To Civil War, or NOT to Civil War?

On Amerika v2.0’s self-evidently fraudulent “elections.”

Of course the propagandists gaslit everyone – election fraud was a conspiracy theory, it was the most secure election in history, and so on and so forth. That this was the precise opposite of what they’d been saying for the previous four years – that Russia had hacked Our Democracy – was neither here nor there. Later Time Magazine bragged that they had ‘fortified’ the election, which everyone understood to as an admission that they’d stolen it.

Election fraud in America utilizes a variety of tactics: ballot stuffing, ballot harvesting from senile seniors, registering illegal immigrants and other non-citizens to vote (which, as everyone knows, is why the regime is so hostile to voting ID laws), electronically forged ballots, and forged mail-in ballots. Definitive evidence of any one form of electoral fraud is extremely difficult to obtain, requiring painstaking forensic work. Even when such evidence is found, it will only pertain to one form of fraud, in one or a few locations. This enables regime respecters to claim that fraud is rare, and does not occur on a large enough scale to swing elections. Somehow they never say that any cheating at all is unacceptable. Funny that.

Not everyone fell for the fraud, of course. Outraged rallies began to spontaneously rise up across the country, ultimately converging on DC for the doomed J6 ‘insurrection’.

It didn’t matter.

The propagandists called Trump’s supporters terrorists. Those who entered the Capitol were arrested, imprisoned, subjected to various forms of psychological torture.

The regime stole the election in broad daylight, grinned with its hands in the cookie jar, looked the country right in the eyes with crumbs dribbling down its wobbling chins, grinned “What cookie?”, and dared anyone to call it on their blatant lies.

The regime got away with it.

It is obvious that they are doing the same thing again. It worked the first time, so why would they not? The Biden administration proved that you don’t need a charismatic candidate, or even a minimally competent one. All you need is a warm body that can be wheeled in front of the cameras every now and then. The compliance of the propaganda organs renders any embarrassing behaviour from the warm body wholly irrelevant. Enough of the population is so thoroughly brainwashed, so completely incapable of evaluating reality, so utterly prostrated before propaganda, that they will believe whatever they are told to believe and they will do so with the whole of their hollowed-out hearts. Not everyone, to be sure … but enough. Particularly as those most completely captured are the Single Woke Females, the professional-managerial class aparat-chicks that infest the institutions.

In the confusing months between November 2020 and J6, there was rampant speculation Trump would take some sort of bold action – a military coup d’etat, or even a Civil War. There’s no question that if he’d given the word his supporters would have turned out in their millions. Everyone sensed that it was go time, and they were ready to go. In the end, after some half-hearted lawsuits and a few rallies, the big man lost his nerve. Go home, he told his supporters. Go in peace. It’s over.

He may well have been right to do so. The Biden presidency was disastrous for America. The economy has fallen apart; inflation has wiped people out; the leaking border has shattered, letting in tens of millions, many criminals, many very possibly much worse than criminals; America has found itself embroiled in wars all over the world, which threaten to turn nuclear. The last four years have been an almost unprecedented national humiliation. Biden is, without a shadow of a doubt, the worst president America has ever had.

But was the Biden presidency worse than a Civil War?

Think about that.

And that really is the question, isn’t it? In effect, it amounts to the same quandary I’ve been struggling with here for a very long time now—or it FEELS like a very long time, at any rate. To wit: Is it better to fight back against metastasizing Überstadt tyranny to the last drop of Patriot blood, or to maintain the illusion of notional “peace” and tacitly accept defeat? In the end, I think, the hard nut of our dilemna comes down to this:

And there you have it. The rest is just applesauce.

Update! Having linked/excerpted him a cpl-three times now, the time has come to grant the planet-hopping Jeddak of Helium John Carter his rightful place of honor in Ye Aulde CF Blogrolle, methinks. Done, done, and done.

Updated update! And with the addition of the Warlord of Mars to our CF blogroll section, it occurs to me that a thorough scouring/refreshing/reshuffling of said section to update changed URLs, delete abandoned or extinct blogs, and put in new (if only to me) blogs/sites/portals—a tedious albeit essential routine-maintenance chore I dread like an ass-whuppin’, thus encouraging my lifelong habit of procrastination*—is way overdue. *le sigh*

* Did somebody say “lifelong” just now? I originally learned the word “procrastination” when my first-grade teacher wrote it on my very first report card, cautioning my parents to be on the lookout for my seemingly-innate inclination to it. I repeat: *le sigh*

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“Joy,” eh?

Joy juice, more like.

Newsweek Says Republicans Are Spreading Rumors About Kamala Harris’ ‘Drinking Problem’
Forget all the rumors you’ve heard about Nancy Pelosi having a drinking problem — now Republicans are spreading rumors about Kamala Harris and her supposed drinking problem. We’ll have to read the piece to find just how widespread this is. We’ve heard rumors about Harris’ intelligence; Donald Trump has said she’s not a very smart person.

How would such a rumor get started, anyway? It’s not like Harris serves up word salad for every meal and cackles at her own jokes.

Frankly, it would explain a lot if Harris had a drinking problem. If this is her sober…

Of course, there IS one other possibility here.


Hey, you pays your money and you takes your choice, D卐M☭CRATs.


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WEIRD!

Man, what a freak.

9 Shocking Things J.D. Vance Did In High School
As even more incriminating pictures of senator and vice presidential candidate J.D. Vance’s scandalous high school years surfaced in recent weeks, the nation was left wondering: who is this total freak from Ohio, and what other scurrilous mischief did he get up to in his youth?

  1. Illegally downloaded songs on Napster: A cyberthief at such a young age. Disturbing.
  2. Stuck pencils between his fingers and pretended to be Wolverine: It doesn’t get much weirder than this.
  3. Called Wendy’s and asked if their refrigerator was running: The restaurant’s employees from that night are still scarred to this day.
  4. Wrote “Seymour Butts” inside the jacket of his math textbook: What type of deranged person does this?
  5. Said “Not Here!” when the teacher said his name while taking roll: Liar then, liar now.
  6. Dared his friends to spell “ICUP”: No one actually saw anyone pee, J.D. Stop spreading lies.

Bizarre and off-putting as all those definitely are, #9 is the absolute weirdest of them all.

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Another American icon bites the big Woke one

Gonna be a lot of serious re-thinking going on in American bikerdom thanks to this revoltin’ development.

Woke Harley-Davidson CEO Compares Himself to the Taliban
A Harley-Davidson rider can be almost anyone, from an actual Hell’s Angel to your kids’ orthodontist. While the company has had its ups and downs, the bikes have long been an American icon for riders with “a passion for the motorcycle lifestyle, valuing freedom, adventure, and camaraderie,” according to marketing experts Keegan-Edwards.

There’s an image that goes along with the iconic bikes, and although I hardly need to tell you what it is, I will.

That image is: “Islamic terrorist.”

Wait…wut?

In a video just made infamous on Wednesday by Robby Starbuck, Harley-Davidson president, CEO, and Chairman Jochen Zeitz says he became the “Taliban” when he became a board member and says his job is to “take on capitalism and redefine it.”

“It’s important that we create new leadership,” Zeitz said, “that we get others to join a new thinking of a more sustainable business, of a better business that is more equitable in every respect. Socially, environmentally, and financially.”

(For what it’s worth, German-born Zeitz came to Harley from luxury goods company Kering, where he chaired the Sustainability Committee.) 

Customers have noticed Harley’s descent into wokeism since Zeitz came on board in 2020, but comparing his role to the Taliban must count as a new low.

Indeed so. I never thought I’d see the day, and fervently hoped never to. Actually, it never occurred to me that such a thing was even possible. But sad as it is, deeply as it pains me to have to say it, I can only agree with this guy’s assessment.


Pathetic. Dismaying. Maddening. Sickening. Infuriating. William Harley, Arthur and Walter Davidson, the great Jay Springsteen, Chocolate George, Billy “Chains” Flamont, and Sonny Barger are all rolling in their graves like a Shovelhead stroker crank assembly at 6k revs. In their eternal disquiet, they shan’t want for old-school-biker company.

I pray to Almighty God that the Wokester wreckers and despoilers will someday be made to pay for their vile predation, their iniquitous disrespect, their illimitable arrogance, and their callow gormlessness. In at least one way, the usurpers and besmirchers of the proud Harley-Davidson legacy almost certainly will pay ere the end, as Stephen goes on to explain.

David “Iowahawk” Burge, a man who knows more about American car culture than almost anyone else you’re likely to meet, just called it the “Possibly single most hilarious corporate self-immolation of all time.”

It is. And yet I’ve reached the point where I’m not sure I can laugh over the destruction of yet another American icon.

Your typical Harley buyer is going to become like your typical Bud Light buyer: increasingly scarce, driven away by a brand whose management despises them and their values.

I’m forced to conclude that when Zeitz says he’s going to change Harley-Davidson “in a sustainable way,” he means he thinks he can milk the company for several years before the loss of market value and brand cachet forces the board to kick his can to the curb.

It’d be nice to think so, perhaps, but I very much doubt that’s how the story will end. Far more likely, I think, that the Motor Company succumbs finally to the Wokester mind virus, goes out of business, and is forever lost except in the fond reminiscences of people like me.

H-D has very nearly gone under a good few times over its well over a century of sometimes precarious existence. How Kafka-esque it is, then, that after having somehow managed to stay afloat through so many trials and tribulations—WW2; Korea; Vietnam; the late-60s/early-70s calculated flooding of the US motorcycle market by cheap imports from Japan’s Big Four (Hon-duh, Kawasucki, Sudookey, Yammahammablamma); the ginned-up fuel “crisis” of the mid/late 70s; the rise of Safety Naziism in the 80s; the slow strangulation of individual liberty, independent-mindedness, and the quintessentially American spirit of rowdiness, defiance, and devil-may-care ebullience; the crippling effects of economic mismanagement, FederalGovCo meddling, and general malfeasance under D卐M☭CRAT regimes—it should be PC/Woke/Leftardism that ends up killing Harley off once and for all.

Update! Just remembered: for anyone interested in further perambulations from li’l ol’ moi on the Motor Company’s serially abusive, exploitative, and/or contemptuous relationship with its most loyal customers, check it, yo:

I love Harleys. I hate Harley-Davidson. That seems to be the consensus among old-school biker types these days, and they just might have themselves a point, too.

The Motor Company has always had its problems keeping its hardcore fan base happy. It seems to have a special talent for stepping on its own crank and pissing off (or on) the very people who did the most to make it the institution it is today. Ever since I’ve been riding H-D’s (since ‘82), I’ve heard complaint after complaint, and seen the Powers That Be at H-D making the sort of bonehead moves, again and again, that regularly generate those complaints like some sort of whacked-out fuckup factory.

What the hell could they have been thinking when they decided to sue independent bike shops that used “hog” or some variation thereof in their shop name? I’m sure most of you remember that one. It ain’t as if Harley thought that “hog” business up themselves, after all. But they sure were willing enough to glom onto the idea—and then have their slickee-boy lawyers claim it as their very own private property.

That’s the opening ‘graphs from one of my Leatherballs columns—the very first of ‘em, in fact—for the now-defunct Outlaw Biker rag, the rest of which column can be read here. Last time I checked, which I admit has been a minute, the Compleat Leatherballs Archives are exclusively available here at Ye Aulde CF Blogge and absolutely noplace else, seeing as how the OB site went the way of the diplodocus some years back.

I confess to being right proud of the work I produced under the Leatherballs nom de villein, every ounce as much as I am of my twenty-plus years of award-winning, justly (in)famous creative genius at this palatial websty, so I think it only meet and just that the LB catalog should at last find its Forever Home rat cheer at CF. Do check ‘em out if you haven’t yet; even if

  1. You’ve never slung a leg over a leaky, squeaky, shaky, flaky ol’ Gnarley-D in your life
  2. Have not even a tiny, inoffensive, easily-concealable tattoo
  3. Don’t own any H-D dealership T shirts, engineer boots, chain-wallets, or black leather jackets
  4. Don’t drink beer, chase loose women, participate enthusiastically in barroom brawls, and/or have never spent so much as a minute behind bars

…and ain’t about to subject yourself to any of those things at this late stage of the game, I think you’ll find the Leatherballs experience a highly enjoyable ride anyhoo.

Updated update! Just a few more thoughts on the topic I seem to have wandered off to: namely, the Harley-Davidson Motor Company’s perennially-contentious relationship with its core customer base.

For starters, it must be noted that, until the advent of what we hardcores, ironbutts, and/or scooter trash dubbed the RUBbies (ie, Rich Urban Bikers, mimicking the once-ubiquitous “Yuppie” (Young Urban Professional) moniker), long-haired, bearded, burly Hog jockeys were usually welcomed at licensed H-D dealerships with open arms. Most of the folks who owned, managed, wrenched, manned the parts counter or paint shop, or what have you were dedicated, serious riders themselves; as such, they didn’t have a problem with biker trash, even patchholders, habituating their dealerships, whether buying parts or apparel, checking out the new Harleys on the showroom floor, or just hanging out with other bikers to socialize and shoot the breeze.

Growing up on Jap dirt bikes as a child, then graduating to the street with a Kawasaki LTD 550, I had always been intimidated, sometimes even a little bit afraid, of those big, bad, smelly, dangerous Harley outlaw-biker types. And the one constant throughout my entire life has been this bizarre attraction to put myself right in the middle of any situation, company, or environment I was scared of. It was like a compulsion, really. That being the case, being a-skeered of them biker ruffians and all, what else could I do but start spending my Saturday afternoons at the long-gone H-D of CLT shop on S Tryon Street?

To my astonishment and lasting delight, those big, gruff-talking outlaws were without exception some of the friendliest, warmest, most big-hearted people I ever have met. They took this 19 year old, wet-behind-ears shavetail in like a long-lost brother or son, encouraging my interest, offering to help work on or wash my Kawasaki, telling road stories, just generally making the newb feel welcome and entirely at home.

About two years or so of hanging around and establishing my rightful place among Harley enthusiasts, I bought my first Harley: a 1983 Sportster XLH (for nonitiates, an XL prefix=Sportster; FX=Super Glide, Wide Glide, Disc Glide, Lowrider, etc; FL=full-on Hog of fame and legend). It marked the beginning of my lifelong love affair with the smaller, leaner, more nimble sibling to the Big Twins. And incredibly enough, I continued to find the bikers I was meeting more and more of to be unfailingly friendly, outgoing, and quite mellow. In fact, several of the friends I made back then remain close, dear friends to this very day; I just missed a call from one of them, my brother Dean, due to my being in the can taking a whiz. I’ll call him back tomorrow, no worries.

In sum, then, the antagonistic attitude, the officiousness and contempt, wasn’t something I ever encountered at dealerships, independent shops, or bars catering to those scary biker thugs. Except one: an H-D dealership in upstate Virginia, only a mile or thereabouts from I-81 near the West By God Virginia line. The name of the ‘burgh whence this asshole enclave got its name I won’t mention here; the account of that misadventure is recounted in full here. But yeah, trust me on this: assholes, every man in that sorry excuse for a Harley shop was a pluperfect asshole.

Years later, I was told by folks from the area who would know whereof they spoke that I didn’t catch the dealership assholes on an off day; according to these people, the staff of this dealership was renowned for being snotty, obnoxious, and unhelpful. I was informed that, should I ever find myself in similar straits in that locality in future, there was a really cool independent H-D shop not far away on the other side of the I-81 overpass, a small, honest establishment which had nary an asshole, prick, or douchenozzle on the payroll.

I’ve had neither dealings with nor friends at the Motor Company itself, in any of its manufacturing facilities, warehouses, or administrative offices, at any level. What I DO have, though, is several friends who operate or did operate independent Harley shops here in CLT, in ATL, in North Myrtle Beach SC, and in Brooklyn—hell, as I’ve mentioned lots of times here, I spent more than a few years working in a CLT shop owned and operated by my close friend Goose. And those shop-owners and employees have given me a real earful about HDMC’s vicious, adversarial approach towards them.

As I related in the last-linked Leatherballs essay above, their relationships with the H-D knobs consisted entirely of threats, lawsuits, and legal, written, and verbal harassment. I never will forget the day Goose spent a good fifteen-twenty minutes enduring a barely-coherent harangue demanding that Goose posthaste and forthwith remove H-D’s fabled bar & shield artwork from our sign or face consequences most dire. Goose just sat there holding the phone out from his ear snickering quietly to himself until he’d gotten tired of it, whereupon he cut in to calmly and collectedly inform the frothing ass-clown that, y’know, thanks for your concern and all, but the fact of the matter is our shop doesn’t even HAVE a sign, never has had, much less any bar-and-shield logo painted, etched, engraved, or embossed thereon.

Goose slammed the receiver down onto its cradle, and we both proceeded to laugh ourselves sick at the ludicrous H-D dweeb, after which interlude we put the shop Rottweiler in his crate, locked the doors, and walked up the hill to the diner to grab lunch, still laughing all the way HA HA HA HA!

Out of, what, four (five?) proprietors of two-or-three-man independent shops in the CLT area I know well (lemmesee now; threre’s Dean-O, Smiley, Ben, Max, Eyeball, and Country Earl, so six), every one of them called us over the next few days to warn us of the impending telephonic onslaught from H-D’s rep in the York, PA Sporty assembly plant, informing us they’d had the exact same hostile long-distance interaction that exact same week as we two incarcerees of dear old McElhattan’s Machine & Rod had enjoyed, probably with that exact same besuited H-D numbskull, all concluding the exact same way: a thunderous hangup, a moment’s stupefaction over what the blue-black blazing hell THAT was supposed to be, followed by prolonged paroxysms of rib-cracking hilarity. For months afterward all any of us had to say to put the others on the floor rolling, kicking, and crying for mercy, was to launch into his best Goose impersonation: “But…but…but sir, our shop doesn’t even HAVE a sign! Not ANY!!!”

Remember, now, these independent businesses were the very people who had kept Harley going through the nightmare days of the AMF (Annoying Manufacturing Flaw) regency extending from 1969 to 1985, during which Harley’s manufacturing and assembly plants were auto-afflicted by a whopping 50% factory defect rate—which, translated from the book-keeperese, means every other Harley-Davidson motorcycle built and shipped to dealerships was a fucked-up piece of utter, hopeless shite. Your pardon, please: a fucked-up piece of utter, hopeless, EXPENSIVE shite.

Notwithstanding the unpleasant realities, the diehards hung in there with Harley-D, put up with the wallet-exsanguinating cost of parts and labor to get the overpriced lemone Harley had saddled them with running again, whereupon it would break down for the fifty-hundredth time that summer, be re-loaded into the pickup, and go back to the shop for yet another extended stay while the riding-season days ticked agonizingly by. As this soap opera continues, the payment to H-D Motor Credit continues to come due the first of each and every month.

I’m glad I wasn’t a Harley owner back then. If I had been, the urge to just throw up my hands and say fuck it, call the credit agency to please please pretty please come haul this overpriced, chrome-bedecked boat anchor off for repossession, thus freeing me to go buy the rice-grinding Honda I wish I’da bought in the first muhhfuggin’ place would’ve been crushing, totally overpowering.

“Ride With Pride”? Yeh, sure; pride is kinda hard to maintain when you spend more time pushing than riding, unfortunately. “I’d rather push my Harley than ride Jap crap”? In the AMF era, that oath would be put to the sorest of tests. “Better a sister in a whorehouse than a brother on a Honda?” Better ask your sister how she feels about it before you make a firm commitment to anything, bub.

Hey, I got a million of ‘em, ladies and germs. Be sure to try the chicken cacciatore, it’s so delicious it’d make your sweet old mammina weep from pure joy. I’ll be here all week folks, do come back for tomorrow night’s show. Of all the classic bumper sticker lines about Harleys, though, my personal favorite was, is, and forever shall remain: “H-D actually stands for Hound Dog, because they both love riding around in the back of pickup trucks and they both leave puddles where they ain’t supposed to.”

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Ain’t that America

Welcome to Thunderdome.


Anybody who knows anything at all about paintball guns and ammo knows that those little suckers hurt like a brass-plated bitch, leave one hell of a Technicolor bruise, and are entirely capable of inflicting serious, permanent injury should one catch a round in the face, eye, or throat. As such, I consider it a scandal and a shame that nobody returned fire at the Minneapolistan Geheime Staatspolizei—and I do NOT mean with paintball guns, neither. Far as I’m concerned, there should’ve been lead-poisoned cops lying all over the street within moments after those filthy pigs opened the ball.

On innocent people guilty of nothing more, mind, than sitting out on their own front porch bothering, threatening, encroaching on, and/or harming nary a soul, in any conceivable manner.

Perhaps most sobering of all is that we’re only hearing about this state-sanctioned brutality now, four years after it occurred. Have Americans become so anesthetized, so complacent, so docile that wanton assault by marauding bands of brigands-with-badges can pass them blandly by without igniting a firestorm of public outrage, vilification, and howls for justice in its wake? FORBID IT, ALMIGHTY GOD!

The detestable Command Master Chief First Top Bird Colonel DELTA Force Power Ranger Sergeant of the US Army Gov Tampon Tim AWOLz shouldn’t get a pass for his part in this atrocity, of course, but he’s a Communist idiot so one doesn’t really expect much better from the twatwaffle. The thug cops, on the other hand, knew damned well that what they were doing was immoral, unlawful, reprehensible, and completely over the top, yet they did it anyway—and seemed to enjoy themselves tremendously, if the vid is any indication.

We DO expect better from the “Protect and Serve” boys, and are perfectly entitled to; in fact, we not only should, but must. Every last man Jack of these vicious schweinhunden ought to be identified, hunted down, and punished unsparingly for this outrage.

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Liar, coward, Blue Falcon Part the Umpty-leventh

Remember the other day when I said:

Actually, as I understand it, it was NOT his “right” to “retire early.” His contractual service commitment was not due to expire until 2007, but when word came down in late 2005 that his cannon-cocker unit would soon be deploying to Iraq, he summarily dropped out—after shitting himself in sheer terror, of course.

Yeah, well. About that.

According to Walz’s Command Sergeant Major, Walz had signed a six year contract when he re-upped in the National Guard in 2000. When he was notified that his unit would be mobilized for Iraq, he put in for retirement, despite having two years left to serve on his contract.

His superior denied his request — so Walz went up to two levels of command above to get someone to grant his quickie retirement (and breaking of his contract).

Why would someone let him out of the contract?

I don’t know, but remember, in 2004-2006, the Democrats’ big plan for defeating Bush and the Republicans was to recruit lots of people who could claim a military background, so they could challenge the Republicans’ notions of patriotism.

And it just so happened that as soon as this coward was let out, he declared he was running for Congress.

Did that motivate a politically-minded superior to give him a Get Out of War Free pass?

Of course it did. Next up: ask a silly question.


A: He’s a fucking lying-ass D卐M☭CRAT, that’s how. Lying is not just SOP for such slimeballs as they, it’s mandatory.

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Getting it straight

Regarding Herr Kommissar Starmer’s latest outrage.


I’m trying a little experiment on an end-run of my own devising around the annoying “Show more…” Twatter links. Let’s see how it goes. Inline update! Nope, didn’t work. Oh well, whatcha gonna do. No biggie, really; if Elon needs the extra clicks, I’m okay with not depriving him of ‘em.

As for Herr Starmer, Divemedic makes a crucial point.

The UK says that they will extradite and prosecute Americans for saying mean things on the Internet, which is a violation of UK law. It’s illegal to say mean things while engaging in political speech online.

You might scoff, but remember that it won’t be UK police coming to arrest you. It will be US cops coming to haul you away to be sent to the UK for doing something that is entirely legal to do here in the US.

Indeed. Thank goodness no US cop would ever arrest and/or extradite an America citizen to Britainistan for exercising his God-given, Constitutionally-protected right to free speech. What a relief!

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Liar, coward, Blue Falcon

All you really need to know about VP candidate designate/select Brigadier LT GEN Tim “A-hole” AWOLz.

Eh, natzofast there, John. Actually, as I understand it, it was NOT his “right” to “retire early.” His contractual service commitment was not due to expire until 2007, but when word came down in late 2005 that his cannon-cocker unit would soon be deploying to Iraq, he summarily dropped out—after shitting himself in sheer terror, of course. After cleaning his drawers he decided to become a professional D卐M☭CRAT politician, which requires one to lie continuously, about anything and everything, which Gov AWOLz clearly has no problem with. At the same time he summarily decided, on his own (nonexistent) authority, that his fledgling career as a scum-sucking ProPol would be helped along enormously if he retained his brevet rank as Command Master Chief First Top Bird Colonel DELTA Force Power Ranger Sergeant of the US Army indefinitely, even though he was neither empowered nor entitled to do so.

So he did. And the rest, as they say, is history. Y’know, like America That Was, umm, is.

Tim “A-hole” AWOLz as Vice President? Sure, why the hell not. After all, it’s not as if we haven’t already thoroughly disgraced ourselves before a watching world anyway, now is it? In the famous words of America’s First Female “President,” what difference, at this point, does it make?

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Have You Forgotten?

♦ To stop him in 2016, the FBI and DOJ ran a comprehensive surveillance operation against his campaign. The same people manufactured a completely fabricated case of Trump colluding with Russia. Have you forgotten?

♦ To stop him in 2017, the DOJ and Congress ran a comprehensive Special Counsel operation against his presidency. The justification of the SC operation was to prove a completely fabricated case of Trump colluding with Russia. The real reason for the SC operation was to cover up the FBI and DOJ completely fabricating the case of Trump colluding with Russia. Have you forgotten?

♦ To stop him in 2019, congress and the intelligence apparatus (Mary McCord and Michael Atkinson) manufactured an impeachment hoax using Ukraine, a fabricated DoD plant on the National Security Council (Vindman), the CIA (Ciaramella) and the Intelligence Community Inspector General (Attkinson). Have you forgotten?

♦ To stop him in 2020, the U.S. Intelligence Community, working through the U.S. CDC, seeded a global pandemic and quickly manufactured an election result using mail-in ballots to manufacture 81 million votes for a completely controlled candidate with dementia. Have you forgotten?

♦ To stop him in 2022, Joe Biden (through AG Garland) appointed a special prosecutor (smith) to investigate, indict and convict him. Have you forgotten?

♦ To stop him in 2023, the FBI and DOJ raided his home. Indicted him under claims of “national security,” then began to use Lawfare in the court system against him. Have you forgotten?

♦ To stop him in 2024, the U.S. Secret Service permitted a 20-year-old with a backpack, range finder, drone and long rifle, to walk into a Trump rally, set up position on a rooftop next to the USSS operating team, and fire eight shots at less than 150 yards at President Trump’s head, wounding his ear. Have you forgotten?

So, my question remains:

Big Question: How are Ukraine Stakeholders, CIA and U.S. Intelligence Community Going to Stop Donald Trump?

If you are not reading Sundance you are missing some of the most profound and intelligent material available about the sickness and corruption in the American government.

This is not about Donald Trump, in spite of how the neverTrumpers try to frame it. It is about freedom and Liberty, it is about Americans choosing an American path. Trump is just the first to stand and fight on our behalf. There will be others and so “they” are trying to stop this one in order to stop us.

Stop talking about the coming Civil War. We are already in the 2nd Civil War and the other side has drawn weapons and are shooting. There are multiple ways one can fight back against tyranny short of using the last resort, so start using those as best you can.

Have You Forgotten – Darryl Worley

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US Vs “Great” Britainistan Round III

So the Limeys think they want ANOTHER damned rematch, do they?

Video: UK Cops Threaten to Extradite and Jail Americans for Online Speech
Elon Musk is among the American citizens who could be targeted for censorship and legal retaliation by open-borders cops in the UK.

Chief Mark Rowley of Greater London’s Metropolitan Police Service threatened to charge and jail American citizens who post online from their own country in support of UK demonstrations against mass third-world migration and the years of violent crime that have come along with it.

Police in the UK have arrested and charged hundreds of native-born citizens thus far with a litany of speech-related crimes, with some of them being tried, convicted, and sentenced to years in prison, in just a matter of days. While promising more arrests, Rowley set his sights on American citizens and others who’ve shown support for the protest movement, which comes in direct response to the triple murder of three children by an African living on British soil.

“We will throw the full force of the law at people,” Rowley told reporters at a press conference. “And whether you’re in this country committing crimes on the streets, or committing crimes from further afield online, we will come after you.”

I’ll just let Bill handle that bit of light work for me.

Dickhead Dictator from Shithole Country Threatens Americans
Listen carefully, you pisspot loudmouth. As an American citizen I voice my full, wholehearted support for the brave British patriotic resisters opposing your communist attempts to destroy them and their nation, and I devoutly hope that you and those like you in your white-hating racist dictatorship are soon dragged off to meet the same end the aristocrats of France suffered during the French Revolution.

Our forefathers who created the United States of America showed us how to deal with the likes of you, when you tried to enforce your filthy, tyrannical laws on them in their own land. They killed you and your hired mercenaries where you stood. Our state of Texas alone has more heavily armed men and women than your entire nation. If you wish to meet the same fate, feel free to put your feet on American soil and try to oppress Americans in the same way you do your slaves at home. Do that, and I can promise you that you will never oppress anyone ever again.

Seconded, word for fucking word, one hundred and ten fucking percent, with all my heart and fucking soul, right down the fucking line, with fucking whipped cream on fucking top. Mr Rowley, sir (spelled with a C and a U, please note), you just feel free to come get my insolent Yankee Doodle Dandy ass any time you feel froggy enough, you light-in-the-loafers, Muzzy-scrote-lapping Britweasel poofter. As Dashiell Hammett’s unforgettable Continental Op character once cautioned, with a rueful shake of the head: Better get help.*

Since I brought it up and all, I can’t resist re-running the likewise-brilliant Raymond Chandler’s ebullient praise of his forebear Hammett one mo’ time again, culled from Chandler’s seminal collection of essays analyzing and explicating the detective noir oeuvre, “The Simple Art of Murder.”

Hammett gave murder back to the kind of people that commit it for reasons, not just to provide a corpse; and with the means at hand, not with hand-wrought dueling pistols, curare, and tropical fish…He is said to have lacked heart, yet the story he thought most of himself [The Glass Key] is the record of a man’s devotion to a friend. He was spare, frugal, hard-boiled, but he did over and over again what only the best writers can ever do at all. He wrote scenes that seemed never to have been written before.

Precisely so, sir. Of course, the same can be said of Mr Chandler as well. To their everlasting glory, these two titans of ‘Murkin fiction elevated a genre that had, until their advent, been snootily derogated as vulgar tabloid trash to the lofty summit of bona fide High Art™ status, sheepish and conflicted as they themselves sometimes seemed to feel about such exaltation. Myself, I’ve always found it surpassing strange that any serious, fair minded, bookish-type personage could come away from a careful exploration of their work with any other conclusion.

Subject matter be damned: the writing itself is unfailingly taut, spare, impactful, riveting. Their words float like a butterfly, sting like a gargantuan bee, hit like a George Foreman tooth-loosener right in the puss. This is writing that will knock you out; pick you up off the canvas; help you to your corner; and then come back at you swinging—again and again and again. And God help you, you will LOVE it. That’s how strong this stuff is. It’s downright addictive, that’s what.

Of course and as always, YMMV on all this. But in all honesty, it shouldn’t, it really, really shouldn’t. If it does, you’re more to be pitied than censured, that’s my view.

To sum up, then: FUCK Mark Rowley; FUCK the British government; FUCK the turncoat Brit coppers who are willing to arrest their own fellow Britishers for defending themselves and their families against a Mooselimb immivader horde inflicted on them by said government; and FUCK any and every sucker of dead donkey dick in our own shitheel goobermint who would dare to even dream of assisting Mr Rowley with his threatened “extradition” of Real Americans to his Moslem-conquered shitrapy.

I repeat: anytime you’re feeling froggy enough, ass-chancre. Let’s just see how that works out for ya in the end.

* Alas, the Op’s perfect riposte isn’t actually findable at the link, which only provides the barest bit of context; I couldn’t find the quote posted anywhere, but I knew it was from Red Harvest—one of Hammett’s finest, most fully-realized efforts (which is truly saying something), a book I’ve read and re-read who even knows how many times over lo, these many years—so I was forced to make do with whatever I could lay my hands on in the way of a supporting link. The Op’s characteristically blunt and concisely-put advice/threat/promise was issued in response to Head Poisonville Bad Guy Elihu Wilsson (ironically enough, the very malefactor who hired the Op to “clean up Personville” in the first place) ordering his manservant to throw the Op out of his palatial mansion bodily; the butler was extremely dubious about his ability to do so, which wise dubiety the Op reinforced via the above quip.

PARTHIAN SHOT! If you think yourself a fan of the detective noir genre but have somehow (incomprehensibly, inexplicably, inexcusably) missed out on Red Harvest, The Dain Curse, The Glass Key, or any other stories from Hammett’s Continental Op canon—not to even mention non-Op essentials such as The Thin Man and The Maltese Falcon—why good LORD man, what on earth are you WAITING for, prithee tell?

Update! Via Glenn.


Again: seconded, with all my heart and soul. I mean, seriously now: from “Rule Britannia,” the Miracle of Dunkirk, the London Blitz, Fairbairn and Sykes, the SBS/SAS, Sandhurst, to…to…to this contemptible, sorry spectacle of supine self-beclownment? From Churchill to Thatcher to…Starmer? From stiff upper lip to bending the knee? From colonizer to colonized? From rugby ruffians and soccer hooligans to Manwoman dick-choppers? From globe-spanning Empire to beggar-boy socialism to Moslem-majority laughingstock in only a few generations?!? Keee-RIST!!

So, so sad. One can’t help but be a little bit embarrassed for the pusillanimous pantywaists. A very, very little bit.

Mister, we could use a man like Herbert Hoover Oliver Cromwell again.

Overthrow the government NOW!

ALL the governments: (not) Great Britain, Ireland, France, Churmany, Amerika v2.0—ALL of them.

It’s difficult to improve upon this Tweeter’s summation of the present state of the United Kingdom:


However, just for the record, from the BBC:

The attack was not terror-related, police said.

No, of course not, perish the thought. Is it ever, really?

Well, it certainly struck terror into the heart of Southport. But presumably Merseyside Constabulary meant that the perp was not a card-carrying member of a recognised terrorist organisation acting on instructions from a renowned terrorist mastermind. Instead, as merely yet another paid-up member of the Amalgamated Union of Lone Wolves, he fatally stabbed two young children at a Taylor Swift “dance workshop”, and injured nine more, six of them critically. [UPDATE: A third victim has died. Three dead, all girls – six, seven and nine.]

As is now traditional on such occasions, police profess to be baffled by the “motive” for the attack.

Perhaps the notion that there can be a plausible “motive” for the stabbing of infants is not terribly helpful. Motivated or not, Europe has rather a lot of it.

America has mass shootings; Europe has mass stabbings. From Southport to Annecy to Dublin, your kid goes to a dance class…or the park…or her kindergarten – and gets stabbed. Eva and I used to cover these motive-less “incidents” on The Mark Steyn Show soberly and honestly, in part because:

a) very few other people did, save for Tommy Robinson, whom the British state has now driven into exile; and

b) there is not a lot to be said for a polity willing to sacrifice its youngest and most vulnerable on the altar of “diversity”. Such a society will not survive, and indeed does not deserve to.

And yet the state, in Britain as in Europe, seems to be making a conscious effort to accept occasional child sacrifice as a routine feature of life. If one were genuinely baffled by motive, one might expect a bit more effort in media reports as to why this happened, instead of tedious examples without end of the ghastly hand-wringing passivity of official reaction, from the King and his first minister down – and zero coverage of the realities of the crime and the truth about its perpetrator.

Which cumulatively suggests that this is just the price one has to pay for the vibrant multiculti utopia the Uniparty has brought us: Don’t worry, there won’t be a lot of it, we’ll try to hold it down to what the cynics at the Home Office used to call (with respect to Irish terrorism) “an acceptable level of violence”. But once in a while your moppet will go to a Taylor Swift workshop and not come home.

Against expectations, the sheep-like British general populace r’ared up on their hindlegs en masse to protest the bleedin’ ‘ell out of what’s been done to them and to their once-proud, long since enfeebled nation—intentionally and with malice aforethought—by their blighted government, thereby spurring the vile PM to LEAP into action with tremendous vim and vigor to let the revoltin’ peasants know, in no uncertain terms, just exactly what’s what.

British prime minister condemns spreading violent protests as ‘far-right thuggery’
Aug. 4 (UPI) — Prime Minister Keir Starmer of Britain condemned violent protests that have erupted throughout the country following last week’s brutal stabbing spree as “far-right thuggery” that will be met with the “full force of the law.”

In a televised address on Sunday, Starmer warned those either participating in the violence or fueling it online that they will “regret taking part in this disorder.”

“This is not protest. It is organized, violent thuggery. And it has no place on our street or online,” he said.

Violence instigated by far-right protesters has erupted throughout cities in Britain after three children were killed and eight others were wounded, five critically, in a stabbing spree committed July 29 at a Taylor Swift-themed dance class in the seaside town of Southport. Two adults were also injured.

We’re all chuffed to know for sure whose side he’s on, I’m sure. Carry on then, lads; cheerio, cor blimey, stiff upper lip and all that, wot wot. I s’y mates, cracking good show, eh? God save the King Mahdi, and may the sun never set on His Holy Caliphate. Too right, and well done!

Overthrow ALL the governments? That’s exactly what I said, bub, and that’s exactly what I meant too, damned skippy. When a government defiantly, bare-facedly demonstrates itself to be the enemy of its people—as all the above-mentioned ones among plenty of others indubitably have done—what recourse is left to those it misrules, affronts, and abuses but to rid themselves of it by any and/or all means necessary? Unpleasant, unpalatable, and just downright terrifying as the prospect is…well, as I always say, here we all are just the same.

So be it then. Let all peoples immiserated by a malevolent Leviathan-state cast aside doubt, abjure fear, and steel their resolve for the long, brutal struggle inevitably to come—a truly existential conflict, waged against a monstrous, merciless adversary—in which there will be no “Participant” trophies awarded post bellum, nor any “Chairborne Warrior” medals with “Perfect Attendance” cluster. Nope, I’m afraid pretty much every ambulatory swingin’ Richard is gonna be a shooter & looter for the impending festivities, if only due to the inescapable reality that today, tomorrow, next week, next month, et al the hostilities won’t be held in some distant, far-flung locale with an unpronouncable foreign name and bewildering street-signs that have way too many consonants painted on. This time, no matter how fast and far you run or how cleverly you hide, the battlefield will always be right there; in your town, your neighborhood, your block, your street, your lawn. For most of us, it will be a binary solution-set consisting strictly of two (2) choices: go marching off to war, or let the war come to you. Which, like it or not, I assure you it will.

That being so, let all eyes be opened, the better to see and know the face of The Enemy. Let The Enemy be taught to fear us instead of holding us in contempt, as He has for far too long a time. Let Him forever rue the day when first He made the mortal miscalculation of considering We The People to be His inferiors—His servants, rather than His masters. Let Him pay for these and innumerable similarly blunderous misunderestimations (heh; sorry) dearly, excruciatingly, immensurably—a settling of the karmic debt in turn giving birth to an agony graven so heavily onto whatever passes for His coal-black soul that the pain of it will never dwindle, much less dissipate altogether. Pain so persistent, so incredibly powerful that, in fact, He’ll never know another restful night’s sleep for the vivid Technicolor severity of the recurring nightmares.

One more time: Said it, meant it, don’t give a drizzlin’ shit if it harelips every cannibal on the Congo. To adapt the words of a lionhearted Founding Patriot whose slow recession from America’s collective memory shames us all: if this be Fedposting, make the most of it.

ADDENDUM: Yeh, yeh, I know it’s Wednesday night, and getting sorta late to boot. Spent more time getting this post put together than I really ought to’ve, it sorta put me behind on the meme thang. Happily, all’s I gotta do to get Memezapoppin’ up and at ‘em is just finish the dang thing; having started work on it last night, it’s already about halfway assembled, so pas de sweat. Sit tight, peeps.

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Just your basic Mark-1 Mod-0 D卐M☭CRAT

Communist, coward, child-mutilation advocate, self-serving liar, Blue Falcon—what more does anybody really need to know about the loathsome Tim Walz? D卐M☭CRATs just don’t come any more D卐M☭CRAT than this.

Fellow veteran speaks out on Walz’s misleading statements about military record
“As soon as the shots were fired in Iraq, he turned and ran the other way and hung his hat up and quit,” said Tom Behrends, a retired command sergeant major who replaced Gov. Tim Walz on a deployment to Iraq.

On a 150-year-old farm in Brewster, Tom Behrends hopes his tell-it-like-it-is style will finally get the attention he believes it deserves in Minnesota’s race for governor.

“The public needs to know how pathetic his leadership was as a National Guardsman,” Behrends said about Gov. Tim Walz.

“He abandoned us. What the hell kind of leader does that? As soon as the shots were fired in Iraq, he turned and ran the other way and hung his hat up and quit,” Behrends said.

This all starts years ago, when Behrends says Walz’s misleading statements about his military service first led him to come forward in the fall of 2018. The story was largely ignored and Minnesota’s largest newspaper, the Star Tribune, checked it out but decided not to publish, according to Behrends.

“When the reporter called, I thought, ‘What the hell, is this North Korea?’” Behrends recalled. Alpha News reached out to the Star Tribune but didn’t receive a response.

Back in early 2005, a warning order went out to southern Minnesota’s First Battalion-125th Field Artillery to mobilize for a mission to Iraq, Behrends said. Walz served as the unit’s highest non-commissioned officer after he was conditionally promoted to command sergeant major on April 1, 2005, records show. On May 16, Walz retired from the guard, avoided the deployment, and ran for Congress.

Walz has implied in previous statements that he didn’t retire because of the deployment, but National Guard records show his service obligation wasn’t complete until September 2007.

Behrends was next in line for the position and was asked to take his place.

“I was like well, for Pete’s sake, if this guy quits, if I say I’m not going to do it, I mean, what the hell kind of leadership is that?” Behrends recalled. “If a company would say we’re going to deploy to Iraq and the foreman says, ‘I’m not going,’ what does that say to the 500 that work in that factory?”

Command Sergeant Major Behrends went on to serve in Iraq on a nearly two-year deployment, all while Walz began using that very title as a congressman.

Behrends said he contacted Walz with his concerns before raising the issue publicly, sending letters to Washington in 2016. The letters all went unanswered, Behrends said.

Because of course they did; the pus-nutted scumsack Walz being who and what he is, he would’ve been much too chickenshit to own up to his true cut-and-run-D卐M☭CRAT nature. The sick-making story goes on in like vein from there, if you have the stomach for more of it. Then there’s the rest of Walz’s vile family:


Indeed they are. Yet JD Vance is supposed to be the “weird” one.

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Hemi requiem

Our blog-bud Eric Peters mourns the auto-destruction of a once-noble Detroit marque.

The End for Dodge?
Dodge is looking a little green around the gills all-of-a-sudden. Not just Dodge, either. Parent company Stellantis just posted “worse-than-expected” stats for the first half of this year.

“The company’s performance in the first half of 2024 fell short of our expectations,” CEO Carlos Tavares said in a statement that doesn’t quite convey the extent of just how far those expectations fell short. Stellantis’ operating income fell by 40 percent over the past six months – and “free cash flow” stands at “negative $400 million euros.”

Perhaps not coincidentally, this jibes with what is no longer available this year in all-but-one Dodge model (the Durango, which is a lingering last-call remnant) and no longer offered in Jeep and Ram truck models that used to offer it.

That being a V8 and specifically, the Hemi V8 that came to define the brands that no longer offer it.

Not that there is anything wrong, per se, with the new inline six that has replaced the V8 in the models that used to offer it. As Dodge and Ram and Jeep (Chrysler’s down to one model, a minivan, that never offered a V8) have said, the new inline six makes more power and is more efficient.

And that’s true.

The point is it’s not a V8 – and that’s a problem for brands that built their brands around V8s. Dodge especially. It’s analogous to what happened to VW when it stopped selling Beetles with air-cooled flat four engines; VW became more like all the other brands. That makes it harder to retain – and attract – buyers who wanted what those other brands didn’t offer but VW did.

This brings up a general problem besetting the entire industry, which is beginning to face real consequences for putting compliance rather than customers first. It was one thing for the latter to overlook or put up with being obliged – assuming they wanted a new vehicle – to accept seat belts and even air bags, which followed as inevitably as AIDs follows HIV. But what began as minor annoyances – and relatively trivial cost increases – has metastasized into a kind of cancer that is killing interest in buying new vehicles, not just those made by Stellantis.

As of last year – 2023 – the total number of vehicles sold in the United States had declined by 2 million, down to 15.5 million annually from the peak of 17.5 million in 2016. The figure is arguably more ominously suggestive than at first glance, too – because the population has increased by at least 10 million since 2016. If adjusted for that, the actual decline is probably closer to 3 million.

Some of that can be attributed to “the pandemic,” but that’s now more than two years in the rearview. What’s happened over the past two or three years is that a tipping point has been reached – and passed. The costs of compliance have driven the average price paid for a new vehicle to nearly $50,000 – and that was as of last year. It is likely to surge past that, this year.

As CF Lifers know—as Eric himself knows—only too well, Amerika v2.0’s power-drunk central goobermint considers this surfeit of trouble, misfortune, and woe a feature, not a bug. The carelessly-concealed bottom line here is that our FederalGovCo lords and masters don’t want Serf Class knaves driving any kind of car whatsoever—not even those feeble, useless, coal-powered Yuppie Puppie play-purties they’ve ordered everyone into, they don’t. Want/need to go someplace well outside easy walking distance from home, you cavil piteously? Work; grocery/hardware/pet supply/Big Box store; Happy Hour to chillax a while with friends (sorry, my bad, Happy Hour’s been outlawed); the kids’ Little League game; hospital/emergency room/Doc In A Box/pharmacy/dentist’s office; the gym; Gramma’s house, perhaps? Spit on your ass and slide, peasant.

Y’see, there’s a damned good reason why personal automobiles (and Harleys, natch) have long been hailed as “the great American freedom machine”—because that is exactly what they are. Unfortunately, individual freedom of movement—a/k/a the freedom to travel as, when, and where one pleases unmonitored and unmolested, empowering one:

  • To schlep the fam off to the beach, mountains, or lake for vaycay
  • To attend a movie, play, or concert
  • To visit a restaurant for dinner out
  • To grab a carton of milk, loaf of bread, pack of skid-paper, and/or bag of cat litter
  • To just joyride aimlessly way out in the sticks, windows down and radio crankin’, on a pleasant early-April afternoon unburdened by twelve (12) pounds worth of signed, dated, and notarized Official Authorization Application forms neatly filled out in quintuplicate by hand (black ink ONLY, mind; use of non-black inks or pencil will result in applicant’s immediate arrest on charges of Felonious Non-Compliance, Aggravated Meandering, and/or Unlawful Insurrection, among others). Completed forms must be duly submitted and registered with the Proper Authorities no fewer than eight (8) weeks in advance of intended date of departure; sloppily penned, smudged, and/or misspelled submissions will be rejected and shipped to a local facility for recycling. Applicant may submit a new form for review and evaluation after the required six (6) month cooling-off period has passed. A lawful maximum of three (3) submissions over no fewer than ten (10) years is permitted for each applicant

—is something They™ simply cannot, will not, abide.

You think I’m only kidding about this? Hyperbolizing, exaggerating for effect? Overstating the case to make a more general point? Would that it were so, my friends. Of all the rights and liberties They hate—which is, y’know, ALL of ‘em, actually—individual freedom of movement is probably the one They hate more ferociously than any other. It gnaws at Their vitals like a horde of termites on a floor joist: keeps Them awake nights, disrupts Their digestion, leaves Them feeling all achey, listless, and out of sorts.

So Stellantis finally bites the big one after decades of struggling to comply with arbitrary, unattainable FederalGovCo standards for auto emissions, fuel economy, and passenger safety? Big fuckin’ whoop. That makes it one down, three to go for Detroit’s once-mighty Big Four, then. For A) grabby, preachifying ProPols; B) scuttling bureauweasel lickspittles; C) innumerable Überstadt Enforcement Komissariat doorkickers humping a full combat-patrol loadout, including det-cord, flash-bangs and fraggers, select-fire battle rifle plus four (4) 30-round backup mags, Level IV body armor, and helmet-mounted NODs; D) climate “science” “experts” purchased wholesale by FederalGovCo out of Ivy League credential mills; and E) miscellaneous dreadlocked, damp-drawered Eco-tard cultists whose dorm rooms (and persons) exude an emetic miasma of patchouli, cat urine, spilt beer, unwashed asscrack, high-octane sinsemilla, and rancid bong-water—seriously now, what’s not to like?

4

Brass tacks

Divemedic gets right down to ‘em.

I was just listening to the Wilkow show on radio, and he told a caller that the Constitution didn’t allow for a Department of Education. The caller responded with, “This is 2024. The Constitution is old and outdated, let’s stop being ridiculous by following a 250 year old piece of paper.”

There is no reconciliation possible with the left, because there can be no middle ground with that kind of attitude. There is only going to be a couple of possible outcomes:

  • We fight Cw2 or
  • We surrender without fighting and wind up in a communist dictatorship.

Absolutely true, down to the nth detail.

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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

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pAntiFa: an alternative spelling of "fascist scum"

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