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.

You GO, sassy girl!

However Roberts-like a disappointment she may or may not turn out to be eventually, I do like the cut of her jib so far.



Via Bill.

Update! Okay, I admit did NOT see this coming.

Senate Democrats said earlier this week that they hoped to defeat the nomination of Judge Amy Coney Barrett to the Supreme Court by focusing “on the issues and the merits.”

Now, on day two of her testimony before the Senate Judiciary Committee, Dems are telling reporters are impressed with what they see.

While Barrett was still being grilled Tuesday, even liberal reporters on CNN and NBC  had to admit that she was doing a good job answering the Senators’ questions.

Sen. John Cornyn, (R-Texas) had earlier asked Barrett about how she had prepared for the hearing.

All morning long, Barrett effortlessly answered questions on a wide range of judicial matters, and was able to summon from memory her own past judgments and those of other courts.

“You know most of us have multiple notebooks and notes and books and things like that in front of us,” Cornyn said. “Can you hold up what you’ve been referring to in answering our questions?”

Barrett smiled and held up a blank notepad that was sitting in front of her.

“Is there anything on it?” Cornyn asked.

“The letterhead that says ‘United States Senate,’” she responded.

“That’s impressive,” Cornyn said.

Won’t stop all the Demonrats from voting against her confirmation, I’m sure.

Timely information

CA posts a handy threat-level terminology chart.

Sporty: Baseline level of unprecedented behavior; think 2016

Frisky: “Holy cow”; think intel community coup of 2016-2020

Spicy: Getting warmer; “Is that gunfire nearby?”

SPORKY: Shit Pants Or Roof Korean; YOLO (you only live once)

Plan accordingly.

And whatever the Eff you do, don’t freaking lose.

Learn ’em, live ’em, love ’em, that last in particular. There’s also a link to Wilder’s latest CW 2.0 Weather Report installment, which is summed up in his opening caption:

Right now it feels like we’re watching a slow-motion video of a wreck that’s getting ready to happen. We know it’s going to happen, but have no idea how to stop it as physics makes it inevitable.

When I started doing these updates, I wondered if I was being too pessimistic. In part, the original scale was developed based on personal experience – I had visited a “blue” state a few years ago on summer vacation.

A man, apparently looking at birds in a little-used state monument, saw us drive in. He trained his binoculars on our license plate. “Lower-upper Midwestia, eh?” he yelled. “Yes,” I responded.

“Who’d you vote for?” Unusual, but, whatever.

“Well, his name starts with a T,” I replied, grinning.

He then proceeded to call me a name for a portion of the anatomy that was the first thing people panicked about when COVID-19 hit and everyone bought all of that toilet paper.

“What did you say?”

“You heard me.” He then repeated the anatomical description and then scurried, rat-like into his SUV.

The Mrs. had gone to the little bathroom at the historical site, and had missed the interaction. I’m glad. She would have broken him like a stick. She always handles my light work.

But this was a significant data point. Never in my life had I been attacked, in public, for no reason other than my ballot. For most of my life, political differences had been a path to amusing conversations among friends. We had considered moving to this state. Why would we, though, when people acted like that? And now, people are moving out of California for the same reason we didn’t move to that blue state.

Once upon a time, we could talk about our political disagreements and still be friends. That worked, because even though there were things we disagreed about, we agreed about most things. Now? Leftists have largely abandoned the things that made us Americans. We have nothing to say to each other.

When a stranger will insult you in public over nothing more than your ballot? The time of violence is close.

Just one symptom of a much broader national ailment—an incurable, usually fatal one.

Stand by, and stand ready

As I always say: we could use a lot more like ’em.

The crucial moment in Tuesday night’s debate was near the end when Joe Biden invited President Trump to throw the Proud Boys under the bus, and the president refused to do it. The president was asked by moderator Chris Wallace “to condemn white supremacists and militia groups and to say that they need to stand down and not add to the violence in a number of these cities as we saw in Kenosha and as we’ve seen in Portland.” Trump replied, “Sure, I’m willing to do that,” but then added that “almost everything I see” in terms of violence “is from the left-wing, not from the right-wing. I’m willing to do anything.… I want to see peace.”

After further back-and-forth, Trump said, “Give me a name,” and Biden said, “Proud Boys.” To this, Trump replied: “Proud Boys, stand back and stand by, but I’ll tell you what, somebody’s gotta do something about Antifa and the Left, because this is not a right-wing problem, this is a left-wing problem.”

Because I personally know both Proud Boys founder Gavin McInnes and the group’s current chairman Enrique Tarrio, I was pleased by that response. The idea that the Proud Boys are a dangerous “white supremacist” organization is a myth created by the left-wing media, and it took courage for the president of the United States to stand tough in that moment.

The liberal media, of course, was scandalized, but who is rioting in Portland? Who attacked police and set up an “autonomous zone” in Seattle? Who has engaged in looting and arson in New York, Chicago, Minneapolis, and other major cities in the past several weeks? Hint: not the Proud Boys.

The Proud Boys, of course, were ecstatic over the president’s shout-out. They took the president’s words — “Stand back and stand by” — and incorporated it into their group’s logo. Oregon’s Democratic Gov. Kate Brown, who has allowed Antifa mobs to riot in Portland for months, took her cue to again denounce the Proud Boys as “white supremacists.” What Democrats don’t seem to understand is that there are millions of Americans who are sick and tired of being called racists, and these American voters know which party hates them. It’s Joe Biden’s party.

Dig that logo:

PB-stand-by-logo.jpeg

Say, that there would look most righteous on a black tee, would it not? Of course, the idea that the Proud Boys are anything resembling a “white supremacist” group is nothing but a bald-faced lie promulgated by manipulative propagandists.

It turns out not everybody believes the Proud Boys are white supremacists, including a prominent Black professor at a historically Black university.

Wilfred Reilly, associate professor of political science at Kentucky State University, said Wednesday that “the Proud Boys aren’t white supremacists,” describing the right-wing group’s beliefs as “Western chauvinist” and noting that their international chairman, Enrique Tarrio, is Black.

Mr. Reilly said that about 10% to 20% of Proud Boys activists are people of color, a diverse racial composition that is “extremely well-known in law enforcement,” based on his research.

“Enrique Tarrio, their overall leader, is a Black Cuban dude. The Proud Boys explicitly say they’re not racist,” Mr. Reilly told The Washington Times. “They are an openly right-leaning group and they’ll openly fight you — they don’t deny any of this — but saying they’re White supremacist: If you’re talking about a group of people more than 10% people of color and headed by an Afro-Latino guy, that doesn’t make sense.”

Facts, truth, and basic decency being of little use and no concern to Leftist scum the lies will continue, as the follow-up quotes included in the above article—shat forth from the cakeholes of putrescent pustules like Chuck Schemer and Cadaver Joe, among others—serve to confirm. But as quotes go, I like this one best:

“We’re a drinking club with a patriot problem,” Mr. Tarrio told CNN at a Sept. 26 rally in Portland. “As Proud Boys, I think our main objective is to defend the West.”

Preach it, brother. And bash on, until the last PantiFa pantywaist is just a pile of bloody goo lying unconscious in the gutter.

Following through

And doubling down.

President Donald Trump announced on Tuesday afternoon that he has banned the U.S. government from doing business with people and companies who promote far-left critical race theory, noting that the ideology is “divisive and harmful.”

“A few weeks ago, I BANNED efforts to indoctrinate government employees with divisive and harmful sex and race-based ideologies,” Trump tweeted. “Today, I’ve expanded that ban to people and companies that do business with our Country, the United States Military, Government Contractors, and Grantees. Americans should be taught to take PRIDE in our Great Country, and if you don’t, there’s nothing in it for you!”

Indeed. So go live somewhere the fuck else, shitlibs, and don’t let the door hit you in the ass on the way out.

Specificity

When I said Codevilla had “called ’em all out” earlier, I didn’t imagine for a moment the way Julie Kelly would double, triple, and quadruple down on that idea.

Leader McConnell, you repeatedly lauded Mueller and his work. Senator Ben Sasse, who has remained silent on the real scandal—how Obama’s White House weaponized the most powerful government agencies in the world against Donald Trump—called Mueller an “exceptional public servant” and applauded his “record, character, and trustworthiness.” Senator John Cornyn, you assured us that Mueller is a “well-respected law enforcement professional.”

Senator Susan Collins, remember how you insisted Mueller “has sterling credentials and is above reproach?” You had no qualms back then about the appointment of an unelected, unchecked, and extra-constitutional partisan prosecutor, but now that you’re up for reelection the idea of filling a legitimate vacancy on the nation’s highest court based on clear constitutional guidance and precedent gives you the heebie-jeebies? What gives?

For all we know, without the involvement of William Barr in the spring of 2019, Mueller would still be conducting early morning raids on senior citizens to the delight of CNN viewers and you guys would still be paying the bills.

At the same time, you’ve been completely impotent in exposing Obamagate or holding anyone accountable. Letter after letter went unanswered. Deadlines expired without any repercussions. Promised public reckonings never happened; subpoenas for Obamagate perpetrators are still threatened as the clock runs out and public interest wanes.

Which reminds me that most of you have played along with the BLM movement in one way or another; bending the proverbial knee to agitators who despise everything you claim to honor. Some of you, including Leader McConnell, offered emotional tributes to George Floyd from the Senate floor last June and bolstered the Left’s mantra about “systemic racism.”

Senators Ron Johnson and James Lankford, remember when you suggested replacing Columbus Day with Juneteenth Day after Senator Johnson worked with his far-left colleague from Massachusetts to invent a new national holiday? That did wonders for racial comity since BLM vandals and ambushers have really settled down since then.

LOL.

OUCH. Julie’s gonna leave a mark with this one for sure.

A match made in (someplace far from) Heaven

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Crazy needle pegged

Jeez O Pete, really? I mean c’mon, guys, REALLY?!?

If there’s anything we should have learned from months of “mostly peaceful” Black Lives Matter street protests, statue toppling and online mobs seeking to silence anyone who dissents against leftist narratives about “racism,” it’s that no one, living or dead, is safe from the attentions of woke fascists. Even Ludwig van Beethoven.

Beethoven’s work is not only at the core of the standard repertory of classical music; some of his most popular works have also become part of popular culture, their melodies recognizable even to those who’ve never heard an orchestral concert.

For the last 200 years, Beethoven’s compositions have also been symbols of the struggle for freedom against tyranny. The “Ode to Joy” from the conclusion to his Ninth Symphony remains the definitive anthem of universal brotherhood. It is no coincidence that the opening notes of his Fifth Symphony — whose rhythmic pattern duplicates the Morse Code notation for the letter “V” as in “V for Victory” — were used by the BBC for broadcasts to occupied Europe during the Second World War.

But to woke critics, Beethoven’s music has taken on a new, darker meaning. To musicologist Nate Sloan and songwriter Charlie Harding, stars of the “Switched on Pop” podcast produced in association with the New York Philharmonic, the Fifth Symphony is a stand-in for everything they don’t like about classical music and Western culture. As far as they’re concerned, it’s time to cancel Ludwig.

Just hold onto your hats, folks, we haven’t gone completely around the bend yet.

Exactly 80 years after Beethoven’s death, in 1907, the British composer Samuel Coleridge-Taylor began speculating that Beethoven was black. Colderidge-Taylor was mixed race – with a white English mother and a Sierra Leonean father – and said that he couldn’t help noticing remarkable likenesses between his own facial features and images of Beethoven’s. Having recently returned from the segregated US, Coleridge-Taylor projected his experiences there onto the German composer. “If the greatest of all musicians were alive today, he would find it impossible to obtain hotel accommodation in certain American cities.”

His words would prove prophetic. During the 1960s, the mantra “Beethoven was black” became part of the struggle for civil rights. By then Coleridge-Taylor had been dead for 50 years and was all but forgotten, but as campaigner Stokely Carmichael raged against the deeply ingrained assumption that white European culture was inherently superior to black culture, the baton was passed. “Beethoven was as black as you and I,” he told a mainly black audience in Seattle, “but they don’t tell us that.” A few years earlier, Malcolm X had given voice to that same idea when he told an interviewer that Beethoven’s father had been “one of the blackamoors that hired themselves out in Europe as professional soldiers”.

“Beethoven was black” became a refrain chanted on a San Francisco soul music radio station and, in 1969, hit mass consciousness when Rolling Stone magazine ran a story headlined: “Beethoven was black and proud!” In 1988, two white students at Stanford University in California, following a heated discussion about music and race, defaced a poster of Beethoven, giving him crude stereotypical African American features, an act reported in the press as an act of racism.

Itchiness about Beethoven’s cultural dominance would continue to bring classical music out in occasional hives, and in 2007 Nadine Gordimer published a collection of short stories called Beethoven Was One-Sixteenth Black. But the issue of race laid largely dormant until this year – the 250th anniversary of his birth – when against the backdrop of Covid-19 becoming inextricably linked with the Black Lives Matter movement, echoes of Carmichael and X were voiced, coming from directions nobody expected.

Was Beethoven black?

Nope. He was just a damned ugly old sumbitch, that’s all. Glenn sticks the fork in, calls the whole thing done: “If you start with the presumption that pretty much all talk about race today is going to be dumb and self-indulgent, you also won’t go far wrong.

Why on earth do Millenials “adore socialism”?

Ummm, because they’re stupid as hell?

What’s the matter with kids today? Nothing new. A large portion of the brats, the squirts, the fuzz-faced, the moon calves, the sap-green, and the wet behind the ears have always been “Punks for Progressives.”

As soon as children discover that the world isn’t nice, they want to make it nicer. And wouldn’t a world where everybody shares everything be nice? Aw … kids are so tender-hearted.

But kids are broke — so they want to make the world nicer with your money. And kids don’t have much control over things — so they want to make the world nicer through your effort. And kids are very busy being young — so it’s your time that has to be spent making the world nicer.

Young people probably have been thinking these same thoughts since the concept of being a “young person” was invented.

That would have been in the 19th century — during America’s first “Progressive Era” — when mechanization liberated kids from onerous farm chores and child labor laws let them escape from child labor.

This gave young people the leisure to sit around noticing that the world isn’t nice and daydreaming about how it could be made nicer with the time, effort and money of grown-ups.

I’m all for sending them back to the factories or, at least, the barn. If I hear any socialist noise from my kids I’m going to make them get up at 4 a.m. to milk the cows. And this will be an extra-onerous farm chore because we don’t have any cows, and they’ll have to search for miles all over the countryside to find some.

The 19th century spawning of idle, dreamy, feckless young people arrived just in time for the Marxist intellectual fad. And Marxist thinking among intellectuals is a fashion trend that has never gone away.

Intellectuals like Marxism because Marx makes economics simple — the rich get their money from the poor. (How the rich manage this, since the poor by definition don’t have any money, is beyond me. But never mind.)

Real economics are more complicated than anything that intellectuals can make sense of.

It isn’t really about economics. It’s about feewings.

Whatever form of nation-state emerges from the Coming Unpleasantness—if any—should be sure to implement a fine old idea of mine: every college student, upon graduation, spends a mandatory year in either the Commie shitrapy of their choice or a Moslem one. For college professors, such a sojourn would be required every five years without fail, for as long as they continue their “teaching” career. Should these ignorant doofi survive this harrowing, chastening experience, then and only then would they be permitted to return home—hopefully, one hell of a lot wiser than when they left.

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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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