Crooked cop brought down HARD

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”

Bodacious!

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.

Behold! I bring you good tidings of great joy

If my email inbox is any guide, many of you CF Lifers noticed that my dear friend Francis Porretto’s Liberty’s Bastion blog has been down for several days now. I knew what was going on thanks to an email conversation betwixt Francis and myself over the weekend which concluded very felicitously indeed, at least from my own perspective. Namely: Fran will now be posting here at Ye Aulde Caulde Furye Blogge as and when he feels like it!

Y’all will know I’ve been a YUUUGE admirer of Porretto’s fine, fine work for a long while now, so I’m very proud indeed to have the privilege of hosting him here. Welcome aboard, old friend, it’s great to have you.

Slangin’ arrows

My brother Jeff has a good friend and former co-worker, Donnie Williams, another big-rig driver who lives about an hour’s drive from here in Pelion SC, just outside Columbia. As it happens, his 13-year-old daughter Delilah is…wait for it…WAIT FOR IT…

Umm, a national-champeen archer? Rilly?

Yup, seems so. According to the archery app Donnie recommended to me, called the NASP Portal (that would be the National Archery in Schools Program, in case y’all were wondering), Delilah got off to a somewhat sluggish start in the competitive bow-and-arrow field after having been encouraged to take up the Sport Of Kings by one of her coaches at school. After the merest handful of shaky outings, though, D quickly settled down to rise through the ranks to the very top of the youth-archery heap, and has stayed there ever since. In her first big tournament, she scored only 176 out of a possible 300 points, which sounded respectable enough to my unenlightened ass until Donnie assured me that it was no great shakes. Nowadays, Delilah’s numbers are consistently in the 270s, 280s, even 290s.

I’m told by both the young lady’s dad and my brother, who has met her a time or two his own self, that Delilah, while extremely intelligent and a solid. straight-A student, is also extremely shy—an unfortunate but fairly common combination of personality traits my Madeleine also had to deal with earlier in her childhood. Thankfully, as time went by and she got older she outgrew the shyness but held onto the smarts, as I’m sure Delilah will in her turn.

As for the brand, type, and string weight of the bow she uses in competition, NASP allows only Genesis compound bows strung at 20 pounds in their events, nothing else is acceptable.

From the NASP Portal app’s About page:

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And here’s a snapshot of Ms D’s recent tournament performance:

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Jeff informed me earlier today that the Williams clan is presently on their way to—what, either Virginia or West (by God) Virginia one—so’s young Delilah can dominate another tournament.

 I fooled around with the bow and arrow as a wee sprat myself, although I wasn’t anywhere near in Delilah’s league. The deal was my late, much lamented Uncle Gene took up the bow and arrow to go hunting with, going so far as to set up a large, soft target surrounded by stacked-up hay bales in his long, narrow backyard, thereby creating a practice range where he might hone his archery skills. Unca Gene was kind enough to let any of us neighborhood kids who were big and strong enough to string his fancy recurve bow unaided use his range also, a pastime I greatly enjoyed. He insisted on being out there with us on these occasions as a semi-chaperone, the Adult Supervision who’d make sure we behaved responsibly, that we wouldn’t lose our heads, go feral, and start shooting arrows at each other.

Delilah would probably laugh at me for this, but I remember my first day of bow-n-arrowing: I wrecked my left forearm something fierce when I jumped in shooting without any kind of arm guard whatsoever—a rookie blunder which allowed the tough, rough bowstring to rake down the inside of my unprotected left forearm from elbow to wrist, leaving it skint-raw, swollen, badly bruised, even a bit bloody after I’d loosed only a few arrows in the general direction of that huge bullseye.

Note that I said I had fired my pointy, colorfully befeathered sticks “in the general direction of,” not “into” or “through” said target. All in all, even though we all had a lot of fun, that first experience as a bowman was not an entirely happy one for li’l old moi. Next time out, I vowed that I’d be bringing forearm protection of some sort or other along, even if the best I could manage was to wind an old t-shirt around my arm and knot up the sleeves to tie it down.

When Jeff told me about Donny’s kid and her unusual athletic career, I casually remarked that her story would make an excellent topic for a CF post. Right away, Donny got seriously stoked about the idea, fairly well dancing around on his toes like a guy, his back teeth afloat, urgently in need of a good, long whizz nownownowNOW with nary a Men’s Room in sight. Nor a tree; a deserted alley; the unlit doorway of a vacant building; a patch of unmanicured, overgrown shrubbery; or an abandoned car to provide concealment while he takes care of business.

So here we all are, then. Sometime soon, I think a short interview with Delilah to discuss her thoughts, her feelings, her ambitions, her likes and dislikes in regard to her sport of choice might be in order.

Last but not least, along with the other stuff Donnie sent me a pic of his favorite shirt:

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Heh. ‘Nuff said, my friend. Not that any of those things are necessary, of course; from where I sit, it’s altogether clear that Delilah is perfectly capable of looking out for herself. If anybody warrants worrying about, it definitely ain’t this girl, it’s the hapless subnormal who decides it’d be a grand idea to mess with her. Aforementioned subnormal will wind up flat on his back and immobilized in a hospital bed, scratching his cracked, aching noggin in bewilderment as to how he came to be there in the first place.

“Hulkamania is DEAD!!!”

Took a while, but Randy “Macho Man” Savage was proved right in the end.

I saw this pre-match rant back when it first ran in the run-up to Wrestlemania V, and always felt the spittle flooding down his chin was truly an Oscar-worthy touch. Macho Man, of course, departed this vale of tears long ago. Now, the Hulkster has joined Savage in the Choir Invisible. God bless ‘em both. More on Hulk Hogan’s passing.

Before Hogan came on the scene, professional wrestling was a niche form of entertainment. Often low-budget and rough around the edges, the pro wrestling of ages past wasn’t the slick product that it is today. Hogan (born Terry Gene Bollea in Augusta, Ga.) helped usher in the modern era of pro wrestling.

I like the way TMZ explains Hogan’s appeal: “Hulk transformed professional wrestling into a family entertainment sport. Before Hulk, wrestling catered to a fairly narrow audience. Hulk’s theatrics in the ring was [sic] magnetic for children and their parents, and it supercharged the sport.”

Hogan’s candy-colored wardrobe, boundless enthusiasm, and “real American” persona appealed to kids and adults, and he was an easy hero to follow and emulate. My brother had a foot-tall Hulk Hogan action figure that’s at my house today for some reason. He said he would pick it up on his way home from work for his shrine.

Hogan’s villainous turn in 1996 broke plenty of hearts, but it added to the Hogan legend. World Wrestling Entertainment inducted him into its hall of fame in 2005, but after the cretinous gossip site Gawker leaked allegedly racist comments he made, WWE rescinded his induction in 2015. Hogan successfully sued Gawker, and WWE re-inducted him in 2020 as part of NWO, the collection of wrestlers he hung with under his villain persona.

The Hulkster had a successful career in movies and television as well, but his appearance at the 2024 Republican National Convention may have been one of his most memorable moments of his later years. He exulted Donald Trump both in character as Hulk Hogan and out of character as Terry Bollea.

Speaking of, no way am I gonna let the Hulkster’s powerhouse RNC star turn go unmentioned here. Not on this day, of all days.

Fucking beautiful, and dead on the money, every word of it. Fare thee well, Hulkster, and well done.

Another good ‘un gone

Kim DuToit memorializes the renowned Sloop New Dawn’s master, owner, and captain.

The Layabout Sailor
Longtime Readers may recall that a bunch of my friends and I used to get together once a year for the Feinstein-Daley Memorial Shoot at the east Texas ranch of Reader Airboss (sadly, since deceased). It was always a festive affair and featured the occasional gun.

It was at one such event where I met Doc Russia, at the time still a med student at UT-Houston, who had a blog entitled Bloodletting (which I miss dreadfully, even though I still see him regularly for shooting and dinners etc.). Another blogger also came along at that same meeting: Jim Siegler from Smoke On The Water (ie, blog, linked at Kim’s place—M), which featured guns, politics and details of his life on board his beloved yacht, the sloop New Dawn.

While Doc was an excellent shot, Jim was likewise; actually, Jim was easily the best all-round shooter — pistol, revolver, rifle and shotgun — I’ve ever met.

I need to make a comment at this point. Frequent Readers of this website may remember that I have always referred to Jim as “the Layabout Sailor”. That was a total lie, because Jim was one of the hardest-working men I’ve ever come across, and the ironic nickname was the complete antithesis of him. Having come from extreme poverty — his first job was washing dishes at a restaurant, at age eight — Jim worked his whole life at a number of jobs, sometimes two at a time: insurance adjuster, car salesman, bus driver, roofer, whatever paid the bills. He used to joke that his best-paying job was when he enlisted in the Air Force in his late teens, so you get the idea. College was never an option because there was little money and he refused to get into debt. But he was always well-groomed and impeccably dressed — and by the way, very intelligent, well-read and well-spoken, his soft Texas drawl a welcome sound always, along with his impish sense of humor. (His online signature: “Jim S.– Sloop New Dawn” became “Jim S. — Sunk New Dawn”, which masked his despair at the tragedy of its loss.)

Last November Jim wrote to me to tell me that he was suffering from amyotrophic lateral sclerosis — Lou Gehrig’s Disease — and of course as we all know, ALS is incurable. His prognosis was grim — perhaps two years — but the cruelest part was that while ALS can affect both the brain and the muscular system, Jim’s brain was completely unaffected. So his body was starting to collapse, leaving his lively, intelligent brain intact. He became weak and his speech began to slur.

My friend Jim died two weeks ago, in late June 2025, after only nine months since his diagnosis. Rather than a slow decline, his condition simply went over a cliff, and he died of pulmonary failure, as his lungs — even with a respirator — ceased to function.

And the world became a little worse for his passing.

It did indeed. Most of you have probably run across Jim Seigel’s remarks in the comments section of one blog or another, maybe including this one; for a good long while there, he popped up at CF frequently. I was fortunate enough to enjoy an extended private email correspondence with Jim as well. Never did get to meet the man IRL, alas, nor to go shooting with him, which makes me just a wee mite envious of DuToit, damn him.

But as I slowly, torturously figured out after my late wife’s sudden, violent demise at an unfairly early age—as I have told friends who are fetched up in the deepest toils of mourning over the loss of a beloved spouse, child, parent, sibling, what have you—the only way to get through the agony of bereavement is to not be bitter over what you lost, but to be grateful for what you had. Yes, maintaining a positive outlook, keeping our attention tightly focused on gratitude rather than the easy, more natural slump into bitterness, darkness, and crushing despond can be tough sledding indeed. No matter how long one had with the Dearly Departed—years? Months? Weeks? Days? Hours?—it can never be long enough to satisfy those left behind.

Although Jim and I were on friendly terms, and I hugely enjoyed our email correspondence, we weren’t so close that I’d presume to offer counsel to his widow and other loved ones on how they might best cope with the unfillable hole in their hearts Jim’s absence is sure to leave. I hope and pray that Jim’s people are hanging in there as well as might be, and that when the immiserating flood-tide of grief has at last begun to subside the survivors can evade the dead-end swamps of bitterness, resentment, and leaden futility to walk the more comforting, luminous path of gratitude instead. Like I said, that really, truly is the only way. Same-same goes for our old buddy DuToit, a good and decent sort his own self. Kim, my prayers are with you and yours, my friend.

Regardless of whether you were familiar on any level with Jim of the Sunk New Dawn or not, do read all of DuToit’s heart-rending post. The death of such a singular, multifaceted, and noteworthy an individual as was Jim Siegel diminishes us all to some extent, whether we know it or not. As such, his passing should be marked, his numerous accomplishments remembered, his extraordinary life celebrated.

A life most interesting

Rich, varied to an almost incredible degree, lived fully and well—whodathunk it would be Bobby Friggin’ Sherman (!!!) I’m talking about here?

 
 
 
 
 
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Since that Instagram embed code is pretty, umm, involved, here’s a screenshot of the text in case the embed doesn’t work too good here.

THERE walked a man, folks. Fare thee well to you, Bobby Sherman. May flights of angels sing thee to thy rest.

Run em down run em down run em ALLLLLL down

Even when I was just a wee tyke, I understood that if you played in the street, you were liable to get run over. Apparently, that’s just too darn complex a cause-effect relationship for Woke Supergenii to figure out on their own.

There is, I think, among many, a weariness of seeing escalating levels of fucking about with too little of the customary finding out.

The activists’ power lies in an assumption that their victims will not risk injuring their assailants.

But to insist that the victims should remain trapped, inert, and at the mercy of their aggressors, indefinitely, and while risking greater danger to themselves or their property, does not strike me as a morally persuasive position. And note that the activists typically rush from all sides, rapidly surrounding the car and its occupants, intensifying the alarm, the likelihood of panic, and drastically reducing the driver’s options. This is not accidental.

There’s an implied dare. The game being, “You won’t do what’s needed, despite our alarming and menacing behaviour, because you’re nicer than us, less vain, and not unhinged, and so we can dominate you and terrorise you, and break your stuff, for as long as we want, for shits and giggles.”

Well. I would suggest that the activists’ own actions render their wellbeing of very low importance.

“Low?” Howzabout NO, David? Better still, none whatsoever, at least as far as I’m concerned.

Gangs of cowardly, violent Leftard bully-boys charging up from behind the dumpster they’d been hiding behind, encircliog some innocent motorist whose only wish was to get back home from work without incident—the mob threatening their victim, beating on his car, kicking dents in its body panels and/or hood, wrecking the paint job with keys, pocket knives, or other metal objects, rocking the car furiously on its suspension just as a psyop intended to terrorize their horrified prey, etc. of right ought to be mown down by the blameless drivers they’re assaulting. For the life of me, I really can’t understand why a lot more of these rectal polyps weren’t put in the hospital (or the morgue) long ago, back when the Left’s War on Western Civ first began. We very much need to do our utmost to get those disappointing casualty numbers up to where they should be.

What the actual fuck is up with all this, anyway? There you are, locked in your car snug as a bug in a rug—safe, sound, and totally secure inside a 2-ton metal enclosure which is perfectly capable of racing away from this confederacy of dunces under its own steam, anytime you feel like applying pressure to the accelerator pedal under your right foot. In fact, that is precisely what the car was designed to do, the reason for its very existence.

As for the aforementioned confederacy of dunces, either they have at least the bare minimum of intelligence required for them to comprehend that, once the car is under way, the “protest” is o-v-e-r OVER, and he/she/xhir/it really needs to get out of the street and well clear of said moving vehicle, or they do not. If he/she/xhir/it elects NOT to move his/her/xhir/its stupid ass out of the way, then our cognitively-challenged Leftards really shouldn’t find it too upsetting  when their stupidity results, as it inevitably must, in their being flattened and/or becoming entangled in the car’s undercarriage and dragged down the street a ways, sustaining numerous painful injuries including but not limited to:

  • Road rash over most of human hood ornament’s body
  • Cracked ribs, flailed ribcage, punctured/deflated lungs
  • Fractured skull, brain swelling
  • Broken arms, collarbone, hip(s), and/or legs
  • Miscellaneous bruises, contusions, lacerations, and asphalt burns

It’s as David says: the activists count on the assumption that the victims of their feral brigandry will never strike back against their assailants. That assumption badly needs to be, absolutely MUST be, radically altered so it can better align itself with a more balanced, equitable, mutually respectful social compact which is bound to emerge from the current disorder, irremediable enmity, and systemic dysfunction. Likewise, childish tantrums evincing a total absence of self-discipline, self-control, and mature, reflective self-assessment; low/no regard for the rights of others; near-pathological narcissism; a boundless, ungoverned self-indulgence which the afflicted Wokester believes himself/herself/xhirself/tself to be not just entitled to, but altogether deserving of—bestowed on him by natural right, as integral a part of who and what he is as are his blonde hair, lanky frame, and blue eyes; no more than is due and proper for such a wonderfully superior, elevated human being as he/she/xhir/it so obviously is;

Right straight to Hell with just sitting passively in the car, hoping against hope that the approaching Wokester jackal-pack will decide to just go away and leave you be, without any real harm done to either your person or your ride. You know as well as I do that that is NOT going to be the way this scenario shakes out. Keep in mind, too, that it isn’t just a car you’re sitting in; it’s also a weapon, and a damned effective one when deployed properly, by someone who has no intention of just rolling over and playing dead for a passel of spoiled, snotnosed little toerags who couldn’t punch their way out of a wet paper bag without bursting into tears at the sheer horror of such brutal violence—which is to say, someone who is a flinty, gimlet-eyed realist that, although he likes people generally and is therefore viscerally appalled at the prospect of inflicting grievous bodily injury on his fellow man as long as he himself is treated with the respect, restraint, and friendly, affable charm far more typical of him. Even so, if these refugees from Coney Island’s infamous Freak Show really do want to throw down, he’s perfectly prepared to get all in amongst ‘em himself, and this is a man who plays strictly to win.

So why the actual fuck would any self-respecting American man let a mincing assortment of chickenshit pussies, scrawny, slope-shouldered gamer-geeks, and fat, repulsive broads sporting third-degree friction burns on her legs caused by the way her inner thighs rub together as she waddles along have their way with him, anyway? They started the shit, time for us to finish it. Don’t just sit there like an inert lump, go proactive: put the pedal to the metal, point those shiny chrome grill teeth at dead-center of the closest-packed cluster of giggling oxygen thieves, and bring some REAL pain down on those empty heads. Teach ‘em a lesson they won’t easily forget. The sooner Normals stop putting up with Lefty’s shit, the sooner there won’t be any more shit for us to put up with.

Of Pride and covenants

GREAT story here. Almost makes me want to start watching Major League Baseball again…almost.

Dodger Great Clayton Kershaw Makes Quiet Statement About Pride Night, Leftist Heads Explode
Friday the 13th was Pride Night at Dodger Stadium; unfortunately, like other major league baseball teams, the Dodgers have so far neglected to announce when Anger Night, Lust Night, and Envy Night will be. On Pride Night, however, everyone — players as well as fans — is expected to join in the gay (in the old sense as well as the new) celebrations of sexual deviance, perversion, and obsession, trans madness, and all that comes with all those things. This being one of the foremost feast days on the calendar of the leftist religion, dissidents, of course, will not be tolerated, as Dodger great Clayton Kershaw is finding out.

Kershaw didn’t pitch in Friday’s game, but he drew a considerable notice anyway. The Dodgers were requiring their players to wear special caps on which the team’s “LA” logo was rendered in rainbow colors, and Kershaw obliged. He did, however, mount a quiet protest of his own, wearing a rainbow-LA cap on which was written “GEN 9:12-16.”

That, of course, is the verse in which God makes his pledge to not just Mankind but all the world, promising that never again would He send His flood waters over the Earth, thereby exterminating every living thing on it. The rainbow is the symbiol of said covenant, to wit:

And God said, “This is the sign of the covenant I am making between me and you and every living creature with you, a covenant for all generations to come: I have set my rainbow in the clouds, and it will be the sign of the covenant between me and the earth. Whenever I bring clouds over the earth and the rainbow appears in the clouds, I will remember my covenant between me and you and all living creatures of every kind. Never again will the waters become a flood to destroy all life. Whenever the rainbow appears in the clouds, I will see it and remember the everlasting covenant between God and all living creatures of every kind on the earth.”

Naturally, once they’d been informed of what the rainbow logo on Kershaw’s cap signified, the Left reacted exactly as coolly, tolerantly, and rationally as one would expect of them.

In context, this was God pledging to be merciful, and to spare sinful humanity rather than destroying it again, as He did with Noah’s flood. But even a reminder of God’s mercy is enough to set the haters of God into a frenzy, and this time, Kershaw was the target. One X user wrote succinctly: “Clayton Kershaw is a f**king LOSER.”

Without a trace of irony, another X user wrote: “Clayton Kershaw will always be a Dodger great, but it’s things like this that make him a lot less likable. Just wear the hat. Be a tolerant Christian and accept that there are others who believe differently than you.”

Um. Would someone kindly point out to me just where exactly Kershaw uttered Word One stating—nay, even so much as hinting—that he felt otherwise? ‘Cause I’m having trouble locating that bit here. Then again, my search-engine Web Fu ain’t what it used to be, I do confess it.

In the left’s universe, tolerance is a virtue that Christians are required to demonstrate whenever the left wants to force its agenda upon the unconverted and unwilling. It is never, ever a virtue that leftists must display toward Christians.

Imagine, by way of example, a vastly different American culture, in which the Dodgers celebrated “Christian night,” and all the players were required to wear caps featuring little crosses above the LA logo. And imagine if a Muslim player on the team wrote “AN-NISA 157” on his cap, referring to the Qur’an verse that says that Jesus was not crucified or even killed. There is no doubt whatsoever that this dissenting player would immediately become a hero on the left, with Jake Tapper and Don Lemon and the girls at The View lining up to sing his praises. 

But there’s dissent and there’s dissent. Clayton Kershaw doesn’t belong to the left’s favorite traditional religion; he adheres to the one they hate the most. As such, his dissent is absolutely unacceptable. Will the Dodgers discipline him, or at least apologize for his little display? Don’t be surprised.

Nope. The real surprise would be if the Dodgers’ high corporate muckety-mucks didn’t tear him a new asshole for this clear and obvious Hate Crime, and instead decided to back Kershaw’s right to freedom of expression and relligious belief to the hilt. I won’t be holding my breath waiting for it, and neither should you.

The great contradiction

Well, one of ‘em, at any rate. These days, one of a great, great many, seems like.

Trump Fires Back at Tucker Carlson Over Israel-Iran Strikes
Trump is firing back at those who say that supporting Israel doesn’t necessarily serve American interests and is thus not “America First.” He explained it all to The Atlantic’s Michael Scherer, who asked the president a question about the views of people like (TuckerCarlson.

“Well, considering that I’m the one that developed ‘America First,’ and considering that the term wasn’t used until I came along, I think I’m the one that decides that,” Trump told Scherer. “For those people who say they want peace — you can’t have peace if Iran has a nuclear weapon. So for all of those wonderful people who don’t want to do anything about Iran having a nuclear weapon—that’s not peace.”

Bold mine, just to highlight exactly what I’m talking about here. Far as I can determine, these are the horns of our geat contemporary dilemna: assuming we DO have any sort of obligation to end the threat presented to Western democracies by terror-sponsorong rogue states of which Iran is the undisputed ring-leader—insofar as it really lies within our power to do so—then how far do we let the West’s kinda-sorta Reverse Prime Directive requiring that we mind our own friggin’ beeswax go to hold us back?

Just spitballing here, folks, that’s all. Seems to me it’s a pretty interesting thought experiment; not saying I buy into any of it, on either side.

Update! What if…?

If the Iranian Regime Falls, What Will Follow?
A sudden collapse of the Iranian regime looks like a real possibility.

As far as I know, the Israelis have no plans to take out Iran’s spiritual leader, Ayatollah Khamenei, but they are systematically dismantling the pillars of state power underneath him. The Ayatollahs are on the run, and the generation that put them into power doesn’t have a ton of support from average Iranians.

Persia in the 1960s and 1970s was a rapidly developing and Westernizing country. It was the regional power, balancing the less Western-friendly Arab states. The women were treated with dignity and enjoyed the same freedoms as Western women–videos of Iranians living their daily life were not very dissimilar to those from a European Mediterranean city.

But the regime was toppled by Islamists who were very unhappy with the trend toward Westernization. An unholy alliance between communists and Islamists systematically undermined the regime, and when Jimmy Carter withdrew US support for the Shah due to his repression of the opposition, the regime fell.

The Shah was right and Carter was wrong. We have been in a low-medium level conflict with Iran for over four decades, and millions died in the Iran-Iraq war because of Carter’s foolishness. The Middle East was destabilized, and progress was set back decades.

From what we should damned well have learned about it by now, nation-building in places inhabited by hyper-aggressive 13th-century primordials whose pseudo-religion has inculcated in them an obsessive drive for world conquest is a mug’s game. At this point, all the optimism in the world isn’t going to suffice to make Iran an exception to the rule. Despite having been moving steadily and rapidly along for years and years in a much more felicitous direction, those halcyon days under the Shah are long gone now. The Mad Mullahs having beavered away in quite the opposite direction throughout their tenure, it ain’t likely they can ever be brought back.

As I have long maintained, Jimmeh Peanuthead has more to answer for than just about any other US President I can think of right offhand. By sitting back and more or less passively allowing the Shah to be deposed, he hung a burden around the neck of Western Civ that has weighed it down mightily ever since. Thus is it demonstrated yet again just where exactly the road paved with good intentions leads.

Updated update! Aesop helpfully points out a few interesting bits of operational arcana and backstage legerdemain I hadn’t thought of.

Iran has been the bleeding ass sore of the Middle East since 1979.

We should have been flying Arc Light rounders to their cities from Diego Garcia hourly for the last 50 years, but we’ve been too chickenshit to man up and do what’s both deserved, and long past necessary.

Israel lacked the ability to do what they did yesterday as anything but one-way suicide missions, until they were sold US KC-135 tanker aircraft during Obozo’s administration.

Israel can’t wait until after there’s a mushroom cloud overhead to act. It’s an existential luxury, and asinine to expect it of them. So Wikileaks should either STFU, or quit the charade by just putting on a pointed white hood, and get their true feelings out in the open.

They could be that stupid once, but to stay this stupid perpetually is the calculated and deliberate act of someone maliciously hoping they could see all of Israel smoked under a rain of nuclear destruction, partly as wishcasting, and secondarily as a shout out of affirmation to their fellow mouth-breathers worldwide.

Like the internet was short of that at any point since it started existing.

20-Dimensional chess move: while Trump’s hands are clean in Israel’s strike, one consequence of it now has Iran cutting off drone sales to Russia, because they need them to attack Israel. So in one move Israel has cut the Houthi terror pipeline, yet again severely crimped Iran’s nuclear ambitions (as if exploding nuclear scientists and Stuxnet viruses weren’t enough), and taken some heat off Ukraine – supposedly by accident.

That’s what diplomats and the E-ring at the Pentagon call a hat trick.

I repeat: interesting, veddy interesting, wouldn’t you say?

Update to the updated update! Okay, via Stephen, this is beginning to look seriouser and seriouser. In a manner of speaking.

President Donald Trump continues to state that the American military will not be joining the conflict, despite Israeli PM Benjamin Netanyahu’s requests to do so.

That said, Teddy Roosevelt famously advised “Speak softly and carry a big stick,” and, right now, Uncle Sam seems to be crafting a mighty big stick within striking distance of Iran:

  • Item: There are now three aircraft carriers (two American, one British) taking positions within striking distance of Iran…
  • Item: “A major military airlift appears to now be underway, as an unprecedented number of U.S. Air Force KC-135 and KC-46 Aerial-Refueling Tankers have departed from airbases across the United States and appear to be preparing to cross the Atlantic towards Europe.”
  • Item: Multiple B-2s are already believe to be stationed at Diego Garcia, well within strike distance of Iran for the B-2 (though it might need refueling on the return trip).

Maybe all that movement is indeed just to give President Trump “options” should the Iranians try something crazy. But if I had to guess, it seems like the groundwork for some sort of planned operation is being laid.

It may be that President Trump thinks that the mullah’s current prostrate and distracted status may be the perfect time to settle the Houthi’s hash. Having already attacked American navy ships (absolute casus belli under international law), the time may be ripe to finally dismantle the Houthi threat.

Having for many years advocated loud and long for a once-and-for-all settling of jihadi hash, then turning on a dime to cheer Trump’s “no more endless foreign wars” campaign plank, I can’t honestly say I’m entirely comfortable objecting to these moves now. I’d make a piss-poor pacifist, I suppose.

Updates, forsooth! Francis’s take on the matter.

Israel is doing what it must, and here are the reasons.

A nation that possesses weapons of mass destruction and delivery systems that can wield them at long range acquires responsibilities along with those things. One of those responsibilities pertains to its rhetoric. Its rulers’ statements must be taken with full seriousness, especially their threats. Nation X must regard a threat from nation Y as equivalent to an actual attack. This was a component of American strategic doctrine for many decades.

The theocrats who rule Iran have said many times that, were Iran to acquire a nuclear weapon and an appropriate delivery system, it would thereby acquire an obligation to use it against Israel as soon as possible. Israel’s government must assume that that statement is sincere. Though the phrase existential threat is used too loosely these days, it applies here.

Israel’s intelligence service is one of the best in the world. If Aman’s and Mossad’s analysts are convinced that Iran is on the brink of acquiring a nuclear weapon, the odds are overwhelming that it is so. In that case, Israel is compelled to act, as indeed it has.

Note that the actual identity of the threat-making nation is of little consequence. If any other nuclear power were to make such a threat, the gravity of it would be the same, though Israel’s response would surely vary according to the threat-maker’s location and capabilities. Threats to use weapons of mass destruction must always be treated as sincere.

As for the possible involvement of the United States, the matter is similar though not existential. Iran has threatened to strike American military assets in “retaliation” for Israel’s strikes against Iran. Ignore the lunacy of it. If it happens, America will be compelled to act, but until then, staying out of the conflict is the expected posture, and probably the best.

For all else, we must wait and see.

That’s about the size of it, yeah. Seems to me we’re pretty fortunate to have, in Binyamin Netanyahu’s government, an Israeli leadership intelligent enough, competent enough, awake enough to the threat Iran is to Western Civ entire that we can confidently back Bibi’s play here without suffering a lot of undue angst and/or agita over it.

Anybody old enough to remember this moldie oldie, from back in the bad old Hostage Crisis days?

Yeah, yeah, I know, not one of my all-time great embeds. But still.

Tulsi stumbles

WTAF, Miz G?

What the Hell Was That Tulsi Gabbard Video About?
Let’s talk about nuclear war, Director of National Intelligence Tulsi Gabbard, and Director of National Intelligence Tulsi Gabbard’s weird video about nuclear war.

AWWWW! Do we HAVE to, Uncle Steve? JEEZ….

Gabbard got raked over the coals by right-leaning critics, some conflating her remarks with an historically illiterate apology for Hiroshima and Nagasaki. Noah Rothman was one of several who accused her of “all but endors[ing] Barack Obama’s revisionist and ahistorical account of the end of the Second World War,” although I didn’t hear anything like that.

But that’s not to say that Gabbard’s video wasn’t at the very least odd.

At one point, Gabbard claimed that our “political elite and warmongers” are fomenting global thermonuclear war “because they are confident that they will have access to nuclear shelters for themselves and for their families that regular people won’t have access to.”

They still have to come out sometime. Real life isn’t an episode of “Fallout.”

Sen. John Kennedy (R-La.) — no RINO squish — quipped, “She obviously needs to change her meds,” and I’m inclined to agree.

I’m not the biggest fan of Gabbard on policy — she was strangely buddy-buddy on several occasions with Syria’s Bashar al-Assad and sometimes comes across as a Putin apologist. But I understand Trump’s desire, the nation’s need, and Gabbard’s ability to shake up the D.C. intel community. 

But none of that explains the general weirdness on display here.

Curiously, when Trump met this weekend at Camp David to discuss Iran and Gaza strategy with his “top team,” including “Vice President Vance, Secretary of State Marco Rubio, Secretary of Defense Pete Hegseth, chief of staff Susie Wiles, special envoy Steve Witkoff, CIA director John Ratcliffe and other senior officials,” Gabbard was not in attendance.

There’s also the question of why the president’s DNI would make a campaign-style video.

Is she on her way out — of her own accord or not? I won’t pretend to even have a guess.

Nor will I. Tulsi Gabbard has long walked a very different path than most any other American ProPol you could name, for which habit I’ve always liked more than disliked her. As a confirmed off-the-beaten-track weirdo myself for my whole life, how could it be otherwise? Long as your personal “freak flag” doesn’t involve pedophilia, necrophilia, or bestiality; promoting mental dysfunction by insisting everyone endorse your delusional notion that, in your own head, you are not in fact the biological sex you so clearly are; suppression of others’ right to freedom of expression by means of intimidation and/or violence; shitting in the streets; and any and every other traducement of a free man’s God-given rights as enumerated in the US Constitution, you just go right ahead and let that freak flag of your’n fly, ain’t gonna catch no grief from this ol’ boy about it.

Who the hell even knows what’s going on in the lady’s pretty head this time, but looking at the bigger overall picture we’ve seen of Gabbard, her instincts, and her inclinations, I’m willing to overlook a little weirdness now and then. Certainly, she’s utterly loyal to the Bossman who put her where she is now—more loyal than she’ll ever be to any collectivist ideology; the criminal organization masquerading as a political party pimping it; or the nefarious, sub-rosa skullduggery by which Team Stalin hopes to ram their agenda down Real American throats, whether they will or they nil.

On the other hand, one thing we’ve all learned on the PDQ about President Donald John Trump v2.0 this time out: he sure knows how to keep ‘em guessing, don’t he? The man’s got a real gift for putting absolutely everybody—be they friend, foe, or disinterested passerby—on the back foot and seeing to it that they stay that way for as long as he needs ’em to be, as my dear old Grampa used to say. Going all the way back to the 2016 campaign, every time you heard yet another pinhead press “corpseman” griping about OMB’s roundabout, meandering way of speaking, how nobody could ever seem to pin The Donald down and force a straightforward, direct answer from him regarding any topic at all—ZOMG what is WRONG with you people can’t you fucking see he is just so stupid stupid stupid he can’t even utter coherent  sentences in correct English, he’s soooooo stupid!!!—it was always my belief that what we were really looking at was Trump maneuvering the pasty, officious dweeb into his patented Figure Four Leg Lock (Rhetorical), only the poor victim wasn’t bright enough to realize he’d just been made a fool of by the better, smarter, more wily man.

AGAIN, I mean.

Inner workings

Of an administration that DIDN’T work, in any way, at any level.

Former White House Physician Drops Truth Bombs About Biden’s Health Cover-Up
During an appearance on Fox News’ “Sunday Morning Futures,” Rep. Dr. Ronny Jackson (R-Texas)—a man who served as White House physician for 14 years—dropped some major truth bombs that expose what may be the greatest constitutional crisis in modern American history.

Jackson is a doctor with 25 years of medical experience who witnessed the inner workings of multiple administrations firsthand. When he speaks about the cover-ups of Joe Biden’s cognitive decline, Americans should listen.

We’ve noted here at PJ Media that Biden brought Dr. Kevin O’Connor in as White House physician to help facilitate the cover-up of his cognitive decline, and Jackson believes this as well.

“Dr. O’Connor was his physician for eight years when he was vice president; he literally became part of the Biden family,” he said. But it gets worse. According to Jackson, O’Connor “was beloved by Jill Biden” and the Biden inner circle, developing such loyalty that “he would say or do anything that they ask him to do and cover up anything,” and that “they knew that they had somebody that could help cover up anything that might come up.”

This wasn’t about medical expertise—it was about ensuring silence.

Jackson warned that “we need to know, the American people need to know who was making decisions over those last four years. Who had access to that auto pen?”

The constitutional implications are staggering. As Jackson puts it, “If someone was running the country pretending to be the president of the United States and they weren’t, we need to know, and we need to make sure this never ever happens again.”

Best way to do that, of course, would be for Real Americans to hitch up their Big Boy britches, step up to the plate scaffold, and give their peers and like-minded colleagues most responsible for the Bribem Fiasco a real-time, up close and personal visual demonstration of what the phrase “pulling hemp” really, truly means. Failing that, we can only expect that this shit will go right on happening, again and again and again.

Free testicle installation

“Little Marco” Rubio: another more or less run of the mill, MOR Repugnicrat who suddenly found he had hisself a pair of heavy, clanking Big Brass Ones© swingin’ after taking a cabinet position in the Trump v2.0 admin.

MUST WATCH: Rubio Makes Van Hollen Look Like a Fool During Senate Hearing
Secretary of State Marco Rubio appeared before the Senate Committee on Foreign Relations on Tuesday morning. According to the State Department, he was there to discuss the FY26 Department of State Budget Request. Having watched most of the hearing myself, I think he was just there to have old white people and Cory Booker act like condescending jerks.

A few things stood out. One, some of these senators are incredibly ignorant about the way the world works outside of the United States and don’t need to be on any committee related to foreign policy. Two, Rubio is a thousand times smarter than most of these people put together — if it wasn’t so satisfying to watch, I’d be suffering from secondhand embarrassment for some of these senators after watching the secretary wipe the smug smiles off their faces with his facts and inability to be shaken.

But the exchange that stood out the most was the one between Rubio and Sen. Chris Van Hollen (D-Md.) — you know, the senator whom no one knew existed until he boarded a flight to El Salvador to wine and dine a human trafficker, wife-beater, and gang banger.

Rather than use his time to actually ask Rubio questions — even crazy Tim Kaine managed to actually do that — Van Hollen spent seven minutes berating the Secretary on everything from USAID to revoking visas from students with ties to terrorism and, of course, his favorite topic: Kilmar Abrego Garcia.

He even attacked Rubio personally. “I have to tell you directly and personally that I regret voting for you as Secretary of State,” he said at the end of his remarks.

Rubio — after asking committee chairman Sen. Jim Risch (R-Idaho) if he could respond, given that Van Hollen never actually asked a question — didn’t miss a beat. “Your regret voting for me confirms I’m doing a good job.”

Good as that is, it gets even better from there, if you can believe it. Marco Rubio is probably the last guy in the world I ever thought I’d say this about—meek, soft-spoken, and diffident as he’s always come across—but whatever he may or may not have been before, clearly Rejuve Rubio ain’t about to take a nickel’s worth of shit from anybody now, much less a slithering Swamp critter like Chris “Bend Me Over & Make Me Love It, Nancy” Van Hollen (D-Rumpswab). Who knew? Rubio went from “polite, pliable, pushover” to “full-bore firebrand, stay back from cage 20 ft” in zero (0) seconds flat.

Basically, then, this Van Hollen dimbulb made the classic rookie error of bringing a knife to a gunfight, whereupon “Little Marco” wasted not a single moment before implementing the appropriate countermeasures upside CVH’s punkin’ haid, to the delight of rubbernecking loafers, passersby, idlers, and avid, season ticket-holding fans of Team MAGA!™ alike. Well done, Secretary Rubio sir, well done indeed.

Return to normalcy

Whatever “normalcy” means nowadays, if anything.

Let Freedom Ring! Trump Restores Liberties, Exposes Fake News, Makes Liberal Heads Melt: WOW Is it FUN!
I have been quite upfront about my alleged visit to the U.S. Capitol on January 6.

These days, I sleep well knowing that Joe Biden and his Marxist myrmidons are gone. I no longer lie in bed fully dressed until 7 a.m. in case the FBI kicks in my door and throws me into a cell without my Constitutional right to a speedy trial. In fact, I actually sleep well and wake up early to gleefully read what Trump said or did after I finished my Manhattan and fell asleep peacefully watching “Sons of Anarchy.” Why can I and other Constitution-loving Americans sleep peacefully? Because Trump is back, and so is the law of the land

Here is the sick part: all Trump has done is to re-establish the normalcy that We the People have come to expect. The fear of being tossed into solitary confinement in a D.C. gulag is, for now, not likely to happen to any American. Trump did that.

We peaceful conservative patriots no longer have to worry that we may be imprisoned for daring to speak freely, like that commie prag from the pinko ice cream company, Ben & Jerry’s.

That Marxist, ice cream-churning swine doggy was far more aggressive than I allegedly acted on January 6, and yet he knows he won’t spend a minute in jail having the guards beat the potato salad out of him. But he is too stupid to thank Trump for that freedom.

The only thing better than sleeping peacefully, drinking less to drown the anxiety, and once again enjoying my Constitutional rights, is watching Trump make the faces of liberals melt like those Nazis in “Raiders of the Lost Ark.”

I have spent much of my adult life in New York City, where I learned a phrase we didn’t have in Detroit, where I grew up: ball busting.

FACT-O-RAMA! Ball-busting, (also called “chopbusting”) is an East Coast phrase meaning, to make fun of someone/something.

Trump is a ball-busting ace. He knows what to say to make the liberals jump, jive, wail, and weep, and it’s wildly entertaining. 

I love waking up to see men in dresses screeching like the little girls they wish they were over a joke Trump made hours after I have fallen into a peaceful sleep.

I laugh like a marijuana-chomping hyena (where it’s legal for hyenas to eat the doobies…) when my few remaining libdolt friends send me Facebook messages screaming, “YOUR president said men can’t have babies! How do you feel NOW, Nazi!?”

I couldn’t be happier with Trump back in the White House. 

Said a mouthful there, Kev. Of all the many fine and wonderful things Mango Man© has done for America That Was this time around, the copious flow of shitlib tears just might be at the top of that ever-lengthening list. Another edifying consequence:

“We Study Fascism, and We’re Leaving the U.S.,” a Wednesday New York Times headline read.

Sure, plenty of well-known Democrats (mostly from Hollywood and the media) vowed to leave the U.S. in the event of a second Trump presidency: Sharon Stone, Cher, Barbra Streisand, Raven-Symoné, Whoopi Goldberg, Elon Musk’s gender-confused son Xavier Wilson, and even Cardi B rank among those who’ve at least hinted at that kind of radical action. But few of them have actually done anything about it.

But even the New York Times knows that nobody takes the vague premonitions of actors, entertainment media figures, and models seriously. To have three Yale professors who actually study the tragic events of the past century leave the U.S. because they think their country is going in the direction of Nazi Germany — well, that’s sensational.

The New York Times piece was a video opinion by history professors Timothy Snyder and Marci Shore who are married, and philosophy professor Jason Stanley, in which the threesome explained that they’d relocated to the University of Toronto, and they thought the U.S. was turning into a fascist state with President Donald Trump as its burgeoning supreme leader.

As I’ve said for a long time now, I could easily wish Trump really was the fascist dictator shitlibs love to weep, wail, and tear their hair out in great hanks about. If it drives idiots like those mentioned above from these shores for good, hey, that’s a plus far as I’m concerned. If this is fascism, then bring it on—all you want of it, plus some.

Civil War…

in Britain perhaps. Might notice some similarities to the USA.

Using academic studies on social cohesion, civil war causation theory and social attitudes surveys, he argues that the following preconditions are in place: elite overreach, factional polarisation, a collapse in trust, economic pressures, and the perceived downgrading of the majority population in a previously homogeneous society, are all present in contemporary Britain.

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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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"It is terrible to contemplate how few politicians are hanged."
GK Chesterton

"I predict that the Bush administration will be seen by freedom-wishing Americans a generation or two hence as the hinge on the cell door locking up our freedom. When my children are my age, they will not be free in any recognizably traditional American meaning of the word. I’d tell them to emigrate, but there’s nowhere left to go. I am left with nauseating near-conviction that I am a member of the last generation in the history of the world that is minimally truly free."
Donald Sensing

"The only way to live free is to live unobserved."
Etienne de la Boiete

"History does not long entrust the care of freedom to the weak or the timid."
Dwight D. Eisenhower

"To put it simply, the Left is the stupid and the insane, led by the evil. You can’t persuade the stupid or the insane and you had damn well better fight the evil."
Skeptic

"There is no better way to stamp your power on people than through the dead hand of bureaucracy. You cannot reason with paperwork."
David Black, from Turn Left For Gibraltar

"If the laws of God and men, are therefore of no effect, when the magistracy is left at liberty to break them; and if the lusts of those who are too strong for the tribunals of justice, cannot be otherwise restrained than by sedition, tumults and war, those seditions, tumults and wars, are justified by the laws of God and man."
John Adams

"The limits of tyranny are prescribed by the endurance of those whom they oppress."
Frederick Douglass

"Give me the media and I will make of any nation a herd of swine."
Joseph Goebbels

“I hope we once again have reminded people that man is not free unless government is limited. There’s a clear cause and effect here that is as neat and predictable as a law of physics: As government expands, liberty contracts.”
Ronald Reagan

"Ain't no misunderstanding this war. They want to rule us and aim to do it. We aim not to allow it. All there is to it."
NC Reed, from Parno's Peril

"I just want a government that fits in the box it originally came in."
Bill Whittle

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