Category: RAYCISS!!!

The most debased and meaningless word in the language

The America we lost

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Threw away, more like.

When the Boston Red Sox’s legendary Fenway Park posted archival footage of 1950s Opening Day last week, the team expected a pleasant wave of nostalgia. But the comments section produced something else. The grainy clip showed thousands of Bostonians—men in fedoras, well-dressed women in coats, kids waving pennants—all lining up with uninhibited joy for a baseball game. After receiving almost 10 million views, the video was so flooded with pointed comments that Fenway had to lock it. The message was clear: The America in the video exposed the unmistakable decline of our current nation. Millions of viewers saw it and immediately understood why.

The video touched a raw nerve not just because it was beautiful but because it showed how far we have fallen in what amounts to the span of a single lifetime. The decline did not happen by accident. It is largely the direct, predictable result of decades of reckless immigration policies that prioritized volume over values and social engineering over national cohesion.

Predictably, the first instinct of critics on the left was to cry racism over these heartfelt reactions to a lost America. It is true that the crowds in the footage were overwhelmingly white. Therefore, the argument goes, any longing that scene stirs in people must be rooted in racism and xenophobia, rather than a recognition of the defects of our current cultural reality.

Yer doin’ it wrong, sorry. Try just throwing it right back in their pinched, sallow faces instead of wasting time and effort explaining things to dishonest dipshits who aren’t listening anyway, and ain’t ever going to either. To wit: Yeah, Leftist fuckfaces, I’m a goddamned racist. I also just happen to be white, heterosexual, and male(!!!) as well. So the fuck what? NOW what you gonna do, huh?!? Got anything else to say, any other insults to hurl my way, before I disassemble your weedy, fragile, vegan, Two Spirit ass with my bare fucking hands?

Onwards.

This is a lazy, intellectually dishonest dodge. Race is not the point; assimilation is. The people in that 1950s footage were, in many cases, themselves first- or second-generation Americans—Irish, Italian, Polish, Jewish, among others. They were people whose parents or grandparents had arrived here through Ellis Island. They did not come to recreate the old country on American soil, transforming it. They came to become American—to transform themselves. They learned the language, embraced the civic norms, cheered on the same teams as their neighbors, and played by the same unwritten rules that made public spaces safe and orderly. Baseball was not merely entertainment. It was a sacrament of a shared American identity.

That unifying force is precisely what is missing today. Boston Mayor Michelle Wu—who was booed loudly along with Governor Maura Healey on the field at Opening Day—recently declared that “you cannot talk about any achievement that the city of Boston has had … without talking about the Somali community that has lifted our city up.” The Fenway video is a devastating rebuttal to her. There are no Somalis visible in those 1950s stands—nor could there have been, given the timeline.

Utter, complete rubbish. This national disgrace of a Mayor should be thoroughly, deeply ashamed of herself for even thinking of trying to peddle such arrant horseshit without having a loaded gun being held to her right temple. Watch this video Driscoll put up for a small taste.


I simply can’t say this enough times, people: This nation’s tragic, appalling decline did NOT come about by happenstance, neither was it inevitable or the result of naturl processes beyond human ability to control or influence. It was done to us on purpose, with malice aforethought, by scurrilous Leftists whose intentions were neither good nor honorable.

Scurrilous Leftists who also have names and addresses, by the way.

Not a wife

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A beard.

This Might Be the Clearest Sign Yet the Obamas’ Marriage Is a Total Lie
Jesse Jackson’s funeral was held Friday at the House of Hope on Chicago’s South Side. Every major Democrat who still matters showed up: Joe Biden, Bill Clinton, Kamala Harris, Hillary Clinton, Jill Biden, California Gov. Gavin Newsom.

That’s right: sitting with a bunch of other couples, Barack Obama once again went stag. The Obamas themselves issued a joint statement about Jackson’s death that made Michelle’s absence on Friday all the more glaring. “Michelle got her first glimpse of political organizing at the Jacksons’ kitchen table when she was a teenager,” the statement read. “And in his two historic runs for president, he laid the foundation for my own campaign to the highest office of the land.” If there was ever a funeral Michelle had a personal, deeply rooted reason to attend, this was it.

So what’s the excuse this time?

The Obamas have been the subject of divorce rumors for a while now, and to say they’ve not handled them well is an understatement. They appeared on a podcast together, which looked painfully scripted, and of course, there’s the obligatory birthday, anniversary, Father’s Day, and Mother’s Day posts on social media. The choreographed podcast appearances and coordinated anniversary posts on social media prove nothing. Bill and Hillary Clinton have been photographed holding hands, too; no one believes they have a happy marriage.

Last June, Michelle said she was relieved she didn’t have a son, because he would have been “another Barack.” That’s not the kind of thing a happily married woman says in public.

The real tell is the explanation Michelle keeps offering. “One of the major decisions I made this year was to stay put and not attend funerals and inaugurations and all the things that I’m supposed to attend,” she told NPR last year. “That was a part of me using my ambition to say, ‘Let me define what I want to do, apart from what I’m supposed to do.'”

That would be a compelling argument if she were actually retreating from the public eye. She’s not. She’s recently “written” a book. She does podcast interviews regularly. She gives speeches. From where I sit, she seems to be declining the specific events where the public would see her standing next to her husband.

There’s a meaningful difference between stepping back from the spotlight and stepping away from your spouse.

There is at that. Bottom line: this “marriage” is a total sham, conceived and arranged from the start as a distraction from a politically-inconvenient truth; namely, that Big Mike’s “husband”—widely known for years in Chicago as “Bathhouse Barry” for very good reasons—is in fact a homosexual; and Big Mike “herself” is probably a man—more of one than her fake, ghey “husband” will ever be, at any rate.

Unfair, unreasonable, unkind

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Blacks have to show photo ID to:

Buy themselves a quart of OE down at de sto’

Board a plane, train, or in some places a bus

Attend a rap show or NBA game

Rent a room down at the local hot-sheet flop

Among many, many other situations wherein a valid ID is required. So how is it, then, that shitlibs are flopping around on the damn floor like landed carp over the unthinkable(!) prospect of needing to show proper ID to vote? Gutfeld, bless him, ain’t having any.

Gutfeld Destroys the Democrats’ Voter ID Double Standard, and It’s Glorious
Greg Gutfeld did what Greg Gutfeld does best on his late-night show this week: he grabbed a Democrat talking point, shook it until the hypocrisy fell out, and then held it up for everyone to see. The target was Democrats’ favorite attack line against voter ID laws, and specifically the SAVE Act, which they have hysterically branded as “Jim Crow 2.0.”

Gutfeld opened by zeroing in on the left’s most glaring contradiction. “You got to hand it to the Democrats,” he said. “On one hand, they think a child can handle the decision to lop off their genitals, but then on the other, they think black people can’t get a photo ID.”

To make his point, Gutfeld played a clip of Senate Minority Leader Chuck Schumer having a meltdown over the legislation. “The SAVE Act is an abomination,” Schumer declared. “It’s Jim Crow 2.0 across the country.” Schumer went on to vow, “We are going to do everything we can to stop it.”

From there, Gutfeld dismantled the comparison itself. “To them, showing an ID to vote is no different than forcing people to drink from separate water fountains,” he said. The absurdity becomes obvious when placed next to everyday life. “Meanwhile, you need an ID to buy Sudafed, rent a U-Haul, and date Bill Belichick.”

The contradiction gets worse when Democrats lecture Americans about trusting elections. “The same people who tell you borders are fake, gender is a choice, and crime is a social construct,” Gutfeld said, “suddenly insist elections should be taken on faith.”

He closed by boiling the issue down to its core. “The SAVE Act isn’t about stopping people from voting,” Gutfeld said. “It’s about stopping people from cheating.”

Hey now, Greg, they resemble those remarks.

The most dangerous job

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If ever I’ve seen the ultimate justification for a lightning-fast mag dump, this lumbering Cape Buffalo provides it in spades here.


*shudder* I’d certainly want to be packing something a lot more hefty, a damned sight more brawny, than that itty-bitty little ole Glock to drop that stampeding wildebeest.

Takes one to know one

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Are ALL the hoary old homilies we learned as children going to be proven right as rain as time goes by? Looks like, yeah.

At the University of London, some competitive, if unconvincing, umbrage.

Readers will note that the students, these avowed opponents of racism, refer to themselves, and by extension all black students, as if they were some ancient and unfathomable offshoot of humanity, for whom rapport with outsiders is impossible. And who are supposedly oppressed by the unremarkable fact that, in a white-majority country, their professors will often be white and – as seems unavoidable – older than the students. Readers may also wonder how such exquisitely sensitive creatures will fare when faced with potential employers who may also be paler than themselves and, shockingly, not nineteen.

In short, the students are admitting, albeit unwittingly, that in fact they are the inflexible and bigoted ones, the ones preoccupied with racist and ageist stereotypes, and are incapable of feeling “comfortable” with people whose appearance differs from their own.

Apparently, for them, learning is next to impossible unless they are being taught by people who look just like them, are of a similar age, and who share the assumptions of a subset of nineteen-year-olds who are very much accustomed to flattery and indulgence.

Perhaps the students are too busy issuing grandiose demands to consider the humdrum fact that a person’s knowledge, perspective and experience, from which one hopes to benefit, necessarily take time to accumulate. Or to consider the possibility that stretching oneself beyond the familiar and comfortable is the general idea of education.

Fact is, these people are supremely disinterested in education; for them, it’s always and forever about indoctrination, see. Once you’ve taken that fully aboard, you’ll be amazed at how everything comes together and makes sense all of a sudden-like.

Fun with Bathhouse Barry ‘n’ Big Mike

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No, not THAT kind of fun.


True, dat. Annnnd MOAR fun.


True also. Guess we all ought to stop laughing and cut poor ol’ Barky some slack. Not that he or Mooch-Helle can even hear all that gunfire from inside the walls of their Martha’s Vineyard or Georgetown compounds, mind.

How it is fucking DONE

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Looks as if there might possibly be a little life left in the old town yet.

NYC serial spitter bloodied in street-style justice during epic beatdown: ‘Worse than jail’
Anthony Caines — the sicko busted by the NYPD for allegedly spitting in the faces of white women who passed him in Williamsburg — has apparently been on the receiving end of some street-style justice.

Video footage shared on social media showed two men beating and kicking a man who appeared to be accused spitter Caines, 45, outside of a hair salon on Sixth Street.

It was unclear when the footage was shot.

Caines, curled up on the sidewalk in a defensive fetal position, is dealt multiple blows by the two attackers, whose faces are never shown.

The two men laugh to themselves as they kick Caines and stomp on his legs.

Caines is heard wailing in pain during the beatdown.

The clip quickly cuts to an image of Caines with a large gash on his forehead, above his left eye. Blood streams down his face as the men issue a final warning.

Yes, the Post report includes a capture from that part of the clip, and it is GLORIOUS.

“Stop violating these females out here, you heard?” the man filming the footage tells him.

“We’re tired of that s–t,” the man explains. “You’re making us look bad.”

Caines appeared to confirm he understood, before saying, “I went to jail, didn’t I?”

“F–k jail — we’re worse than jail,” the man yells before delivering one last punch to his head.

You tell ‘im, boys. Yawp all you like about “vigilante justice,” but it’s a dead cert that Hell will freeze over before Mr Psycho-Spook hocks another loogie in that locality again. In fact, uness he lives there himself, I very much doubt he’ll ever so much as show his face in Williamsburgh again.

Still think you can be friends with these asswipes?

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Or for that matter, live peaceably alongside them? Really, why would you even want to?

“Racially aggravated graffiti,” no less. “Takes aim at people of color,” sez they. Shitlibs can discern all that double-plus-ungood Badthink from a decidedly mild, innocuous message announcing simply that “it’s okay to be White,” nothing whatsoever more? No “hate,” no derogation, no insult, no extremist cant, no threats of any kind either expressed or implied in said message. Not anything obnoxious along the lines of “Whites rule!” or “I’m so glad I’m White!” or “Black Power, White control!” Just that mild-mannered, meek, unassuming “It’s okay…” assertion.

If the hysterical, unhinged reaction to this bland, sotto voce announcement is any indication, we must assume that no, it is definitely NOT “okay to be white” after all.

It must be acknowledged by Our Side, while we’re still allowed to take note of such preposterous rubbish without being packed off to Summer Reeducation Camp without the option: the problem for Progressivists here is entirely and exclusively with the extremely dangerous notion that some melanin-challenged Pyrrsynnnz Of Whiteness might NOT feel properly ashamed, fearful, and inferior because they are in fact Caucasian/WASP/Anglo-Saxon, thereby perpetuating the countless enormities, crimes, and heartless, savage rape of the planet, the climate, the planetary atmosphere. and every living thing on, in, and/or over it committed by the White Race—a brutish Race spawned by demons, raised by fiends, released from Hell by Satan Himself to go forth and wreak bloody havoc on all that was once fair, pure, and worthwhile in this weary world.

Unique among all Earthly beings, the White Race chose to live not by the creed of empathy, self-effacement, sustainability, and reverence for Nature, but to instead hew to greed, unreflective hatred and bigotry, callow materialism, and conquest. Unlike more enlightened, well-adjusted Progressivists who regard our Good Earth not as mere property to be exploited by those possessed of the will, the brawn, and the audacity to make a proper job of it, but as the gentle, loving, benevolent Mother Of Us All which Humanity is charged with caring for, tending, and adoring. The Earth, being the home of every man, beast, plant, and mineral, must NEVER be taken for granted, abused, stripped bare and cast aside, but nurtured, praised, even worshipped as a God(ess), She from whom all blessings flow©.

Contra the foolishly humanocentric belief commonly held in antiquity that our planet is sturdy, strong, capable of endlessly replenishing, rejuvenating, and healing itself of all wounds, Progressivists know that the Earth is actually quite fragile, its processes so precisely balanced and finely-tuned that the whole shebang could be brought crashing down by nothing more extraordinary than the breath of a tiny hummingbird which exhales in the wrong place at the wrong moment. In fact, so delicate is Mother Earth that She could all too easily be broken completely and for all time by conniving industrialists, unthinking outdoorsmen, and the ugly, noisy mechanical contraptions belching out smoke, toxins, and non-biodegradable waste by-products with which White people have, since time immemorial, been blighting the landscape from horizon to horizon in the name of convenience, efficiency, their own amusement, or for no better reason than that they felt like it.

The White Man: builder of factories; railroads, cities, and suburbs; inventor of the machine gun, the bayonet, and the guillotine; practitioner of chattel slavery, trench warfare, and strategic bombing. Sexually repressed, morally vapid, intellectually stunted. Burner of books, witches, forests, and fossil fuels. He is a seriously, SERIOUSLY bad dancer. He viscerally abhors indolence; iconoclasm; rebels whether with or without a cause; food with actual, noticeable flavor, texture, seasoning, and aroma. His literature is uninteresting, his art imitative, his music (if any) dull, lifeless, eminently forgettable.

The White Man will never, ever make a scene, call undue attention to himself, act up in public, raise a ruckus, send a badly-prepared entree back to the kitchen to be either corrected or replaced altogether.

White People gave the world the curfew, social distancing, the HOA, polyester, stagflation, Hacky Sack, and the Man Bun. Uptight, thy name might be Whitey.

The answer, my friend, is blowin’ in the wind

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“Scholarly rigour.” I love it.

Obviously, activities that are chiefly indulged in by white people – in this case, folk singing– must be deemed suspect and found problematic with great urgency, and then probed for hidden wrongness. At taxpayer expense. And all this scholarly rigour ain’t cheap, you know…

Behind this mannered waffle is the weird implication that devotees of folk music are somehow, simply by existing, excluding racial minorities. Shooing them away. Though, as so often, details on this point are neither obvious nor forthcoming.

Still, perhaps we can look forward to an academic interrogation of classic car shows in Nottinghamshire as some heinous bastion of “white-centricity.” Another item on the list of Things That Must Be Decolonised And Morally Corrected.

“Our aim,” say our tearful academics, “is to break down the barriers for people to get involved in folk music. Opening up the genre to different audiences.”

Different audiences. Not the audience that folk music actually has, mind, the one it attracts and which is arrived at via choice and musical inclination. And again, no actual barriers to participation are specified. But the audience is nonetheless all wrong, apparently.

Well, of course it is. Isn’t everything, really? Call it built-in job security for shitlibs: until their Collectivist Utopia has been realized in full, poor unenlightend Humanity will always need their Leftard betters to swoop in and save them from their own folly.

Oh, for the love of…

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Just put a sock in it already, whiny-ass nigger bitch.

Would you believe that in the entirety of human history, no one has been oppressed as much as Michelle Obama? It’s true. Whenever she gets in front of a microphone, she can’t help but complain about how unfairly she’s been treated, how terrible white people are, or how racist our country is. She paints herself as chronically oppressed, endlessly scrutinized, and forever burdened by a country that never treated her fairly. I know it must not be easy having fame, fortune, a bunch of multimillion-dollar homes, and all that. It must be really, really brutal. The routine has become predictable, and her latest appearances only reinforce the sense that she carries a deep resentment toward white America, while insisting she’s the one who never got a fair shake.

Last month, in an interview with ABC’s Robin Roberts to promote her new book, she literally had the gall to claim that people unfairly scrutinized her while she was in the White House. Roberts began by quoting Michelle’s own words.

“You said, ‘We were all too aware that as the first black couple, we couldn’t afford any missteps.’ And you also say that as a black woman, ‘I was under a particularly white hot glare.’ Did you feel that?”

“For sure,” Michelle replied. “You can’t afford to get anything wrong because you didn’t get the, and at least until the country got to know us, we didn’t get the grace that I think some other families have gotten.”

Anyone who lived through the Obama years remembers the media environment. The media swooned over Barack’s speeches and treated Michelle like a cross between a fashion icon and a national therapist. Editors placed them on magazine covers every time they could justify it. Journalists fawned over Barack’s wardrobe, his aura, and even the crease in his pants, all while ignoring scandal after scandal after scandal. But, yeah, sure, let’s talk about how they were held to some fantasy standard that no first couple ever had to meet before or since.

Michelle Obama doesn’t know what unfair scrutiny is. She wouldn’t be able to tolerate a fraction of the scrutiny that the Trump family had to endure daily. Reporters attacked Melania for everything from her shoes to her accent. They smeared Trump’s children for no reason beyond their last name. Even the Bush family took heat, including the teenage daughters who never sought public attention. Those families took incoming fire every hour of every day.

Yet Michelle keeps insisting she lived through hardship that no other first family could possibly understand. Cry me a river. That narrative has become her brand.

Matt’s closing ‘graph is a killer.

Here’s a reality check, Michelle: You’re not a victim. You never were. The left canonized you the second you hit the national stage, and you’ve spent every moment since trashing America and demonizing white people — enough with the performative oppression routine. You’ve built an obscenely lucrative post-White House empire selling a completely fabricated narrative of “constant struggle” while swimming in wealth, worshipful media coverage, and cultural influence that 99.9% of Americans will never experience. Your sycophantic media allies breathlessly amplify every manufactured grievance as gospel, but your own venomous words keep exposing what this really is: barely concealed contempt and racism wrapped in designer victimhood.

So let’s tot it all up, then:

  • Not just one but three (3) palatial mansions in tony, exclusive locales;
  • A no-show job back in Chicago, arranged for her by her “husband” the Senator, which paid 350k/year;
  • 24/7 Secret Service protection for the rest of her useless life;
  • More money than she can ever possibly spend even if she just started lighting handfuls of it on fire and throwing it into the street to burn;
  • Anything and everything she could want, hers merely for the asking;
  • A large staff of hairdressers, makeup artists, chefs, maids, chauffeurs, personal attendants, and miscellaneous go-fers, knob-polishers, and rumpswabs for whom her every word is their command

This is a woman who, for most of her adult life, has never wanted for anything whatsoever, has never known need or hunger or poverty or lack. A spacious, lovely home, designer clothes, shoes, jewelry, and purses—all hers, without her ever even having to go fetch any of it—she has “people” to send out on such lowly, menial tasks, see. She travels in the most rarified circles, keeps the most exalted company, rubs elbows with the rich and famous..

The fanciest restaurants, the finest wines, the best seats in the theater, the concert hall, or the arena…and all she has to do to get them is simply nod her head at the right time, in the right place, to the right person. Nothing more taxing or obsequious than that. The people in charge of these amenities WANT her to have them, for no more complex or justifiable reason than that she is who she is, knows who she knows, and hangs out with all the right people. Her taste, in everything from sports cars to cashmere sweaters, is beyond reproach; an approving word for a product, a service, or a facility murmured into the right ears can keep a business humming busily along for a year…as a negative assessment can shut one down forever.

All this finery, this pampering, this sycophancy, flattery, and preferential treatment, this carefree, luxurious lifestyle—no part of it either earned or, really, deserved, but all of it hers nonetheless, most of it free of charge—yet STILL this ingrate bitches, she whines, she moans, she kvetches about how terribly, terribly HARRRUD De Wite Mayne has made life for her.

Meanwhile, for all her claimed victimization by Rayciss!© White Debbil oppressors, she could search arduously every minute of the rest of her life and never find one single ghetto-blighted soul who wouldn’t jump at the chance to exchange places with her, the blind, self-obsessed cretin.

What must life be like with one so bitter, so unswervingly determined to be unhappy always, so intently focused on the black storm clouds in the far distance that she’s totally incapable of seeing the silver lining right in front of her nose? How could ANY normal, sane person live with such a bleak, cheerless sort? For that matter, how does such a morose person live with herself?

I never imagined it could be so, but it would seem that Big Mike is an even more annoying, insufferable twatwaffle than his/her/its light-in-the-loafers “husband” is.

To make her shit at all worth putting up with, she’d have to be funnier than Dave Chappelle; smarter and more eloquent than Thomas Sowell; more talented than Wynton Marsalis; more graceful than the Nicholas brothers; better-looking than Billy Dee Williams at 32; and more personable than Louis Armstrong. Alas for poor Moochelle, she comes up way, WAY short in every category.

Just once,  just ONE. FUCKING. TIME in her miserable, oxygen-thieving existence, I wish I could see some burly, ill-tempered, and yes, WHITE project foreman hand her a shovel, direct her precious ass into a deep, muddy ditch, and command her to start digging and to go on digging until he specifically tells her to STOP. OH, what a beautiful sight that would be.

Violence: ENDORSED, wholeheartedly

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For most D卐M☭CRATs, be they candidates, officeholders, Party officials, or voters, murdering their politicl opponents isn’t objectionable anymore, being more along the lines of SOP at this late date. As i said last night: OPEN. SEASON. Ace pretty much says it all in his post hed and lede:

By Electing Child-Murder Fantasist and Cop-Murder Enthusiast Jay Jones, Democrats Have Chosen Violence
—Ace

At some point, they will succeed in convincing us that the path to political victory runs through rivers of blood, and won’t that be fun.

A barrel o’ laughs, brother, a barrel o’ laughs. Now on to the article Ace cites.

Virginia voters just handed the state’s top law enforcement job to a man who fantasizes about shooting Republicans in the head. Democrat Jay Jones, a former state delegate with a history of unhinged remarks, narrowly defeated Republican incumbent Jason Miyares on Tuesday, winning 51.6% of the vote with 80% of precincts reporting, according to the Associated Press. His victory marks a stunning comeback for a candidate who spent the final stretch of the campaign explaining away violent threats and a sketchy community service arrangement tied to a reckless driving case.

Jones’s troubles began when 2022 text messages surfaced in which he told then–Republican colleague Carrie Coyner he’d give former House Speaker Todd Gilbert “two bullets to the head” and “piss on his grave.” Coyner also recalled Jones remarking in 2020 that “the deaths of a few police officers could save other lives.”

Just two days before those texts leaked, court records revealed that Jones had satisfied a reckless driving sentence — after being caught going 116 mph in a 70 — by logging half of his required 1,000 hours of community service with his own political action committee, Meet Our Moment. Prosecutors later appointed a special investigator to look into whether Jones misrepresented those hours. The deal spared him jail time and left him with only a $1,500 fine.

Miyares, whose mother escaped communist Cuba and who made history in 2021 as Virginia’s first Hispanic attorney general, ran on law and order. But Democrats rallied around Jones despite the violent rhetoric and ethics questions, proving once again that partisan loyalty trumps basic decency. Virginians may have voted for change — but what they got is an attorney general who once said the quiet part out loud: he dreams about killing his political opponents.

The piece closes with a bitterly factual quote from Johnny MAGA: “Political violence is officially a mainstream position in the Democrat Party.” Yep, it is at that, and no two ways about it. Time and well past time, then, that people on Our Side started acting as if they believed it.

Nig-O-Ween?

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Oh for cripe’s sake.


If they couldn’t whine, they’d have nothing to say at all.

A big part of the reason why I find the JewJewJewJEEEEW-haters schtick  so annoying is the way they blame Dem Pesky JOOOZ for absolutely every bad thing that’s ever happened, going all the way back to the crucifixion of Christ (sorry, imbeciles, that’s actually down to the Romans). Sounds exactly like the Nig-Nogs blaming De Wite Man for all their troubles to me. You’d think that at least SOME of them would find that near-equivalence embarrassing. You’d be dead wrong about that, too.

“Dear Americans. The British Aren’t Cowards, You Are”

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That title alone alerts you that this one’s gonna be very provocative indeed.

Americans don’t realize how screwed their own country is or why Brits aren’t pussies for only responding now… So I’ll explain.

In Britain you’re broke and can’t afford a house and the government’s flooding you with migrants… but you can still walk down the street to a bar where everyone’s white and knows your name, see your dad and granddad talking with the old guys inside, hang with your friends from school, everyone cheers during the game, and then go back to your miserable little apartment with a girl you had a crush on in grade 10.

Maybe 1 in 10,000 Americans could imagine something like that ever happening to them on the best night of their life. This is just a good weekend out of the year in any English town.

Likewise in America its nightmarish to imagine a little white girl would be harassed by brown and black foreigners… Because Americans already fled that in the 1960s and every subsequent decade and every hour of work of the average white American is so they can afford to avoid brown and black people.

What we are seeing in the UK is Britain becoming 20% as bad as America was just getting in 1961.

And the Brits are on the brink of Civil war over it.

What’s your excuse Yankee?

White Americans suffered 10,000x worse to be done to their children, daughters and communities… And then agreed that their friends should lose their job for being racist, that their kids should be back of the line for school admissions, and that Bill Cosby was an authority on fatherhood.

You don’t get to call Scots and English “cucks” when America has had grooming gangs and mass rape since THE 1960s, and you all are such buck-broken cowards that you will watch the NFL and cheer for all the black guys out on the field. Or insist that Will Smith is your favorite actor, or you voted for Barack Obama over a white Vietnam Veteran because you didn’t see color.

Rishi Sunak never won a single British general election… Obama won Twice.

Ouch! Dude, no need to be cruel about it, y’know.

Update! Point, meet counterpoint.

Requiem for a Dying Realm: Us Bastards Are Your One and Only Fucking Chance
You are perched on a precipice of your own making. The British Isles tremble, not from some external foe, but from the internal rot of a nobility that has forgotten what strength looks like. You have traded your swords for scepters of straw, your honor for hollow treaties, and your birthright for the approving murmur of your equally enfeebled continental cousins. And now the bill has come due.

Look at what you have wrought. Your cities seethe with the consequences of your weakness. You imported your own destruction, then handed it a pamphlet on human rights and a council flat. The native spirit—the one that once carved out an empire under men of iron—is now prosecuted by the state you let fester. You jail the men who would stand for you and coddle the barbarians who dream of your subjugation. You are a kingdom policing its own funeral.

And who leads you? An establishment softened by decades of peace they did not earn, and have not paid for, led by instincts of surrender, not command. They prattle of NATO and global obligations—chains that bind a lion to a tree while the hyenas close in. Do not look across the Atlantic for salvation. America will watch, she will perhaps arm you, but she will not bleed for a people who have forgotten the taste of their own blood. You must be broken on the wheel of your own folly before you can be remade.

And who, pray tell, will remake you? Not your precious legitimate sons. Those polished, entitled scions clutch their silver spoons like daggers, terrified to get blood on their waistcoats. Look at how they already prepare to run. They’re nothing more than mere spectators of decline, not masters of resurgence.

No. The only steel left in the spine of this crumbling realm is the steel you cast out. That you choose to ignore. For we frighten you. Though you can never admit it and hate us the more for this cowardice. Us.

The bastards.

The pattern is older than your crumbling castles. When the legitimate line grows weak and inbred, chins too softened to take a blow, you summon the bastard stock from the provinces to restore the walls. You grant us the titles you left to molder in dusty ledgers—the viscountcies of barren moors, the earldoms of neglected highlands, the baronies of windswept isles. You give us lands choked with thorns and memory, and we will make them flourish again, because we understand that land is not an asset—it’s a charge. We are no threats to your crown, to your lofty titles; we’re their only conceivable bulwark. Oh, we’ll do the brutal, ruthless necessaries your polite society hasn’t the stomach for. We’ve the chins and scars on our dark souls for the rough bits.

This is not a request. Neither is it a threat. It’s an indictment and your final offer. Swallow your pride and summon us. Grant us the right to defend what you cannot. Or will not. Or do not.

Methinks the bastard just might be onto something here.

Crooked cop brought down HARD

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Bondi has been a bit of a let-down so far, at least to me. Happily though, along with Our Tulsi, Kash Patel is really delivering the goods. To date I have yet to be disappointed by the way both of them interpret their job responsibilities. Nor can I find fault with their work ethic; their embrace of the underlying principles which define the uniquely American concept of public service; their obvious competence; their likewise obvious disinclination to pull their rhetorical punches; their eagerness to attack, attack, and attack again, keeping the skeer on his/our/America’s adversaries until the enemy’s fighting spirit, as well as his will to resist, have been well and truly crushed.

Kash Patel slams ‘corrupt’ sanctuary sheriff indicted for cannabis company extortion
Tompkins faces up to 20 years in prison on each count after allegedly exploiting dispensary partnership for personal gain

Boston’s sanctuary sheriff was arrested Friday on federal charges after allegedly leveraging his elected position to extort $50,000 from a cannabis executive who was seeking state approval to open a dispensary—a scheme FBI Director Kash Patel called a betrayal of public trust.

Suffolk County Sheriff Steven Tompkins, 67, who oversees more than 1,000 employees in the Boston-area, was handcuffed Friday morning in the Southern District of Florida after a federal grand jury indicted him on two counts of extortion under color of official right, according to a statement from the U.S. Attorney’s Office for the District of Massachusetts.

“When someone entrusted with enforcing the law is accused of breaking it for personal gain, it undermines the public’s trust in every honest officer who wears the badge,” Patel told Fox News Digital. “The FBI will pursue corruption at every level, because no one is above the law. The people of Suffolk County, and the country, deserve leaders who serve them, not themselves.”

Tompkins was appointed sheriff of the Suffolk County Sheriff’s Department (SCSD) in 2013, elected in a 2014 special election, and later re-elected to serve successive six-year terms. 

He made headlines in 2019 after booting Immigration and Customs Enforcement (ICE) agents out of the county jail, signing an eviction notice that required hundreds of illegal immigrant detainees to be moved out within 60 days, according to a report from the Boston Herald.

This grifting, grafting shitlick looks about like you’d probably expect he would. Exhibit A for the prosecution:

Gee whiz, color me shocked…NOT. Color him, y’know, colored. Or blaque, on the dark(ie) side, melanin-enhanced, whatevs. Below the fold, I’ll tuck some highly offensive song lyrics from USDA certified odd duck Johnny Rebel, from a CD resto of an early/mid-60s single. The CD, titled For Segregationists Only, was given me by one of my closest NYC friends—an outside the lines catch so far underground nobody would suspect a hipster Manhattanite to know about it, much less own a copy himself.

If blue-collar racist slurs make your skin crawl, your gorge rise, and your blood boil, you’ll definitely want to shine this one on and act as if it doesn’t exist—which, in practical terms, for you it doesn’t. Trust me, we’ll all be better off for it. For less sensitive scoundrels, scalawags, and scapegraces who are made of sterner stuff, y’all reprobates will probably find this as rib-tickling as I do.

Continue reading “Crooked cop brought down HARD” →

RIP John C Zander

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More familiar to denizens of the blogosphere as ZMan, dead far too young (not even 60 years old? Dooood, SRSLY?!?) from what is said to be “natural causes.” Our bosom blog-buddy The Tactical Hermit mourns the loss, and makes the proverbial silk purse out of a sow’s ear by drawing inspiration therefrom.

One of the great minds of the Dissident Right has left us. Although I am sad I know what question Z would pose to all of us: Which one of you is going to pick up the standard and carry on the fight? My answer: Count me in Z. Here I am. Send Me.

Well reasoned and/or -spoken, TH. The Hermit then steers us, bless his coal-black heart, over to Sido’s impassioned obit.

The Dissident Right will miss him. His real name was John Christopher Zander and his was a powerful, sober voice and a needed contrast to the multitude of silly fools and/or degenerates that often dominate the conversation in the medium of social media that rewards the loud and obnoxious at the expense of the serious and thoughtful.

He was a pretty private person. I know he still had a regular job and it sounded to me like he did consulting of some sort. Whatever it was, I got the impression that he was good enough at it that he could move from Baltimore, a city he lived in for many years and referred to Lagos, to West Virginia. He was apparently doxxed by the anti-White hate group that calls itself “The Southern Poverty Law Center” but I didn’t even realize it as he didn’t mention it to my recollection and it didn’t appear to impact him professionally but it does reinforce that the SPLC, ADL and other anti-White hate groups are made up of the very worst people in America. There is a great deal of freedom in finding a way to make a living that is insulated from Their shenanigans.

His writing was usually lucid and thoughtful although he did have an amusing tendency toward typos and misspelling that he didn’t seem to care about. He lived alone for as long as I can remember reading him, and it has been a long time, probably at least 10 years as his was one of the websites I frequented before starting my new blog.

Plenty more at Arthur’s joint, including remembrances from such notable quotables as AmRen’s Jared Taylor; the excommunicated but nonetheless highly esteemed John Derbyshire*; and this Peter Brimelow character—who, for many years, was one of the reclusive ZMan’s very few close personal friends. Thus:

The Zman was a somewhat solitary creature. He had recently moved to West Virginia and had two cats but as far as I know he wasn’t married, perhaps was divorced?, didn’t have a girlfriend nor close family. While I don’t know who found him, the local sheriff contacted the Brimelows who managed to track down a relative. Like I said, he was a solitary guy but seemed mostly comfortable with that. He was getting into gardening, bought an older truck to fix up, was working on a badly needed update to his blog and generally seemed to be enjoying life. He struck me as someone that it would have been a lot of fun to hang out with in his garage enjoying a cold beverage.

I didn’t agree with The Zman on every issue or position, the only person I agree with 100% of the time is the handsome devil looking back at me in the mirror, but I agreed with him almost all of the time. He epitomized the Dissident Right, being someone focused on what really is and not what we wish would be.

Ditto, Arthur. I’ve long since forgotten who it was, but years back somebody or other made a brilliant observation regarding political figures: If you find yourself in agreement with such a personage one hundred percent of the time, you badly need to reflect on the situation, and carefully—because at least one of you, quite possibly both, is literally insane.

Time was, I excerpted/linked almost every one of ZMan’s essays after each successive one had been published. Similarly, I never failed to at least read each one, regardless of whether I felt the topic was suitable for discussion at CF—which potential for becoming blog-fodder is always lurking in my mind with every blog post, op-ed piece, or mainstream think-piece I read. Over the past cpl-three years, however, I gradually lost interest in ZMan’s stuff—feeling, fairly or unfairly, that it had become somewhat repetitive, stale, even. Whether my assessment was at all accurate I’ll leave for others to judge. Whatever the case may be, my visits to the Z Blog  gradually tapered off until finally, they’d stopped altogether.

No matter; rest ye well, ZMan. From its inception, the Z-Blog was one of those rarely-seen blogospheric phenomena which wash over the world of socio-political commentary like a tsunami, sweeping the somnambulant intellectual convention, overwrought juvenilia, and monochromatic groupthink of the moment away before it as if they were of no more lasting significance than any other flotsam of leaves, dust, and random lightweight debris tossed hither and yon by a pre-storm gust front. The impact your insight, analysis, and most especially your artful writing—uncorrected “amusing typos” notwithstanding—had on our community was so high, wide, deep, and powerful as to be beyond estimation.

* NOTE: After wading through paywall after paywall looking for an unbowdlerized version to link to above, I downloaded the full version of Derbyshire’s world-renowned, explosively controversial, widely misunderstood and/or misrepresented “The Talk” article, which I plan to post on its own separate page here at CF, if only just to make the shitlibs cry and for no other reason.

Update! There, we’re all set! John Derbyshire’s “The Talk” Pts 1 and 2, unexpurgated and in their entirety, have found their Forever Home right here at Ye Aulde Colde Furye Blogge (check the Navbar directly below our Angry Guy header image, scrunched all the way over on the right-hand side). I’m pleased and proud to be in a position to see to it that, from now on, none of y’all RAYCISS!!© reprobates will need to wastefully expend time and energy hunting all over Hell and half of Georgia looking for them. Better yet, y’know, neither will I.

High speed low drag update! Asked myself what the hey, why not simplify things around here a mite? I mean, no way a single page of mainly text could ever be so damned bloated as to make the server gag on it, right? Neither is the aforementioned file likely to be so achingly slooooow to load that you Patient Readers will nod off, leaving y’all slumped semi-conscious over your desk, your energy sapped, your eyeballs red, burning, and itchy after you’d spent the last twenty, twenty-five minutes being mesmerized by the Spinning Beach Ball of Death while you just waited…and waited…and waited for the infernal page to finally, FINALLY come up in your browser tab.

Having been smacked square in the gob by these gladsome realizations made it clear as crystal that the decision had been made for me already. That in turn meant there was but one option available to me at this point, so I went ahead on and consolidated Parts One and Two into one fat, lengthy, bodaciously streamlined package.

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CF Glossary

ProPol: Professional Politician

Vichy GOPe: Putative "Republicans" who talk a great game but never can seem to find a hill they consider worth dying on; Quislings, Petains, Benedicts, backstabbers, fake phony frauds

Fake Phony Fraud(s), S'faccim: two excellent descriptors coined by the late great WABC host Bob Grant which are interchangeable, both meaning as they do pretty much the same thing

Mordor On The Potomac: Washington, DC

The Enemy: shitlibs, Progtards, Leftards, Swamp critters, et al ad nauseum

Burn, Loot, Murder: what the misleading acronym BLM really stands for

pAntiFa: an alternative spelling of "fascist scum"

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