GIVE TIL IT HURTS!

Publick Notice

Yep, it’s a sad, sad day around these parts: no more Scrooge Picard nor Santa Bettie Page, either one. After much thrashing and flailing about, accompanied by some light screaming and pulling out of the hair by the roots, I finally got Angry Guy back up top, and all the colors reset the way I wanted ’em.

Tell your friends, wake the neighbors, send the word far and wide that Christmas is now officially over, as dead as…umm, Marley’s ghost, shall we say. Yes, it’s a bit earlier than I would usually take the CF Xmas theme-makeover down, but I figured it was the least I could do for CF Lifers with bossheads and/or angry wives and/or girlfriends who inexplicably felt nekkid Santa Bettie might have been just a wee bit much, having done the annual holiday rearranging around this here hogwallow earlier than usual this year.

Frankly, I’ve always found this to be the most depressing time of the whole year: the dead of winter; no more cheerful, merry lights and decorations all over the place; nothing to look forward to until early February, when my birthday comes along. And I gotta say, the more I pile up of them, the less there is to look forward to there too. Ah well, I do sincerely hope you all had a wonderful holiday anyhow. If not, here’s a little something to cheer ya up.


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Golden Oldie, revisited

There are basically four universally-beloved animated Christmas TV specials from the mid/late 60s that I’ve looked forward to seeing each year since they originally appeared their, um, advent*: A Charlie Brown Christmas, The Grinch Who Stole Christmas (which I wrote about here), Rankin-Bass’s Rudolph The Red-Nosed Reindeer, and Santa Claus Is Coming To Town (also R-B, actually from 1970). Of these, it was really Rudolph that I loved best of all, and still do. In fact, it’s the only one of the four that I still regard as a must-watch every year.

Now, Rudolph features several really nice songs—Burl Ives singing “Silver And Gold,” to name but one, has become a true staple of the season. Since I seem to have a thing for piano arrangements of the classic Christmas tunes, and since Rudolph has meant so very much to me since my misspent youth…well, I ask you, how could I possibly NOT include this lovely rendition of what in my not-so-humble opinion is the best of a very fine lot from the special, “The Most Wonderful Day Of The Year,” on Christmas Eve?



What a pretty, pretty thing, no? Nice 3/4 time, relaxed waltz-tempo, with a turnaround so achingly beautiful you can almost hear your heart cracking inside your chest from it.

A very merry Christmas to all you CFers and your loved ones, this and every year. In light of the awful situation I was in last Christmas, I consider myself fortunate indeed to have you all along with me for this crazy ride, and can’t even begin to express the depth of my gratitude for that. May your days be merry, and bright.

*Heh; see what I did there? Don’t know how it is I didn’t think of that earlier.

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White man’s burden

The Dark Continent was anything but a peaceful, idyllic paradise well before the first European Whypeepuh ever set foot on the blighted shitpit.

I confess I was quite skeptical about Gilley’s book, given the needlessly incendiary title. Defending German colonialism, given that any story of late 19th and early-20th century German history will inevitably be wrapped up in that country’s condemnable behavior in two world wars, seems a curious intellectual enterprise for a professional academic (and for readers with more liberal sensitivities, it’s likely to be downright offensive). Not only that, but in a time when America’s post-Cold War foreign policy has been defined by constant overreach that has exacerbated various crises (e.g. regional political instability, anti-American Islamic extremism, migration), it seems a bit tone-deaf to be arguing that Western intervention around the world — especially when the West’s power is diminishing — is something to be encouraged.

Nevertheless, regardless of the strength of Gilley’s defense of German colonialism, the story he tells, substantiated by extensive historical documentation, does quite a bit to undermine popular narratives in America about pre-colonial Africa and the African colonial experience. For starters, the peoples inhabiting what would become Germany’s African colonies were far from innocent peoples living in harmony with each other and nature. Human sacrifice was common among at least one of the tribes of Cameroon. Slavery was common across both Namibia (southwest Africa) and what would become the colony of German East Africa (present-day Tanzania, Rwanda, Burundi, and part of Mozambique).

The Nama and Herero peoples, both of whom had migrated to Namibia only a generation before the Germans (and displaced other indigenous African tribes such as the Damara people in the process), were engaged in bloody, genocidal warfare. In 1850, the Nama massacred a fifth of the Herero population in a single day. The Herero raided native Damara and Saan villages, killing all but the young and strong, whom they exploited as slaves. Many escaped to the Germans. Writes Gilley: “Even if left to their own devices, the Herero and Nama would not have lived in idyllic bliss tending healthy herds of cattle and hosting multiethnic community barbecues.”

Our anti-Western conceptions of colonial Africa are equally misinformed. In 1904, a policy in German East Africa decreed that all children born to slaves beginning in 1906 were free. Moreover, between 1891 and 1912, more than 50,000 slaves in the colony were freed by legal, social, and financial means. By 1920, slavery had virtually been eradicated from the region.

German East Africa was also environmentally conscious, codifying laws prohibiting unlicensed elephant hunting and creating the first game reserves. It promoted education by natives: By 1910, there were more than 4,000 students in state schools. “The Germans have accomplished marvels,” noted a 1924 British report on local education initiatives. The education system in German colonies provided instruction in local histories, cultures, and geographies, as well as technical subjects common in German curricula. Because of this, local language media prospered. “German transformed Swahili from a coastal language of Muslim elites to the lingua franca for the future country of Tanzania,” writes Gilley.

The Germans provided free and accessible medical care for many Africans. They engaged in extensive agricultural and infrastructure projects in Namibia, including roads, railways, water holes, and port facilities. A German scientist developed a vaccine that saved native cattle from a catastrophic illness. The Germans built a 1,250-kilometer railway linking Lake Tanganyika to Dar es Salaam, which to this day “remains the lifeblood of Tanzania’s economy and of Zambia’s trans-shipment traffic.” Economies previously based on slavery transitioned to coffee.

Africa’s most insuperable problem remains the same as it always has been: the horrid place is full of Africans.

But what, you ask, does Africa have to do with the recently-manufactured-from-whole-(kente) cloth “holiday” Kwanzaa? Why, not one single, solitary thing, natch.

Spanning from Dec. 26 to the first of January is Kwanzaa, the invented African American holiday celebrated solely by white liberals and clueless public school teachers. Overblown by leftist claiming the holiday has immense cultural significance, a survey by the National Retail Foundation discovered only 1.6 percent of Americans celebrate Kwanzaa.

The “holiday” was created in 1966 by Ron Karenga, who renamed himself Maulana. Karenga, the founder of the United Slaves, a violent rival organization to the Black Panthers, created the holiday for black Americans and derived the name “Kwanzaa” from the Swahili phrase “matunda y kwanza,” meaning “first fruits of the harvest.” That’s about the extent of the deep African roots the official Kwanzaa website claims.

Guess the extra “a” in Karenga’s dimwitted misspelling lends it extra authenticity. Or, y’know, something. Oh, and do be sure to thank the Germans, Ronnie, for bringing you the Swahili tongue you’re misspeaking, fool.

The history of the holiday and Karenga has been seamlessly suppressed by leftists who find the facts inconvenient. Since few know its origins, the current definitions of the celebration are usually nonsensical and made up, much like the holiday itself.

FrontPage Magazine’s Paul Mulshine writes that “the history of the founder of Kwanzaa has disappeared into an Orwellian time warp.” Indeed, CNN informs readers that Kwanzaa’s violent, racist founder was “a black nationalist and professor of Pan-African studies at California State University at Long Beach,” omitting his criminal and misogynistic past.

Karenga is currently a black studies professor at California State University, Long Beach where the administration is apparently untroubled by the fact that this radical racist is also a convicted torturer of women. Despite the troubling past of Kwanzaa’s founder, leftists continue to shove this fake holiday down America’s throat every Christmas.

Yeah, well, fuck them all to Hell and gone, as always. That said, what Kwanzaa celebration would be complete without a stinking-blotto Granny Boxwine slurring and slobbering her way around the stupid fucking word?


Heh. Well said, ya haggard old soak.

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The spirit of Christmas

About as perfectly captured in these three vids as it ever will be, or can be.







For some more personal thoughts on this most wonderful, most blessed day of all days, I’m thinking I’ll do a little self-excerpting from the Christmas posts which can be found in their entirety in the “Greatest Hits” section above, on Christmas Day Actual.

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Christmas ruined by panic-ninnies

An awkward little Christmas.

Have Yourself an Awkward Little Christmas…
Christmas will never be the same again. For the same reason that America will never be the same again. Millions of us will never be able to look upon some of our fellow Americans – including some of our friends and family members – as we once did, ever again.

The ones who turned their backs on us – and worse – for questioning what we rightly identified as a mass hysteria they embraced. Who feared and loathed us, because we would not wear a “mask” – which we didn’t because we knew that putting it on only fueled the mass hysteria. We didn’t wear the things for their sakes as well as our own. For the sake of calm and common sense. To show normality rather than “masked” insanity. For doing that – often at the cost of being denied not merely service but our ability to earn a living – we were abused as pathologically selfish, granny-killing ne’er do-wells.

They told us we weren’t welcome in their homes at Christmas. That we weren’t welcome, period. Unless, of course, we bought in to their hysteria and played along.

We who questioned – and disobeyed – were cast out, by those who did not question and mindlessly obeyed.

Some of these friends and family members would have supported more than just excommunicating us from their  homes and lives and from society, generally. When the drugs that aren’t vaccines were rolled out, many were in favor of everyone being forced to take them. Tens of millions of people were effectively forced to take them, being under duress. They were told to take the drugs – or take a hike. Lose your job – or lose your bodily autonomy and your self-respect, having bent knee to a violation of your body for the sake of grubby money.

Some of the most hysteric wanted (and no doubt still want in their secret hearts) to see everyone forced to take the drugs they took, perhaps for the same vicious and ugly reason that some people resent people who “get away” with not being made to do what they were made to do.

They then blamed us when they got the sickness they’d been “vaccinated” against. The illogic of that escaping them.

Logic? What is this “logic” of which you speak? Shitlibs and Fauxvid panic-ninnies (BIRM) know not of this phantasmagorical “logic.”

Now we are supposed to pretend it all never happened and sit down for Christmas dinner with these people. It is not quite sleeping with the enemy but it’s not that far from it, either. For, no matter the superficialities, the feigned pleasantries of our previous association, they regard us with suspicion and contempt.

Just as we so regard them.

They know we know what they did, just as we know they know what we didn’t do. They perhaps feel ashamed, some of them. In which case, it would help things greatly if they were to say so – and ask our forgiveness for what they did to us and supported being done to us. We might then be able to forgive them.

But can we ever trust them again? Would George Washington have given Benedict Arnold another command, if he’d apologized for betraying Washington’s trust? Only if Washington were an idiot.

Are we?

Quite the thorny little conundrum, I’d say. Sadly, we have our answer already, and for all too many of us, that answer can only be: Yes. Yes, we are.

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YES!

So my bleg the other day has borne fruit over at BCE’s joint, as fate would have it. Intrepid commenter Some rando puts us some knowledge:

Hey biggun: BP Mike was asking about Beethoven Christmas muzik.
Skunk works sez it’s Pamela Howland – Christmas With Beethoven.

And sure enough, BLAMMO, just like that: what once was lost now is found. Well, okay, I mean, it wasn’t really lost, exactly, it just sorta…I mean, y’know, I couldn’t seem to find…oh, to heck with it. Many thanks to you, Rando, and a very merry Christmas to ye.

Update! While we’re on the subject, let me revert to one of the Carolyne Taylor arrangements I found whilst poking around for hours the other night, and felt was fascinating: a happy marriage of one of my DeBussy all-timers, Clair de Lune, with the hauntingly beautiful “Silent Night.”

So much wonderful stuff out there just waiting to be listened to and enjoyed, one could never hope to get around to it all. Speaking of, please indulge me for a couple more from my annual Christmas Best-Of list.


You gotta love it, no?

Updated update! And since I’m dealing out the humble thank-you’s here, indulge me a wee bit further as I offer a most heartfelt one to CF Lifer Barry, who graciously assisted me in sorting out an issue with the Gab Pay thingamawheezy I wasn’t even aware I had. It gratifies me no end to be able to report that the GP tech-support folks were most Johnny-On-The-Spot-ish with their much-needed help; I’ve been rooting hard for Torba’s pet project since its inception, so it gives me the warm fuzzies deep down inside to see ’em take care of business in such an expeditious and capable fashion.

Much as I do like Elon Musk, enjoyable as it’s been to watch him pull Twitter’s head all the way up its own ass to the shoulders and wring it right the hell out to the accompaniment of a chorus of weeping and whining from overentitled, too-twee shitlibs everywhere, I really have no intention of jumping the Gab ship and heading there-wards instead.

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Sounds of the season, and a bleg

Okay, I think we’re close enough to Christmas by now to allow me to get away with this year’s repost of one of the very best serendipitous barside a cappella get-togethers in all of human history.



I’ve told the story behind this lovely recording before here, but it always bears repeating: the brilliant and hugely popular vocal ensembles Chanticleer and Cantus, during their annual joint Christmas-season tour, were hanging out at the hotel bar together after a show when they were suddenly inspired to burst into song, performing Franz Biebl’s gorgeous setting of the traditional Ave Maria before a rapt if unsuspecting audience.

The results are nothing short of miraculous; as many times as I’ve watched this vid, I still can’t help but think to myself that, to quote Salieri’s unforgettable line from Amadeus, “This was a music I had never heard. Filled with such longing, such unfulfillable longing. It seemed to me that I was hearing the very voice of God.

And this is where the bleg comes in, folks. See, there’s this fantastic Christmas album—recent, I believe, since I don’t recall the local classical-music radio station playing it before this year, although admittedly I pretty much missed out on last year’s Christmas completely—off of which I’ve been hearing a sort of mashup/medley for solo piano of Beethoven’s Für Elise with “We Three Kings.” I thought the album’s title might have been something along the lines of A Very Beethoven Christmas or Christmas With Beethoven or something along similar lines, but I cannot for the life of me remember what the dickens it actually was/is called.

Believe me, I’ve tried; I spent the last three hours Duck Duck Go’ing every permutation of “Beethoven” and “Christmas” I could conjure with and came up straight snake eyes, every single time. BUT…I did run across what I suspect might be it:



The only related info I’ve been able to locate online, other than a mere handful of vids on YewToob, is the “Classical Carols” book of sheet music on Amazon. No albums, CDs, tapes, or other audio-recording media at all. I’m stumped, I confess. So if anybody out there has any information for me concerning this elusive Beethoven Christmas album I may well have hallucinated, do speak up in the comments.

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A good and decent man

That would be the greatest Supreme Court justice we ever have had, the completely admirable and honorable Clarence Thomas.

“Thus, when you give to the needy, sound no trumpet before you, as the hypocrites do in the synagogues and in the streets, that they may be praised by others. Truly, I say to you, they have received their reward.” — Matthew 6:2

Supreme Court Justice Clarence Thomas embodies this verse well, as it has recently come to light that he has been quietly placing Christmas wreaths on the graves of American veterans for years.

D.C. journalist and author Emily Miller spotted Thomas volunteering for Wreaths Across America at Arlington National Cemetery on Saturday, as seen in a photo she posted to Twitter.

Wreaths Across America is a charitable organization that mobilizes thousands of volunteers every year to put wreaths on the graves of veterans and fallen soldiers.

This isn’t the first year Thomas has volunteered at Arlington Cemetery, either.

The justice can be seen in a candid photo from 2013 helping to clean up the cemetery after the Christmas season on a rainy January day.

The un-self-conscious nature of the photo stands in stark contrast to the contrived photo-ops that Democratic politicians conjure up for their own selfish ambitions and narratives.

Which, there have been plenty of those, to the surprise of no sane and aware person. Exhibit A:

Democratic New Jersey Rep. Andy Kim shamelessly attempted to gain clout from the Capitol incursion by cleaning up the “carnage,” as described by one Facebook user — the carnage being a few water bottles.

A photo captured Kim “experiencing the horror firsthand,” while everything around him looked hilariously pristine.

The photo-op photo in question:

The horror, the horror
Nope, doesn’t look staged at all to me

The thing to remember here is, as the author reiterates in his closing ‘graphs, Justice Thomas has been going about his good works on the QT rather than making sure plenty of Enemedia cameras were on hand to publicize him for it. It’s exactly as the last line says:

We could use more people in Washington demonstrating a spirit of humility and gratitude rather than selfish ambition.

Couldn’t we, though. Couldn’t we just.

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Merry Christmas

Merry Christmas to all you Furians, Furries, Droogs and Droogettes, and uncategorized Riffraff.

Make sure to keep Mike in your thoughts. Pray for his recovery if you’re religious.

And a hearty “Eat a pile of toadstools” to any anti-American who objects to seeing or hearing the words “Merry Christmas”.

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Publick Notice

I had forgotten it, but as it happens I have an old alternate image, part of a much older CF Xmas theme, which might make a worthy stand-in for my beloved Scrooge Picard—of whom I shall brook no evil spoken, ever—buried deep in the Trusty iMac’s file catacombs. This alternate is a real humdinger itself, featuring as it does my all-time favorite pinup hottie, Bettie Page—of whom I shall also brook no etc etc.

Upon stumbling across the Bettie header by a stroke of sheer good fortune, I piddled about some with the thing and found its dimensions to be all out of whack with what this current theme calls for, tragically enough. So I’ma do a little mild immersion into P-shop World and see if I can’t make things right. Then, if all goes well without undue hassle, maybe I’ll poke around a bit for a header-image-switching script that will work. Should that endeavor prove fruitful, well…we shall see what we shall see.

Why yes, I DO in fact just loooove tinkering with shit that I should probably leave the hell alone, always have. Why do you ask…?

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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.

T’is the season!

Yeah, yeah, I know, not yet it ain’t. But really, now: breathes there a man with soul so thoroughly enGrinchinated as to be displeased with the seasonal return of CF’s long-time Christmas season mascot, dear old Scrooge Picard, if somewhat prematurely?

Well not me, bub. I don’t care what anybody says. I don’t care how flinty-hearted an old-school Trad-Christmas stick in the mud you might be. I look forward to trotting this entirely original and unique-to-CF makeover each and every year—no lie, I actually get excited like a little kid sneaking into the living room for an early peek at what Santa left under the tree for him well before the crack of Christmas dawn, another Yuletide tradition that I know a little something about myself—and will betcha-by-gosh-by-golly take all of Captain Scrooge I can possibly get.

And I’m in charge here, so there, blast it.

Hey, with all the disaster, trouble, and woe facing us this season and well into the foreseeable future (if any), I’d say we need Scrooge Picard, now more than ever. Enjoy, y’all.

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A boon, an indulgence, good friends

Yes, I’m dicking around with the site theme again, and my apologies for it. See, it’s like this: I’m near completion of a redesign/rebuild for my boy Phil over at Busted Nuckles, now available rat cheer, who was having the usual problems Real Americans must always expect when dealing with a shitlib corporate entity. I used a mildly-tinkered-with theme from Ye Olde WP Theme repository, as is my usual wont, and liked it enough I thought I’d play with it some more and see if I could make it suit for this hogwallow. Then, it hit me that the time for dear old Scrooge Picard to make his eagerly anticpated holiday appearance hereabouts, which meant that I had myself some more tinkering to do so as to be sure he Picard was all dusted off and ready to take the stage. And…well, here we all are.

Like I always say: expect weirdness—a la a Tim Burton flick, say—until I get all this sorted out. My humble thanks for your patience.

Update! Just a random thought here: I DO like Phil’s new theme a lot, but at the same time, I’ve gotten so used to the CF design I’ve been using for so long it feels kinda odd seeing this old house in new clothes, so to speak. Could be ol’ Scrooge Picard needs to make an early appearance again this year, just to shake things up a little bit.

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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.

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Happy Kwanzaa!

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Making a list, checking it twice

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

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


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