A night in Hell

BCE posts on his stay in one of THOSE hotels; most of the saltier old road-dogs among us will need no explanation of what I mean by that, I trust. Naturally, BCE’s nightmarish and all-too-familiar story put me in mind of one of the single most atrocious dumps I can remember staying at: the Admiral Benbow Inn, in Memphis Tn. Regrettably, I made the mistake of DDG’ing the God-forsaken pit and wound up falling into the dreaded Search Engine Sinkhole, hitting links like a blow-junkie lab rat fiending for another sweet, sweet hit, sucked in by article after article chronicling the poor old Benbow’s rise and fall. Never woulda thunk it, but there’s some truly interesting history there, great gooey gobs of it. The backstory:

Dear Vance: Who the heck was Admiral Benbow, and what happened to all those motels here that were named after him? — J.F., Memphis.

Dear J.F.: Just like Colonel Harland Sanders with his Kentucky Fried Chicken empire, John Benbow (1653-1702) was a real person, an admiral in the British Royal Navy. During a long career at sea, he served as the commander of several vessels against various enemies, ranging from Barbary pirates to the French fleet, and I don’t have the time or energy to go into that here. Benbow died from injuries received in battle, with a biographer noting the cause of death was “the wound of his leg, never being set to perfection, which malady being aggravated by the discontent of his mind, threw him into a sort of melancholy.”

The admiral was buried in Jamaica, and his fame was so great that Robert Louis Stevenson, author of the 1883 classic, Treasure Island, named a tavern in his book the “Admiral Benbow Inn.”

Many years later, another enterprising gentleman in Memphis would do the same.

Allen Gary was born in Tupelo, Mississippi, in 1913. Somehow he ended up in Memphis, as so many men and women from the Magnolia State do. In the mid-1930s, he attended Central High School and Southwestern at Memphis (now Rhodes College). At some point, he met up with a business partner, George Early, and together they converted a nineteenth-century stable on Bellevue into a popular eatery called, quite naturally, The Stable. When it opened in 1941, it might be considered one of this city’s first theme restaurants. Not only was it decorated, inside and out, like a rustic barn, but the menu for this “Dispenser of Southern Horse-pitality” included such dishes as the Stagecoach, Hack, Hansom, Buggy, Surrey, and Sulky.

By all accounts, the Stable, located at Union and Bellevue, was a success, and quite a few readers have asked about it over the years, remembering good meals and good times there. But Gary and Early decided to branch out, forming other enterprises. Gary had befriended two of this city’s leading “hospitality men” — motel king Kemmons Wilson and drive-in operator Harold Fortune — and after serving for a time as manager of Fortune’s Belvedere, one of the chain’s largest and fanciest locations, Gary worked out an arrangement with Wilson to open restaurants at Holiday Inns around the South.

This wasn’t quite enough, though. In 1950, Gary and Early converted a brick cottage at Union and Willett into a cozy restaurant that they named the Admiral Benbow Inn. So the first Admiral Benbow in Memphis, or anywhere else for that matter, wasn’t a motel. Newspapers admired the new venture, noting that “its interior furnishings are completely modern in contrast with the fifteenth-century atmosphere.” Even though the tiny building sat just 20 feet from Union, “in the Terrace Room, eating pleasure blends with the busy traffic scene.” Just like in the fifteenth century!

At some point, it seems Early dropped out of this enterprise; I don’t know why. By 1960, Gary was operating 18 restaurants, an accomplishment that earned him a place in American Restaurant magazine’s Hall of Fame. A story about Gary in that publication — perhaps you saw it? — observed, “A restaurant operator whose receipts his first day in business totaled $7.10 [they are talking about the Stable] is today doing a business volume that exceeded $2 million in the fiscal year that just ended, operating restaurants in hotels in six Southern states.”

That still wasn’t enough for Gary. He next conceived Benbow Snack Bars, free-standing diner-type establishments, which often had little more than a counter and 12 stools, much like the nationwide chain of Toddle Houses. These were designed to be erected near motels that had no restaurant of their own, you see, but I was never able to determine how many Benbow Snack Bars were actually constructed. American Restaurant magazine, packed with helpful information, does say that Snack Bars “have been added in Memphis and in Laurel, Mississippi, and Gary is currently studying sites in 10 states” but didn’t say where, exactly, the Memphis locations were.

In 1960, Gary returned to his roots. He tore down his first venture, the old Stable, and erected the first Admiral Benbow Inn — this time a motel — at Union and Bellevue. The modern styling was certainly eye-catching, with lots of white concrete, bright colors, and suspended walkways linking what was considered this city’s first two-story motel. Of course, it included a restaurant along with a lounge called the Escape Hatch. He soon opened others — on Summer, next door to Imperial Bowling Lanes, and on Winchester, close to the airport.

As you can see from the images here, the Admiral Benbow Inn was certainly a nice-looking place and stood out from most of the hum-drum motels being constructed at the time. During its first years, it boasted occupancy rates of 100 percent. But for reasons that I don’t fully understand (since the Lauderdales never frequented such places), the motel developed a bad reputation. In fact, by February 2000, Admiral Benbow had declined to the point where my pal Jim Hanas wrote a Memphis Flyer cover story about his brief stay there. With a title of “Broken Palace: The Last Days of the Admiral Benbow,” you can tell it’s not a flattering portrait.

It was here, in fact, at the Admiral Benbow in Midtown that a fellow named Malcolm Fraser woke up one morning in 1986 to find himself without clothes, luggage, or money. Now this would be disconcerting for anybody, but Fraser just happened to be the former prime minister of Australia, in town for a business visit, and was supposed to be staying at The Peabody. The whole matter was never sorted out, but it’s typical of the decidedly unusual events that seemed to plague the Admiral Benbows in Memphis over the years.

So what happened to them?

Okay, so far, so…well, so dull, honestly. Aside from the mysterious Fraser saga, it’s the sort of dry, aggressively mundane stuff only a Memphian with an obssessive local-history fetish could find interesting, or maybe somebody who was being paid to act as if he had such a fetish. Hang in there though; we’re just about to hit the motherlode.

Memphis celebrates, occasionally even enshrines, its motels. The Lorraine has been encased for future reference as the National Civil Rights Museum; the Heartbreak Hotel, once a mere metaphor in the spiritual neighborhood of Lonely Street, now stands in literal glass and stone on Elvis Presley Boulevard; and the success story of Kemmons Wilson and Holiday Inns Inc. is eclipsed only by that of Fred Smith and Federal Express in the local mythology.

Even the dutiful Gideons have abandoned the Admiral Benbow at the corner of Union and Bellevue, however. There is no trace of either testament in the several drawers in room 245, one of which has had its front torn off and placed neatly inside it where the Bible ought to be.

The television is cockeyed from a failed attempt to rip it from its security mooring, although it doesn’t work so well anyway, and like most everything else in the room, it is rutted with burns from careless cigarettes and/or crack-pipes.

Seven doors down, a man was once stabbed with such a pipe by his so-called boyfriend, or so he said when, out of breath, he waved down a police cruiser at the corner of Madison and Cleveland. The boyfriend told a different story. He himself had been savagely beaten with the room’s telephone by the first man, he said, who had then stabbed himself with the crack pipe. He was only giving chase, he explained, so he could help.

The phone in 245 looks as though it may be the veteran of a beating or two. The plate over the keypad has disappeared, and much else in the room has been either picked clean or otherwise rendered useless. The cover of the heating duct leans beneath the sink. The bathtub faucet leaks hot water and cannot be made to stop. Pee-colored formica peels from the sway-topped sink and the flesh-colored stucco walls crack indiscriminately. The door’s security latch is no longer secure (nor any longer technically a latch, really), the hidden workings of the light switch are not hidden, and the peephole — the one you’re supposed to look through before, ever, ever opening the door — has been plugged with a tiny piece of cloth.

And not a Bible in sight, here when you really need one.

Unlike Memphis’ celebrated motels, the Benbow does not represent anything prized about the city or its history, anything people actually draw paychecks promoting. It is not a monument to the civil rights movement, the birthplace of rock-and-roll, or Memphis’ role as a universal crossroads.

Instead, the Benbow represents another side of the city, a side people draw paychecks keeping quiet, a side that’s as old as the city’s days as a rough river town and crime capital of the known universe.

It’s here that Little Pete, a 19-year-old gangsta from South Memphis, got pinched for shooting a man just off Elvis Presley Boulevard. Where a man once celebrated Valentine’s Day by flying into a drunken rage, trashing his room, and slapping his girlfriend around, all before 10 a.m. Where guests have occasionally tried to off themselves with excess anti-depressants, detergents, and razor-blades.

If, as everyone seems to agree, the Mississippi Delta begins in the lobby of The Peabody, then it just might end somewhere in the tomblike parking lot here at the Admiral Benbow.

The Benbow’s seediness comes only in part from its dilapidation. Part of it is a matter of architecture. The elevated rooms, once a clever parking solution, create a claustrophobic above-ground subterrain ricocheting with shadows and echoes. A series of catwalks connecting the motel’s four buildings makes you feel as though you may already be in prison, so, well, what the hell anyway. In urban planning lingo, these effects might be described pathologically, symptoms of a property that is “sick.”

Once, when the Monkees stayed here, the parking lot and catwalks were overrun by screaming, teenaged girls.

A half-naked woman lies bloody and motionless beside the bed. G-men let a tabloid photographer into the room to snap some shots of the corpse, of the spectacle of blood and breasts and the 9mm cupped in a cold hand.

Nothing serves to verify the Benbow’s status as a dive — with all the campiness that implies — quite like this scene from The Sore Losers, the burlesque allegory from local cult filmmaker Mike McCarthy.

Mid-scene, there is an establishing shot of the motel’s neon sign and marquee, and audiences are expected to get the joke. “Cheap applause for the local crowd,” McCarthy explains.

Everyone knows you haven’t slummed until you’ve slummed at the Admiral Benbow.

Although McCarthy had his car vandalized while filming at the motel, it didn’t keep him from putting out-of-town talent up here during the filming of his latest movie, SuperStarlet A.D., at least for a night.

“The surreal charm wears off when we realize the doors are broken,” co-star Gina Velour writes of the place in her diary of the shoot, which appeared in Hustler’s Leg World last year. “The moldy ceiling is hanging like fog, and there is a single, bare 60-watt bulb, just like in the movies. It’s the worst night I can remember in all my travels. I can’t do this for the next three weeks.”

And she doesn’t, demanding from McCarthy better digs in the Red Roof Inn up the street.

“They didn’t share my sense of humor,” McCarthy admits.

Evidently camp has its limits, even for aspirant B-movie starlets.

I have to say, Ms Velour’s Admiral Benbow experience closely corresponds with my own.

Even more fascinating Admiral Benbow lore at the linked articles—some of it amusing, some of it terrifying, none of it in the least shocking or too far out for Benbow survivors. And we are legion, because some years back just about every bar, theater, or other mid-level and below music venue in Memphis, as well as independent bookers and promoters, made it their practice to book hotel rooms for bands on tour at the Benbow. The place was filthy. It was dangerous. It was run down, literally falling apart in whole sections. And it was positively crawling with drunks, junkies, crackheads, hookers, johns, flim-flam men, muggers, and other fascinating specimens from every strata of Memphis lowlife, criminality, and dysfunction. There are roaches crawling up the walls of the rooms as big as your thumb—bigger, even. Go ahead, ask me how I know.

But for promoters and venue owners and such, the Benbow wasn’t entirely without its charms nonetheless. It was dirt cheap, and for people working that side of the music-biz street, cheap trumps all else. Especially when you know you don’t have to spend the night there your own self.

The first time a promoter tried to shoehorn us into the Benbow box, we took one look at our assigned room, looked at each other in horror, and agreed immediately that we would NOT be staying at this wretched shitpit after that night’s show, taking it upon ourselves to speedily flee to someplace fit for human habitation and just foot the bill ourselves, even though our contract rider called for two double-occupancy hotel rooms, comped. If I remember right, we ended up at a Red Roof not far away, likely the same one Gina Velour wisely decamped to.

Our next time in town, the guy who had booked us met us at the venue seeming quite pleased with himself at having procured our two rooms already, saving us the trouble of checking in. We pounced without delay: might these rooms happen to be at the Benbow, perchance? Sensing there was trouble afoot, his cheery face fell as he admitted that it was so. We informed him sharply that no, we would NOT be staying at the Admiral Benbow, neither tonight nor ever again. As a compromise measure, we WOULD be willing to hold off on starting the show until he got us rooms at an acceptable hotel, so he wouldn’t habe to miss anything.

It’s common knowledge in the rock and roll universe that when two touring bands hit the road together, even if only for a few days, there is a kind of accelerated bonding between the two camps which takes place, formed initially around all the experiences they have in common: days on end eating nothing but horrible food and the inevitable distress that comes along with it; hot, easy women in specific cities; crippling hangovers and how best to deal with ’em; where the closest liquor store might be, and who’s going to have to shag his ass over there after sound check but before downbeat to fetch a jug for the green room, and such-like topics. Included among these topics: the Admiral Benbow, and how incomprehensibly skeevy it was.

I mean, ALL of our peers knew the place; everybody had a horror story, each more grisly than the one before, and not a one of us doubted for a moment that every word was gospel truth. No one that had actually been there doubted, at any rate. Those who had lived to tell the tale KNEW the truth, having survived the trauma, learned the lessons, and earned the scars. The rest? Well, they’d be finding out soon enough, poor things.

Any hard-touring band that’s put enough miles under their asses can tell you that there are indeed places dotted all across the American road atlas which no normal person knows about, nor will ever see. We’ve all spent our share of sweaty, sleepless nights tossing, turning, and scratching our fresh insect bites in hotels and motels Normals wouldn’t even believe exist. But they do. Those squalid dens are indeed out there…WAITING.

Be afraid. Be very afraid.

Mini-Mengele done unto death

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

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

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

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

Science!

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

5

Courting the ban-hammer

A bit of background will be needed on this one, folks. To wit:

Way back when Twitter first got cranked up, I was persuaded by a lovely and charming lady friend from the halcyon days when we were both working at the venerable and now-defunct Cheap Jack’s vintage clothing store on Broadway near Union Square—Heather by name, now residing in northern Califruitopia a stone’s throw from Sacramento, or she was last I heard anyways—to procure myself both a Twatter and a LinkedIn account, the better for us to keep in touch with. Never once have I bothered using either of them, although naturally I still receive multiple annoying e-mails from them every single damned day—along with same-same from Imgur, which outfit to my sure and certain knowledge I have never signed up for at all.

That said, I have now been driven to Tweet my first Tweet.


Wooden tit be awesome if my very first Twat wound up getting me banned for life? I think so. More from GP.

A Massachusetts liberal activist visiting his parents in Merrimack, New Hampshire over the Thanksgiving holiday had a meltdown over a gun store’s window display that features posters criticizing Joe Biden, Dianne Feinstein and Anthony Fauci, calling the display a “call to violence.” Nothing in the display explicitly or implicitly calls for violence. Apparently however, exercising First and Second Amendment rights is seen as a call to violence by this liberal activist.

Ben Jackson, a writer and producer who works with actress Alyssa Milano on her Sorry Not Sorry podcast, posted a photo of the store, 619DW Guns & Ammo, with the statement, “This is the gun shop in my parents town. Don’t fucking tell me this isn’t a call to violence. Don’t tell me gun culture isn’t sick to its very core. #NoRA #MerrimackNH #NHPolitics”

Jackson was further triggered by Guns & Ammo’s requirement that patron not wear masks in the store, posting a photo a sign in the door that reads, “Stop & Read: We Draw Guns on Masked Visitors – Take Your Mask Off before Entering.”

This is not the first time 619DW Gun & Ammo triggered liberals over their window display. A poster of Barack Obama captioned “Firearms Salesman of the Year” drew complaints in 2013.

Sounds like my kind of gun store. In my inaugural Twat, unfortunately, I totes forgot to include the appropriate “hashtags,” which are apparently de rigeur in that little demi-monde, I guess: #ComeAndTakeThem, #AnyTimeYouFeelFroggy, #CryMeARiverShitlibs, #BulletsFirst.

And with that, I hereby announce my permanent retirement from Twatter. Thanks so much, everyone, you’ve been a wonderful audience.

2

Comment of the week month YEAR

Not so much for the content of it, per se, as for a specific turn of…well, just see for yourself.

With old poopy-pants visibly failing and not even Democrats liking Harris, I am sensing an attempt to position herself for the future. “Hey Democrats! I’m rested, I’m ready! Shits and Giggles are obviously not going to cut it for 2024, so what do you say?”

“Shits and Giggles”?!? *snort* I damned near unmoored a floating rib when I first saw that the other day, and I’m still laughing about it now. I am SOOOO stealing that one for further use around this here hogwallow, Hap. Well done, buddy, well done indeed.

3

Money shot!

Wasn’t gonna bother with this one originally, since it’s just not the sort of “news” item I give a crap about ordinarily. But then I read the New York Post’s write-up, which is so wonderful I just can’t help myself. First, you get the archetypical Post grabber-headline.

Woman fires gun at her vagina in cam show crotch shot gone horribly wrong

Heh. You begin to see what I mean right off the bat, I betcher. Right smack in the Post’s wheelhouse, a real gopher ball for those guys. But then, this IS the iconic tabloid that gave us the most famous headline in newspaper history, after all. On to the, umm, juicy bits.

Georgia webcam model Lauren Hunter Daman, 27, redefined “crotch shot” after discharging a firearm into her vagina during an alleged sex stunt gone awry.

“The female had shot herself in the vagina accidentally,” paramedic Brittany Rivers reportedly told responding police officers of the incident, which reportedly occurred on the morning of Nov. 9 at a residence in Thomaston, per a report by the Upson County Sheriff, the Smoking Gun reported.

Later interviews with witnesses revealed that the sex pistol-turned-gunshot victim was apparently alone in her bedroom when the weapon — a 9mm handgun — went off.

Officers were first alerted to firearm fiasco after receiving an “accidental gunshot wound” call from the residence, according to the police report. Upon arriving at the scene, a sheriff’s deputy encountered EMS Rivers, who was holding the unloaded handgun and a spent bullet casing in her hands.

She told the officer that Daman had blasted herself in the netherregions.

Police then conducted interviews with Daman’s three housemates, two of whom were present during the accident, to try and shed light on the alleged boudoir backfire.

Jordan Allen, the reported owner of the firearm, told officers that he was “in the kitchen walking back to the bedroom when he heard the gun go off.” Upon reaching the bedroom, Allen discovered Daman with “a small amount of blood” on her leg, at which point she reportedly informed him “that she shot herself accidentally” and apologized.

Meanwhile, a second witness named Cody Starnes told deputies that his mother Addie Ruth Johnson came into his bedroom and reported that “Daman had been shot.”

Allen revealed to officers how her inadvertent vagino-blasty allegedly transpired.

“Boudoir backfire”? “Inadvertent vagino-blasty”? COME ON, MAN!!! Pure, classic Post-age right there, and no mistake about it.

Now, like most of you miscreants and ne’er do wells out there in CF Land, I wouldn’t give a greasy Biden-shart if every last “newspaper” in America went under and ceased all publishing operations by mid-morning tomorrow—excepting the New York Post. Them, and only them, I would truly hate to see close up shop, and would mourn deeply if they did. The loss of such a wonderful news outlet would be a grievous one indeed, a bona fide catastrophe not just for NYC but for the entire nation. Long may those rascals wave, I say! America needs the Post, now more than ever before.

Fire In The Hole update! Pics of Miss Smokin’ Snatch—the Vented Slotte Girl, Kid Kordite Krotch herself—over at the Daily Mail. I have to admit, she’s rather cute in most of ’em, in that gormless-yet-worldly, slutty-naif way you often come across in the better, more upscale trailer parks. Way more so than I expected she would be, anyhoo.

3

One for Big Country

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

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

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

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

2

An effect most felicitous

Be afraid, motherfuckers. Be very, VERY afraid.


I’m squarely in GFZ’s camp.

That was the whole point.

The state had to convict Rittenhouse to protect their unofficial Brownshirt thugs in Antifa.

The people needed him acquitted so that Antifa knew we could defend ourselves from them.

The people won and Antifa is shitting itself.

Good.

The Left wanted us to have to cower in fear of Antifa.

The Rittenhouse verdict defies that.

I hope every time some Antifa thug assaults someone they get blasted.

Seconded, with every fiber of my being. I’ve said it before, I’ll say it again: every time pAntiFa masks up to throw another of their little shitflings and the festivities DON’T conclude with at least a couple of them lying in the street bleeding out, Team Liberty must regard that as a failure, and ought to work hard to identify and then correct the problem so that it doesn’t happen again.

Laws got to be changed update! Predictably as yesterday’s sunrise, Proggy is now calling for new legislation to shield his semi-sub rosa Einsatzgruppen from the just consequences of their actions. Our friends at GFZ offer an excellent counterproposal.

They will try to change the law against us, we should change it first against them
They want to be sure the next time Antifa rampages through a community, Antifa can beat people with impunity and those who defend themselves against the mob go to prison.

It’s not enough to prevent that.

We need to advance.

I keep saying, the mob should be treated as a collective.

Kyle should not have to prove those three individuals were a threat to him.

He should only have to prove the mob was a threat.

Yes, I absolutely and unequivocally believe that when a mob attacks a person, indiscriminately firing into the mob should be legal and is morally justified.

The defender should not have to be purposeful in selecting specific targets in the mob who pose a threat, the mob as an entity is the threat and all members of the mob are equally culpable and therefore are equally valid targets.

If you really want to stop Antifa, do that.

“I was attacked by a person in the black bloc so I shot everyone in black bloc facing me” should be a perfect defense.

And because I’m a man of principle, I’ll make it explicit, if a bunch of Klansmen showed up at a black man’s house, again, mob rules, every person in a white robe could get shot as a member of the mob.

I propose the “Kill The Whole Mob in Self Defense Act.”

Fucking A. Proactive, practical, proven effective—I’m down with it, a hundred and twenty-four million bazillion percent. Really, what’s not to like? Perfectly simple, perfectly fair, zero margin for error or misinterpretation: Don’t start none, won’t be none, Leftard asswipes. But should you be stupid enough to start some anyhow, rest assured we’ll be more than happy to finish it for you…by finishing YOU.

25

Something to be thankful for

Not just one but TWO (2) proctologically-thorough, hilariously unconstrained fiskings in the inimitable Correia style, the first on L’Affaire Rittenhouse. Towards the close is when the shell is finally cracked to expose the nut of the whole ugly issue.

and may we find a way to get on common ground before more fuses to this powder keg are lit.

-The shit head arguing in favor of fiery riots is upset that the rule of law won out over jury intimidation, and he wants to chide us about “common ground”. We have no ground in common. Your fuckers are the ones who keep lighting the powder kegs, then you get butt hurt when somebody shoots them rather than getting blown up.
 
Basically guys, all the outrage over this trial is because the left is terrified of losing another tool in their toolbox. They love lawless mobs terrorizing you and wrecking your stuff. They love having you too scared of the system to stand up to their dirtbags. So that’s why they are lying their asses off and shedding fake tears for pedophile scum. The jury’s decision didn’t just say Rittenhouse was not guilty, but by extension, it says their useful idiot rioters were guilty, which damages the narrative. And anytime the truth goes against the narrative, the truth gets a bullet to the back of the neck.

The problem the left ran into this time in the court of public opinion was that all of the actual facts of the case were out there for anyone to see. (I really recommend Rekieta Law, who had phenomenal and entertaining coverage with lawyers watching the live stream. I was glued to it for much of the trial). So with the independent media doing the job that regular media won’t, it’s tougher for dishonest fucks like this to spread their lies.

But gullible people still listen to the media and the blue check marks, which was why they were heartbroken on Friday. If you actually believed the narrative nonsense, this case seems like a travesty.

The losing-a-tool notion I’m fully down with, but there’s another angle worth looking at here. I think the thing that wadded their Underoos more excruciatingly tight than anything else is easy-peasy, simple as pie: Teh Sacred Narrative™ was defied, in all sorts of ways, and quite successfully at that. And that, my friends, simply does not fly in Progtardia—not today, not tomorrow, not EVER.

In our second installment, Correia brings the cannonade to bear on a commenter he graciously refers to as “someone I honestly believe means well,” after said someone had accused Larry thusly and to wit:

…When it comes to the left, though, it sometimes feels to me as though you paint with a remarkably broad brush. Speaking as someone who lives in a blue state and who has a fair number of Democrat/Liberal family and friends…’the left’ is not nearly so monolithic as you paint them.

It’s a mistake to imagine all Democrats to be mustache-twirling-evil monsters, IMO. Are there some assholes on the left? Absolutely! But the vast majority are people that I hope you’d get along with just fine if you were chatting across a table with a beer in hand. In my experience, most are genuinely moral people whose greatest flaw is that their idealism is not tempered by realism. And, yes, that flaw can sometimes present in ugly ways…but I like to believe that such conflicts can be better resolved with conversation rather than condemnation.

The assholes on the left might be your enemy, but I don’t think that the entirety of ‘the left’ needs to be.

It worked out for this poor unthinking schlub about how you’d expect.

If the majority of the left aren’t my enemy, the burden of proof is on them, because frankly I haven’t seen jack shit from most of them beyond paying lip service to principles, as the rest of their fellows go about doing whatever horrible thing they feel like, and the ones who claim to be moral sit there silently and let them.

I do paint with a broad brush about the left, because democrats who stand up against leftist insanity are a tiny minority.

Then I get to listen to people like you, who are probably honestly decent people, tell me that you’re not all insane… Great. SHOW ME.

My liberal friends (and yes, I do have a few still, though most tossed me under the bus as soon as there was any societal pressure to do so) will constantly chide me about my words, or my attitude, and go tsk tsk, how rude! But then when people on their side go bat shit fucking insane, they sit there meekly and stand for nothing, because they know the beast they fed will just as easily turn and eat them too.

Besides, as soon as a democrat stands for principle outside of the narrative, they get tossed. Pick any of them in media, punditry, or academia. Any at all. Glenn Greenwald. Tim Pool. Jordan Peterson. Those were all mushy moderates, until they say hey wait, the left is going nuts, and boom, now the left thinks they are the second coming of Satan-Hitler. The party is currently enraged at Sinema and Manchin.

And I’m not alone in this. Most politically alert non-leftists will tell you the same thing. You belong to a cult which will not abide heresy. You want to show us that you aren’t all authoritarian statist trash, DO SOMETHING.

That, basically, is the executive summary. Larry goes on from there to quickly confirm that he was merely clearing his throat, cracking his knuckles, and generally limbering up before getting down to serious business.

Okay. Now for some expounding. Of course not everyone on the left is the same. It’s a big tent. There’s old fashioned liberals, who though they believe in stupid backwards policies, usually tend to have good but naïve intentions. Then there are the progressives, who are basically communist puritans who are actively trying to destroy America. Then there’s the news media, which is just pure Satanic evil. There are also useful idiot NPCs who don’t really have any belief system at all, who just repeat whatever script they are fed that day.

I can say equally insulting things about the right. We’re a big dumb tent too. It ranges from liberty minded people to authoritarians. We even let stupid Mitt Romney in it for some baffling and inexplicable reason. Many in the GOP are trash grifters or NRO cruise ship snobs. However, even though the most loathsome of republicans are corrupt, lazy, shiftless, and stupid, they usually aren’t trying to actively destroy the country.

The worst of both sides are the proverbial swamp creatures. And whether you loved Trump or hated him, there’s no denying that there’s a bloated, elitist, co-dependent bureaucrat/academic/pundit class whose primary motivation is getting and keeping more power for themselves.

So of these various competing factions, why do I typically paint the left with a broad brush?

Because you fucking deserve it.

I see the right fight with itself constantly. The right is its own worst enemy in that respect. That’s why there’s always the joke about republicans snatching defeat from the jaws of victory. Too many of them are passive wusses who wish to maintain the status quo. Their ultimate achievement is to lose with dignity.

The left however gets shit done, because they always put aside their differences and work toward whatever goal their elite wants. This is effective, but also what makes them despicable.

For this next part I’m not talking about the politicians or the punditry. Those guys pick a narrative, no matter how false it may be, and they fucking PUSH. They run with that narrative until it absolutely collapses, then they make up a new narrative and run with it instead.

No. I’m talking about YOU. Regular people. Voters. The guy next door. The masses on the internet. Just average joes. Democrats. Libs. Whatever you call yourself. Anybody who identifies as being on the left.

When your leaders pick a narrative, you drink that Kool-Aid. Even if it’s shit flavored Kool-Aid, most of you smile and tell us it’s the best fucking Kool-Aid you’ve ever tasted. It’s milk from the teat of a magic cherry flavored Unicorn. Nope. It’s shit. You all know it’s shit. But you go along with the narrative anyway.

When the insane progs among you lie their asses off, I’m talking blatant, easily disproven, painfully ham-fisted, fucking LIES…Do you call them out? Do you say, “hang on guys, that’s a little nuts”. Because if you do, the rest of us sure as fuck don’t ever see it. Pick a topic, any topic. It’s always the same.

When people nominally on your side are saying crazy, vile, violent, wacky shit on the internet…do you jump in? When I go out on Twitter yesterday and I find hundreds of posts from fucking scumbags dancing in blood, how come I didn’t see comments from Caring Liberals condemning them? (hell when some prog wrote that an evil motherfucker running over 50 people was karma and that Wisconsin DESERVED it, and I condemned them for it, Facebook banned me for “bullying and hate speech”. Fucking good. That was my 9th 30 day. One more I think I get a free yogurt.)

Anytime there is a breaking news story, there will be legions of howling leftists, and blue check mark idiots, lying their asses off and saying the most horrific things imaginable. And since they literally own social media, they get an official pass while the uppity on the right get officially squashed. We’ve all seen it. From trending hash tags that mysterious vanish, shadow bans, to ultra-biased fact checkers, to Youtube demonetizing wrong thinkers or even getting rid of the thumbs down button.

Yet as your fellow travelers are saying all this horrid shit, where are you? You’re supposedly sane. You claim to have a voice of moderation, but it must be a whisper because we certainly can’t hear it.

And if THAT lengthy excerpt isn’t enough to persuade you to hie thyself thither and Read of it the All, well, I just don’t know what I’m supposed to do with you. Because it only gets more rollicking, more rowdy, more just plain old-fashioned fun from there, most definitely including his pithy description of social media as “…a constant barrage of Common Internet Shit Gibbons.” What can one possibly say about such incandescent brilliance but: “Heh. Indeed.”

8
1

Careful what you wish for, bright boy

The absolute worst thing that could possibly happen to this witless proto-simian and his fellow sooties is to be right about this.

I realize that maf’s be harr-ud ‘n’ shit for ‘hood apes like yo’seff, but if I was you I’d go hunt up a Whypeepuh to axe him about how the raw numbers might stack up for y’all in any prospective “race war.” Believe me, it ain’t pretty for your side. Even allowing for a huge percentage of urban-shitlib sobsisters turning traitor against Team Whitey™ to miscegenate themselves on over to Team Mandingo™ instead, it will take no more than, oh, about five-ten minutes for us to obliterate every least trace that you shiftless numbskulls were ever even here at all.

Less, actually, what with the aforementioned defectors of Team Coalburner™ draping themselves over your shoulders, lying in the dirt pawing desperately at your legs, drooling and sighing in orgasmic anticipation all the while like they no doubt will be.

So yeah, you badasses just go on and say the word anytime you think you’re ready to brang it. Us White Foke™ will be over here waiting quietly, pondering the wisdom expressed by this classic in the meanwhiles:

You think you want a race war? Pray God we never decide to give you one.

8
7

Big Red found!

Back in March, or that’s when the article appeared, and as you’d expect it’s one hell of a story.

We Found Ford’s Incredible Turbine-Powered Semi-Truck ‘Big Red’ That’s Been Lost for Decades
Several months ago, we set out to catch a ghost. First seen at the 1964 World’s Fair alongside a fun new car called the Mustang, Ford’s “Big Red” was the automaker’s experimental gas turbine semi-truck, a moonshot experiment built to lift American motoring into the jet age. Thirteen feet tall, nearly 100 feet long with its tandem trailers, packed with truly futuristic features and powered by a monster 600-horsepower turbine engine, the fully-functional prototype was a wonder to behold. It wowed fair attendees and captured the imaginations of thousands on a cross-country promotional tour that followed. Then, it was mothballed when turbine technology didn’t add up. It changed hands by chance, people lost interest, and years after the 10-ton fire-breather barreled down America’s highways, it vanished.

Though it seems like it’d be pretty tough to hide, Big Red’s been missing since the early 1980s. It’s perhaps one of the most significant pieces of automotive history to drop off the face of the earth. Ford itself had no idea what happened to it. But now, we do—after months of searching, after our initial investigation last fall got us closer than anyone had been in decades, the hunt is finally over. We’ve found Big Red. And we can confirm not only that the truck still exists, but that it’s been painstakingly restored—working turbine and all—to its former glory by its exceedingly private and equally dedicated owner.

You have questions? We’ve got answers. But first, we need to lay out some caveats. After we tracked him down and made contact through an attorney, Big Red’s owner—a man who insisted on remaining anonymous for the sake of privacy—finally agreed to share the story of his prized possession with the world under a few strict conditions. We won’t reveal his identity or the truck’s current location, which we have confirmed. We can, however, tell you just about everything else: why he bought it, how it was restored, and why it’s been kept a secret for 40 years.

In the course of tracking down Big Red, we’ve also come in contact with several key figures who were involved with the truck at one point or another throughout its history, and we’re now able to fill in a lot of gaps in the publicly-known timeline of how it went from being feted at the World’s Fair to a discarded curiosity ripe for the picking. We’ve also found a trove of original Ford documents with technical diagrams, mechanical specs and marketing plans for the mammoth truck, some of which are published here with more coming in a future story soon.

There are still a few grey areas—we don’t yet have every moment of Big Red’s past documented—but The Drive’s effort here represents the first time anyone has nailed down its segmented, mixed-up story in one place. Let’s start right where the trail went cold, about 40 years ago.

Like I said, it’s one hell of a good story if you’re into this sort of thing, and ferchrissake who on earth wouldn’t be? There’s an astonishing local angle too, which I didn’t know about but somehow didn’t. There’s a reason I say I shoulda known, which I shall reveal anon.

As we wrote in our initial investigation, the last public record of the truck showed it was owned by Holman-Moody, Ford’s former factory-sponsored race team, and parked in a Charlotte, North Carolina storage hangar through at least the late 1970s. This is backed up by photographs and numerous eyewitness accounts, plus a brochure where it was actually listed for sale as a surplus item, but what’s never been clear is how Big Red ended up in Holman-Moody’s hands in the first place. Thankfully, Lee Holman is a chatty guy.

Holman is the current owner of H&M and the son of the company’s co-founder John Holman. He took over the business in 1978, so he’s obviously a person of interest in the Big Red timeline. We tried contacting him last fall but never heard back; through another source, we finally managed to get him on the phone to confirm some key details that have never before been published as fact.

This part of the truck’s history is key to how it survived the crusher—the fate of most concept cars—and it’s incredible it happened at all. Completely by chance, Big Red escaped Ford’s grasp for just long enough to get in the right place at the right time to make it into private hands. We initially found this part of the saga hard to believe, but now it’s been confirmed as the truth by Holman.

The part I bolded above is the key bit. See, back in my air-freight delivery days, Holman Moody was a regular stop; I must’ve been in that very storage hangar mentioned above about a gazillion times. There was always some danged neat stuff cached here and there in that cavernous, dilapidated space. Holman Moody used to build engines for NASCAR race teams back in the day, there was this big testing stand out back which they’d bolt a new engine into and ru it in. I was out there a few times when such was going on, and man, you talk about LOUD. Always got my heart racing and the gearhead adrenaline flowing, that did.

Anyways, the article is a must-read for anyone with even a drop of honest-Injun, true-blue American motor oil coursing through their veins. Yes, there are pitchers, including this one of Big Red in her heyday:

The truck of tomorrow, today!

Glorious, no? The real surprise for me was seeing just how small the turbine engine powering Big Red was/is; the thing is much, much more compact than the 4- or 6-banger diesels motorvating big trucks down the highways and byways today.

Like I said, don’t fail to read this one. It’s as Americana as Americana gets, a saga that could only ever happen in America That Was. Big Red was lost, but then found and made new again by determined men who cared enough to take on a difficult job and by-God get it done. One can only pray that, someplace on down the line, the same might be said about America itself.

3
1

Bee on FIRE!

The Rittenhouse dustup has inspired an awesome burst of genius-level hilarity at the Bee. Some sample headlines, chronologically arranged:

Prosecutor Proves How Deadly AR-15 Is By Accidentally Shooting 7 Jurors

Kyle Rittenhouse Asked To Step Outside And Defend The Courthouse While Verdict Is Being Read

Rioters Flee In Terror As Kyle Rittenhouse Emerges From Courthouse With AR-15

Media Warns Thousands Of Americans Planning To Cross State Lines To Celebrate Thanksgiving

Rittenhouse, Sandmann Agree To Share Joint Custody Of CNN

Prosecutors Find Mail-In Jury Votes At 3AM, Rittenhouse Now Guilty

Last but by no means least, a slightly out-of-order one that requires excerpting to enjoy the full effects.

Rittenhouse Verdict Raises Concerns That It’s No Longer Safe To Beat People To Death With A Skateboard
U.S.—As Americans deal with the aftermath of the Rittenhouse verdict, many are being forced to come to terms with the fact that it’s no longer safe to beat people to death with a skateboard in America.

“I’m devastated. I’m terrified. I don’t even recognize my own country anymore,” said local concerned citizen Gail Piddlesnoot. “How have we gotten to the point in our nation where people can no longer beat someone with a skateboard, or kick someone in the face, or threaten to kill them without risk of being shot? It’s just horrible.”

The American Society of Communist Skateboard Murderers (ASCSM) reports that more and more of their members are dropping out, no longer confident that they can go out at night, burn down cities, and bash in people’s skulls with skateboards unmolested.

“This sets a dangerous precedent,” said Piddlesnoot. “It could be that in a very short time, we will no longer see gangs of marauding skateboard-murdering arsonists roaming our streets at night, and that’s a very sad thought.” 

For Leftards, a thought sad enough to reduce them to hysterics. Which, along with their slavering, unswerving preference that an innocent, entirely admirable teenager be brutally beaten to death by marauding thugs rather than have their own political fanaticism contravened, says all anybody should ever need to know about them—who they are, what they do, and above all else, what the upshot will most assuredly be should we ever be so foolish or inattentive as to allow these fiends to attain the unchecked power over us they so desperately crave.

7

Correction

Helping the truth get its boots on.

A neighbor passed on this summary of some of the little-known facts about the Kyle Rittenhouse trial. Yet most of the mainstream media is still distributing the most dishonest and hateful distortions about Kyle Rittenhouse and the trial. CNN, MSNBC, and the New York Times are the loudest and most extreme in their dishonesty and hate. Google seems to be on a full-court press to bury the truth under a high priority blizzard of lies.

“Too bad so many are still enthralled with the MSM that they never hear the true story. Unfortunately, the MSM is still spewing their HATE! Justice was served, you have the right to defend yourself PERIOD. The Jury is to be praised. If you didn’t watch the trial, hear and SEE the video evidence, you have NO say that is contrary to the Jury’s verdict! Praise God that video of the trial itself was LIVE for all to see and hear the TRUTH!”

“Things I learned from the trial”

“I didn’t know the gas station where it all started and where Kyle stayed up until they started attacking him, is owned by his grandparents. They came on to his property to attack him.

I didn’t know that Kyle put out a dumpster fire that was being rolled down to a gas station to blow up, with people all around.

I didn’t know that the Police were told to stand down as businesses were destroyed.

I didn’t know that Kyles Dad, Grandma and Friends all lived in Kenosha, 20 minutes from where he resided with his Mom part time in Illinois.

I didn’t know that someone knocked Rittenhouse down twice and then attempted to kick him with lethal force to the head.

I didn’t know that Huber had hit him in the head 2x with a skateboard.

I didn’t know Gaige Grosskreutz, aimed his gun at Kyle first, as he admitted on the stand.

I also didn’t know that in the State of Wisconsin, it is legal for Kyle to have a gun, even at 17 (which was why the gun charge was dismissed).

I didn’t know that Kyle did not cross state lines with a gun he wasn’t supposed to have. The rightful gun owner did, as he was legally permitted to do.

I also didn’t realize that Rosenbaum was a 5-time convicted child rapist, and that Huber was a 2 time convicted woman beater. I didn’t know that Grosskreutz was a convicted Burglar with an assault on his record also.

Via Brock. About that “rightful gun owner,” looks like he might just have a little problem himself.

Now that Kyle Rittenhouse has been found not guilty for his legitimate use of force, we wait for the Federal response. It was Rittenhouse himself who admitted on the stand that he gave money to Dominick Black — who was dating Rittenhouse’s sister — to purchase an AR-15 style rifle for Rittenhouse from a Wisconsin hardware store because Rittenhouse was underage.

Kyle claims that the money was a gift to Black with the understanding that he would use the money to buy a rifle that would then be given to Kyle on his 18th birthday. The fact that Kyle was allowed to use the rifle while still 17 is suspicious itself. Look, I am progun and I even smell bullshit here.

If the Feds want him, this is where I see them going.

At the very least. Myself, I see them going absolutely anywhere and everywhere they can think of, because The Power cannot afford to sit idly by as true justice is done without making an all-hands effort to put a stop to that nonsense.

Dominick Black, who now lives in Racine according to court records, is charged with two counts of intentionally giving a dangerous weapon to a person under 18 causing death.

According to court documents, Rittenhouse allegedly gave cash to Black — who was dating Rittenhouse’s sister — to purchase an AR-15 style rifle for Rittenhouse from a Wisconsin hardware store because Rittenhouse was underage.

Court documents allege Rittenhouse retrieved the gun from Black’s stepfather’s house in Kenosha on Aug. 25, 2020, and that Rittenhouse and Black went together, armed, to protests in downtown Kenosha that followed the Jacob Blake shooting. Later that night, Rittenhouse shot three men, killing two, in what he and his supporters say was an act of self defense. Rittenhouse is charged with homicide.

At a brief hearing Thursday (this article is from July ’21—M), the prosecution and Black’s defense attorney made a mutual request to adjourn the Black case until after the Rittenhouse trial. The court granted that request and set the case for a status hearing on Nov. 22.

If convicted Black faces up to three years in prison for each of the counts against him.

Further swirl, churn, and perturbation.

After the shooting, Rittenhouse became a cause célèbre in conservative circles and some gun-rights advocacy groups and donations poured in to support him.

The money was collected by a Texas nonprofit called the #FightBack Foundation, founded by John Pierce and L. Lin Wood.

Pierce used a $2 million check drawn on his Los Angeles-based law firm to bail Rittenhouse out of jail in November 2020. Theoretically, the money would be returned to him now that the case has concluded.

But the Rittenhouse family fired Pierce in February and have accused him and Wood, who left the case last year, of diverting money meant to help Rittenhouse.

In September, a Kenosha lawyer named Xavier Solis filed a letter with the court saying the bail money had come from #FightBack Foundation and should be returned to the organization. Pierce is no longer affiliated with the foundation.

The father of Anthony Huber has filed a federal civil lawsuit, but not against Rittenhouse. It names the city and county of Kenosha, the sheriff, the acting and former police chiefs, and unnamed officers and deputies. The lawsuit accuses them of racial animus in allowing dozens of armed whites to remain among protesters, leading to conditions that resulted in Huber’s death. The suit remains open.

Jacob Blake has filed a federal lawsuit against Rusten Shesky, the officer who shot him, claiming his use of deadly force was excessive, violated Blake’s rights against unreasonable seizure, and was done with “malice, willfulness, and reckless indifference” to Blake’s rights. The civil case remains ongoing.

Four protesters have sued the city and county of Kenosha. They allege the curfews were selectively enforced against protesters, while officers ignored, or even encouraged, armed men like Rittenhouse. It seeks to be certified as a class action on behalf of all the people cited for curfew violations.

The water has been chummed, the hungry sharks are arriving, and the water will soon be getting quite bloody indeed. And to think, this is only the beginning of this shit, too. Yes, Kyle won the opening round yesterday, and yes, that win should not only be noted by Our Side, but raucously, publicly celebrated, as well as taken up and used as a cudgel to beat Leftard-swine skulls in with. That said, Real American eyes must remain wide open and firmly on the prize.

Rittenhouse’s Acquittal Is A Great Moment, But It’s An Atrocity Things Ever Came This Far
Savor this victory, for rarely is one so sweet or so well-earned

The Globalist American Empire brought all its power to bear to obliterate Kyle Rittenhouse for the “crime” of protecting himself from a pedophile rapist, a violent psychopath, and an Antifa felon. They wanted to leave a smoldering crater where there was once a kind-hearted teenager, as a warning to any other do-gooders who might think about protecting their communities or themselves. What if other upstanding, moral, law-abiding Americans saw Rittenhouse as a model? What if they too began using legal self-defense against the freakshows and pedophiles and lumpenprole criminals who people the Antifa “movement” and act as the GAE’s ideological shock troops?

Everyone in America should enjoy and celebrate Rittenhouse’s vindication. But justifiable celebration must not crowd out necessary self-reflection. There are bitter lessons in the Rittenhouse case.

Everything about the Rittenhouse prosecution represents the decline of America. In a functioning civilization, Rittenhouse would never have had to defend himself at all, because leaders would not have allowed an entire city to collapse into looting and mayhem. At the first sign of trouble, they would have sent the police out with a clear mandate to keep the streets clear and orderly by any means necessary. Would-be looters would have received the instant justice they deserved, and businesses would be protected. But America increasingly isn’t a functioning civilization, so leaders cowered, told police to stand down, and abandoned law-abiding citizens to the mob.

In a functioning civilization, even after the shooting, Rittenhouse would never have been charged. All three shootings were caught on video for the entire world to see. Every video made it obvious that Rittenhouse was defending himself. Revolverwrote about it literally the very next day.

Yet despite Rittenhouse’s obvious innocence, most of the conservative movement spent the last year and even the last week in abject cowardice, refusing to defend him.

The passion of Kyle Rittenhouse is only the beginning of what is to come.

‘Fraid so. This week’s victory was important, being not Kyle’s alone but a victory for all of us, in a very real way. Nonetheless, let’s not anybody kid ourselves here: sweet as this win is for the moment, in the larger picture it solves nothing, it changes nothing. The Enemy is still out there, his hatred for us still fiercely burning; the threat is still real; the clock is still ticking. And Real Americans still have only one option left to them, if they seriously hope to fix things.

4

Today, we celebrate; tomorrow…?

Derb joins in the jubilation—cautiously, as is only appropriate and wise.

As well as joining in the jubilation, I also share with the hopes, expressed by many, that young Kyle takes the Nick Sandmann route and sues the bejasus out of all the politicians and media hacks who have been defaming him for the past year and a half—starting with Joe Biden.

On Kyle’s behalf, I nurse the further hope that Representative Matt Gaetz will follow through on his suggestion that Rittenhouse would make an excellent congressional intern. Hire him, Matt!

This is a victory in the Cold Civil War—a win for normal citizens over the administrative state and all its powers.

The war isn’t over, of course. There are many battles to be fought yet. Still we can, and should, rejoice in our victories, and seek encouragement in them to keep fighting on.

As it happens, while following the trial proceedings at legalinsurrection.com, I was reading Tom Morgan’s recent book Trial in Cooperstown. The book is a blow-by-blow account of a homicide trial in upstate New York fifteen years ago.

To those of us who deal with national and metropolitan news, the overall effect of the book is soothing. You are watching the judicial system plod steadily, unimaginatively through its time-honored procedures, all governed by rules of procedure that are sometimes tiresome and sometimes hard to see the point of, but that arrive at last at a conclusion that seems as fair as it can be amid all the imperfections of human things.

This is small-town America at its best—as, I’m inclined to think, was the Rittenhouse trial. Yes, the old values still stand; yes, the old procedures still work; and yes, justice free of the horrid curse of politics can still be found.

Where can they be found? In Otsego County, of which Cooperstown is the county seat. Population of Otsego County: 62 thousand. And in Kenosha County, Wisconsin. Population of Kenosha County: 169 thousand.

Where are they not much found? In our big cities, with their lowest-common-denominator mayors, their top-heavy administrations, their timid, diversity-whipped police, their rapacious public-sector employee lobbies (which I refuse to call “unions”), their apathetic voters, and their George Soros-funded District Attorneys.

“If there is hope, it lies in the proles.” So wrote Winston Smith in his diary, in Chapter Seven of Nineteen Eighty-Four. If there is hope for our country, it lies in Cooperstown, New York and in Kenosha, Wisconsin.

America is not dying. Even taking the darkest view, we are at least not dead yet. Dum spiramus, speramus.

From the Latin: While we breathe, we hope. As we not only should, but must. For despair equals defeat and death, now more than ever before. All too often over the last several decades, our victories have been few and far between, fleeting, and ultimately without lasting effect, for more than one reason. No one among us ought to be kidding ourselves about this one, either.

As the usual overdramatized shrieking and rending of garments amongst The Enemy every time their iron will is thwarted proves adequately enough, this is indeed a win for us, one well worth the celebrating. But as always with our tormenters on the Left, they will surely be back, sooner than some might expect. In their obssessive pursuit of unchallenged tyranny, they are indefatigable. Understand well: They will never relent, never abstain, never retreat until every last one of us is enslaved under their merciless thrall.

Yes, we should definitely revel in each and every victory God grants to us; among other benefits, it renews our commitment, restores our strength, anneals our bond with our fellow warriors, and erodes the morale of our loathsome Enemy. All the same, though, even while the celebration proceeds we, as guardians of the bastion of American liberty, so to speak, must also look to the patrolling of its walls and ramparts, ever alert to the unfailing certainty that the very survival of everyone and everything sheltering within their protection turns on our unflagging vigilance.

8
2

DeSantis floats like a butterful, stings like a bee

Shitlib journo fucks around with the President of the True American Nation, finds out.

When it comes to Florida’s governor, Ron DeSantis, I tend to agree with a comment Matt Walsh made on a podcast, which is that DeSantis has Trump’s courage without Trump’s baggage. Two differences between the men are, first, that, while Trump had an instinct for the Constitution, DeSantis has a lawyer’s deeper understanding of the document, and two, that DeSantis is better at keeping his eye on the ball. That means he remembers to make his statements about the American people rather than about himself.

Both those qualities came through strongly on Thursday when DeSantis chose Brandon Honda, located in the City of Brandon, Florida, as the venue for a press conference. The reason for the press conference was to sign anti-mandate legislation:

Emphasis in the original, and utterly, utterly hilarious.

Things got even better when a reporter tried to embarrass DeSantis by asking him if anti-mandate legislation isn’t a form of big government antithetical to DeSantis’s conservative credentials. The reporter might as well have tried to tickle a cobra with a stick, because things did not go well for him after that.

Oh, I just bet they didn’t at that. One might think these stupes would know better by now, DeSantis having long since proven himself to be a seriously dangerous opponent—full of piss and vinegar; always up for a bare-knuckles duke-out; fast, strong, and agile, with good footwork and a haymaker Right(wing) cross no brain-intact pug wants to have to stop with their face.

The question is a bit hard to hear, but the reporter apparently is asking how DeSantis can simultaneously get angry at the federal government for trying to mandate vaccines when he’s using his state government to prevent vaccine mandates. The reporter doesn’t seem to grasp that there’s a difference between using the vast power of the federal government to force people to inject something into their body (a no-no under the Constitution) versus the state using its power to protect people from such force (a yes-yes under the 10th Amendment).

DeSantis, however, did grasp the difference, and he schooled the reporter with enthusiasm (emphasis mine):

So, first of all, this idea that somehow conservativism is about, like, local school boards, it’s the United States of America, not the united school boards or counties commissions of America. So, the states are the primary vehicles to protect people’s freedoms, their health, their safety, their welfare in our constitutional system.

What Biden is doing is not constitutional. There has never been a federal vaccine mandate imposed on the general public.

Now, some people say, “Hey, these local governments wanted to lock down businesses, they wanted to force mandates, they wanted to keep the kids locked out of school. Yeah, you’re damned right I overruled them on that because they were wrong. And the fact of the matter is you don’t have the right to do wrong.

The fact of the matter is, if we would have let them lock the kids out of school last year, we would have paid the piper for years and years in this state. If we had let them lock down businesses and restrict and do all that, we would have one of the highest employment rates in the country. So, we had to stand up for people’s liberties, their livelihoods, their right to work, people’s right to own a business, and it was the right thing to do.

But what Biden is doing, he does not have the…he even admitted he doesn’t have the authority to do it. Psaki admitted that they don’t have the authority to do it. And in fact, even six months ago they are all saying ‘Of course you never mandate. Of course, you never mandate.’

And so the question is, do we actually have a constitution that constrains people like Biden or is it just when he loses patience, he can do whatever the hell he wants to? No, I’ll take the Constitution, thank you very much.

I snipped out some of My President’s remarks, but the crucial points remain clear and correct. The hapless numbskull beclowned himself with an ill-considered attempt to score off a man far beyond the limited understanding of such as he. DeSantis, in an act of charity of which his wormy interlocutor was wholly unworthy, tried to explicate certain fundamental concepts about Constitutionally-correct government, as daunting and impossible a task as any mere mortal ever hoped to accomplish. It’s greatly to DeSantis’ credit that he even…

Oh, who am I kidding with all my sarcasm and snark. The wormy asshole “journalist” tried to swap punches with a highly-skilled foeman invulnerable to his weak-ass arm-flapping, and America’s Gov gutted the damned hack for his presumption. That’s the long and the short of it. Bottom line?

So far, DeSantis has proven that he understands the Constitution, including federalism and states’ rights; he recognizes that the driving force behind the Constitution is individual liberty; he has political courage; he keeps his eye on the ball; and he knows how to and is willing to troll the Democrats.

Politicians have a way of disappointing us, but, for now, DeSantis is playing the game better than just about anyone else on the conservative side of the aisle.

Yup, s’trewth. I say again: I just LOVE this guy. No, DeSantis ain’t perfect; no one among us is, least of all a goddamned politician. But if there’s any other governor out there who references the moribund, nearly forgotten US Constitution at all anymore except to use it as a convenient smokescreen, prop, or misdirection—never mind actually respecting and upholding the poor thing, in both word and deed—I haven’t heard about him yet.

3

Carlson coup

Another one I didn’t see coming but probably should have.

Tucker Carlson Airs Exclusive Interview with Kyle Rittenhouse Directly After Verdict
Tucker Carlson revealed that his production team has had access to Kyle Rittenhouse while filming a documentary, and today he played never-before-seen footage of Rittenhouse leaving the courthouse and revealing his thoughts on what he’s been through in the American justice system. Footage shows that Carlson’s cameras have been with Rittenhouse for a while documenting his journey through the agonizing trial that finally ended on Friday in a not guilty verdict.

Heh. Well done, Tucker.

“It’s something that keeps you up at night. Once you finally do get to sleep your dreams are about what happened and you’re waking up in a dark cold sweat,” said Rittenhouse describing PTSD. “It’s scary actually. The dreams feel so real and they’re not the same at all. They’re all different,” he said. “What if I did let Mr. Rosenbaum steal my gun?” he asked playing through all the scenarios that plague him at night.

Cameras show Rittenhouse leaving the courthouse with a big smile on his face. “The jury reached the correct verdict,” he said. “It’s been a rough journey but we made it through it. We made it through the hard part.”

Those brief quotes from the interview are all I’ve seen as of now, but y’all can be sure I’ll keep my eyes peeled for more. The ones above are a poignant reminder of the pain one of our own was forced by these monsters to endure, and that the need for a reckoning will never go away until the malefactors have been made to pay for their crimes, the very last measure of justice extracted from each and every one of the filthy bastards.

Update! Found a bit more.

Fox News’ Tucker Carlson covered the exoneration of Kyle Rittenhouse tonight on his show and played a clip from a behind-the-scenes documentary that he plans to release in December on Fox Nation.

Carlson also announced that on Monday, he would be airing an interview with Rittenhouse on his show.

Hoo boy, that’s gonna mean Kyle ain’t the only one with nightmares. That announcement will have CNN tossing, turning, and sweating rivers all this weekend too, I imagine. Almost makes me wish I hadn’t dumped cable nearly ten years ago or so.

“You have dreams about what happened?” Rittenhouse is asked.

Rittenhouse responded, “Every single night, it’s quite scary actually because the dreams feel so real and they’re not the same at all, they’re all different.”

“They’re the different scenarios that run through your head during the day like what could have happened, like I’m alive but what could have happened, like what if I wasn’t alive, or what if I did let Mr. Rosenbaum steal my gun,” Rittenhouse continued.

Rittenhouse explained, “It’s those type of dreams, the outcome of, it’s bad, but almost every outcome is either me getting seriously injured or hurt and those are just the dreams I have on a daily basis.”

As Rittenhouse spoke, different scenes were played and then it segued into him receiving the verdict.

After that, Rittenhouse is seen riding in a car and is asked, “How do you feel man?”

“The jury reached the correct verdict, self defense is not illegal and I believe they came to the correct verdict and I’m glad everything went well and it’s been a rough journey, but we made it through it, we made it through the hard part,” a smiling Rittenhouse replied.

It would be nice to think so, wouldn’t it? Alas, it ain’t the way to bet, not in the death throes of Amerika v2.0. The Feds will be putting their jackboots in straightaway, among a whole scabrous army of other miscellaneous pustules, afflictions, and excrescences. This is merely one meeting engagement in what will almost surely be a long war, a bloody conflict which won’t end until our Enemy lies in stinking, flyblown windrows all across the New American Killing Fields, in number great enough to dishearten their surviving confreres—who may very well think themselves the more unfortunate ones when all is said and done.

5

An unlooked-for victory: SUCK IT, BITCHES!!!

Whenever they’re unhappy, Real Americans should rejoice.

Anytime you feel froggy enough, Commie. As another great American once put it, I have five dollars for each of you.


If they couldn’t lie, they’d be unable to speak at all.

Whatevs, assholes. I believe Kyle Rittenhouse to be a genuine, true-blue American hero, and don’t give a single shit that you consider him, me, and every Dissident Right patriot white supremacists, fascists, Nazis, racists, and extremists. You and all your fellow-traveling Reds please do feel free to go fuck yourselves blind, then die in a fire and descendeth into Hell to burn for a thousand years. NOW what?

With that brief sampling of The Enemy’s excruciating agony upon witnessing the scarifying spectacle of actual justice being done despite all their best efforts to prevent it, we’ll leave off pointing and laughing at them for the nonce to bring you this deathless reminder that, for all sane, upstanding, non-evil folks, their bitter tears are as the sweetest wine.


Lap it up, fellow Hitlerians. I insisted Kyle would go down, making this another of those extremely rare (a-HENH!) occasions when I have to admit I was wrong, and couldn’t be happier about it. Not a difficult thing, in this instance, this being by far the best-tasting crow I ever had to eat.

Update! To anyone in need of an explanation as to why the Rittenhouse verdict might cause such anguish in Progtardia, there’s a very simple one.

Swiped from WeirdDave, with my thanks.

Update! Courageous, unflappable under unimaginable pressure in the heat of battle, supremely competent, a bona fide hero? One of Herschel’s commenters concisely lays out the case for why you just better believe he is, bub.

This 17-year-old kid was alone, under attack on his life, and beaten to the ground. And in defending himself he managed to harm exactly zero people who were not actively attempting to kill him. Think about that for a moment. How many trained adults could keep their heads — and their aim — that steady under anything like those circumstances? Have to hope he manages to bankrupt several MSM outlets and personages; he’s going to need years to recover from what just happened to him, and he’ll need all the resources he can get.

Agreed, right down the line, without hesitation. This admirable young man is nothing short of exemplary, a marvelous role model every Real American can only hope and pray their own teenagers will try to emulate.

3

BUSTED!

If these puling punks puke up so much as a single syllable of complaint about the judge’s ban violating their “First Amendment rights”—having spent decades alternating between scoffing at everyone else’s and either abusing or exaggerating their own, whichever is more convenient to their purpose of destroying the Constitution altogether—I hope some nearby someone breaks their fucking jaw.

Should any of them invoke “the people’s right to know” as a defense, shoot them.

As day three of jury deliberations in the Kyle Rittenhouse murder trial began, Judge Bruce Schroeder banned MSNBC from his courtroom for the duration of the trial, after an employee claiming to be a producer with the outlet reportedly followed the van taking jurors home on Wednesday evening and was pulled over after running a red light.

“No one from MSNBC news will be permitted in this building…this is an extremely serious matter and will be referred to the proper authorities,” said Schroeder.

The judge added that the employee taken into custody was James J. Morrison who claimed to be working for Irene Byon of NBC in New York.

Neither of which august personages should be terribly difficult to locate, assuming anyone in NYC might be interested in doing so.

According to TownHall’s Julio Rosas, Kenosha police reported that someone was following the bus carrying the Rittenhouse jurors last night “while claiming to work for MSNBC,” adding that the matter is under investigation.

In a statement, MSNBC said: “Last night, a freelancer received a traffic citation. While the traffic violation took place near the jury van, the freelancer never contacted or intended to contact the jurors during deliberations, and never photographed or intended to photograph them,” adding “We regret the incident and will fully cooperate with the authorities on any investigation.”

You regret you got caught, you mean, and will cheerfully swab as many rumps as might be necessary to keep from being charged with jury tampering, intimidation, and/or obstruction of justice.

Earlier this month, a self-described ‘honorary nephew of George Floyd’ identified as Cortez Rice posted a disturbing video threatening to doxx Rittenhouse jurors if they don’t return a guilty verdict.

Oh my goodness gracious, what a remarkable coincidence!

5

How to defeat the Cancel Culture mob

Point and laugh at them every chance you get; provide countless in-your-face demonstrations that you simply don’t care one tiny bit about their opinions, their beliefs, or their very existence; ridicule them as the weak, lily-livered ignoramuses they truly are. Those, among other equally fine tactics, such as putting every man Jack of them into his grave.

Last year marked the 40th anniversary of the release of Airplane!, the comedy I wrote and directed with my brother Jerry and our friend Jim Abrahams. Just before the world shut down, Paramount held a screening at the Egyptian Theater in Hollywood, followed by a Q&A in which an audience member asked a question we never used to receive: “Could you make Airplane! today?” My response: “Of course, we could. Just without the jokes.”

Although people tell me that they love Airplane! and it seems to be included on just about every Top Five movie-comedy list, there was talk at Paramount of withholding the rerelease over feared backlash for scenes that today would be deemed “insensitive.” I’m referring to scenes like the one in which two black characters speak entirely in a jive dialect so unintelligible that it has to be subtitled. I’ve lost count of the number of people who have said to me, “You couldn’t do that scene today.” But I always wonder, why not? Half the gags in that joke were aimed at white people, given that the translation for “Shit” is “Golly!”—and the whole gag is topped off by the whitest lady on the planet, the actress who played the mom on Leave It to Beaver, translating.

Today, we’re faced with social and political pressures that are tearing our country and our families apart. Not that I couldn’t do without some family members anyway, but the point is, we live in the most outrageous period in our recent history, when the need for humor is greatest, and yet we seem to be losing our ability to laugh at ourselves and our world.

HUMOR happens when you go against what’s expected and surprise people with something they’re not anticipating, like the New York Jets winning a game. But to find this surprise funny, people have to be willing to suppress the literal interpretations of jokes. In Airplane!, Lloyd Bridges’s character tries to quit smoking, drinking, amphetamines, and sniffing glue. If his “addictions” were to be taken literally, there would be no laughs. Many of today’s studio executives seem to believe that audiences can no longer look past the literal interpretations of jokes. Fear of backlash rather than the desire to entertain seems to be driving their choices.

I admit that their fear of audience retaliation is not entirely unwarranted. There is a very vocal, though I believe small, percentage of the population that can’t differentiate between Glue Sniffing Joke and Glue Sniffing Drug Problem. It is these people whom studio executives fear when they think twice about rereleasing Airplane! on its 40th anniversary, when they put disclaimers in front of Blazing Saddles, or when they pressure writers to remove jokes that are otherwise perfectly offensive. As a result of these fear-based decisions, some of the best contemporary comedy minds are abandoning laughter in favor of admittedly brilliant but serious projects such as Joker, directed by Todd Phillips, and Chernobyl, written by Craig Mazin. These men collaborated on two of the Hangover pictures, which struck gold at the box office. Phillips summed up the general plight of the comedy writer when he said, “It’s hard to argue with 30 million people on Twitter. You just can’t do it. So, you just go, ‘I’m out.’”

Some people look at the mass exodus of comedy writers and proclaim that comedy must be dead. That’s not true. Comedy is not dead. It’s scared. And when something is scared, it goes into hiding.

Biiiig mistake, that. It’s a sure-fire guarantee that there will be more of the same, on and on and on, buying you nothing worth having. Why be afraid of these puling, pussified prigs, anyhow? They’re way too light in the ass to ever be a credible threat against hardier folks who are eminently capable of wrecking them completely should the punks ever muster the stones to show fight against better men than they’ll ever be. I see no bright side to hiding from them, like some scurrying rodent would at sight of a hungry alley cat. However, I see no dark side to defying these worms at every turn—to making them suffer so hideously that the mere thought of ever hassling us again results in a sudden aroma of warm piss wafting about the room, in perfect sync with an embarrassing wet patch quickly spreading to endarken the entire crotch of his hipster-douchebag skinny jeans.

These wormy twerps need to be reminded, pointedly and repeatedly, of what happens to the yappy-ass Yorkie when he tangles with the Pit Bull. HINT: nothing pleasant for the uppity Yorkie, who may profit in the long term from his schooling in how very important it is to not let oneself get above one’s station, to take good care that his reach doesn’t exceed his grasp. They need to have their noses vigorously rubbed in it thrice daily, six days a week, until those lessons sink in, and I mean bone-deep.

Zucker goes on to relate a tidbit of personal history so wonderfully bizarre that I—having been blessed with a good few fairly extraordinary life experiences myself, though not on as grand a scale as this—that all I can think to do is stand back in silent awe.

Circumstances like these are a daily occurrence in my life, not only because I’m naturally inept, but also because somehow, abnormal seems to find me. During the great pandemic of 2020, I managed to quarantine with my ex-wife’s current boyfriend, my ex-girlfriend who teaches meditation, the guitarist for the ’80s rock band Ratt, and the reigning Miss Utah USA. My life could easily be a sitcom, except no one would believe it.

I salute you, good sir.

By way of waving an upraised middle digit with malice aforethought at every shitlib scold, every killjoy, every preening tightass unable to see past a grandiose delusion which insists that they and their equally insufferable fellows are in fact charged with Making The World A Better Place—whether it actually wants to be or not. Translated into Sane Language, the mantra sounds like this: DO WHAT I SAY DO WHAT I SAY DO WHAT I SAY CAN’T YOU SEE I’M BETTER THAN YOU WAAAAAAAH!!!

In response, I offer all those nitwit neurotics the gesture so unforgettably displayed by the immortal Johnny Cash, to wit:

Sit and spin

Really says it all, don’tchathink?

4
1

Breathes there a man with soul so dead

That a story as delicious as this one doesn’t give him a sharp frisson of delight?

Rodgers In, Roethlisberger Out: ‘Fully Vaxxed’ Steelers QB Out with Covid as Unvaxxed Packers QB Returns to Action

Y’all begin to see what I mean already, I bet.

Green Bay Packers quarterback Aaron Rodgers is cleared to return to action Sunday after sitting out with Covid-19. He drew plenty of controversy after saying he was vaccinated, then having to admit that he wasn’t when he tested positive.

Now, another future Hall of Fame quarterback is out. Pittsburgh Steeler Ben Roethlisberger also claims that he’s vaccinated. We’ll soon know if that’s true since he’s out for Sunday with Covid. According to NBC Sports:

The Steelers will have to try to win their fifth game in a row without their starting quarterback. According to Steelers spokesman Burt Lauten, quarterback Ben Roethlisberger has been placed on the COVID-19 reserve list. He’s out for Sunday’s game against the Lions.

Roethlisberger becomes the second high-profile quarterback to miss a game this month due to COVID. If he’s vaccinated, he’ll be able to return after generating a pair of negative tests at least 24 hours apart. If he’s not vaccinated, he’ll miss at least 10 days.

Last week, Roethlisberger said he’s vaccinated. (Then again, so did Aaron Rodgers.) If Roethlisberger truly is vaccinated, the outcome suggests that he developed symptoms and was tested.

Alll just one more example of the ludicrous fuck-uppery brought to you by the most prolific producers of ludicrous fuck-uppery of all time, our very own Powers That Be. Three groans for ’em, folks.

Y’know, for villainous, evil despots possessed of the finely-tuned code of morality and ethics of a honey badger in rut; the compassion and restraint of Vlad the Impaler; the warmth and sensitivity of Don Rickles; and the simple human decency of Maximilien Robespierre, our would-be lords and masters sure seem to trip over their own dicks a hell of a lot, don’t they? Instead of sinister, near-invincible Bad Guys like, say, Doc Ock, the Green Goblin, Lex Luthor, or Professor Moriarty, these FederalGovCo assclowns more closely resemble Elmer Fudd, Gilderoy Lockhart, and Wile E Coyote. We expect the James-Younger Gang. The goobermint gives us The Shakiest Gun In The West as a stand-in.

I mean, really now. Deadly, bioweapons-lab-grown plagues that aren’t actually all that deadly, more nuisance than plague. World-beating, multirole stealth fighters that won’t fly, aren’t terribly stealthy, are extremely delicate and unreliable, can only carry enough ammo to fling two or three seconds worth of Combat Sadness at its opponent before fleeing the furball to RTB and reload. An extravagantly-financed, high-tech military force whose soldiers are far too dainty and Evolved to fight, under the command of a flag-rank officer corps more intently focused on enforcing the PC catechism than defeating our adversaries, its Navy apparently unable to navigate the seas without slamming into another ship, a dock, or a random terrain feauture. Mandatory electric automobiles entirely incapable of fulfilling the needs of a vast, widely-dispersed populace whose typical daily commute to work and back covers mileage more than sufficient to drain its batteries—cars which will be wholly dependent on a huge network of public charging stations that simply doesn’t exist. Which, as it happens, is of no great importance anyway because the nation’s outdated, overtaxed power grid simply cannot shoulder the increased load, being dangerously strained to keep the lights on already.

All the above is but a small sampling of the neverending cavalcade of stupidity, gross incompetence, unanticipated knock-on effects, and even worse calamities these retards insist on afflicting normal people with…For Our Own Good, natch. And now these Supergenii, these self-proclaimed “Experts,” these shambolic, all-thumbed, pig-ignorant droolcases have outdone themselves at last: a miraculous Vaccine!! so effective, so safe, so all-round beneficial for one and all that they not only had to mount a full-court-press propaganda effort, but also make submitting to it a non-negotiable requirement in order to keep one’s job, leave one’s home, or just generally be allowed to participate in society without being aggressively vilified, attacked, and/or thrown into the Gulag forever to get the concoction into American bloodstreams.

And just look what happens next. Not only did History’s Deadliest Plague fizzle badly on ’em, now the already-wheezing PTB Klown Kar is stalling out from rapidly-mounting evidence confirming that this shady “vaccine” they’ve pimped so frantically is in fact NOT effective, NOT beneficial or even benign, and absolutely, positively NOT SAFE. The propaganda campaign was already floundering, having been nowhere near convincing enough to persuade skeptical Americans to place their trust in a government medical establishment whose treachery and untrustworthiness had long since been established in the original chain of lies and manipulation used to spark the contrived “crisis” nearly two years ago. One can only wonder at what their next desperate gambit might possibly be, and what bonehead move on their part will bring their latest house of cards tumbling down.

I dunno, somehow I always kinda figured that Evil Incarnate would be way more skillfull and capable than these boobs have turned out to be. Oh well, my bad. After nigh on five decades of paying close attention to the antics, habits, and rituals of the ProPol Class in its native environment, I really should’ve known better than that.

4

When mutiny is the only honorable choice

Then mutiny it must be.

The Pentagon Sees Its First National Guard Unit Mutiny Over the Federal Vaccine Mandate
The first state National Guard unit has made itself clear to the Department of Defense it has no intention of enforcing its Covid-19 vaccine mandate.

“The Oklahoma National Guard has rejected the Defense Department’s requirement for all service members to receive the coronavirus vaccine and will allow personnel to sidestep the policy with no repercussions, a potential blueprint for Republican governors who have challenged Biden administration mandates,” the Washington Post reported.

“Brig. Gen. Thomas Mancino, appointed this week by Gov. Kevin Stitt (R) as adjutant of the state’s 10,000 National Guard soldiers and airmen, on Thursday notified those under his command that they are not required to receive the vaccine and won’t be punished if they decline it,” the report added.
“It’s an extraordinary refusal of Pentagon policy and follows Stitt’s written request to Defense Secretary Lloyd Austin seeking suspension of the requirement for Guard personnel in the state,” the report noted.

“We will respond appropriately,” John Kirby, a Pentagon spokesperson, said of Stitt’s letter.

Oh, that’s the one thing we can all be one hundred percent certain you WON’T do. Because, having witnessed repeated demonstrations of you and all your fellow treasonous Puzzle Palace colleagues’ infinitely malleable “principles”; the oath legally binding all who take it to defend and uphold the US Constitution against all enemies, foreign and domestic, an oath no one in Mordon on the Potomac has any intention of honoring even as they’re poking out their forked tongues to speak the words; and your badly-broken conception of what words like honor, patriotism, duty, and integrity actually mean, it is entirely obvious that your understanding of what might constitute an “appropriate” response is a hot mess as well.

These brave and righteous Real Soldiers standing up like the real American men they certainly are to refuse patently illegal orders issued by slimy, slithery creatures such as Kirby IS the appropriate response. How it must terrify and enrage all the foul Black Uruks sworn to the service of the Barad-Dur and its Dark Lord to see such courage and valour on proud display, in defiance of the open criminality now rampant throughout the Land of Shadow and its cruelly-subjugated fiefdoms. May these Okie Guardians soon be joined by legions of their comrades-in-arms in full-throated support of the Right, the Just, and the Good, all across this sorely-beset nation.

5
1

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