Mike – Page 24

As the proctologist asked, “Good grief! Is there really no end to these assholes?”

Posted on August 17, 2025August 17, 2025 by Mike

Esteemed monster hunter David Codrea nails it down clean and tight.

Jackoff can’t handle the truth either.

https://waronguns.blogspot.com/2008/03/im-jack-nicholson-and-i-approved-this.html

Then there was the time he went “clubbing”:

And how about Jack Nicholson, who added his name to the list? To borrow a line from “A Few Good Men,” hey, Jack, do you want the truth? You can’t handle the truth. Because the truth is, an out-of-control berserker bashing in someone’s windshield with a golf club over a traffic dispute deserves to be repelled. With a gun, if necessary.

https://www.history.com/this-day-in-history/february-8/jack-nicholson-smashes-windshield-in-episode-of-road-rage

Yeppers, couldn’t possibly agree more, David.

Islamic studies

Posted on August 17, 2025August 17, 2025 by Mike

CBD posts an excellent course of instruction.

Islam is a revolutionary political philosophy that uses an ersatz religion to manipulate and motivate its adherents. The Twelvers sect of Shia Islam is a particularly nutty branch that specifically seeks the apocalypse to usher in the return of Muhammad al-Mahdi, the twelfth Imam. That means America and Israel must be destroyed!

But all is well! Only about 85% of Shia Islam believe that! Of course Iran is the most prominent Twelver Shia country, because they have assiduously pursued that goal for the last 46 years…bankrupting the country, throwing it back into the dark ages, and fomenting terrorism throughout the world. On the way it created a comprehensive police state, and cultivated terrorist proxies in the Middle East: Hezbollah, Hamas, and the Houthis are the big ones, but there are others in Bahrain and Iraq, and Syria.

But the biggest and most expensive effort is of course Iran’s efforts to design and build nuclear weapons. And not just any nuclear weapon…they want ballistic missiles with nuclear warheads! And that requires highly enriched uranium and significant engineering. No shipping container bombs for Iran! They want the best!

And for what? The destruction of Israel is number one. The destruction of America is number two. On the way they might take shots at Europe, and maybe Saudi Arabia; the center of Sunni Islam. That would be a bonus, but their real target is Israel.

And they will never stop. The raison d’être of the Iranian Mullahs and their lunatic acolytes is the arrival of the twelfth Imam, and nothing will deflect them from that goal. Nothing will stop their nuclear aspirations. Nothing will stop their support for terrorist organizations across the globe. Nothing will moderate their maniacal desire for the world to go up in nuclear flames.

Except regime change.

Annnnd BINGO, there you have it: the truth, the whole truth, and nothing but the truth. Weep, wail, and piss yourself over it, it ain’t gonna change a single thing. Unpleasant, wildly popular, dispiriting, enheartening, reviled, and/or unanimously endorsed or not, the facts remain the facts, the truth remains the truth. Whether you choose to sit back, calm down, grow a pair, and take your medicine like a grown man regardless of how nasty it tastes, or you’re more the type to set your hair alight, zoom around in small circles waving your arms and shrieking deliriously, reality doesn’t give a whoop in Hell what you might think.

Reality can often be stubborn as a dadblame mule, which makes it clear as a mountain spring to every girl, boy, woman, or man* that nobody but a serious candidate for a rubber room at the Ha-Ha Hotel along with one of those nice, hard-to-find jackets that buckle in back would actually expect that cold, indifferent reality might just go away and leave people alone.

PRO TIP: It won’t.

The Mullahs will not, probably CAN not, willingly abandon the “religion” founded by their hallucinatory Pedophile Prophet. The one, the only way Moslems will abandon Pisslam is to force them to. And the one, the only to do that is by the application of massive violence, bloodshed in not just buckets but rivers, and defeating them utterly, Curtis LeMay-style. Sadly, I see no sign that pampered, soft-handed Westerners retain the determination, the courage, the strength of will to do either of those things, let alone both—which are non-negotiable requirements to eradicate the jihadi threat once and for all.

At the end of the day it all boils down to this: eradicating the jihadi threat of necessity means eradicating the jihadis. Next steps along the road to dignity, honor, and righteousness will be to face up to that harsh truth; acknowledge the suicidal futility of attempting to dispute an obvious truth. Then and only then will you have readied yourself to act as if you really mean it this time. Anything less than a full, frank, honest assessment of the slavering beast you must do battle with and you might as well go ahead and surrender, you’re just jerking off here. Get back to me when you’re ready to get serious about seeing this thing through to the very end.

The Iranian regime represents a threat which is real, credible, and cannot be nullified via Western conscience-balming fripperies such as sanctions, treaties, pallets of cash, or windy threats of an impending reckoning that never seems to come. The primitive totalitarian belief system Shrubya disgraced himself for all time when he misrepresented Pisslam as “the Religion Of Peace” will remain a “clear and present danger” to Western Civ (Tom Clancy’s words) for as long as there’s so much as a small handful of maniacal Moslems left alive and free to dream big dreams, plot, and prepare the Faithful for the return of Allah (Piss Be Upon Him) to his Earthly throne. The only question staring us in the face at this point is simple: what, if anything, are we going to do about this?

The mortal threat posed by Iran’s Mad Mullahs and their pseudo-religion will, like the Sword of Damocles, dangle over Western heads for as long as We Duh Sheeple keep tolerating the intolerable; excusing the inexcusable; celebrating the wilfully blind for being visionaries, the drooling, ineducable retards for their intelligence, and the weak, frail, and sickly for their might, endurance, and robustness; foolishly swallowing whole the cliched falsehoods which contend…

That “the pen is mightier than the sword”
That “diversity (ONLY of skin color, NEVER of thought) is our strength”
That the chemical sterilization, irreversible surgical mutilation, and brainwashing of children is more properly referred to as “gender-affirming care”

Ironic, innit, that the above list contains both a few of the reasons for our downfall and, simultaneously, some of the things that convinced the Muzzies that conquering Western armies, political leaders, and civilian noncombatants had leapfrogged over several lower-level items, rising from merely desirable albeit of little or no importance, but was now an absolute imperative, Priority Numero Uno on Mohammed’s honey-do list.

Happily for them, every devout Moslem intuitively understands that the more Western infidels he puts to the sword and dispatches, the wider Allah smiles down on his faithful warriors. For your average jihadi it amounts to a can’t-lose proposition: you either survive to be feted as a heroic Defender of the Faith, or you die in battle, whereupon your immortal soul ascends to Paradise. Which is when you wake up and leap off whatever you’d been lying on, totally confusticated as to where you are, how you got there, and why you’re there in the first place.

You waste no more than a minute or two on unravelling this tangled skein of mystery, then another bizarre bolt from Deep Blue Nowhere strikes: somehow, you seem to have lost every stitch of clothing you had on before you awakened. Seeing as how you have no memory of undressing yourself before your nap, somebody must have stripped you of your clothes and absconded with ‘em as a prank. Ah well, time to enjoy those 72 delicious raisins Allah promised you’d receive on arrival in…dare I say it?…Paradise?

Hey, hold up a minute there, fella. Was that supposed to be 72 lovely, sloe-eyed, leggy, round-assed, big-titty virgins our Junior Jihadi would be getting, not a double-handful of dried out, wrinkly old grapes, a true Booby Prize if ever there was one? Former grapes which, strangely enough, have twice the hassle and one-fifth the flavor of plump, juicy, sun-ripened, vine-fresh, hand-picked grapes? Converted no-longer grapes so tough and chewy it wouldn’t be terribly unfair to crack jokes about these grapes/raisins/virgins/whatthefuckever being, and I quote:

SO, then. Having taken every Comparative Religion course my college offered (just because I found both the subject matter and its instructor to be interesting, enjoyable, and worth delving into), I seem to recall reading in one of my second-year textbooks a hit-and-run summation of the Twelvers cult and their obsessive belief in the return of the long-ago decomposed Twelfth Imam (he “disappeared” in 878 AD, which casts grave doubt that there might actually still be enough of him left to justify sweeping it up and attempting to reanimate), the post-Apocalypse societal order, and Islamic supremacist dogma ages and ages ago, although to be perfectly honest I haven’t given most of the stuff I learned a whole heck of a lot of thought since departing the Halls of Academe for a good-paying (in 1981 money, that is) job as a pickup and delivery driver at a long-since-defunct air freight company.

The truly scary bit, though, is this (bold mine, so’s you won’t miss it):

Even President Trump, whose understanding of the Muslim world is far more impressive than any other modern president’s, believes that a “deal” can be struck with Iran. That didn’t prevent him from ordering the attack on Iran’s nuclear sites, but will he do it again in two years when they have begun to rebuild and have perhaps recovered some or all of their enriched uranium from the rubble? Or will President Vance order another strike in four years, or President Sanders in 12 years?

President *shudder* SANDERS?!? Saints preserve us! Or, to repurpose one of many stirring lines from Patrick Henry’s eternally-relevant speech: FORBID IT, ALMIGHTY GOD!!

President Sanders, the man says. Hideous as the prospect is, y’all know as well as I do that, in Amerika v2.0 as currently constituted—to wit: dumb as a hatfull of assholes thanks to a government school K-12 “education”; gullible as a toddler; easily manipulated; Commie-curious; bi-curious too these days, especially the young males who’ve found themselves sorely beset on every side for “toxic masculinity”—it’s not only possible, it’s damned likely. Looks like this is yet another of those occasions when I pray he’s wrong, but fear he ain’t.

* Why yes, as a matter of fact I DO dig me some Canned Heat, what makes you ask?

The power of Elvis part…4?

Posted on August 16, 2025August 17, 2025 by Mike

Well, kinda-sorta, anyway. NOTE: Check out the Greatest Hits page for the first three “Power of Elvis…” installments, to which this post isn’t exactly related other than that they all share a common topic. Or it wasn’t my intention when I was writing it for this piece to be related, nor to amount to a sequel to the others, at any rate. What the hey, it’s all about Elvis in the end, so why belabor such a trivial point?

Today being August 16th, and August 16th, 1977 being the death-i-versary of the once, future, and forever King of Rock and Roll, let’s get to commemoratin’, shall we?

First off, we gots a YewToob of what I consider one of Elvis’s most appealing signature songs, a catchy R&B confection originally penned by Lloyd Price*, which would soon after be immortalized on 2-inch Ampex Grand Master R2R tape (amazing price at the link: 35 dollars? Back in my day we had to fork over slightly more than a hunnerd smackeroos for it) by Price in a NOLA studio session run by the great Dave Bartholomew, writer and producer of many if not most of Antoine “Fats” Domino’s early chartbusters.

Lots of wonderful archival pix in that one of Elvis, Gladys, and the iconic Jordanaires quartet in younger, happier days.

In his latter-day backing band Elvis had a genuine virtuoso on lead guitar, the savant James Burton (“…one of the best guitar players to ever touch a fretboard”), who back in the late ‘60s began working for E first as a player in the touring band, later a recording-studio session man**. Burton stayed on with Presley in both positions until Elvis’s death.

Here’s a fat-Elvis vid of Burton strutting his stuff in Omaha, Nebraska taken in June of ’77, a mere couple of months before Elvis departed this vale of tears. In this short clip, Burton whips his trademark ugly-ass pink paisley Telecaster like a rented mule.

Even a partial listing of musicians Burton worked with either onstage or in the studio is nothing short of jawdropping: Bob Luman; Dale Hawkins; Ricky Nelson; Elvis Presley (he was also leader of Presley’s TCB Band, the same slot as the similarly awe-inspiring Travis Wammack filled for/with Little Richard Penniman at Tramps when the BPs played a 2-shows-per-night, three-night stand opening for the self-styled Architect of Rock & Roll); The Everly Brothers; Johnny Cash; Merle Haggard; Glen Campbell; John Denver; Gram Parsons; Emmylou Harris; Judy Collins; Jerry Lee Lewis; Claude King; Elvis Costello; Joe Osborn; Roy Orbison; Joni Mitchell; Hoyt Axton; Townes Van Zandt; Steve Young; Vince Gill; and Suzi Quatro.

Pretty impressive rundown of name artists, no? All the more impressive because it IS only partial. Others omitted include: Albert Lee, Rodney Crowell, Steve Wariner, Brian May, and Jeff “Skunk” Baxter, to name but a noteworthy few. Even this incomplete list is in fact a veritable Who’s Who of rock & roll, country, rockabilly, and pop artists, that’s what.

Next up: in the aftermath of The King’s bruising humiliation on The Steve Allen Show (after which disastrous outing Elvis could only describe himself as “distraught,” finding himself practically incapable of coherent speech due to the miserable asshat Allen’s openly-flaunted dislike of and contempt for Presley not just as a performer but personally) a visibly-exhausted Elvis had a long, cordial conversation with columnist/reporter/interviewer Hy Gardner for his popular “Hy Gardner Calling” phone-in show.

What a nice departure the warm, friendly, gregarious way Gardner treated the young phenom is from the egomaniac Steve Allen’s supercilious, sneering approach.

Last but by no means least, we come to the well-known story of a show-stopping (literally!) Vegas altercation betwixt Elvis Presley and a belligerent, sloppy-drunk oaf heckler, Big (Boob) Mike Henderson. Clocking in at just under 16 minutes it’s a long ‘un, I freely admit. But stick with it, definitely; the payoff is well worth the wait.

Awright, awright, a WAY better payoff woulda been seeing Elvis slam a hard, fast knuckle samwidge into this punk-ass bitch’s snot locker, knocking Sir Punch-A-Lot flat on his stupid ass onto the casino stage.

As is noted in the vid, Elvis’s deft defusing of a volatile, rapidly-escalating confrontation which could just as easily have taken a different, much darker turn was so smoothly managed that his handling of the situation is still studied today in conflict-management and -resolution training courses as the pluperfect example of how it’s done. Soft-spoken, surehanded, patient, preternaturally calm, humane—against all odds, Elvis forged peace from what appeared to be inevitable, unavoidable violence; soothed and gently reassured 1) a twitchy, unhinged antagonist; 2) an audience made anxious by the increasingly irrational bluster and brigandry of the inebriated, obnoxious lowlife; 3) every musician, crewman, custodian, sound/lighting technician, and venue staffer onstage with the prospective combatants; turned an enemy into a friend by merely speaking frankly and honestly to and demonstrating an unfeigned interest in him—all these nigh-impossibilities pulled off singlehandedly before a capacity crowd of 20,000 screaming cash customers, no less!

Too, it tells us everything we’ll ever need to know about what kind of man Elvis Presley really, truly was way down deep inside.

The narrator of the above vidya dryly informs us that, as the artist the Colonel liked to call “My Boy” strode placidly out to front-center-stage to address his rage-incapacitated interlocutor, Tom Parker was standing in the wings at Stage Right “having a heart attack,” and I expect he was at that. Elvis’s bandmates and backing vocalists (the Sweet Inspirations, Millie Kirkham, and Kathy Westmoreland), the audience, the stagehands, go-fers, and production crew—they must surely ALL have been clutching their chests in prodigious agonies of consternation at the sight of the show’s Starring Attraction putting himself in harm’s way so nonchalantly.

Moving on from speculation, hypothesizing, and out-and-out fantasizing, to this day Elvis Presley still outsells pretty much everybody else, and not by a small margin, either. Despite the figures that show the product fairly flying off the shelves, Elvis Presley records, tapes, and CDs don’t turn up in the Hot 100 nowadays because, according to Billboard, the fact that they aren’t new releases disqualifies them. No matter; we already know well enough who the King really is, thankee. It is assuredly NOT pathetic national joke Howard Stern, however girlishly and vehemently he may whinge otherwise.

In sum, even 48 years after his tragic demise*** the Big E’s spectral presence still looms large over the music biz, an incorporeal inspiration and influence that doesn’t look like going away anytime soon.

Elvis, you may be gone but you will NEVER be forgotten, bless your beautiful soul. We love you, and will always miss you.

* Amusingly enough, I remember meeting Price after one of those aforementioned Tramps shows supporting Little Richard

** A hateful, thankless job if ever there was one; go ahead, ask me how I know, I DARES ya!

*** No, Elvis did NOT “die on the toilet,” as has been gleefully and erroneously claimed for decades by his detractors. Elvis’s master bedroom and en suite bathroom had a modest-sized but plush lounge area separating them, just spacious enough to accommodate a chaise longue and a comfy, well-cushioned La-Z-Boy recliner/rocker. Elvis thought of his lounge as a place of refuge, his own private hideaway in which he could shuck his ELVIS PRESLEY, LADIES AND GENTLEMEN! persona and go back to being Gladys and Vernon Presley’s only kid—just 19 years of age, a part-time delivery man for Crown Electric Company of Memphis, paid a whopping one (1) dollar per hour—for a spell.

In his lounge, things were quite different: Elvis could laze about in his PJs, his tall, thick, heavily-pomaded, spectacular pompadour disheveled, a-tangle, and uncombed. Unlike World Famous Elvis, Private Lounge Elvis didn’t need to impress anybody; in that place late in the night, he didn’t owe a single soul a single goddamned thing. There was no fear of failure; no grinding pressure to capture and hold an audience; no nervousness, no jittery, unsettled stomach, no stage fright; no expectations whatsoever for him to live up to. In his lounge, Elvis could simply relax, read, and enjoy a refreshing interlude of uninterrupted peace, quiet, and solitude which would belong to him and him alone.

Until that fateful night when his young girlfriend Ginger Alden discovered him crumpled unconscious and non-responsive on the carpeted floor of the lounge—NOT on, in front of, or next to the toilet. Elvis actually passed away in the ambulance on the way to Memphis General Hospital

Update! My mention of Dave Bartholomew way up yonder brought to mind another NOLA R&B icon: Smiley Lewis, who will always be twinned with Bartholomew in my addled, befogged brain for some unknown reason. Between them, those two cats wrote more unforgettable music than you can shake a stick at—music which constitutes the bedrock, the very foundation-stones, of rock & roll both back in Lewis’ and Bartholomew’s day and as we in the modern era know it as well. Like yet another bona-fide legend from a previous musical era, Willie Dixon, Bartholomew and Lewis are simply all over classic R&B/RaB/rock & roll; everyplace you look you’re gonna see those rascals peeping back atcha.

I dunno, maybe I can hardly think of one without thinking immediately of the other because I spent so dang many years playing so dang many of their songs with the BPs. And HEY PRESTO! Just like that, I’m reminded of another legend: Big Al Downing, who we’ve discussed before in these h’yar parts.

Now THAT’S the stuff! Had to’ve played that song about a blue million times with the Playboys, and it was a stone gas each and every time we did. It never yet got old, and it ain’t ever gonna.

Updated update! Every picture tells a story, don’t it?

From August 1977: Thousands of grief-stricken Elvis fans outside Graceland right before the gates were opened to admit them, allowing them to mourn their lost idol in the grounds of his longtime home. From what I’ve read, the feeling of the Presley family was that if the fans were comforted by being invited inside the gates of Graceland and off the streets and sidewalks, then it was worth whatever damage to the carefully-manicured lawn the teeming throng might do along the way.

After all, trampled, torn-up grass, disfigured shrubbery, and mauled flower beds can always be made whole again with some hard work. But a heart shattered by sudden, unexpected bereavement? Ehhh, not so much.

Update to the updated update! Been idly mulling over this self-generated Bartholomew/Lewis mental pairing of mine, when something struck me as kinda weird about it. I mean, it’s mainly just the BarthoLew entity, even though there are a shitload of other two-man combinations which could, perhaps even should, have the same affect on me, but don’t. For example, whenever somebody mention Dave Edmunds, Nick Lowe doesn’t necessarily come waltzing along into my head close behind. Same-same for, oh, say, Paul Stanley and Gene Simmons; David Bowie and Iggy Pop; Pete Townsend and Roger Daltrey; Layne Staley and Jerry Cantrell.

On the flipside, though: Lester Flatt and Earl Scruggs? Homer and Jethro? Jan and Dean? Crosby and Hope? Sam and Dave?

Begging your pardon, kind sirs, but don’t you even think of throwing Simon and Garfunkle at me at this juncture. I’ve spent a considerable chunk of my life trying my level best NOT to think of Art Shinola and his boozum chum Paul Gobblefuckndinkle, and after lo, these many years I’ve become quite good at it, believe you me. You chuck those two shit-slurping doofii at my head, thereby distracting me from the task at hand, disrupting my concentration, and upending my groove so ruinously I can’t get my head back on straight, my heart back in the game, my attention refocused and re-aimed correctly, my thoughts realigned and retuned so that they’ll flow freely, unhindered and unobstructed in the way a mighty river does.

I tremble and quake with fear at the painfully slow dawning of a dreadful realization: I may not ever be able to do these most needful of things again. In which event I hereby solemnly swear that I will neither rest nor remit nor recede nor relent until the blaggard who forcibly reacquainted me with those two dickless purveyors of emasculated, stupefyingly flavorless Wimp Rock gruel have been dealt with to my own satisfaction: ie cruelly, harshly, and above all fully.

Lastly but not leastly, what price Loretta and Doolittle Lynn (to purloin a typically-exquisite Wodehouse phrase)? Where do THEY fit into this gi-normous 50,000-piece jigsaw puzzle? DO they fit into it, even…?

Okay, okay, let’s forget I brought the whole thing up. From now on, we’ll just pretend it never happened.

Gutfeld shows ’em

Posted on August 15, 2025August 15, 2025 by Mike

Ahh, more sweet, sweet liberal tears.

Fox News’ Gutfeld delivers massive ratings boost to Fallon’s ‘Tonight Show’ with cross-network appearance
NBC late-night show had highest ratings of year with Fox host’s appearance

Fox News Channel host Greg Gutfeld’s first appearance on NBC’s “The Tonight Show Starring Jimmy Fallon” last Thursday delivered the program’s largest audience of the year.

The “Gutfeld!” namesake joined Fallon from the iconic Studio 6B in Rockefeller Center, a stone’s throw from FOX News Media’s New York City headquarters in Manhattan.

Gutfeld’s appearance drew 1.7 million viewers, marking the highest-rated “Tonight Show” of 2025 and giving the program a 57% increase compared to its year-to-date average of 1.1 million viewers, according to data from Nielsen Media Research.

The Jonas Brothers were the other guests the night of Gutfeld’s appearance. The YouTube clip of Gutfeld’s appearance had nearly 1 million views as of Tuesday afternoon, the most of any interview on Fallon’s channel in nearly a month.

During the crossover event, Gutfeld revealed how he first met the fellow late-night host. After giving Fallon a warm embrace, Gutfeld quipped that it “brought back memories.”

“This is hilarious — we’ve met before,” Fallon began.

“Yes, you have no memory of it,” Gutfeld responded. “Which is understandable, because we were wasted.”

Heh. According to the rest of the article, the meeting/interview/chat was entirely civil, friendly, and cordial—no blood was shed, no lives lost, no bones broken, no limbs torn off. Neither explosions nor gunfire were reported. So naturally, to the surprise of exactly no one, shitlibs have cranked up the Shriek-O-Meter to eleven (!) over Fallon’s having sold his soul to the ReichWingNaziDeathBeast devil Gutfeld.

Fox’s Greg Gutfeld appearance with Jimmy Fallon makes liberal media furious
Gutfeld is a very funny man, and he’s also successful — which is why Fallon had him on. In fact, Gutfeld bears the moniker “king of late night” because his audience, on the conservative news channel Fox News, is higher than his competitors’. It’s a no-brainer for Fallon to host him, as a kind of friendly mutual promotion.

And yet, liberal mainstream media figures are furious that Fallon did this. Just look at the headlines. “Jimmy Fallon kisses the conservative ring,” said Vulture, as if bothering to engage a conservative was an explicit endorsement of everything the conservative thinks.

The Daily Beast spun it this way: “Jimmy Fallon Fawns All Over MAGA Late-Night Host Greg Gutfeld in Softball Chat” — as if a humorous late-night show needs to be some vicious skewering of non-liberal perspectives.

And of course, what remains of BuzzFeed was eager to attack Fallon for daring to platform Gutfeld. “‘This Seals It For Me’: People Are Completely Turning On Jimmy Fallon For His Recent Talk Show Guest, And It’s Not Pretty.”

Remember back when this clickbait tripe actually mattered? When liberals rewarded BuzzFeed-esque content farming with millions of page views? When easily triggered progressives ruled the discourse with an iron fist? Well, those days are over.

Now, no one cares what the pearl-clutching liberals of BuzzFeed have to say. Gutfeld has a bigger audience — and for what it’s worth, good on Gutfeld for being willing to platform alternative voices. They didn’t talk about politics, and that’s okay. Not everything needs to be a political confrontation.

Why, you….you…you…OH YES IT GODDAMNED WELL DOES, YOU TRAITOR SONSABITCHES!!!

Via Ace, who adds:

In one month, the New York Times will report the news from the Mandela Effect Zone where no one on the left made a big deal about one talk show host appearing on a different show, and it was all the crazed righties making a big deal about it.

Yep, count on it.

By their friends shall ye know them

Posted on August 14, 2025August 14, 2025 by Mike

Wait, say WHAT again now…?

Makeup boss Huda Kattan claims Israel was responsible for both world wars, 9/11 and October 7
She has since claimed to be the victim of a ‘smear’ campaign, saying: ‘In order to silence you speaking out, to silence me, they do what they always do, twist your words, label you an antisemite’

Iraqi-American makeup boss Huda Kattan has claimed that there is evidence that Israel was responsible for both world wars.

Kattan, founder of makeup brand Huda Beauty, has nearly two million followers on TikTok. In a video posted to her account last week, she also accused Israel of deliberately allowing the October 7 massacre to happen.

In the video, which she has since deleted, she spoke of “conspiracy theories” about the Jewish state and said that there is “a lot of evidence behind them”.

Such theories, she claimed, included those that Israel was “responsible for 9/11”, that it “allowed October 7 to happen” that it is is “hiding… paedophiles”. And she claimed that evidence exists that Israel was behind both world wars.

Uhhhn HUH. This SooperdoubledooperGENIUS™ seems to be completely unaware that, during both WW1 AND WW2, Israel didn’t actually even exist. But hey, just keep talking, by all means. You do you, girlfriend.

Kattan has subsequently posted another video defending her comments, saying: “A lot of people were taking it out of context and did not want that conversation happening.

“I never said anything about Jews, or even the Israeli people, so I chose to remove the video.

“It is no secret that I have been speaking out about Palestine for quite some time, and that happened as a result of me learning about the Palestinian cause.”

Sounds to me like you got a good deal left to learn yet about THAT particular “cause,” Sugartits.

(Via Ed Driscoll)

Who won?

Posted on August 14, 2025August 14, 2025 by Mike

Nobody. Certainly not Texas conservatives, at any rate.

BREAKING: Texas Democrats Will Return Home, and the New Map Will Be Approved
The war over Texas’ congressional maps is nearly over, and conservatives emerged victorious.

ABC13 Eyewitness News reports that multiple sources have confirmed House Democrats are finally coming back to Texas. They haven’t said exactly when, but apparently, they think they’ve achieved some grand victory by killing the first special session and grabbing a few headlines about the mid-decade redistricting fight. In reality, all they’ve done is waste taxpayer money, embarrass themselves on the national stage, and guarantee that the new map will still pass, just without the drama next time.

It’s not all that surprising. The Democratic Party, the worst offenders when it comes to gerrymandering, throwing a conniption over Republican redistricting, was the epitome of hypocrisy, and to top that off, Texas Democrats fled to the heavily gerrymandered state of Illinois: a stunt so tone-deaf that it practically wrote its own punchline. Democrats were going to cave eventually; it was only a matter of when.

Something tells me that when Gov. Greg Abbott vowed to keep calling special sessions until the new map was passed, they knew they were beat.

“This could literally last years because in Texas, I’m authorized to call a special session every thirty days. It lasts thirty days,” he told Fox News host Shannon Bream on Monday, promising to keep calling session after session relentlessly. “As soon as this one is over, I’m gonna call another one, then another one, then another one, then another one.”

Far as I’m concerned, Real Americans can’t fairly claim a victory here unless D卐M☭CRAT Fleebaggers are arrested at the state line on their return, stripped of their privilege to EVER work in any kind of government job again, whether it be holding an elected office or manning a guard shack at the warehouse where Indiana Jones stored the Ark of the Covenant.

What the above story indicates is that the Fleebaggers are going to get away scot-free with disrupting a duly-scheduled and lawfully-conducted session of the Texas legislature because they didn’t have the numbers to prevent something they oppose from being enacted, and will be perfectly able to do so again and again going forward, whenever they feel like it, with complete impunity.

In other words, because they couldn’t commit enough election fraud to glom control of the legislature for their foul, repulsive Party, they consider themselves entitled to undermine “our sacred democracy.”

Did I say “arrested at the state line” just now? Sorry, permit me to amend that: they damned well ought to be shot deader’n Caesar’s ghost.

Memezapoppin’!

Posted on August 13, 2025 by Mike

Welcome to this week’s installment of our Wednesday meme feature, folks. Links to the “found via” sources will be attached to the specific MiQ’s (Memes in Question) whenever I can remember them, which likely won’t be very often. Only the first two memes will appear above the fold to save on bandwidth usage, since I assume not everybody who shows up at this here websty will want to see all of them. This intro will appear at the top of each week’s Memezapoppin’! post. Enjoy, funny-pitcher lovers.

Continue reading “Memezapoppin’!“ →

The Daily Donnybrook, and other fine things

Posted on August 11, 2025August 25, 2025 by Mike

Welcome to Ye Aulde Colde Furye Blogge’s shiny new open-comments thread, where y’all can have at it as you wish, on any topic you like. New posts will appear below this one. There will be blood…

Mike @Substack

New Eyrie posts go up every Monday and Friday, although the time of day may (and most likely will) vary. Mike’s latest Eyrie offering is available for perusal here: “Crack track.” Links to archived Golden Oldies are findable down at the bottom of each post.

Please do consider subscribing to The Eyrie, gang; it’s free, unless you’re feeling big-hearted enough to pony up for a paid sub. Either way, paying customer or freeloading looky-loo, an Eyrie subscription is a bargain at any price, a move you’ll won’t ever regret making.

All subscribers receive email notification whenever each new post goes live, although CF management promises not to blow up your inbox with a bunch of junk mail. Latest Eyrie offering is getatable (yes, that’s really a word—trust me!) for one and all to read and enjoy totally free of charge, regardless of subscriber status. However, a paid sub is required to unlock commenting privileges—an almighty incentive to kick loose and chip in if ever there was one. Thanks, everybody!

Ruh-roh…

Posted on August 9, 2025 by Mike

Tactical Hermit notes a disturbing parallel.

YIKES!

Eat ’em alive, Kid!

Posted on August 9, 2025November 9, 2025 by Mike

Here’s hoping he reduces ‘em to penury so extreme the whole coven winds up sleeping under a Detriot bridge.

“YOU DEFAMED ME ON LIVE TV — NOW PAY THE PRICE!” — Kid Rock Drops $50 Million Legal Bomb on The View and Whoopi Goldberg After Explosive On-Air Ambush
Los Angeles, CA – November 3, 2025 – The airwaves of daytime television just got a whole lot more litigious. In a move that’s already igniting debates from Nashville honky-tonks to New York greenrooms, rock-rap firebrand Kid Rock—real name Robert James Ritchie—has unleashed a blistering $50 million defamation lawsuit against ABC’s flagship gabfest The View and its outspoken co-host Whoopi Goldberg. What began as a seemingly innocuous segment on cultural divides and free speech has erupted into what Ritchie’s attorneys are calling “a full-frontal assault on truth and decency,” broadcast live to an audience of millions.

This isn’t your garden-variety celebrity spat. It’s a seismic showdown between a self-made provocateur who’s sold over 35 million albums worldwide and a media juggernaut that’s thrived on hot takes for nearly three decades. At its core, the suit accuses Goldberg and her co-hosts of orchestrating a “vicious, calculated ambush” that smeared Ritchie’s reputation, tanked potential business deals, and inflicted “profound emotional distress.” As one legal eagle close to the case put it, “They didn’t just disagree—they drew blood on national TV. Now, they’re going to bleed in the courtroom.”

The fuse was lit during a taping of The View on October 28, 2025, just days after a raucous election cycle that saw Ritchie stumping hard for conservative causes in swing states like Michigan and Pennsylvania. Invited ostensibly to discuss his latest foray into politics—Ritchie had teased a potential 2026 gubernatorial run in Michigan—the segment quickly devolved into what Ritchie describes as a “gotcha” trap. Cameras rolled as Goldberg, flanked by co-hosts Joy Behar, Sunny Hostin, and Sara Haines, pivoted from light banter to pointed interrogations.

It started innocently enough. Ritchie, clad in his signature trucker hat and leather vest, leaned into the couch with his trademark swagger, cracking jokes about his “Sweet Southern Sugar” tour and reminiscing about his Detroit roots. “Y’all know I love this country,” he drawled, his voice a gravelly mix of Motown soul and rebel yell. “From the factories to the farms, we’re all in this together.” The audience chuckled, and even Behar cracked a smile at his quip about “building bridges instead of walls—unless it’s a mosh pit.”

But then Goldberg struck. Drawing on Ritchie’s vocal support for Second Amendment rights and his criticisms of “woke Hollywood,” she unleashed a barrage that left the studio audience—and Ritchie himself—reeling. “You parade around like some redneck savior,” Goldberg fired off, her tone sharp as a switchblade, “but let’s be real: your ‘American spirit’ is just code for hate-mongering and division. You’ve built a career on shock value, alienating half the country with your beer-soaked rants. Is this really leadership, or just another grift?”

The room froze. Ritchie, mid-sip of water, set his glass down with a thud that echoed through the microphones. Co-host Hostin piled on, nodding vigorously: “Exactly—your so-called patriotism ignores the marginalized voices you’ve trampled on for years.” Haines chimed in with a softer but no less cutting remark about Ritchie’s “outdated machismo,” while Behar let out a theatrical eye-roll that drew laughs from the crowd. What followed was a 10-minute evisceration, with the panel painting Ritchie as a “dangerous relic” whose influence “poisons the well of public discourse.” No punches pulled, no commercial breaks for mercy.

Ritchie sat there, jaw clenched, as the barbs flew. He attempted a few deflections—”Hey, Whoopi, I respect the hustle, but facts over feelings, right?”—but the hosts steamrolled ahead, framing his political activism as “reckless endangerment” to democracy. By the segment’s end, the applause was polite but tepid, and Ritchie exited stage left without his usual fist-pump to the crowd. Backstage, sources say he was “fuming,” confiding to his team, “That wasn’t an interview—that was an execution.”

Yep—and it was perfectly typical of what these shit-slurpers and all others of their loathsome ilk do every single day, under the guise of “fair” and “unbiased” “journalism.” Go get ’em, Kid, and don’t stop Rocking ’em till their livelihoods are lost, their shows are shut down, and their network has become a wholly-owned subsidiary of Kid Rock Inc.

Via Lakeside Joe, who quips: “This is gonna be fun to watch.”

Crooked cop brought down HARD

Posted on August 9, 2025August 9, 2025 by Mike

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” →

Child abuse

Posted on August 8, 2025August 8, 2025 by Mike

Hey, remember when Drag Queens acted all huffy and upset when they were (Unjustly! For no reason! SOOOOO unfair!) accused of “grooming” little boys so as to recruit them into their depraved lifestyle?

Nah, me neither.

Drag queen brings a SIX-YEAR-OLD dressed up as a drag queen on stage to dance in front of adults at a Pride event in Belfast

This is GROOMING.

DISGUSTINGpic.twitter.com/GyxXHmCXg7

— Libs of TikTok (@libsoftiktok) July 28, 2025

Watch as much of the vid as you can stomach; the interview footage with this crazy mixed-up kid makes for some pretty gnarly viewing, but it’s essential that we DO view it just the same. Otherwise, generally righteous sods might find themselves unable to accept that such nightmarish predation really does happen—that the whole sordid circus isn’t just some kind of Ai-generated exaggeration of something that just doesn’t happen in real life, thank God.

What the video depicts is not merely sick, it’s downright evil. So evil, in fact, that one can practically smell the brimstone while watching and listening to this poor child dutifully recite the demented spew he’s been spoon-fed by the degenerates around him who get their rocks off from taking advantage of, corrupting, and defiling an unsuspecting naif.

The conditioning/training process which transmogrified an innocent boy, age 6, into the hopelessly maladjusted profanation shown in the interview must not—MUST NOT—be blandly tolerated by decent, well-meaning people. It has to be faced up to squarely, frankly acknowledged for what it is, then abolished utterly, by any and every means required, lest said decent people make themselves de facto accomplices through their inaction, their shocked disbelief, their slothful indecision, their over-cautious hesitation.

Years of ignoring America’s long, slow descent into libertinism and onanistic self-indulgence has left us in a precarious predicament indeed. With the aggressive, triumphalist flaunting of the sexual grooming of children—in public schools, public libraries, even churches, for Christ’s sweet sake—it’s come to this: either we stop this runaway erotomania or we endorse it, effectively if only tacitly. Them’s the choices, there are no others left to us at this late stage of the game. And the longer we postpone stopping it the more difficult it will be, the longer it will take, and the lower the odds of a satisfactory outcome.

In memory of the greatest drummer of ’em all

Posted on August 8, 2025 by Mike

That would be the one, the only, the incomparable Taylor Hawkins, as seen below.

Although I’ve always liked Alanis just fine, they coulda just stayed on Hawkins through the entire video for all me, I woulda been fine with it. Previously, I only knew of Taylor Hawkins from his association with the Foo Fighters and hadn’t bothered to look into the guy a little bit more deeply, not even in the aftermath of his sad demise. So imagine my surprise at learning yesterday evening that he’d pounded the skins for Ms Morissette before signing on with Dave Grohl & Co as a full-fledged Foo Fighter.

David Grohl is by no stretch any kind of slouch on drums his own self. Nirvana was pretty much nothing, nobody, and nowhere until they hired Grohl, he MADE that band. Then, after Cobain’s tragic suicide, Grohl got himself up off the drummer’s throne, came out from behind his kit, and put himself front and center as lead guitarist, singer, and songwriter of the newborn Foo Fighters.

After putting the Foos together—originally conceptualized by Grohl as not so much a band as a one-man recording project with backing musicians brought in as and when needed, a scattershot project which was dropped when it became clear what a murderous pain in the ass it was going to be to call, pitch, obtain consent from, negotiate terms with, agree on said terms, sign contracts with, and book studio time to fit into the schedules of a varied assortment of players, all bringing along their own obligations, agendas, touring/rehearsal/recording schedules, lifestyles, and personal baggage—Grohl made the best hire of his career, signing Taylor Hawkins on as drummer for the fast-gelling Foo Fighters hit-generating machine. Hawkins agreed, the band went to work, and the ascension of the Foo Fighters to the dizziest, most rarified heights of the Billboard pop/rock Hot 100 chart was assured.

Having only just learned of Hawkin’s early work for/with Alanis Morissette—whose powerful, passionate, emotive singing; engaging stage presence; honest and expressive lyrics; and multi-octave-spanning vocal range grabbed me but GOOD the very first time I heard her on the car radio—I thought sharing my felicitous discovery with y’all would fit the bill quite well.

Next up: Whodathunk Taylor Hawkins, being the über-badass drummer he assuredly was, could also hit a creditable lick as vocalist/frontman, stepping into Robert Plant’s great big shoes without breaking a sweat? Not Your Humble Host, I admit. Never saw it coming, me.

Yes, of course that would be Led Zep icons Jimmy Page and John Paul Jones sharing the stage with Hawkins, Grohl, and the rest of their youthful playmates.

Bodacious!

Posted on August 7, 2025August 8, 2025 by Mike

The Sidney Sweeney saga continues, and it’s BEAUTIFUL, man!

for anyone gen X or older and many who are younger, the sydney sweeney jeans ad is an obvious icon, a cultivated callback to a genre that once was, the latest modern take on a corbusier chaise lounge or an homage to 1950’s sport shirts. it looks like 1,000 other things you saw your whole life, a piece of classic americana once as common as summer sunshine and about as objectionable.

on its overt level, this branding makes deep sense as jeans styles are changing, moving from the stretch-fit skinny jeans paradigm of the last 15 years back to a looser and baggy 80’s and 90’s low-rise style. it’s all of a piece: a throwback ad style to foreground a throwback clothing style. it caught the zeitgeist. it’s clever, stylish, sexy, and strong. she’s an attractive woman doing cool stuff in a cool stuff in a cool way. sweeny looks like a bad ass, the car is epic, and this triggers appeal to women and men alike. you want to go to there.

so why has the internet and the aggrievement industrial complex of media babble-heads exploded into such a lockstep tizzy over an ad that would have been utterly unremarkable during most of living memory?

El Gato goes on to expound on more than one of said reasons, all of which are perfectly plausible. But for my money, it really all boils down to just one crucial element: The Wokester Left—never among the most stable of us to begin with, either psychologically or emotionally—has now gone officially, certifiably, irretrievably, pathologically bugfuck NUTS. The slavering moonbats have lost contact with rationality and/or reality altogether and aren’t gonna be coming back anytime soon, assuming they ever come back at all.

Put another way, the loony Left’s visceral hatred for Mighty Whitey, physical comeliness, mainstream opinion, and a refusal to evince proper contrition—ie, to hang one’s head apologetically, as is only meet and just, for the abominable H888Crime!™ of being young, White, good-looking, independent-minded, and wildly popular with Normal Americans—has finally driven the poor dears clean around the bend and into the ditch.

Add to these egregious offenses the fact that Our Sydney remains defiant and unflappable under a heavy (and intensifying) barrage of Wokester vitriol, obloquy, and unhinged threats. Most maddening of all: she’s female but is in no wise the Wokester-approved flavor of Toxic Feminazi, nor does she show the slightest inclination to sign on. Really, it couldn’t be more obvious as to why the whackadoos loathe her so frenetically, yet can’t quite seem to quit her even so.

Remember back when Rush used to boast about “living in Liberal heads rent free?” He might’ve written the book on the idea, but Sweeney has taken it farther than even Rush himself ever imagined going. You just gotta love the girl for that, if for nothing else. Back over to El Gato for the happy ending, unexpected as it was until it landed in our laps.

the vestigial remnants of the cancel culture mob were all out in force demanding boycotts and censorship and playing that favorite role of theater kids everywhere: the victim.

but a funny thing happened on the way to the struggle session:

nobody cared.

academia roused itself to towering rage.

yawn.

newspapers manufactured outrage at printing press scale.

yawn. snork.

the internet exploded in outpourings of tearful anxiety projection and attempted villification.

and the jeans sold out in record time.

you cannot just tell people, “this is normal,” “obesity is healthy,” or “if a man (or a woman) will not date a woman because she has a penis, that’s transphobic” (people really claim this by the way and disagreeing with it has been treated as hate speech) and expect to be believed or to become a cultural touchstone.

and people are exhausted by it, desperate to return to a different time and a set of standards more in line with their lived (and biological) experience and preferences.

it’s about power.

they experience the empowerment of a woman like sydney as an assault on them because they see power as a zero sum game.

but so intense is this will to power that it cannot be admitted, least of all to themselves.

they are absolutely sincere to the point of non-interrogatable delusion on this topic.

it’s grinding them to dust because none of this works anymore.

the magic words have lost their power. yell “racist! sexist! structural oppressor!” until you sprain your tonsils.

outside of your ever-shrinking always on rage tribe, no one cares.

As I always say, couldn’t happen to a nicer bunch of assholes. Didn’t happen a moment too soon, either. A few paragraphs along, El Gato throws us a helpful compare/contrast bone:

CORRECTION: I wuz wrong just then; sorry, everyone. There’s no comparison to be made here, the two specimens depicted above are about as dissimilar as dissimilar gets. They are unrelated; exact opposites; light years apart; as different as chalk and cheese. They clash worse’n a brown shirt with a blue suit. Please allow me to atone for my error with another shot of Ms Sweeney’s astounding fun bags.

I repeat: YOWZA!!!! A bit blurry and out of focus, sure, but unless my eyes deceive me I do believe an enticing half-moon of undraped right nipple can be descried in the above screencap.

Careful fellas; human saliva can wreck your keyboard should excessive quantities of it be drooled thereon.

Poised, indomitable, intelligent, fiercely confident—all these qualities and more come together to make Sidney Sweeney the Platonic ideal of what legendary ‘rassler Lex Luger meant when he decided to call himself The Total Package. Throw in that 1) she’s also a well-trained, skilled shooter, and 2) she’s an avid vintage-car enthusiast, restorer, and diehard Ford gal who enjoys nothing more than getting her hands greasy wrenching on her own prized 65 Mustang, first and foremost among other FoMoCo models, namely her grandpappy’s old F100 pick-em-up in which she learned to drive as a youngster (and that she still owns) and her 69 Bronco, for openers. She even co-designed a Mustang GT limited edition model for the Blue Oval boys to boot. Background:

Sydney Sweeney’s love for cars is deeply rooted in her family background and personal experiences. Growing up in a small town near Spokane, Washington, surrounded by mechanics, she developed a genuine passion for classic vehicles early on. This passion was not just a phase, it is a family legacy. While the world knows her for powerful performances on screen, off-screen, she is just as comfortable under the hood, restoring classic cars and proudly sharing her projects. One vehicle in particular has been generating buzz, a certain Mustang. But is it the iconic GT350?

Sydney Sweeney does not own a Mustang GT350. While she is prominently featured driving a GT350 in the recent American Eagle ad campaign, her actual Mustang ownership is different. Sweeney’s love for cars and vintage models does come from her bloodline. In a small town near Spokane, Washington, she first learned to drive on her grandfather’s F-100 farm truck, a vehicle she still owns today. During the pandemic, she purchased an original 1969 Bronco that required extensive restoration.

Sydney Sweeney owns a classic 1965 Ford Mustang, which she has lovingly nicknamed Britney. This vintage Mustang is bright blue and has been the subject of her restoration projects shared on social media. Sweeney’s hands-on work and deep personal connection to her 1965 Mustang have inspired some of her automotive collaborations, including the custom 2024 Mustang GT she co-designed with Ford, but the only Mustang she personally owns and cherishes is her 1965 model.

To celebrate the Mustang’s 60th anniversary, Ford is building two custom Mustangs inspired by Sydney Sweeney’s Brittany Blue 1965 model—one for Sweeney, one for a contest winner. These cars feature a Robin’s Egg Blue exterior with a crushed glass clear coat, 20-inch chrome rims, Sweeney’s signature on the engine, and the Ford x Sydney Sweeney heart bolt emblem throughout the design.

Aiiight, I just can’t restrain myself: boyohboyohboyohboy, WHAT A WOMAN!! “Total Package”? Pish-tosh; doesn’t do her justice, not even close. Although I can’t honestly say I ever had such thoughts before right this very minute, saucy, sexy, succulent Sidney makes me wish I was about thirty years younger; way better looking; fit and healthy; independently wealthy; and lived half a block down from her crib. If I woke up to find all this had somehow come to pass, I’d run the shoes off my feet and my feet down to bloody nubs chasing after her fine self. I ain’t too proud to admit it, neither.

Took the words right out of my mouth

Posted on August 6, 2025August 7, 2025 by Mike

It’s about damned time SOMEbody said it.

It’s Time For Israel, For Once And For All, To Put An End To This “Palestinian State” Nonsense
No other nation on the face of the Earth has allowed itself to be bullied into aiding its sworn enemies, especially during a protracted state of war against it…

The history goes all the way back to 1916, when Amin al-Hussein launched a series of wars against Jewish migrants who had bought barren and unproductive lands in the British Mandate, and turned them into productive agricultural lands, something that al-Hussein’s Wahhabist “Palestinians” were never able to do – and since 1948, despite massive aid from the UNRWA, have not been able or willing to do.

Israel has been supplying water and electricity to Gaza since 2005. If those were cut off, Gaza would be finished, because with all of those billions of UNRWA aid, they’ve never managed to build any electrical generation facilities, or water wells – or a desalinization plant. And, of course, they don’t grow their own food or have a fishing fleet, so they’re dependent on UNRWA or Israel for food. Same case for the West Bank, I think, if I’m not mistaken. All of the money went to Hamas, to either enrich its now billionaire founders who now live far outside of “Palestine”, or to buy weapons. And Hamas didn’t get in by free elections, they seized power in a coup in 2006.

“Palestine” is an utterly dependent population. If Israel were to go away “from the river to the sea”, they would end up like Zimbabwe, which is desperately seeking to bring back the English farmers they ran off of their lands, because the natives know only subsistence farming, and are utterly ignorant of how to make productive farms or to maintain agricultural machinery more complicated than a pointed stick. That point could be – and is being – driven home by Israel, because if “Palestine” were anything other than a dependent state, they wouldn’t be having problems with starvation.

It is plainly apparent that Hamas intends to wipe Israel off the map – and that has been their historical intent, first with the Jewish settlers, and then with the State of Israel, since 1920 – over 100 years. And they have periodically declared their intent to do so, the last such statement of intent 8 years ago, in 2017.

To Hamas and its supporters, there is no “two state solution” as plainly and unequivocally demonstrated above, and this is the case for their supporters in Gaza and the West Bank. For Israel to have peace and sovereignty in its own lands, there is no other solution but to drive these avowed enemies out of the lands which they presently occupy – and they have no duty to provide any assistance to, or cooperation with, these people.

Palestinian Arabs – most notably the Bedouins – have peacefully co-existed with Jewish settlers in the British Mandate from the 1890s until 1948, until they were incorporated into the State of Israel, and they have peacefully co-existed ever since. It is the Wahhabist Islamic religious extremists, such as the Muslim Brotherhood, Hamas, and like organizations, who refuse this peaceful co-existence and insist on genocidal jihadi warfare – and to have peace, they must be driven out – just as the Muslim Brotherhood was driven out of Egypt and other Arab countries.

Egg-ZACKLY, right down the line. It’s as the now-classic meme says of shitlibs and conservatives in the US: If the Paleosimians wanted peace, there would be peace; if Israel wanted war, there would be no Paleosimians.

So much for the ***((((Joo))))*** -hatin’ Right’s “our ‘natural allies’ the Mooselimbs” stupid-ass horseshit, also. The time has at long last come for the dream to become reality: from the mountains to the sea, Israel shall be free…of murderin’ Muzzrat savages of whatever national origin—be they fake “Palestinians” or, y’know, what have you.

Mike @Substack

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