbus’ grandson.

Whatever his personal flaws and failings, Christopher Columbus was inarguably a most intriguing man, as all great explorers tend to be. My own fondness for him dates back to my NYC days, when every Fall the annual controversy over the Columbus Day Parade would predictably erupt like a modern-day Mt Vesuvius. In one corner: Kid Shitlib, spluttering hysterically for all the stale reasons you’d expect. In the other: Dago Red, who had long since adopted Columbus as the symbolic Trevi Fountain from whence springs all Italian-American heritage, history, and pride.

Oh, but the yearly battle over the big Columbus Day Parade was epic, with Kid Shitlib rope-a-doping in hopes of permanently ending this shameful celebration of racism, imperialism, slavery, and genocide through legal and political maneuvering. Meanwhile, the pugnacious Dago Red would charge doggedly straight into the fray, vowing that if the City didn’t fund, manage, and endorse the shindig officially this year, they’d do it all themselves and to hell with everybody. Which, I’m sure they would have at that, if only for spite, and more power to ’em.

On the glorious day itself, the Eyeties would emerge en masse from their Mulberry Street enclave to march alongside the Parade as it wound its way along Fifth Ave, their backs straight and jaws jutting in open challenge to the shitlib pussies to man up and start some shit. The shitlibs, in keeping with their own rich Columbus Day tradition, would limit expression of their disapproval and protest to weeping piteously in terror, pleading for mercy from the intimidating Wop palookas enjoying the parade, flapping their noodle-like arms in frustration, then speedily retiring further uptown to take part in the annual public beat-off contest on the steps of Saint Ignatius Loyola church.

Yep, those were the days alright.

Update! Because OF COURSE he did.

On Monday, Ron DeSantis did something which surely steamed the Left.

Again.

Florida’s governor signed a proclamation honoring Columbus Day.

“Columbus Day commemorates the life and legacy of the Italian explorer who made Europeans conscious of the existence of the New World,” he observed, “and whose travels opened the door for the development of European settlements in the Western Hemisphere, which would ultimately lead to the establishment of the United States of America.”

That ain’t even the half of it, as you will find out when you click on over and read the rest.

4

The greatest news item in the history of EVER

Medals of Honor all around, I think. Silver Stars at the very least.

Confederate Flag Raised, US and German Flags Stolen at 2nd Cavalry Regiment Headquarters
GRAFENWOEHR, Germany — Military police are investigating after a Confederate flag was found flying from a flagpole outside 2nd Cavalry Regiment headquarters Monday and removed upon discovery, Army officials said.

An American flag and a German flag also were stolen from inside the headquarters building in Vilseck sometime between Sunday night and Monday morning by an unknown person, regiment spokesman Maj. John Ambelang said.

The incident at Rose Barracks, which is home to a regiment of about 4,800 soldiers, comes more than a year after the Defense Department effectively banned the Confederate flags and other symbols deemed divisive from public display on military bases.

“The regiment takes this misconduct very seriously,” Ambelang said in a statement. “Should the culprit be identified, the command will take appropriate action after considering all the facts surrounding the incident.”

I already told ya what the appropriate action ought to be. Sadly, the Maje is probably not in concurrence with my own view.

Commanders across the regiment conveyed the seriousness of the situation to soldiers at a morning formation, the statement said.

Neither the theft nor the display of the Confederate battle flag align with the Army’s values, Ambelang said.

In today’s New Weak-Ass Timorous Mincing Dick-Chopper Army, I rather suspect they don’t at that. Which, actually, is just jakesey-jooksey with me. The mere thought of contemporary “soldiers” happily discoing the night away within close proximity to my sacred Confederate Battle Flag brings the bilious gorge surging up my esophagus uncontrollably. Not that modern soldiery would dream of doing any such thing, of course; they’d more likely faint dead away at the first scarifying sight of such a hateful relic flying proudly in open defiance of everything they represent.

If the culprit of this Hate Crime had run up the LGBTQRXP39BRRMSSST&%$#@ Rainbow Flag of Free Love And Harmony instead, though—why, just think of the dot-mil dance party they’d throw in celebration of the glorious event. All the exemplary You-Ess Sojers now bringing down physical-fitness standards across all service branches would be there for sure, such as:

  • Flabby, flubbery, Cheetoh dust-encrusted gamerduuude PVT Ethan Pissboy: Hunched in desperate supplication to a God whose existence he scoffs at praying that nobody catches sight of him in the darkest outer corner of the quad, lest the decidedly unpleasant and mortifying experience of a forcible pantsing, followed by having an entire family-sized bottle of Absorbine Jr sloshed over his shriveled nutsack by his more exuberant squadmates be repeated yet again
  • Terrifying, steroid-inflated bull dagger SFC Philippa “Knucksy” Flatrocker: Probably the closest approximation of a real man on the whole base, and certainly the only one who could perhaps contribute anything remotely useful in combat conditions
  • CPT Buck Turgidson: Peering through the slats of his barely-open blinds in shock and disbelief at the Fellini-esque Sabbat of sexual degeneracy, full-spectrum insobriety, rampant flouting of the very concept of military bearing, and general witless displays of Conduct Unbecoming going on just outside his office window, goggle-eyed in heartbroken wonder at what the hell the stupid PC bastards have done to the once-respectable US Army he served faithfully and well for nearly 30 years, as he’s absently running his fingers over the retirement/resignation forms he finds himself pulling from his file cabinet more and more frequently these days
  • COL Upsuck T Grabass: Always seen with his overlarge staff of cringing rumpswabs in close trail as he paces frenetically about the grounds, scouting everywhere for the location of the next rung up on the careerist ladder
  • BRIG GEN Shontavius Cumquat Mohammed Isaiah McCorkle Jr VII: Nobody dares call De Gen’rill Suh an affirmation-action hire, but they’re all thinking it, since that’s exactly what he is: incompetent, unintelligent, in way over his head, yet nonetheless arrogant, conceited, unyieldingly convinced that 1) not only is he one of the very best flag officers of his generation, he is also 2) eminently deserving of even higher rank, which he has been unfairly denied him—not because he is in reality a ham-handed jackass who didn’t so much claw his way up to his present position as he firmly believes, but was pushed from behind so as to duly check a box on some government “diversity” form—entirely because of the Army’s “systemic racism”; De Gen’rill Suh is visibly contemptuous, even downright abusive, of the harried subordinates who must constantly interpose themselves into the narrow divide between the “General” bizarre orders and plans and the utter disaster which can be their only result, their selfless sense of duty thereby preventing a far better soldier than he’ll ever be from winding up injured or killed because of his muttonheaded blundering

These are but a few examples of the New Model Army types being actively sought and sworn in as “improvements” on the unevolved, anachronistic Warrior-Class throwbacks our Betters wish to retire, then write out of the history books. Which, hey, fine by me. When things do go fully pear-shaped at last, I’d much rather face the delicate, mentally-unstable Gender Befuddled, assorted neurotic freaks, and whining, whey-faced boy-men attached to Stop SHOUTING At Me Company, First Pansy Battalion, 35th Perfectly Painted Toenails Brigade than have to go up against the hard-handed, experienced dogfaces they’re shoving out.

(Via Divemedic)

6
5
1

Local color

Even though I’m not their biggest fan by any stretch, I still love this.

Stop us if you’ve heard this one, but rock-and-roll royalty Mick Jagger walks into a dive bar in Charlotte, North Carolina, and no one seems to notice. According to the Rolling Stone frontman’s Twitter account, that’s just what happened last night at the iconic Thirsty Beaver Saloon. Jagger stands in front of the storied establishment, sipping a beer, and the other customers aren’t even looking in his direction. “Out and about last night in Charlotte, NC,” the post reads.

The Rolling Stones play the Bank of America stadium this evening, so presumably Jagger had some time to kill last night and grabbed a brew at the Plaza Midwood bar. The Thirsty Beaver is an unpretentious establishment well known for refusing to sell to developers building up the area. The tiny bar is now surrounded massive apartment complexes, looking much like the house from the Pixar film Up.

The Thirsty Beaver has been a fixture of the neighborhood since 2008 and remains a spot for live music, cans of Pabst Blue Ribbon, and folks having conversations with their friends and neighbors — and a the occasionally international rock star.

Here’s a pic Tweeted by Jagger his own self:


Further deets, followed by an explanation for why I’m even posting on this in the first place.

He looked like any other ball-cap clad, jeans-wearing North Carolinian as he stood at a high-table and quaffed a brew at one of Charlotte’s most famous dive bars Wednesday night.

No adoring fans to shrug off, no security guards by his side as Rolling Stones front man Mick Jagger enjoyed the night air on the patio of the Thirsty Beaver Saloon on Central Avenue.

Several other patrons seated at a nearby table and bench seemed to ignore the rock ‘n’ roll icon. They looked the other way as someone snapped a photo that Jagger later sent onto Instagram and Twitter.

“Out and about last night in Charlotte NC,” Jagger wrote.

Did Jagger rent out the bar, and were those “patrons” his crew?

“Absolutely not,” Brian Wilson, co-owner of The Thirsty Beaver, told The Charlotte Observer on Thursday.

Turns out, the four or five patrons pictured in Jagger’s photo had no idea it was him, Wilson said.

The bar had no advance notice that Jagger would drop by, and even the bartender had no clue it was him when she served him a beer, Wilson said.

Jagger appeared to be drinking a Miller Lite or a “Mick Ultra,” err, Michelob Ultra, but Wilson said he didn’t know yet what brand the rock star ordered.

Wilson had already gone home to put his young daughter to bed when Jagger showed up at about 10 p.m., he said.

Now, among the several things that make this so amusing to me is the fact that I know the Beaver and Brian quite well. Admittedly, the Beaver has never been a preferred hangout of mine, which isn’t so much that there’s anything in particular wrong with the joint, mind. It’s more because it gets so dang elbow-to-elbow packed on the weekends. I just never could deal with that. Doesn’t stop most of my friends from flocking there, especially on their Sunday afternoon biker gatherings.

Brian and his brother have a band that has done shows with my own plenty of times over the years, and Bri is a-okay with me, although there was some mild to moderate aggro from his brother towards me for a while there that I never really understood but which seems now to have abated, near as I can tell. Whatever the problem might have been, it was something I never even tried to figure out; if you’re hoping to find someone who’ll tell you I’m a grade-A prick and an asshole, you won’t have to look very hard or long before you do.

That never has bothered me, and never will; as the frontman of a fairly well-known band, I accepted that sort of hassle from the earliest days as just part of the game. My feeling was and remains that a person fragile enough to let such silliness get under his skin is a person who has absolutely no business ever setting foot on a stage in the first damned place. Show biz is NOT known for being kind to the delicate, the diffident, or the uncertain. An iron, unshakable confidence is a non-negotiable requirement of the job, any deficiency or even momentary flagging of which Show Biz will immediately seize upon and use to viciously beat you with, until you’re stone cold dead.

Anyhoo, the Wilson boys have another place on Monroe Rd across from Lupies: the Tipsy Burrow, which I like a lot better than the Beaver, having a lot more room to move around unmolested as it does. Really good food at the Burrow too, which the Beaver doesn’t offer at all. Onwards.

Wilson said he could only guess that someone suggested Thirsty Beaver because Jagger would be able to drink in peace there, given its typically eclectic mix of patrons who would likely leave such a musical legend alone.

“Everybody’s used to it being an eclectic place,” Wilson said.

But Mick Jagger??

Wilson said his bartender that night has come in for some good-natured ribbing.

“C’mon, Hayley, the greatest rock ‘n’ roll legend of all time?”

Heh. Hayley is a friend too, as it happens.

Years ago, Wilson said, Eric Clapton visited the now-defunct Double Door Inn music venue in Charlotte.

Yep, he did. Remember that Double Door business, gang. You will be seeing that material again.

“And we got Mick Jagger, so I think we did all right.”

Retired Observer sports columnist Tom Sorensen devilishly replied with a reference to another Stones hit.

“@MickJagger A man of wealth and taste,” Sorensen wrote.

Known Tom for many years as well. He was a colleague and friend of the band’s manager, Mike Evans, before Mike inexplicably decided to ruin his life by up and quitting his cushy, well-remunerated Charlotte Disturber sinecure to wantonly ravage his bank balance, his liver, and his personal reputation via going into the music biz.

I swear, it’s beginning to seem like Old Home week up in here, ain’t it?

On to the Double Door. Clapton did indeed famously show up and play a set there back in 1982, after headlining a concert at the old Coliseum on Independence, I believe. Now, by the late 80s the Double Door Inn had forged a stellar reputation for itself as one of the premier stops on what you might call the chitlin’ circuit for old-school trad blues bands. Autographed band photos covering every wall testify to a roster of legendary alumni that really has to be seen to be believed: Clarence “Gatemouth” Brown; Junior Walker; Levon Helm; JJ Cale; The Fabulous Thunderbirds; and even Stevie Ray Vaughan, to name but a few.

And, beginning in late 1989, the DDI also became the home base for a fledgling local RAB outfit yclept the Belmont Playboys. Owned and operated by a soft-spoken but savvy Greek feller name of Nick Karres, the place was blessed with a warm, clear, full-throated sound both onstage and off, so good I’d put it in the top two or three best out of all the places I’ve played. There was even a documentary movie made about the Dirty Floor, including footage from the final show before it shut down. Yes, the BPs are in it.

And now we come to it at long last. See, Jagger is by no means the only instance of world-renowned rock and roll royalty gracing a local institution on the QT. During the Southeastern leg of their Black Ice tour, a certain little band from Australia you may have heard of settled themselves in for a couple weeks hereabouts, putting out from CLT for several shows ranging from Raleigh down to ATL. And on their days off, the boys got into the habit of dropping in at a certain legendary blues venue in the late afternoon/early evening for the daily Jeopardy Happy Hour ritual to restore the tissues and recharge the batteries via quaffing a cold one or three amongst the handful of grizzled regulars.

I didn’t learn about AC/DC’s daily pilgrimage to the DDI until well after the fact, which enraged me so thorougly I immediately called Nick to scream sundry epithets in his ear, all based around the “WHY THE HELL DIDN’T YOU TELL ME…” theme, until I was hoarse and out of breath. I can’t remember any specifics of Nick’s response, other than a gruff laugh and a “Idunno,” which I see to this day in my mind’s eye accompanied by his characteristic apathetic shrug.

I don’t care about missing Mick’s visit, honestly. But missing the chance to kick casually back with Angus, Malcolm, and Brian to share a friendly tipple and a few road-dog stories frosts my nuts blue to this very day. I’ve told Nick again and again that I’ll never forgive him for it, and by God I mean it, too.

4

Despite everything, the heart of freedom is still beating

Two Tweets too good to resist swiping.


Red China? Sheeeit, Gov, Australia is making North Korea look like a bastion of liberty by comparison. The OzNazis have raised the bar on tyranny so high it may NEVER be exceeded. At least, I HOPE it won’t; I’ll probably end up disappointed on that. Thankfully, this next one provides a hopeful counterpoint.


Looks like at least some in Italy haven’t forgotten the lesson of Mussolini just yet.

1

Somebody stop the pain

Remember, folks, THESE are the people we let steal our country from us.

No, really, I’m serious. THESE people.

It’s driving me insane. My wife and I have been married for a few years, and throughout our marriage we’ve always been monogamous. About 6 months ago she mentioned the idea of bringing in another man into the relationship to spice things up. I hesitantly agreed. We found a guy on Craigslist. It was actually pretty fun at first. Liberating, even. The three of us often had dinner together, watched movies, played games, etc. The sexual stuff stayed separate (although admittingly I feel like I started getting less…that’s outside the scope of this post though).

Fast forward to Mid-November. I make a joke at the dinner table about how finally the fucking cheeto is going to be out of office. The new boyfriend, who’s always been nice to me, told me to “shut the fuck up you fucking liberal pussy”. I was taking aback by his sudden anger. He’s much larger than me so I admittedly just looked at my wife as a plea for help. She just continued eating trying to act like nothing was going on.

Now, I don’t claim to be an expert or anything, not at all. But I’m thinking that right there just might have been the exact moment you lost her.

I did not know he was a Trump supporter. He even made a joke about him in the past, but he proceeded to tell me that he voted for him.

Long story short, after he had left for the night, I told the wife that we can’t associate with him (for obvious reasons). This is where it got bad. She defended HIM and told ME that I was being DISRESPECTFUL for not understanding that some people have different political views!!! I kept insisting that he’s a white supremacist and a racist and she said he wasn’t. My wife has always been very liberal and anti-trump just like me but now she’s defending the fucker. I told her we were done if she doesn’t stop seeing him…after a few days of fighting, and her continuously saying things would be fine, I packed up and left, thinking she’d finally comply.

Now, I’ve driven by the house a few times and his pickup truck is always parked there. In fact, I THINK HE FUCKING MOVED IN.

what the FUCK do I do now?

I see but one way out of this for you, pal: kill yourself. Do not waste another moment. Kill your wife, kill your wife’s bull, and then kill yourself. Do it now—right the fuck now. There MUST be an absolute bloodbath at your house, immediately, without further delay. This little circlejerk of yours is being conducted by a passel of miserable, useless oxygen thieves, and the fact is that you all have simply got to GO. Make the world a better place, for yourselves and for everybody else, in the only way you can or ever will do: by LEAVING it.

Trust me.

Via Ace, who guffaws in this pathetic, contemptible little queef’s anguished face thusly:

Note this isn’t his ex-wife. No, this is his current wife, who he lives with.

Or lived with, at least. Until she started banging this Trump supporter.

He’s in a polyamorous relationship. He lets his wife sleep with other men.

And he’s mad about two things:

1, His wife’s new boyfriend voted for Trump, and

2, He’s sick of all of his wife’s boyfriends’ drinking buddies calling him a cvck!

Okay, I made up that last one, but you know that must bother him.

If the shoe fits, wear it.

8

What’s to be done?

Lots and lots.

Become ungovernable.

This has been tried before. Face facts: Half the reason Communism doesn’t work is because it’s Communism.

The other half is because the people – the very “workers” communists claim to represent, as a dodge to milk everyone – aren’t communists. Proof: Russia pushed Nazi Germany from the outskirts of Moscow all the way back to Berlin. That’s what Ivan can do when he wants to. But in peacetime? You get the Trabant.

So stop wishing and hoping, or pissing and moaning. Throw Leviathan and its acolytes a bone. But throw it sideways, so it gets stuck in its throat, and it dies a slow, lingering, painful death.

What do I mean?

Monkeywrench. Hard, far, and wide. And often.

Manhole covers are portable, for instance. Store them behind the local DNC offices.

Road crew left a few blinky light barricades just sitting around? No problem. Close off an interstate entrance. Make an endless circular detour.

Epoxy an ATM closed. Better yet, a few dozen parking meters near city hall.

Get a slingshot or a high velocity pellet gun, and take out a surveillance camera or three.

The list of, umm, extracurricular activities (all strictly notional, Officer—just a little idle woolgathering strictly for entertainment purposes, no one has any serious intention of actually doing this stuff for real, of course!) is expansive, but hardly comprehensive. The possibilities are limited only by one’s imagination, and how far one is willing to hang it out there in order to jam somebody’s works.

I have firsthand experience of one such tactic myself. I worked at a bar in NYC way back when (Babyland, that would be; any Noo Yawkers in the audience might even remember the joint) that had a problem for a couple of weeks there. Not long after I started the job, a disgruntled former employee who had been recently dismissed with extreme prejudice adopted the habit of Supergluing the padlocks (2 of ’em) on the drop-gate in the wee hours of the night. Now, I’ve never once known Superglue to be effective at anything other than gluing my own fingers together. But as it turns out, the stuff does a bang-up job when it comes to ganking up the expensive American locks that pretty much every business on the LES uses. So the diabolical strategem worked a treat this time.

Every damned day the opening bartender (me, most days) and miscellaneous other staff would be unable to get the key into the locks, and so had to call the boss-lady for help getting inside. Boss-lady, in turn, had to call a locksmith to come out and unfuck the damned things, which usually had to be cut with a torch, and were thereby rendered unsalvagable. Which meant that every damned day the bar opened way late, since what would ordinarily have been setup/prep time was spent standing around freezing our asses off waiting for the locksmith to arrive. Which artist would then fumble around for a while in an effort to keep from junking the ruined lock using all kinds of chemical sprays, picks, and other such, none of which ever worked.

Eventually, the ‘smith would concede defeat, break out the torch from his ditty bag, cut the damned things, and we’d be in at last. While all this drama was unfolding, off Deb (Deb Parker, that would be, a very well-known and successful entrepreneur who I hear is out in Vegas these days) would go to purchase another pair of fifty-dollar-apiece padlocks. Next morn, the cycle would begin anew.

The boss felt confident she knew who the perp was and the motive behind these serial outrages, even going so far as to recruit a brace of NYPD detectives—one of whom happened to be a close friend of hers—for an off-the-books consultation. But the evidence was insufficient to warrant police action, the sabotage stopped after about two weeks, and life went on.

So yeah, in this film script we’re communally head-shedding on here, I can assure one and all that the Superglue ploy would definitely be a credible plot device. In a movie, I mean. If somebody was making one, like. Certainly not something to ever contemplate doing in real life, Agent. Not ever. No way. Because that would be wrong.

Am I free to go now?

5

Laying low

Correia is back with another thorough ass-reaming for some richly-deserving sphincters.

WHERE HAVE ALL THE BIDEN VOTERS GONE?
Where have all my Biden supporting friends gone? I remember last year my feed was full of people who proudly supported Biden/Harris, because Orange Man Bad, and a Return To Norms, and No More Mean Tweets. Where are you now?

I’m not talking about the internet rando strangers who inevitably show up to scream the day’s narrative at everybody who doesn’t toe their line. Those people might as well be bots. They don’t matter. Nobody cares what they say. I’m talking about the real life human beings, I usually know somehow outside of the internet. I could always count on you to stroll in to tell me I was stupid and needed to “think for myself” and “get educated” by watching CNN and automatically believing everything on it like you do.

Where are you?

Last year you wouldn’t shut about how all the evidence of Joe Biden’s corruption and incompetence was Fake News, and then you got me kicked off the internet for talking about a laptop filled with incriminating evidence (which turned out to be real, and only one of many that crackhead lost). And you were legion a few short months ago, while you barked at me that voter fraud was impossible and audits unnecessary, so shut up.

Then finally, last week, the evil, feckless, incompetent, unserious, fucking clown show that was this administration became too obvious for even you to make excuses for it.

We’ve already seen the bullshit narratives from the pundit class repeated by their useful idiots who might as well be bots, about how this was Trump’s fault (even if it was his plan, which it clearly wasn’t, it doesn’t answer why Biden didn’t come up with something better) or how if we didn’t want a total clusterfuck of an ass backwards withdrawal then we must be in favor of eternal war… but I haven’t seen any of you bravely carry that water like you can usually be counted on to do so.

I’ve seen a few of you try for some namby-pamby moral equivalence, about how surely the withdrawal would have been just as bad with the other guy in charge, except that’s just bullshit, theoretical wishful thinking on your part. And we all know it.

I’m not going to rehash all the many screw ups on this particular operation. Been done, a lot, by people who know a lot more about the topic than I do. If you aren’t aware of just how badly this administration fucked up by this point, you’re just being willfully ignorant. And it’s not even done yet. The unconfirmed shit coming out today, if true, is far, far worse. It’s a blood bath, and we don’t even have a clue how many Americans have been abandoned.

So where have you gone, my lefty friends? Where are the NeverTrump republicans who endorsed Biden because he was such a “statesman”? Who would make the world respect us again? Now the world is either disgusted by us or laughing at us. We left our allies hanging so badly that Biden got censured by fucking Parliament.

Are you silent out of embarrassment? Shame? Guilt?

Good.

You should be. Because you fucking own this.

Enjoy the relative peace and quiet while it lasts, everybody. I imagine they’re going to go all noisy and annoying again as we’re stuffing them into woodchippers in job lots. For a few seconds, anyway.

4

Oh, snap!

Another good Tucker bitch-slap.

CARLSON: So on its way out of Afghanistan, the Biden administration left behind an awful lot of Americans but also nearly $90 billion in military equipment. How much is that? Well, only two countries on the planet have a military budget larger, China and the United States. So, the Taliban now have the best-equipped military of its size in the history of the world.

What do they have? Well, according to a tally by The Times of London, the Taliban just received more than 22,000 Humvees, more than 50,000 trucks, and other armored vehicles, as well as a sizable Air Force. It comes with four C-130 transport planes, dozens of other fixed-wing aircraft, and up to 350 combat helicopters. The Taliban now has more Blackhawks than many developed nations, and those are just the vehicles.

Taliban soldiers also got more than 350,000 American rifles, 126,000 handguns, and approximately 64,000 heavy machine guns. It’s quite an arsenal. It’s all at your expense.

It’s a disaster, obviously, but it also makes for a striking contrast with what is happening in this country. At the very moment, the White House is arming our new friends, the Taliban. They are working hard to disarm you.

Whether or not it makes the news, it is happening. The administration just announced quietly. It is banning some of the most commonly purchased ammunition in the United States. This move will certainly and intentionally lead to severe shortages in this country. That’s why they did it.

Joe Biden himself has said repeatedly, he would like to prevent you from owning the firearms that most Americans use to defend themselves and their families, and those efforts are now accelerating.

So how about this as an answer? No. You’re not allowed to give more than half a million guns to the Taliban, guns that we paid for, and then try and take our guns away in this country. Sorry, that’s not how it works. So, shut up and back off.

Not one more word about gun control from these people until they get back every single rifle from Kandahar. That is the rule.

You gotta love it, which I do. At the same time, it becomes more apparent every day that you gotta be ready to back it up too. And I don’t mean with voting, lawsuits, and/or snappy quips, either. Gonna take something quite a bit more concrete than that, I’m afraid.

1

The lion donkey lays down with the lamb pit bull

Remember the other day when I told y’all that pit bulls were the absolute best dogs on Earth? I was NOT just winding my watch, y’know.


Two soul-enriching pittie vids in the same week calls for the rerun of a few pics of the last dog I will ever own: my beloved Cookie Monster, late and more lamented than you could possibly imagine.

One of the late Cookie with my late wife, who originally picked her out to bring home. Over my objections, fool that I was.

One just as proof that pitties really ARE sweet dogs capable of getting along with just about anybody.

Finally, my absolute all-time favorite of old Kookie-Kook. So somber, so dignified, so noble she makes Walter Cronkite look like a goddamned drunken fratboy.

Vidya via Ace. For all you animal-fanciers out there, if you aren’t a subscriber to The Dodo’s YT critter-vid channel, you’re really missing out on something good.

6

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