GIVE TIL IT HURTS!

Eyrie up!

The Friday Substack, “Not Cancel Culture, Consequences Culture,” is up, wherein I take a gleeful stroll through an article recounting the onset of Sudden Remorse Syndrome© among shitlib Hamas supporters at Harvard who have just learned, to their screeing dismay, that this time, for once, they may face consequences for their blistering stupidity. My closing ‘graphs:

Clearly, if you poke them with sharp sticks, they will squeal. Well, good. If the recent horror motivates decent people to at last get off their duffs and fight back in earnest against not just the jihadists but the Leftists who support and enable them, then I won’t say it was all for naught—at least one good thing will have come from it.

Once and for all, sane, decent people need to go after these evil bastards, hammer and tongs: harry them, persecute them, make them suffer intensely. Inflict pain, real pain, on them, without mercy or surcease. Don’t allow them a moment’s peace or respite; get them fired, make them unemployable, ruin their lives totally. For far too long shitlibs and jihadists alike have been allowed to get away scot-free with their crimes against humanity, perpetrating atrocities both great and small with near-perfect impunity. Now let them learn, in a way they can never, ever forget, what the word “consequences” means.

Read the rest, I think you’ll dig it.

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Eyrie up!

Tonight’s Substack-a-palooza is up: “Kill. Them. ALL,” which will probably be the one and only post I do either there or here about the current Hamas/Israel conflict, feeling as I do that I’ve said all I have to say about it here many times over by now, right from the earliest days of Ye Aulde CF Blogge. I quote a few of the heavyweights—Walsh, Spencer, Steyn—before closing out thusly:

Time after time, for way too many years now, this round-robin cycle of genocide has flared up, calmed down, flared up again—lather, rinse, repeat, ad nauseum ad infinitum. I’ve wondered for quite a while on this h’yar websty, after repeated land-for-peace deals have either been nonchalantly reneged upon by the “Paleosimians” or simply rejected out of hand by those charged with “negotating” with Israel, why the hell some stout Israeli PM didn’t just say fuck this shit and, as the jihadis have been declaring they’d do to Israel since, oh, around 1948 or so, “drive them into the sea.”

With a patently anti-Israel junta (mis)ruling Amerika v2.0; hostility towards the Jewish State rife at the UN and throughout the tonier shitlib salons of Europe; ridiculous, suicidal double standards being demanded of them by people who clearly would rather they just die already and be done with it; and the inescapable fact of its existence as a tiny oasis of civilization beset on all sides by vicious, dull-witted, 10th-century primordials solemnly sworn to the extermination of Da Jew by any means required, I’d say it’s time to throw some of that same stuff right back at ‘em.

Enough already; no more dithering, half-measures, or grab-assery. End Hamas. Not a jot or tittle more for the Paleosimians. Either they make peace, or they die…to the last fucking man Jack of them.

Go ye and read of it, for It. Is. Good. Don’t forget to subscribe, comment, etc etc.

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Eyrie up!

The Friday Substack post is here: Quick hits, an assemblage of intriguing subjects and developments that required no more from me than a couple of quick lines to dispense with. That being so, I figured it would make more sense to leave out the excerpt just this once, but be sure to go read it anyway. I promise you’ll be glad you did.

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Eyrie up!

Monday’s Substackin’ About is posted as of now. Titled “A tale of two obstructions of Congressional proceedings,” this one is a smelting-cauldron-temperature blast of dudgeon most high regarding the ugly disparity betwixt how several hundred J6 “rioters” have been handled, as opposed to how loathsome Congresscreature Jamaal Bowman almost certainly will be, for the exact same gott-damned crime. Dig if you will:

I repeat: let’s not anybody be holding etc. Because we all already know only too well what’s going to happen to this wretched, over-entitled asswipe: Zip. Zero. Nada. Not one blessed thing. This, like so many other news stories which happen to be inconvenient for D卐M☭CRATs, is already being meticulously swept under the rug; in looking around for something—anything—on it just now, I had to dig pretty deep at my usual haunts to come up with anything beyond the days-old initial mentions.

The travesty of justice inflicted on the J6 defendants will be doubled and redoubled when Bowman waltzes away without even an obligatory slap on the wrist; if his fellow Congresscritters, Republicrat and Demican alike, bother with so much as a toothless censure of their distinguished and “honorable” colleague, I will be very surprised.

Prison time? It is to laugh, most bitterly. Trump Jr’s justly-outraged demand for equal treatment before the law is well taken, but it’s no more than pissing in the wind; rest assured, his father will be rockin’ orange WAY before Jamaal Bowman is required to answer for his felonious actions.

Read the rest; if it doesn’t infuriate you, please have someone nearby check you for a pulse. Because you probably ain’t got one.

What a maroon update! Via Ace, Bowman pukes forth a retraction of his earlier confession, of sorts.

Democratic Rep. Jamaal Bowman sent out a list of talking points for his colleagues Monday blaming Republican “Nazi[s]” after he set off a fire alarm as the House of Representatives was in the process of approving a spending bill to avoid a government shutdown, according to a memo.

Republicans called for Bowman’s impeachment after he was caught on camera hitting a fire alarm during a crucial vote on a funding package Saturday, despite his claims that it was an accident. Bowman’s office distributed a memo to fellow Democrats, with suggested talking points on the “extreme reach” of “MAGA Republicans” and the “Nazi members” of the GOP, according to the document.

“I believe Congressman Bowman when he says this was an accident,” one of the prompts reads. “Republicans need to instead focus their energy on the Nazi members of their party before anything else.”

Another talking point claimed that there are “multiple insurrectionist supporters in Congress” and that focus on Bowman was designed to “minimize January 6th,” according to the memo. Several points blamed the GOP for trying to “distract from the fact” that they almost “shut down the federal government for no reason.”

Bowman argued in a statement Saturday that the signs for the doors leading to the House floor had confused him, leading to him flipping the wrong switch. The signs in question read “Emergency Exit Only” and “Push Until Alarm Sounds.”

SO, is he a bald-faced lying shitweasel, or just a complete and total dumbass? Another case for embracing the healing power of “and,” looks like to me. Every day, in every way, I’m liking Will Rogers’ idea more and more.

There ought to be one day – just one – when there is open season on senators.

As I said first time around: One day, per year, and by no means restricted to Senators alone, either. The Bee headline Ace includes at the end of his post is priceless too. This update is exclusively available here at the CF Muthaship, by the by; I didn’t attach it to the Eyrie post, because what the heck.

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Eyrie up!

Better late than never: after spending the evening on the phone with a few friends of mine working the quest to find a trumpet for my daughter (just turned 14 last month; JEEZ, how the heck did THAT happen?), today’s Substackery, Origins of the Culture Wars: who’s winning, and why, is finally live and kicking. This one discusses the American traditional nuclear family and the values it both embodies and promulgates, the origins of the Left’s ongoing campaign to destroy it utterly, and Norman Podhoretz’s early-days confrontation with the leading literary lights of the Beat Generation who did so much to get that dirty, underinflated, out-of-round old shitball a-rolling. Sample ‘graphs:

I read Kerouac’s On the Road was back when I was in college, not as part of any formal classroom assignment but on my own hook. I remember being excited about finally getting my hands on a copy, looking forward to a rowdy, rollicking road-tale full of bold adventure, take-no-prisoners iconoclasm, and devil-may-care rebelliousness and individualism. To my everlasting disappointment, I found it to be a flaccid, soggy dishrag of self-obsession, aimlessness, and…well, quite frankly, it was fucking boring, okay?

And alakazooks! Just like that, I was all done with the Beats and their drivel, as narcissistic and dull a bunch of piss-ant pedants as ever threw a bucket of cold water over a lively party just by their very presence. OTR was the first of the Beats I ever read…and the last, too. Trust me, folks: as a voracious reader all my life, I can say without fear of contradiction that anybody who can make sex, drugs, and road trips that dull simply ain’t much of a writer.

Read of it, for It. Is. Good. Don’t forget to sign up for either a free sub or the paid variety, which unlocks commenting privileges.

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Eyrie up!

Today’s Substack offering, The problem with pets, discusses an article from Das Grauniad demanding that we all give up our pets. Having declared myself here as a lifelong Elly May Clampett-type of critter-fancier more than once, you can readily imagine what my response to that happy horseshit is:

Wherein we can begin to discern one of the most pathetic yet ubiquitous hobgoblins of the little liberal mind: the immodest donning of a hair-shirt of unearned, pointless guilt which costs them nothing, inconveniences them not a whit, but which they nonetheless feel entitled to parade around in with a ne plus ultra of martyred pride even Saint Joan herself might blush to contemplate.

And here we see another typical and entirely pathetic shitlib trait: an apparently compelling penchant for projecting their own petty neuroses and mental dysfunctions onto the world at large—as if, since they themselves are mentally ill, wretched, and miserable, why, everybody else must be as deranged as they are!

Read of it, for It. Is Good. Don’t forget to subscribe, comment, and etc etc. As for Elly May, I feel myself compelled to rerun the pic I used last time I mentioned the topic:

Update! Mo’ bettah Elly:

Hot stuff
YOWZA!!!
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Eyrie up!

Finally, I got ‘er done and posted: “Je refuse!”, consisting of musings based on a couple of browser tabs covering vat-grown Frankenmeat, artificial sweeteners, and general nutrition that I’ve had sitting open for some little time now, just waiting to be put to good use. A taste (ahem):

At the end of the day, what have we learned from all this, then? Simple: the dietary advice urged on us by FederalGovCo and its bevy of bought-and-paid-for “health” Chicken Littles, nutritional-science “experts,” and miscellaneous panic-ninny scolds and Church Ladies should never, EVER be trusted. Remember: these selfsame “experts” spent years telling us a lot of alarming things about the error of our mealtime ways:

  • Butter is hazardous to your health for numerous reasons; eat only margarine instead
  • Eggs are artery-clogging death-spheroids, stay away from them altogether
  • Red meat? Oh good LORD, no!
  • Stick strictly to the guidelines of the hallowed Food Pyramid and you can’t possibly go wrong, trust us
  • Bacon? PLEASE tell me you’re joking
  • Salt is the Silent Killer©, a more serious threat to life, limb, and longevity than hang-gliding, bungee-jumping, and hitch-hiking COMBINED

All these warnings and many more were used as clubs to beat Normal Americans into changing their ideas about what they should and should not be eating…and then, twenty or so years later, the “experts” turned on a dime and reversed every last one of them.

CF Lifers of a certain age will doubtless recall those dire warnings concerning the unspeakable horrors of eggs, butter, red meat, &c that we all grew up being bludgeoned with. Then, it was a spell of faddish bushwa insisting on the otherwordly health benefits and moral superiority of vegetarianism/veganism—eventually followed by the predictably deflating, in some cases even disastrous, results. Read the rest of it, subscribe, all that jazz.

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Eyrie up!

Monday’s Substack thang, “How to fix it,” is now posted. This one’s an examination of a pretty good compendium of potential cures for what ails us, some of them practical possibilities, others…ehhh, probably not so much. A light dose:

Indeed they do, but the REAL cure is simpler even than that: ditch ALL electronic voting machines and return to paper ballots, hand counted in full, unobstructed view of official representatives from all and every political party with candidates running for office. Contra Simplicius’ first ‘graph above*, if that means We Duh Peepul must wait for the results a little longer than we’ve become accustomed to because hand-counting all those hard-copy ballots takes a little more time, well, so be it then.

The essential point to be made here, I think, is that the count does not stop until all the (legitimate) votes are tallied. No self-evidently shady “pauses” after the polling places have closed because the toilet down the hall has sprung a minor leak, followed by a wee-hours stealth-resumption while no one is looking. You cast your vote on Election Day, on paper, dip your thumb into a jug of indelible purple ink a la Iraq, and then the votes are counted publicly, openly, without the kind of manipulation and mucking about we bore supine witness to in 2020. Period fucking dot, end of fucking story, problem fucking solved.

I’m right, and you know I am. Go read the rest, and be sure to sign up for a sub, even if only a free one, so’s you’ll receive email notification as soon as each new Eyrie post has gone live. A paid sub is not only required to comment, it is also YUUUGELY appreciated.

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Eyrie up!

Friday’s Eyrie offering has now been published: “Empire Of Lies,” all about exactly what you’d expect it to be. The closer comes after a Dan Bongino quote claiming that 2A people should be “terrified” by a Biden lie the raddled old pedo-fraud has repeatedly trotted out over quite a few years:

“Terrify”? The hell with that; it should enrage them, inspire them, and motivate them not to yield another inch to the greedy Leviathan government or its State vassals. Because when the tyrant Biden falls, there will be shitlibs aplenty lined up to take his place—and make no mistake, they’re no more honest or honorable than Faux Jaux Bribem has ever been.

Read it all, gang.

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Eyrie up!

Today’s Eyrie post has gone live: “Tech marches ever on,” a discussion of the way advances in technology and the basic concepts of how war is properly and successfully waged are and have always tended to radically shift the ground under the very feet of those charged with actually fighting said war. Excerpt:

Repeating carbine rifles; pistols; wireless radio communications; tanks; submarines; radar; sonar; piston-engine airplanes; the Norden bombsight; jets—all scoffed at as either extravagantly costly toys or unworkable, pie-in-the-sky daydreams by an ossified officer class who would soon find themselves shocked—SHOCKED!—at armies under their command having their asses kicked all to Hell and gone by them, often wielded by OpFor numbers greatly, even lopsidedly, inferior to their own. It’s the oldest story in the long annals of human warfare, going all the way back to mighty, invincible Goliath laughing at David and his puny slingshot, if not longer. The really baffling part of it is how very few professional officers in the higher ranks seem capable of learning the lesson history keeps trying, again and again and again, to teach them.

It has long been said that you can’t kill an idea. Left unspoken is the correlating truism: ideas can for sure kill you. For the infantryman, they will, and have.

Go ye and read of it, for It. Is. Good.

Eyrie up!

Just got the Friday Substack up and in gear: “Everybody ready for Prohibition v2.0?” This one is about…well, I mean, y’know, DUH. And yes, believe it or not, the illegitimate Bribem junta is indeed making some disturbingly suggestive moves in that direction, using the flaccid Scamdemic response to masks, lockdowns, &c as template, inspiration, and justification. Sample:

Not just alcohol, either; the same “logic” can be applied pretty much anywhere, once lackwit bureaucreeps and elected officials feel secure enough in their assumption of Lord and Master status to go ahead and flex those big, strong muscles with confidence in their total impunity.

As I shouted at the brick wall from the very beginning of the Scamdemic catastrophe, so it still remains: this is only the beginning of it. The ratchet of tyranny, after all, turns in only one direction: it can only ever tighten, never loosen. It must therefore be wrested from the tyrant’s hands and destroyed utterly, before its victims have become so weakened and inert they simply no longer possess the strength—of body, of mind, of will—to do it.

Read it all, and gird your loins. This shit won’t stop until We The People finally stand up on our hind legs and put a stop to it.

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Eyrie up!

The Friday Substack rip is now fully functional. Titled New Yorkers go down without a fight, it’s a blast of shock and high dudgeon at the credulity-straining and utterly, utterly disgraceful news that NYC’s godawful Mayor, in collusion with the NYPD, has just announced that local mosques will henceforth be allowed to blast their obnoxious call to prayer over amplified loudspeaker systems, no permit required, no questions asked—even on 9/11, if you can believe it.

The NYPD in particular REALLY ought to know better, so many of its own officers having heroically given their lives rushing back into those burning towers in hopes of pulling as many as they could from the horrific chaos and destruction alive. But noooo, their latter-day superiors have just brazenly spat on the graves of those courageous men instead, defiling the memory of their sacrifice and dishonoring themselves in the bargain, whether they know it or not.

It is to weep, truly it is. Wonder what the families of those selfless cops and firefighters are thinking and feeling in the wake of this foul, invidious insult. It isn’t merely a slap in the face for them, it’s a shit-smeared brick to the fucking teeth.

The grim conclusion:

We all know the ironclad rule for the Mohammedans: once they have conquered a territory—any territory, anywhere—it is to be considered a Mooselimb fiefdom forever afterwards.

The Moslem call to prayer. Over loudspeakers. IN NEW YORK CITY, ON NINE FUCKING ELEVEN.

Incroyable. And also: sacre bleu, as well as merde, and zut alors.  Been nice knowing ya, NYC; so long, and thanks for all the fun times I had there over the years. I’d say you should all hang your heads in shame, but clearly, you no longer have any. WORD TO YOUR JEWISH MOTHER: get out now, while you still can.

This is another, umm, concise piece, seeing as how it’s extremely hard to even know where to begin with something this outré. It borders on the sacrilegeous; Ground Zero of right ought to be hallowed ground, a site of inhuman slaughter and carnage consecrated by the thousands of souls who were so viciously, gruesomely murdered there.

I knew back then that this dreadful day would come—as I’ve explained before, it’s why I chose the name I did for this blog, in fact—and now here it is. How very quickly we forget. No extra charge for the cussing en Français near the end; consider it a gift, from moi to vous.

Update! Another ugly thing I know will soon be coming: an onslaught of lecturing, posturing, and sanctimony regarding the vitally critically vital necessity of upholding the Mooselimbs’ 1st Amendment rights, from the selfsame shitwits who have repeatedly demonstrated an almighty propensity for trampling those rights underfoot. I can only say that if this provocation—almost certainly wilfull, at best blindly oblivious, disrespectful, and insensitive—doesn’t fall under Oliver Wendell Holmes’s well-known “shouting fire in a crowded theater” free-speech exception, I can’t imagine what might.

Whither your precious “freedom FROM religion”—a “right” neither specified nor implied in the 1A, mind—now, shitlibs? We wonders, yes we wonders.

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Eyrie up!

Or, in the case of a certain set of sagging manboobs, down—slowly but surely, inexorably, and permanently. Called Expert me no experts, this one is rife with insults both subtle and stinging aimed at Our Global(ist) Lord and Savior (but mostly Lord, mind), Bill Fecking Gates. A bite of the apple:

FUCK Bill Gates, and all who sail in his doughy, baggy ass. His one true moment of innovative spark was not in creating Microsuck and the Winbloze OS, but in perceiving that the best way to force that eternally buggy, bloated, insecure PoS into people’s lives was to cajole its way into American offices and places of business across the blighted plain. Having become forcibly accustomed to using it at work, it only made sense to adopt it at home, if for no other reason to ensure compatibility with their work documents.

That, I will admit, was damned astute of him…and the world has been paying for that unfortunate insight ever since.

Dearly, too. Read of it, for It. Is. Good.

Update! In reference to the aforementioned manboobs, I’m reminded of a maxim I read in National Lampoon many, many years ago: Everything gets fatter, hairier, and closer to the ground. Sounds like an excellent addition to our Mike’s Iron Laws compendium, if you ask me. Not that you did, of course.

Eyrie up!

Okay, NOW it’s all done and posted: The normalization of mental illness, I call this one. Sample:

More like the lionization, the beatification of it, actually.

And if those two examples—of a steadily-metastasizing number—of daylight barking madness being not just pitied, not just tolerated, but actively endorsed by the ruling political megalith and its pet-poodle media aren’t enough to convince you, Glenn Reynolds would like a word regarding what’s going on here.

This one consists mainly of excerpts from three different articles in support of my central premise—that a certain criminal organization masquerading as a political party finds it useful to promote mental dysfunction among the hapless, and increasingly neurotic, subjects they misrule—without a whole lot of further commentary de moi. Do read it all, folks, and you’ll see that I ain’t wrong here.

Eyrie up…?

No, not yet it ain’t, but fret not, it’s a-coming. Getting a late start on things this evening thanks to some errands and house-cleaning crap I was past due on, but I’ll be back in the saddle blog-wise in just a short.

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