Believe it or Else

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.

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” →

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.

T’is a consummation devoutly to be wished

Posted on August 2, 2025August 2, 2025 by Mike

Are the Swamp critters running scared? Feeling panicky? Working on a little late-in-the-day covering of asses in hopes of evading indictment, trial, conviction, and/or punishment for election-tampering, administrative coup d’état, and high treason and get off scot-free—to quote the scurrilous, taunting cockalorum of ambulatory buttplug Bill Ayers, “guilty as hell, free as a bird”? It’d be nice to think these present-day Benedict Arnolds are trembling with fear as they cower in their living rooms, dreading the sound of combat-boots approaching and the loud knock on their door, of course. Nonetheless, I remain extremely dubious at best that even one (1) of these Deep State scuzzbuckets will ever face serious consequences for their unlawful skullduggery.

The below-described half-baked stab at gaining the upper hand via circular (il)logic; misrepresentation; fatiguing repetition of preposterous, mutually-refuting counterfactuals; and ad lib speculation which is not remotely feasible, believable, or realistic, to me suggests (contra Margolis’s overly-optimistic asseveration of “walls closing in”) that these Red in tooth and claw insurrectionists aren’t terribly concerned that they’ll ever face ANY consequences, either serious or fatuous, themselves.

Brennan and Clapper Just Hit the Panic Button
With the Deep State’s lies about the Russia collusion hoax finally unraveling, panic is setting in, and some of the highest-ranking figures from the Obama administration, including Barack Obama himself, are now squarely in the Justice Department’s crosshairs. Two of the operation’s chief architects, former CIA Director John Brennan and former DNI James Clapper, just tried a last-ditch reputational rehab via a New York Times op-ed. But instead of saving face, they only reminded Americans why trust in the so-called “intelligence community” has collapsed to historic lows.

Incredibly, their main defense against charges of politicizing intelligence was to point to the very thing they politicized: the January 2017 Intelligence Community Assessment. They cited it like gospel, as if repeating it enough times would erase the growing mountain of evidence that it was crafted under political pressure, built on cherry-picked intel, and propped up by the now-discredited Steele dossier. It’s the equivalent of using a forged check to prove you’re not guilty of fraud.

According to Brennan and Clapper, the ICA was beyond reproach simply because it claimed that Vladimir Putin had a “clear preference” for Donald Trump and ran a multi-pronged operation to help him win via hacked emails, social media posts, and internet trolls. But what they left out, conveniently, is that they helped write the script and bullied analysts into signing off on it.

They also wave around the name of special counsel John Durham like a magic shield, claiming that he “found no evidence of an Obama administration conspiracy.” Translation: nothing to see here, move along; just ignore the political pressure, the manipulated assessments, the hidden sourcing, and the whistleblower now confirming everything conservatives have said for years.

Their attempted defense, however, falls apart upon review of the evidence. The newly declassified Durham annex reveals that the Clinton campaign coordinated with George Soros’s Open Society Foundation to push the Trump-Russia collusion hoax during the 2016 election. Internal emails show Clinton approved a plan to link Trump to Russian hackers to distract from her own scandals, with help from Soros-connected operatives and DNC officials. They used cybersecurity firms like CrowdStrike to plant the narrative in the media, hoping the FBI would amplify it. Which, of course, they did.

Americans have seen behind the curtain, and no amount of op-ed space in The New York Times is going to let Brennan and Clapper gaslight the public into believing their actions were anything but politically motivated.

Brennan and Clapper see what’s coming. With the walls closing in, they’re not offering clarity; they’re trying to cover their backsides.

in a better, more just world, the most egregious of these shitweasels would’ve danced the Danny Deever long ago. As should Brennan, Clapper, Bathhouse Barry, Her Herness!!©, Soros, along with any of their co-conspirators, like-minded lesser demons, rumpswabs, and sundry subgenii who haven’t already fled the country for some third-world Shitholia with which the US has no extradition agreement.

Sizable as the first round of hemp-pulling will be, it still amounts to a good start, that’s all. If Real Americans stick to their guns, stay vigilant, and actively keep their attention focused, their eyes on the ball, and their minds sharp, the hangman won’t ever go hungry for want of steady work in Mordor On The Potomac and the surrounding SMSA. As the old saw goes, you can’t swing a dead cat in such crowded environs as DC without sloshing one or another future gallows-bait right in his sallow, sneering gob. Be the sloshee a jihadist rapefugee, an illegal border jumper, a dole-dependent feral Neegrow prowling the urban jungle for prey, or an overpaid, undertasked, lazy, insolent, and wholly incapable bureau-rat scurrying aimlessly through the corridors of the gi-normous FederalGovCo maze, that dead cat is sure to find its mark without the swinger having to bother with the formalities of target selection, acquisition, identification, and lock-on.

All he really has to do is just lift his dead-cat-wielding arm above his head and begin flinging it about wildly, vigorously; shouldn’t take more than 15-20 seconds of such gyrations before he scores a solid hit on his chosen target. After visually confirming the kill by watching his target all the way down to the ground, he is then free to repeat the process until 1) all targets have been destroyed or fled back to base; B) he’s run out of dead cats; 3) he’s too tired and weak to lift his arm, much less swing it; D) he’s lost interest in the whole stupid exercise; 5) it’s almost time for dinner, plus he badly needs to take a pee-break before he drenches his trousers, socks, shirt-tail, and underwear in his own hot, foul-smelling urine.

All jokey digressions aside, in my considered opinion the ongoing MAGA struggle can’t plausibly be said to have concluded satisfactorily (ie, with an indisputable victory) unless/until every last one of the disgusting DC cock-a-roaches has been ground into grisly, grimy goo by the thick Vibram soles of some size 13EE American-made jackboots.

Do tell

Posted on August 1, 2025August 1, 2025 by Mike

American Eagle jeans has fired back in the Great Jubbly War of 2025, and it’s wonderful, meet, and just.

I do so hate to be the bearer of bad news, so I’ll just step aside, shut up, and let Ace do the dirty work for me.

American Eagle has issued a response to ugly cat ladies unashamedly showing their envy and resentment that a white woman is getting more attention online than they are.

No, it’s not this one. This one is a parody, though most wish American Eagle would endorse it…

American Eagle’s genuine response is good enough: They are defiant, and they say, correctly, that a bunch of ugly harpies coping on TikTok and BlueSky is not real life, and that their own polling shows that 71% of respondents like the ad.

Happily, he’s perfectly correct on that. Click through for a partial screen grab of the unapologetic real response. Back over to Ace for the sum-up.

At the Federalist, Rich Cromwell writes that this contretemps, as stupid as it is, is important. It shows that the mentally-ill, unaccomplished social-media-addicted nobodies who have bullied, harrassed, and deplatformed us for ten years are shrieking because they’re realizing they have no power here.

They are nameless and formless and accursed. Like Sauron, they are now banished to the void from whence they came.

Even a complete dumbass ought to know better than to pick a fight with a pretty young woman who’s sporting a serious shirtfull of big, beautiful titties. Such abject cluelessness is bound to turn every Normal in the world against these Leftist screechweasels. To which I can only say: keep up the good work, shitlib imbeciles. More glad tidings from the Cromwell piece.

The Woke Scolds Who Look At Sydney Sweeney And See Hitler Don’t Control Culture Anymore
The arc of history is long, but it’s bending away from mentally ill, terminally online fun-crushers.

“Mentally ill, terminally online fun-crushers”? ZOMG, that’s such a delicious, direct-hit description of Church-Lady Wokesterdom you can expect to see more of it around these h’yar parts. I definitely plan on getting lots of use out of it my own self. Thanks, Rich, you just made my day with that riposte. Shine on you crazy diamond, shine on.

Given that denim is one of American Eagle’s staples and that Sweeney is rather attractive, it’s a brilliant pitch replete with a dad-level pun. At least, it’s a brilliant pitch to not insane people. For the insane, though, it’s “Nazi propaganda,” “Nazi fascism,” and “an unbridled cultural shift toward whiteness.”

Given such responses, including clickbait wackadoos proclaiming that Sweeny is mid, it’s tempting to get angry at the unbridled nutjobs propagating such nonsense. But that is exactly the wrong response, for it only builds bridges under which such trolls may take up residence. More importantly, though, is that the completely unhinged and disproportionate response to the campaign shows the inmates who have been running the asylum are losing the plot in real time.

For starters, it’s an advertisement for blue jeans and, to be honest, not exactly an original one. Don’t get me wrong, it’s fantastic marketing, people are talking, and American Eagle’s stock trended upward as a result. But using attractive people to sell products isn’t some revolutionary idea. It’s basically the foundation of advertising, albeit one that was briefly lost to the siren song of “inclusive beauty,” which, lol. Businesses may pretend to care about social causes and stakeholders, and there are definitely true believers ensconced in almost every Fortune 500 company out there, but at the end of the day, the purpose of business is to make money, not engineer social change.

But the brief stranglehold the inmates held over businesses gave them a false sense of security, of permanence. They thought they’d won the war, whereas we can now see that they only won a few victories and that those victories were not exactly strategic ones.

Yet again, we see confirmation of a longstanding contention of mine: Ultimately, the Madhouse Left’s argument isn’t with Republicans, conservatives, or any specific belief, agenda, policy, or proposal; their argument is with REALITY ITSELF. Which makes the argument unwinnable for them, their position in the long run untenable. Call it Mike’s Iron Law #20,376.

At last, REAL progress!

Posted on August 1, 2025August 1, 2025 by Mike

Okay, as FauxJaux Bribem likes to say, this is a big fuckin’ deal, man.

Say Goodbye to Sesame Street
The Corporation for Public Broadcasting (CBP) has announced that it is shutting down after Senate Republicans zeroed out funding for the boondoggle during their markup session on Thursday.

“Despite the extraordinary efforts of millions of Americans who called, wrote, and petitioned Congress to preserve federal funding for CPB, we now face the difficult reality of closing our operations,” CPB President and CEO Patricia Harrison said in a statement. “CPB remains committed to fulfilling its fiduciary responsibilities and supporting our partners through this transition with transparency and care.”

CPB said that it told employees to expect mass firings—most jobs will be cut on Sept. 30, although a skeleton crew will stay on to see to the details of the funerals and burials for Elmo, Big Bird, and Cookie Monster. (Actually, it’s to deal with music licenses that are set to expire in December.)

CPB describes itself as “a private, nonprofit corporation authorized by Congress in 1967” that is “the steward of the federal government’s investment in public broadcasting,” on its website. “It helps support the operations of more than 1,500 locally managed and operated public television and radio stations nationwide. CPB is also the largest single source of funding for research, technology, and program development for public radio, television, and related online services.”

Harrison said in an April Press release, “Public media has been one of the most trusted institutions in American life, providing educational opportunity, emergency alerts, civil discourse, and cultural connection to every corner of the country.”

Almost none of that is true.

Of course not. These are hardcore, dedicated liberals talking here; that being so, why in the ever-lovin’ blue eyed world would anyone expect that it would be true, prithee tell?

(Via Stephen; sorry, almost forgot)

Slangin’ arrows

Posted on July 31, 2025July 31, 2025 by Mike

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:

Image000000 3.

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

Image000000 4.

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:

Image000000 5.

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.

Working as intended

Posted on July 31, 2025 by Mike

Careful what you wish for, CullyFahnya shitlibs, lest you get it—all you want, plus some.

West Coast, Messed Coast™– Holy Environy! Newsom Desperately Tries to Sell Refinery He Helped Close
In California, Gov. Gavin Newsom is desperately trying to find a buyer for an oil refinery that he and his policies were instrumental in shooing from the state. Newsom’s policies have driven multiple refineries out of the state. Valero Oil has given up and plans to close a San Francisco-area refinery in 2026.

“California’s effort to save the refinery from closing also marks a shift from the focus of government policy in recent years to champion green initiatives and restrict fossil fuel usage, that has led to an often tense relationship between the state and oil companies,” Reuters reports.

Valero plans to completely close down in 2026. California had 40 refineries in the 1980s. The recently announced closures will leave as few as seven refineries operational by 2026.

West Coast, Messed Coast™ residents are finding out in real time, if they hadn’t known already, that high gas prices weren’t only the product of greedy oil companies and plundering gas station owners, as Democrats have told them all these years.

“High gas prices?! We’ll pass a law to investigate these scallywags!”

California’s gas prices are “42.2% higher than the national average, 40.7% higher than Arizona, 20% higher than Nevada, 46.86% higher than Florida, and a whopping 63.12% higher than Texas.” It’s not a good look when you want to win your party’s nomination to be president of the free world.

It turns out that when your environmental policies force the closure of multiple oil refineries cranking out homegrown gas, you are forced to import more expensive gas. It has the side effect of making you look really dumb, Gavin Newsom. Worse, it makes the other states that follow California’s environmental lead — looking at you, Oregon and Washington — look even dumber.

Ummm, s’cuse me and all, but, y’know… “LOOK”?!?

A thoughtful, heartfelt, tasteful, thoroughly moving tribute, near-perfectly put together by an unexpected source

Posted on July 26, 2025 by Mike

Vince McMahon, we hardly knew ye. Congrats, salutations, and humblest thanks for this beautiful commemoration, to everyone involved with its creation.

Triple H, WWE deliver emotional Hulk Hogan tribute at SmackDown
Hulk Hogan’s tribute to open WWE SmackDown on Friday night was nothing short of a tear-jerker.

The event in Cleveland was opened with loud applause and the crowd chanting “Hogan” in unison to honor the late wrestler who died at 71 years old on Thursday.

Fellow wrestler Triple H led the tribute for Hogan.

And with that, let’s go to the vid.

Tonight, WWE remembers the legendary Hulk Hogan with a 10-bell salute. pic.twitter.com/66vGLZv7bH

— WWE (@WWE)

July 26, 2025

Dammit, I don’t know who the blue blazes that guy might be that’s standing front and center and delivering the speech, but I know for sure and certain he can’t possibly be HHH. Man, no friggin’ way. Whoever that imposter really is, he’s much, MUCH too old to actually be the HHH I remember.

Best. Spam. EVAR!

Posted on July 25, 2025 by Mike

Of the thousands, perhaps even millions, of CF-related spam emails I’ve received, snarled at, and summarily deleted over lo, these many years, this one has to be my personal favorite. C&P’d in its entirety:

FROM: HR & Admin – Coldfury <james@prestouniversal.com>
TO: E-mail (CF)
SUBJECT: Coldfury Employees Performance Appraisals – June’25

Dear Gentlemen,

Please find below the link to the current month’s employee performance appraisals for June 2025.

https://staff.coldfury.com/inter-records/report-2025/

Note: All names highlighted in red indicate employees who are due for termination.

Your prompt attention to this matter is highly appreciated.

Best regards,

HR Manager
Human Resource Department
hr.director@coldfury.com | Headquarter

Wow, turns out I have not only an HR department but also an HQ, even an unspecified number of “employees” who can actually be “terminated” at the discretion of my (nonexistent) HR Manager, whose actual name I can’t seem to recall right now for some reason. Better still, my phantasmagorical “HR Manager” refers to me as a “Gentlemen” in interoffice correspondence. Who knew?

No, of course I didn’t click on the link to view the “employee performance appraisals” report, but I confess I’m mighty tempted to, if only to giggle like a delighted little girl at the no doubt voluminous “names highlighted in red.” That’s bound to be as epic a tale as has ever been told throughout the annals of creative writing. Lord knows I’ve taken a few stabs at composing fiction, only to find that, although I know I’m not completely bereft of writing talent, I don’t have it in me to create good fiction; somehow, I just can’t make it work.

Asses in seats, gals

Posted on July 25, 2025July 25, 2025 by Mike

The worst thing that could possibly happen to these WNBA broads would be to pay them what they’re actually worth.

Minnesota Lynx All-Stars reflect on wearing ‘Pay us what you owe us’ shirts
MINNEAPOLIS (FOX 9) – The WNBA had its All-Star Game over the weekend in Indianapolis, and players sent a message to the league before a basket was ever scored.

During pregame warm-ups, players, including Minnesota Lynx star Napheesa Collier, wore “Pay us what you owe us” shirts. Last week, more than 40 players met with league officials as the WNBA negotiates a new collective bargaining agreement. Talks have not gone well as an October deadline looms.

Collier accepted the MVP award for the game, with “Pay them!” chants coming from the crowd as WNBA Commissioner Cathy Engelbert handed her the trophy. Collier talked about it after the game. Collier signed a three-year contract with the Lynx back in 2022. She’s making about $214,000 this season, the final year of her current deal.

Not too shabby a salary just to run like a gimp, jump like an overweight elephant seal, dribble like a retard, and shoot like a grrrrl, before an audience so scant any normal schmendrick could tally up the house using their fingers and toes. And that’s on a GOOD night, mind. My personal favorite bit from the article is this sub-hed:

Why you should care

“Why. I. Should…” Say WHAT again, now? See, that is really just…uhhh, errr, mmph. Mmmmph. *snort, snorfle, gack, giggle* BWAAAAA-HAHAHAHAHAHAHA!!!

I’d like to interject a Zen kind of question at this point, if I may:

If there’s nobody watching ‘em play, either in the stands or on the TeeWee, do they keep score? SHOULD they be? If you answered yes to the last question, please give at least three (3) good reasons why you think so.

The gals of the WNBA seem totally unaware of a simple, basic rule governing pro sports, entertainment media, and the arts in toto, namely: If you aren’t putting asses in the seats, it’s not only you as an individual athlete that is doomed to fail; it’s also your team, and eventually, the entire league itself. Doesn’t matter one whit how talented, how charming, how good-looking, how smart, how financially responsible you might (or might NOT) be your own self—try as they might to ignore this fundamental truth, nobody but nobody gets to do so for very long.

Serendipitous spinoff update! Late last night, I ginned up a barely-related addendum to the above post, positing a tenuous connection betwixt suicide and Phillip Sudo’s incredibly awesome Zen Guitar. Really, it amounted to yet another of those annoying, interminable 50-kajillion-word digressions I’ve become so renowned for (rightly so, I must admit). As such, I snipped the OT jabberwock from the above post, plopped it whole, raw, and unexpurgated into a brand new ME draft, and saved the resultant pile to MarsEdit’s handy-dandy “Local drafts” folder, after which I happily yielded the CF podium and went to bed in hopes of getting perhaps an hour or two’s uninterrupted slumber.

I just now remembered the aforementioned digression (mostly over-garrulous logorrhea; entirely too personal to be of much interest to anyone who ain’t me; just meandering with no particular plan or destination in mind, a regrettable tendency I’m increasingly subject to in my dotage) and felt it was really just too damned bad the directionless mess would be an in no wise perfect fit as a CF index-page item.

BUT….

What I can do, probably should do—rather than just wastefully toss some perfectly valid albeit stupefyingly dull ruminations on both these subjects altogether—is dump the whole steaming pile into a fresh new WP Page of its very own, maybe under the “Greatest Hits” header purely as a Navbar space-saving measure.

Yep, I believe I’m gonna get cracking on this minor project straightaway. Notification, as ever, to appear in a later update here once I’ve gotten this rhetorical jalopy cranked up and running smooth as the proverbial baby’s butt—keep watching this space so’s you won’t miss nuttin’. Who knows, it’s barely possible that, contra my earlier discouraging words, you might even find you enjoy reading the dadblame thing.

Another good ‘un gone

Posted on July 16, 2025 by Mike

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.

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