Stuff and nonsense

Nobody brings the steaming, smoking codswallop quite like L’il Petey Buttplug.

SEC. BUTTIGIEG ON PELOSI’S CLAIM THAT SPENDING REDUCES DEBT: ‘IT IS TRUE’
“Well, I mean, first of all, if you look at our fiscal policy, it is true. And amazingly, a lot of people don’t even know this, that the deficit has gone down and down by a remarkable amount. So, I think part of it is an expression of that. I think also part of it is pointing to the fact that some of the investments that we make help with inflation. I mean, that’s definitely true with the infrastructure investments, right, because we know how infrastructure is related to supply chain, supply chain is related to inflation.”

And we all already know what great shape the supply chain is in, don’t we?

Delusional, stupid, or merely a habitual liar scrambling to cover his ass? It’s a rare three-fer in the “Embrace the healing power of ‘and'” pantheon, methinks. Kudos to Mr/Mrs/Miss/Whatthefuckever Buttplug for making this remarkable hat-trick look so dang easy.

Wait, whuuuuuh….

Looks like Gropey’s off his meds again.

Biden says he bets everybody knows somebody who’s had their naked photos shared online
Biden said:

“So we’ve established a new civil rights cause of action for those whose intimate images were shared on the public screen. How many times have you heard…I bet everybody knows somebody, somewhere along the line that in an intimate relationship, what happened was the guy takes a revealing picture of his naked friend, or whatever, in a compromising position and then literally, in a sense, blackmails her or mortifies that person.”

Um no, I don’t know anyone who this has happened to…nope. But I bet Biden is really talking about his son, Hunter.

Ditto. Speak for yourself there, Gropester. My own personal closet is free of skeletons of that particular stripe, thenksveddymuch. Well, okay, as far as I KNOW, it is. If anybody out there knows otherwise, please keep it to yourself, mmm’kay? Actually, I can’t recollect anybody ever even suggesting I let them take a few snaps of me in the buff, and can’t imagine why anyone would even want to. The worst and most bizarre Innarnuts “gotcha” on me is at Urban Dictionaruy, of all places, and I’m rather proud of it. Here, see for yourself:

The Mike Hendrix

A sex move where the male The Hendrix leaves the female The Chick halfway through coitus to make and eat a sandwich. When confronted about leaving the room, offer to make The Chick one as well.

The Mike Hendrix can be performed by announcing (“I’m gonna go make a sandwich”), or by virtue of leaving, but The Hendrix must make and consume a sandwich to be considered valid.

We were having great sex, but then pulled the Mike Hendrix on me.

Never have I done any such thing, I solemnly swear, not even once. So it may not even be me they’re talking about. But I kinda hope it is, to be perfectly honest.

Strongest, most effective military on Earth?

The Lone Superpower.

Navy Refuses to Deploy Warship While Commander Remains Unvaccinated
U.S. Navy officials have said a warship can’t be deployed because its commander has refused the COVID-19 vaccine.

The service said an East Coast guided-missile destroyer is “out of commission” after a Florida federal judge ruled that the Navy and Marine Corps cannot remove its officer for being unvaccinated against COVID-19.

The warship now remains docked in Norfolk, Virginia.

It comes after U.S. District Judge Steven Merryday, a George H. W. Bush nominee, ruled on Feb. 2 to bar Secretary of Defense Lloyd Austin and all other military officials from taking punitive action against the unnamed Navy officer, who sought religious exemptions to the military’s COVID-19 vaccine mandate.

Merryday wrote that the Navy’s rejection failed to note that the branch has separately granted hundreds of medical exemptions to the COVID-19 vaccine mandate

Annnnd…Cut! Print! That’s a wrap, people! We have now officially reached peak Covid stupidity, I do believe.

Top military officials determined that the commander’s religious beliefs were sincere and that they would be “substantially burdened” by being forced to get vaccinated, but also claimed that granting the exemption request “would have a predictable and detrimental effect on the readiness of you and the Sailors who serve alongside you.”

Oops. Looks like I mighta spoke too soon.

Admiral Daryl Caudle filed a statement on Feb. 28 saying that the Navy “cannot have a Sailor who disobeys a lawful order to receive a vaccine because they harbor a personal objection any more than we can have a Sailor who disobeys the technical manual for operating a nuclear reactor because he or she believes they know better.”

DAYUMMMM, dude, this Covid-stupidity hole is deep enough already! So stop digging, willya?!? Bill, with all the analysis of this risible nonsense you’ll ever need:

The American Dream will end in farce.  And then nightmare.

Not quite there yet, Bill. From where I’m sitting, it ended in farce a goodish while back. And as I’ve been saying, the nightmare part has already begun.

Update! Here’s a link to the original article, hat tip Bill, just in case anybody has problems with the archive.is one. I never have had any trouble with ’em myself, but I’ve heard from others who have here and then.

Blowback for Brandon

Hey, if the shoe fits…which, y’know, it does.

BREAKING: Laid-off Keystone XL pipeline workers BLAST Joe Biden for LYING about American oil production

Laid-off Keystone XL pipeline workers had choice words for President Joe Biden in a Fox News segment Saturday. Focusing on soaring gas prices across America, the segment included interviews with a group of laid-off workers.

“We should be able to sustain ourselves and not depend on other nations raising their price and then affect us. That shouldn’t even be in the question,” one worker told Fox News.

The Fox News reporter then asked: “If we want to get the price of gas down right now, we want to drop the price of gas, what do we need to do right now?”

“Put us to work right now. And you will see not only the fuel prices go down, but you will see the price of everything else go down with it,” the worker replied.

Workers then turned attention to Biden. “He’s pushing for solar and wind power, but it’s been proven over and over, that’s just not as efficient as burning natural gas, refining crude.” Another worked continued, saying: “We are sick of hearing, ‘This is Putin’s price hike.'”

Plenty more where that came from—every word a gem, every word the plain and simple 24-karat truth, the most salient insight helpfully emphasized above by moi. Brandon and his co-conspirators should be made to own their intentional sabotage of American energy independence, though. After all, it’s not as if they haven’t lectured, hectored, and pimped their silly, emasculated electric toy “cars”—along with the whole kit and kaboodle of their obsolete and unworkable “sustainable energy” folderol—long enough for everyone to know their true colors by now: Green, and Red.

It’s not as if they don’t realize the damage their lunatic jihad against fossil fuels—the most efficient, reliable, easily-gleaned and -managed energy source there is as of right this minute, the only one even remotely capable of powering a robust industrial economy—has and will do to the US, its economy, and ordinary Americans, mind. They know full well. It’s just that they don’t give a flying fuck at a plate-glass window about it, that’s all. At this point, they appear to have lost all patience, abandoned the gauzy illusion of logical persuasion and fair debate, and have moved on to openly waging economic war against the legitimate interests of the nation and her people—a most cruel and abominable war indeed.

Alas, but this is who they are. This iswhat they do. For the Left, the Almighty Agenda—raw, untrammeled power and control—always and forever comes first, overriding all other concerns. T’was ever thus, or nearly so. The last honest, honorable, and sincerely patriotic Democrat expired along with JFK or thereabouts, leaving us with the bizarre degenerates we’re saddled with at present. The modern bumper crop of amoral, hedonistic Democrats are an affliction, a cancer, one that must be excised completely, by whatever means necessary, if the body politic is ever to be restored to some semblance of health. Mike Walsh knows the scoremostly.

A specter is haunting America—the specter of the Democrat Party. Like an evil spirit that cannot be exorcised, the Democrats have been plaguing the United States since Aaron Burr shot and killed Alexander Hamilton in 1804. Ferociously pro-slavery, the Democrats divided the country practically from its inception, blocked the path to abolition and eventually took up arms against the nation after the election of the first Republican president, firing on Fort Sumter and seceding en masse from the Union. And, a week after they had lost that war, one of them assassinated Abraham Lincoln, elevating a Democrat from a Confederate state to the presidency, and plunging the country into more needless turmoil.

With a track record like this it’s a wonder the party is even still legal.

It really shouldn’t oughta be, and I mean that with every fibre of my being, literally and sincerely. No nation-state with the least regard for its own legitimacy is in any way obligated to tolerate the existence of a powerful political party flatly sworn to undermine, weaken, and injure said nation-state, even as it is diligently beavering away at that self-same project. As for the tyrannies, look to history to provide numerous examples of just how forgiving a dictator and/or ruling cabal usually is when it comes to clutching national parties fomenting unrest and insurrection fondly to its bosom, allowing them to carry on unmolested.

Hell, in those places you’re liable to the get the chop merely for walking around in public view with the smallest, most respectful and innocuous protest sign conceivable hoisted over your shoulder. Anything more radical than the most obsequious and Milquetoast-ian dissent, and the State’s bullyboys will fall on your doomed head like a crap-ton of sizeable rocks. Won’t be no dragging of the feet about the matter, either. The absolute least such an igner’nt fool can anticipate is to wake up next morning chained to a wall of a damp, noisome cell enjoying a ferocious headache; a seriously split lip; a whole passel of fresh new aches, pains, and deep-purple bruising scattered about his body; and little to no memory of how he got himself into this sorry state.

Make no mistake: rhe more strident you wax in your political agitation, the worse things are going to get for you. Count on it. Far better to just keep your lip zipped; walk with a bit of a stoop and a shuffle, no hint of any confident strut showing through; accept whatever Authority gives you without question or complaint; and make sure you’re always securely tucked into the middle of a crowd of other people, safely out of easy sight whenever you’re out and about, and you’ll be all right. Probably. Think “grey, ordinary, bland” so hard you actually project that image bodily, so that the aura of your shy, harmless nature rises off of you in visible waves.

For more on this, you want to take a leisurely stroll through the indispensable Julie Kelly’s AmGreat Jan 6 “riot” archive. These columns are an unflinching examination at the mid-to-late stages of America’s godawful descent from more-or-less proper governance into Tyranny Most Dire, vital material for anyone with a stomach strong enough to handle them. It’s dismal, ugly stuff, trust me it is—achingly painful reading for any poor naif still clinging to the battered belief in the ongoing existence of his cherished but long-extinct Republic, however far afield it may have strayed from the golden dreams of its Founders. Be sure you have a fifth of something stout handy when you do this. Trust me, you’re going to need it.

And yet, after the bloodiest war in our history—and with a sizable component of “peace Democrats” in the North actively rooting and voting against Lincoln in the election of 1864 while supporting his opponent: the failed Union general George McClellan—they’re still around to plague us. It wasn’t until the arrival of Ulysses S. Grant as commander of all the Union armies in 1864 that Honest Abe found the right man for the job: someone who would mercilessly crush the life out of the Democrats and their armies, destroy slavery, and reunite the states.

The midterms are still eight months away but Real America is crying out for succor right now.

Well, DUH. They’re worried, they’re out of work, the grocery-store pickin’s are mighty slim. Which is no real issue anyhow: even if there WAS food on those shelves like in the Goode Olde Days of yore, they couldn’t afford to buy any thanks to Bidenflation. Certainly, a few gallons of gas for the drive over is WAY out of reach. For the first time since the Great Depression, Americans are confronting real deprivation and want, after long luxuriating in the plenitude created by the system they passively watched being ruined a-purpose, when they weren’t actively helping destroy it. Worse, as I’ve said before, this is only the beginning of our national nightmare. When it will end, IF it will end, is known only to God Himself.

I only wish I could believe that this planned disaster, with its concomitant needless suffering, would be enough for Americans to finally and fully understand what the bitter, toxic fruits of Demonrat rule have been for nigh on a century, and to firmly decide they don’t want anything more to do with the lousy bastards. If the howling hell-storm now unfurling all around us finishes the criminal conspiracy masquerading as a political party for good, erasing all traces of their malignant misrule forever, I’d consider it well worth the suffering. Sorry, but I can’t.

Hoping that their Uniparty partners-in-crime might be taken down along with the Dems is just bugfiucknuts. Oh, I suppose it’s barely&mdas;BARELY—possible, sure. But it’s wildly, grotesquely improbable. Nobody should waste any time fantasizing about it, lest such useless woolgathering obscure or distract us from the arduous real-world work required to actually get the thing done.

Gasoline, home heating oil, electricity, natural gas—the prices continue to soar, already past the point of recent plausibility and heading into economic terra incognita. Millions of illegal aliens pour across the nearly erased southern border. A befuddled Joe Biden threatens to sleepwalk us into an armed conflict with the ghost of the old Soviet Union in the form of Vladimir Putin’s Russia, and disinformation is rife on both sides of the conflict in the Ukraine. In a parliamentary system, Biden’s government would have fallen right after the debacle in Afghanistan—but barring a miracle we’ve got another three years to suffer.

For just over a year, Americans have watched with admirable patience as their economy collapsed, their legal system was perverted to serve the interests of a few, their nation’s military degraded, and their freedom of speech subverted via the government’s fascistic and unconstitutional co-opting of the social media sites. Meanwhile, woke corporations and a thoroughly compromised media crack down on the commercial and personal privacy of anybody that runs afoul of the New Normal while manic Greens demand a return to the days of three-masted schooners and windmills. Such relentless cultural and economic sabotage would be considered an act of war if done by anyone else—but here it goes by the fellow-traveler names of “dissent,” “patriotism,” and “progressivism.”

Walsh goes on from there to lob a few undeserved stinkbombs at Trump as if he was still at all relevant, and then this:

The other is Florida governor Ron DeSantis. Smart, pugnacious, and unflappable, DeSantis has emerged as the chief thorn in Joe Biden and the Left’s side. After his narrow win over a guy who was later found dead drunk in a Miami Beach hotel room he was sharing with a gay porn producer who had overdosed on crystal meth, DeSantis has cemented his hold on the former swing state, turning it solid red. Unlike Trump, who at the moment is powerless, the squeaky-clean DeSantis upstages Biden and the Democrats on a regular basis; his canny and unflappable handling of the “pandemic” has given rise to a new nickname for the Sunshine State: the Free State of Florida.

DeSantis, 43, can make no public noises about seeking the presidency at this point. He must get past his re-election for governor in the fall first and hope the voters rally to take back control of Congress from the narrowest-of-narrow Democrat majorities. With his wife, Casey, now seemingly recovered from a bout with cancer, he is sitting pretty.

It’s widely thought that if Trump declares, DeSantis will wait his turn in 2028. But why should he spend four years on ice behind a lightning rod with no further political future? Polls already show him creeping up on Trump and a smashing re-election victory will only gain him more prominence. Lots can happen in three years, especially when his possible primary opponent is getting on in years. After Biden, will America want another geriatric president? Or will the voters prefer a guy 32 years younger, with nothing but upside?

I hope and pray he stays on in Florida instead. DeSantis can render the remaining handful of non-authoritarian fragments of what was once the great American republic far greater service there than in Mordor On The Potomac, where the Deep State’s legions of orcs, trolls, and winged Nazgul will rip him to bloody gobbets of raw meat as they did Trump.

Sorry, Mike, but there really, truly is no voting our way out of this. However it comes about, something far more direct, proactive, and potent than toodling on over to the local polling place to cast a meaningless ballot in a systemically corrupt “election” is gonna be required of us. Possibly, a way may yet be found short of actual, violent revolution against the bloated, evil Federal Leviathan. We should all pray for that. But it WILL involve some level of violent upheaval, of that I’m certain. The yawning divide between us is simply unbridgeable to allow for anything less, and unless and until the Left’s marrow-deep megalomania is well and truly extinguished the conflict will rage on, even intensify.

For my own part, I find myself losing interest more and more in national politics and the DC doings. After all we’ve witnessed since Inauguration Day 2016, the DC charade and rot so gallantly exposed by Trump has left me largely indifferent as to who might be installed in the now-tainted White House as figurehead-of-state, beyond whatever entertainment value one can derive from it. Our self-declared Masters are gonna do what they’re gonna do regardless, leaving the workaday schlubs to pay the freight for their disastrously inept folly as per usual. Until they’ve been thrown off, by hook or by crook, there really isn’t a whole lot for the little guy to do other than just grin and bear it.

Update! More on Brandon’s wholly-intentional and pre-planned fuel-price assault on America.

Nonprofit food deliveries concerned cost of gas could price out volunteer drivers
It’s never been more expensive for volunteer food drivers to make deliveries for nonprofits. The cost of gas in Georgia is more than $4 per gallon, an all-time high.

Meals on Wheels volunteer driver Sal Depasquale brings food to 89-year-old Frances Crowder once a week.

“He’s always on time,” Crowder said. “Oh boy, I don’t know what we’d do without Mr. Sal.”

Inserted betwixt the above paragraph and the next one, we find one of those ubiquitous clickbait links to another related article, which I found modestly amusing:

BIDEN: ‘CAN’T DO MUCH RIGHT NOW’ TO LOWER SOARING GAS PRICES, ‘RUSSIA’S RESPONSIBLE’

Gratifying to see this hapless liar floundering so desperately, innit? Allow me to translate Dopey Gropey’s usual ham-fisted prevarication into Truth:

  • Say not “can’t,” Gropey. Say “won’t,” or if that doesn’t suffice to keep the risible, pathetic attempt at deception semi-viable and your lying ass covered, try “have no desire to” instead.
    • Okay, the closing schnauzer-slodder is getting quite damned stale at this point. After so many years watching you blaggards fellate your beloved USSR, all dewy-eyed and face lovingly aflush as you were gratingly demanding the US hew closely to its horrid example, later compounded by your latest beloved candidate for Token First Female President’s use of the Rooskies to underhandedly, illegally, even treasonously slither her way into the White House, your sudden volte face into frothing hatred for all things Russia and/or Putin has a distinctly malodorous aroma wafting from it. As for Putin himself, I just can’t make myself jump into those waters along with everybody and his sister’s cat’s grandmother, seemingly. Yes, yes, yes: dictator, strongman, warlord, thug—got it, granted, so stipulated. So what the bloody deuce did y’all expect from Russia, anyway? I mean, it’s Russia, ferchrissake. Throughout its history, whenever they’ve slipped up and allowed somebody who really WASN’T one or all of those things to take power as head of state, they’ve bestirred themselves to correct the error toot sweet. I do heartily disapprove of his jumping poor Poland, yes; I would much prefer the valiant, indomitable, and admirable Poles to remain free and independent. But is there a soul so innocent and/or oblivious as to have been at all surprised by it?

      His deplorable Ukraine incursion aside, though, which I’m confident will be undone sooner rather than later, I must confess I’m just a wee mite fond of Putin. His sneering, openly-expressed contempt for President Mommy Jeans I thoroughly enjoyed; his proud basking in traditional masculinity and its multitude of related sins, with none of the obllgatory genuflecting and fashionable groveling towards the LGBTQIXN39Whatthefuckever herd-orthodoxy I find refreshing. He’s something of a throwback to an earlier era, a more clear, natural, and honest age. I must say, if the choice was offered of either Putin or the decrepit bleeding hemorrhoid we’re suffering under now as the US president, I’d take the unevolved Rooskie trog any day of the week, and twice on Sundays. We could use a strong, no-bullshit leader like ol’ Vlad right about now, I think.

In any event, Brandon’s odd reflex to blame anything and everything on Russia has not a thing to do with reality and everything to do with Gropey’s will to somehow survive politically, to stanch the copious bleeding of his innumerable self-inflicted wounds. But enough of that, back to the original topic we go.

Meals on Wheels is a nonprofit food delivery service. Depasquale has been a volunteer driver for more than 10 years. 

“It’s a valuable service, and it helps people who need help,” Depasquale said.

It’s never been more expensive for drivers to make deliveries. The cost of gas in Georgia is more than $4 per gallon, an all-time high. Depasquale makes three or four deliveries every week. He’s concerned if prices continue to skyrocket, volunteer drivers like him will drop out. This could dramatically increase his workload and pain at the pump.

Cross Services, Meals on Wheels’s parent company, is watching gas prices around the country. The company still has enough drivers to make deliveries, but are afraid that could change if prices stay this high.

“Hopefully we’ll retain them,” said Cross Services Senior Services Coordinator Mary Jo Buettner. “But, again it depends on how long that price of gas stays up so high and keeps going up.”

As long as Democrats are in charge, be assured that that is precisely what they’ll do. For them, this situation is no disaster, no terrible problem that must be remedied. It represehts the successful implementation of a long-standing policy goal—a win, not a loss or mistake. The misery will not just continue, but increase…until they have been removed from power. Far from being complex or difficult to understand, it really is just that simple, folks.

Want to Make America Great Again, Heritage Americans in flyover country, small towns, and suburban enclaves? You have to Make Democrats Afraid Again, then see to it they stay that way. Like it or not, it’s the only way; nothing less will do the trick.

A final note: my brother tells me that his conversations with other truckers indicate that, should diesel passe the five-dollar/gallon mark, a large number of his fellow independents and owner/operators intend to shut ’em down. They’ll do it too; they’ll have to, they won’t have any choice in the matter. My brother his own self is near that point already; he told me the other day that his every-other-day fillup, formerly around 250 to 300 dollars, cost him well over eight hundred bucks last time. No business can go on hemorrhaging that kind of money for very long before quickly bleeding out. Think the huge truck-driver shortage, a genuinely dangerous situation, couldn’t possibly get much worse than it already is? Think the price of every good, every commodity, can’t keep rising so insanely? Think this is a crisis we’re in now? Just you wait until thousands more trucks, the lifeblood of our economy, have been taken off the road for good.

Again: only the beginning, now unstoppable, needless and nonsensical. All of it, every last bit, a man-caused disaster created entirely and intentionally by Leftard Democrats, for nefarious purposes. That’s the long and the short of it. I won’t be lending my endorsement by participating further in American “elections,” as if they were above-board and credible, thereby granting tacit, open-ended license to my oppressors to do as they please, rather than the bread-and-circuses theatrical distraction they in fact are. But I do wish someone who feels differently about it would sit down and explain to me how ANY decent, reasonably intelligent and informed adult—seeing all that we’ve seen, knowing all that we know, at least nominally awake and of sound mind generally—could even hypothetically justify voting for a Democrat, ever.

And yet.

Where such people are I don’t know. They’re outside my ken. But sometimes, when I’m in a twee coffee bar or near a spontaneous drum circle, I can feel them.

The mind, it boggles.

No matter how paranoid you are, you ain’t anywhere near paranoid enough

Coming soon to an Orwellian nightmare-nation all too near you. Quite nigh upon us, in fact. Like Sandberg’s fog, it crept in on little cat’s feet—inch by inch, over the course of many decades—and is now well-established and will be extremely difficult to overthrow. Even moreso, sickeningly, since so many so-called Americans actually support it. The Covid trial run showed that clearly enough.

Yesterday, when a December 2021 news article was belatedly linked at (ironically enough) Citizen Free Press, I saw The Perfect Citizen come one giant step closer to reality. Under the title “Worldwide Social Credit Industry – Infrastructure to Support Social Credit Systems Represents a $16.1 Billion Opportunity by 2026,” the article matter-of-factly discusses the great money-making opportunities now possible in the emerging field of police-state surveillance of the citizenry. After listing some of the multinational corporate giants competing for market share in our future slave-state, it summarized the “opportunities” in a set of bullet points:

“The COVID-19 pandemic has facilitated substantial interest in citizen monitoring solutions…

  • Cameras and other optical equipment for social credit systems will reach $723M globally by 2026
  • Advanced computing will be used in conjunction with AI to provide nearly flawless identification and tracking
  • Various forms of biometrics will be used for identity verification as well as verifying the presence/location of people
  • Starting as tangential to public safety and homeland security, the social credit market becomes mainstream by 2026
  • Social credit systems represent the ability to identify (mostly people but also some ‘things’) and track activities for purposes of grading behaviors and applying ‘social credit scoring.”

While no mention is made of the Maoist origins and goals of “social credit” ideology, the article admits that “most systems will have socially acceptable behaviour at their core…government, companies, and society as a whole must determine ‘good’, ‘bad’, and ‘marginal’ behavior within the social credit market…[S]ystems will ultimately be used for a variety of commerce and lifestyle-related issues…accessibility within public places such as concerts, sporting events, and other assemblies. High social scoring individuals within the social credit market will be granted preferred access to both real and digital assets…[T]he convergence of … disparate technologies…will facilitate value within the social credit market…sensors, biometrics, cameras, and other optical devices, computer vision systems, and other advanced computing platforms.”

Ah, the banality of evil as our natural rights and freedom die not in a blaze of glory on a battlefield but by slow-motion absorption into a real-life “Matrix” of cybernetic transhumanism facilitated by financial advisers.

If the familiarity all this doesn’t leave you with chilled blood and gooseflesh, you aren’t paying attention. The title mentions “war propaganda,” but for some reason the author barely even mentions it in the piece. Bill takes up his slack for us:

The Basic Principles of War Propaganda – Wikipedia

Contents

1 Contents
1.1 1. We don’t want war, we are only defending ourselves!
1.2 2. Our adversary is solely responsible for this war!
1.3 3. Our adversary’s leader is inherently evil and resembles the devil
1.4 4. We are defending a noble cause, not our particular interests!
1.5 5. The enemy is purposefully committing atrocities; if we are making mistakes this happens without intention
1.6 6. The enemy makes use of illegal weapons
1.7 7. We suffer few losses, the enemy’s losses are considerable
1.8 8. Recognized intellectuals and artists support our cause
1.9 9. Our cause is sacred
1.10 10. Whoever casts doubt on our propaganda helps the enemy and is a traitor

Seems relevant.

Follows, just one contemporary example, with no further commentary either provided or necessary from Bill. The accompanying image spells it out well enough.

Well done, Mister LaForge

The ones they want to ban most are the very ones they ought to be forced to read, up to and including putting a gun to their empty heads if that’s what it takes.

Literacy advocate, Star Trek star, and game show host LeVar Burton wants people, particularly children, to read banned books. The former Reading Rainbow host appeared during a segment about banned books on The Daily Show with Trevor Noah. In the piece, Burton attempts to read some seemingly innocuous books only to get cut off because of a book banning for one contrived reason or another. Eventually, Burton runs away after hearing sirens nearby, but not before encouraging folks to read banned books “because that’s where the good stuff is.” You can watch the entire The Daily Show segment below.

The topic of banned books reached new heights when a Tennessee school district banned Art Spiegelman’s graphic novel Maus, which chronicles the cartoonist’s father’s experiences in a concentration camp during the holocaust. Many have rallied against this movement, including author and CBLDF supporter Neil Gaiman, who wrote, “There’s only one kind of people who would vote to ban Maus, whatever they are calling themselves these days.”

They can call themselves anything they damned well please, but the song always remains the same with creatures like these. and always will.

Milestone reached

Anybody remember when State Media ran those somber “grim milestone” reports each and every night on the TeeWee “news,” reminding everyone of Shrubya’s totally unacceptable body count in Iraq and Afghanistan?

Nah, me neither.

The total number of adverse reactions reported in the USA is 1,084,457 as of that date. Over one million adverse reactions…yet the media, and the medical establishment, trumpet how “safe” the vaccines are! If that’s “safe”, then I’m Mata Hari! (The reports for Europe are just as bad, if not worse in certain countries.) Of particular importance is the incidence of heart problems (particularly pericarditis and myocarditis) encountered among the vaccinated. Another looming issue is the rise in stillbirths among vaccinated pregnant women: “We are currently on pace to see a yearly total of 2,838 recorded fetal deaths following COVID-19 shots, while the yearly average of recorded fetal deaths following the vaccination of pregnant women for the past 30 years has been an average of 74 fetal deaths per year.”

Do bear in mind that those record-setting numbers come from the VAERS numbers, which even the CDC itself has admitted almost certainly amounts only to a fraction of the real total.

Medical “science” is racing to explain away those reactions (which, as the bottom graphic above shows, are worse than all previous vaccines of any kind since records began to be kept). Guess what excuse they’ve just invented?

Oh, I’m sure it’s a good one. The deadly OMIGAWD!!™ variant? White supremacists? Trump? The heartbreak of psoriasis? WHAT?!?

Guess what? It’s not the vaccines’ fault at all – it’s stress! That’s why so many vaccine recipients are dropping dead with heart problems!

Note, too, that this excuse will also be used to motivate more money for the medical establishment: “without at least doubling the current funding, the NHS will not be able to tackle the ‘trauma timebomb’, which could have potentially fatal consequences for those suffering with long-term PPSD”. Yeah, riiiiiiiiight. It’s not the vaccines’ fault, so go on foisting their poison on as many people as possible – and give us more money while you’re at it, so we can treat a wholly invented, non-existent stress disorder!

D’you ever get the feeling that the medical establishment as a whole is trying to play us all for suckers?

Sure, and why not? It seems to have worked out extremely well for them so far.

If you haven’t, I suggest you don’t understand the reality of the situation. Do they really think we’re that stupid?

Of course they do; who could possibly imagine otherwise? Have they ever given anybody a single reason to think that they don’t? The big question here is: ARE we? Because frankly, having put up with everygottdamned thing they’ve done over the last nigh-on two years at the very least without a murmur of complaint, I’ve not seen just a whole lot of evidence so far that says they’re wrong in that insulting assessment.

In all the previous pandemics in human history, nobody ever even thought about, or postulated, or theorized, or investigated this syndrome…yet suddenly, out of nowhere, it’s a major factor in fatalities among the vaccinated?

Hate to say it, but in a very sad way there may be a fairly plausible argument in support of the idea, especially when you consider the lamentable reality that the vast majority of Americans today are NOT the sort of stout, independent-minded, indomitable souls their forebears were. Not even close, they ain’t. In a nation populated shore to shore with thoroughly steercotted fruits, flakes, and nuts who get their panties in a bunch over some sane person offhandedly referring to them as “he” instead of “XHRSHIMX” or some other stupid horseshit, the real shocker is that falling over stone-dead because OHHH, I JUST CAN’T EVEN!!! isn’t a lot more common than it is.

A night in Hell

BCE posts on his stay in one of THOSE hotels; most of the saltier old road-dogs among us will need no explanation of what I mean by that, I trust. Naturally, BCE’s nightmarish and all-too-familiar story put me in mind of one of the single most atrocious dumps I can remember staying at: the Admiral Benbow Inn, in Memphis Tn. Regrettably, I made the mistake of DDG’ing the God-forsaken pit and wound up falling into the dreaded Search Engine Sinkhole, hitting links like a blow-junkie lab rat fiending for another sweet, sweet hit, sucked in by article after article chronicling the poor old Benbow’s rise and fall. Never woulda thunk it, but there’s some truly interesting history there, great gooey gobs of it. The backstory:

Dear Vance: Who the heck was Admiral Benbow, and what happened to all those motels here that were named after him? — J.F., Memphis.

Dear J.F.: Just like Colonel Harland Sanders with his Kentucky Fried Chicken empire, John Benbow (1653-1702) was a real person, an admiral in the British Royal Navy. During a long career at sea, he served as the commander of several vessels against various enemies, ranging from Barbary pirates to the French fleet, and I don’t have the time or energy to go into that here. Benbow died from injuries received in battle, with a biographer noting the cause of death was “the wound of his leg, never being set to perfection, which malady being aggravated by the discontent of his mind, threw him into a sort of melancholy.”

The admiral was buried in Jamaica, and his fame was so great that Robert Louis Stevenson, author of the 1883 classic, Treasure Island, named a tavern in his book the “Admiral Benbow Inn.”

Many years later, another enterprising gentleman in Memphis would do the same.

Allen Gary was born in Tupelo, Mississippi, in 1913. Somehow he ended up in Memphis, as so many men and women from the Magnolia State do. In the mid-1930s, he attended Central High School and Southwestern at Memphis (now Rhodes College). At some point, he met up with a business partner, George Early, and together they converted a nineteenth-century stable on Bellevue into a popular eatery called, quite naturally, The Stable. When it opened in 1941, it might be considered one of this city’s first theme restaurants. Not only was it decorated, inside and out, like a rustic barn, but the menu for this “Dispenser of Southern Horse-pitality” included such dishes as the Stagecoach, Hack, Hansom, Buggy, Surrey, and Sulky.

By all accounts, the Stable, located at Union and Bellevue, was a success, and quite a few readers have asked about it over the years, remembering good meals and good times there. But Gary and Early decided to branch out, forming other enterprises. Gary had befriended two of this city’s leading “hospitality men” — motel king Kemmons Wilson and drive-in operator Harold Fortune — and after serving for a time as manager of Fortune’s Belvedere, one of the chain’s largest and fanciest locations, Gary worked out an arrangement with Wilson to open restaurants at Holiday Inns around the South.

This wasn’t quite enough, though. In 1950, Gary and Early converted a brick cottage at Union and Willett into a cozy restaurant that they named the Admiral Benbow Inn. So the first Admiral Benbow in Memphis, or anywhere else for that matter, wasn’t a motel. Newspapers admired the new venture, noting that “its interior furnishings are completely modern in contrast with the fifteenth-century atmosphere.” Even though the tiny building sat just 20 feet from Union, “in the Terrace Room, eating pleasure blends with the busy traffic scene.” Just like in the fifteenth century!

At some point, it seems Early dropped out of this enterprise; I don’t know why. By 1960, Gary was operating 18 restaurants, an accomplishment that earned him a place in American Restaurant magazine’s Hall of Fame. A story about Gary in that publication — perhaps you saw it? — observed, “A restaurant operator whose receipts his first day in business totaled $7.10 [they are talking about the Stable] is today doing a business volume that exceeded $2 million in the fiscal year that just ended, operating restaurants in hotels in six Southern states.”

That still wasn’t enough for Gary. He next conceived Benbow Snack Bars, free-standing diner-type establishments, which often had little more than a counter and 12 stools, much like the nationwide chain of Toddle Houses. These were designed to be erected near motels that had no restaurant of their own, you see, but I was never able to determine how many Benbow Snack Bars were actually constructed. American Restaurant magazine, packed with helpful information, does say that Snack Bars “have been added in Memphis and in Laurel, Mississippi, and Gary is currently studying sites in 10 states” but didn’t say where, exactly, the Memphis locations were.

In 1960, Gary returned to his roots. He tore down his first venture, the old Stable, and erected the first Admiral Benbow Inn — this time a motel — at Union and Bellevue. The modern styling was certainly eye-catching, with lots of white concrete, bright colors, and suspended walkways linking what was considered this city’s first two-story motel. Of course, it included a restaurant along with a lounge called the Escape Hatch. He soon opened others — on Summer, next door to Imperial Bowling Lanes, and on Winchester, close to the airport.

As you can see from the images here, the Admiral Benbow Inn was certainly a nice-looking place and stood out from most of the hum-drum motels being constructed at the time. During its first years, it boasted occupancy rates of 100 percent. But for reasons that I don’t fully understand (since the Lauderdales never frequented such places), the motel developed a bad reputation. In fact, by February 2000, Admiral Benbow had declined to the point where my pal Jim Hanas wrote a Memphis Flyer cover story about his brief stay there. With a title of “Broken Palace: The Last Days of the Admiral Benbow,” you can tell it’s not a flattering portrait.

It was here, in fact, at the Admiral Benbow in Midtown that a fellow named Malcolm Fraser woke up one morning in 1986 to find himself without clothes, luggage, or money. Now this would be disconcerting for anybody, but Fraser just happened to be the former prime minister of Australia, in town for a business visit, and was supposed to be staying at The Peabody. The whole matter was never sorted out, but it’s typical of the decidedly unusual events that seemed to plague the Admiral Benbows in Memphis over the years.

So what happened to them?

Okay, so far, so…well, so dull, honestly. Aside from the mysterious Fraser saga, it’s the sort of dry, aggressively mundane stuff only a Memphian with an obssessive local-history fetish could find interesting, or maybe somebody who was being paid to act as if he had such a fetish. Hang in there though; we’re just about to hit the motherlode.

Memphis celebrates, occasionally even enshrines, its motels. The Lorraine has been encased for future reference as the National Civil Rights Museum; the Heartbreak Hotel, once a mere metaphor in the spiritual neighborhood of Lonely Street, now stands in literal glass and stone on Elvis Presley Boulevard; and the success story of Kemmons Wilson and Holiday Inns Inc. is eclipsed only by that of Fred Smith and Federal Express in the local mythology.

Even the dutiful Gideons have abandoned the Admiral Benbow at the corner of Union and Bellevue, however. There is no trace of either testament in the several drawers in room 245, one of which has had its front torn off and placed neatly inside it where the Bible ought to be.

The television is cockeyed from a failed attempt to rip it from its security mooring, although it doesn’t work so well anyway, and like most everything else in the room, it is rutted with burns from careless cigarettes and/or crack-pipes.

Seven doors down, a man was once stabbed with such a pipe by his so-called boyfriend, or so he said when, out of breath, he waved down a police cruiser at the corner of Madison and Cleveland. The boyfriend told a different story. He himself had been savagely beaten with the room’s telephone by the first man, he said, who had then stabbed himself with the crack pipe. He was only giving chase, he explained, so he could help.

The phone in 245 looks as though it may be the veteran of a beating or two. The plate over the keypad has disappeared, and much else in the room has been either picked clean or otherwise rendered useless. The cover of the heating duct leans beneath the sink. The bathtub faucet leaks hot water and cannot be made to stop. Pee-colored formica peels from the sway-topped sink and the flesh-colored stucco walls crack indiscriminately. The door’s security latch is no longer secure (nor any longer technically a latch, really), the hidden workings of the light switch are not hidden, and the peephole — the one you’re supposed to look through before, ever, ever opening the door — has been plugged with a tiny piece of cloth.

And not a Bible in sight, here when you really need one.

Unlike Memphis’ celebrated motels, the Benbow does not represent anything prized about the city or its history, anything people actually draw paychecks promoting. It is not a monument to the civil rights movement, the birthplace of rock-and-roll, or Memphis’ role as a universal crossroads.

Instead, the Benbow represents another side of the city, a side people draw paychecks keeping quiet, a side that’s as old as the city’s days as a rough river town and crime capital of the known universe.

It’s here that Little Pete, a 19-year-old gangsta from South Memphis, got pinched for shooting a man just off Elvis Presley Boulevard. Where a man once celebrated Valentine’s Day by flying into a drunken rage, trashing his room, and slapping his girlfriend around, all before 10 a.m. Where guests have occasionally tried to off themselves with excess anti-depressants, detergents, and razor-blades.

If, as everyone seems to agree, the Mississippi Delta begins in the lobby of The Peabody, then it just might end somewhere in the tomblike parking lot here at the Admiral Benbow.

The Benbow’s seediness comes only in part from its dilapidation. Part of it is a matter of architecture. The elevated rooms, once a clever parking solution, create a claustrophobic above-ground subterrain ricocheting with shadows and echoes. A series of catwalks connecting the motel’s four buildings makes you feel as though you may already be in prison, so, well, what the hell anyway. In urban planning lingo, these effects might be described pathologically, symptoms of a property that is “sick.”

Once, when the Monkees stayed here, the parking lot and catwalks were overrun by screaming, teenaged girls.

A half-naked woman lies bloody and motionless beside the bed. G-men let a tabloid photographer into the room to snap some shots of the corpse, of the spectacle of blood and breasts and the 9mm cupped in a cold hand.

Nothing serves to verify the Benbow’s status as a dive — with all the campiness that implies — quite like this scene from The Sore Losers, the burlesque allegory from local cult filmmaker Mike McCarthy.

Mid-scene, there is an establishing shot of the motel’s neon sign and marquee, and audiences are expected to get the joke. “Cheap applause for the local crowd,” McCarthy explains.

Everyone knows you haven’t slummed until you’ve slummed at the Admiral Benbow.

Although McCarthy had his car vandalized while filming at the motel, it didn’t keep him from putting out-of-town talent up here during the filming of his latest movie, SuperStarlet A.D., at least for a night.

“The surreal charm wears off when we realize the doors are broken,” co-star Gina Velour writes of the place in her diary of the shoot, which appeared in Hustler’s Leg World last year. “The moldy ceiling is hanging like fog, and there is a single, bare 60-watt bulb, just like in the movies. It’s the worst night I can remember in all my travels. I can’t do this for the next three weeks.”

And she doesn’t, demanding from McCarthy better digs in the Red Roof Inn up the street.

“They didn’t share my sense of humor,” McCarthy admits.

Evidently camp has its limits, even for aspirant B-movie starlets.

I have to say, Ms Velour’s Admiral Benbow experience closely corresponds with my own.

Even more fascinating Admiral Benbow lore at the linked articles—some of it amusing, some of it terrifying, none of it in the least shocking or too far out for Benbow survivors. And we are legion, because some years back just about every bar, theater, or other mid-level and below music venue in Memphis, as well as independent bookers and promoters, made it their practice to book hotel rooms for bands on tour at the Benbow. The place was filthy. It was dangerous. It was run down, literally falling apart in whole sections. And it was positively crawling with drunks, junkies, crackheads, hookers, johns, flim-flam men, muggers, and other fascinating specimens from every strata of Memphis lowlife, criminality, and dysfunction. There are roaches crawling up the walls of the rooms as big as your thumb—bigger, even. Go ahead, ask me how I know.

But for promoters and venue owners and such, the Benbow wasn’t entirely without its charms nonetheless. It was dirt cheap, and for people working that side of the music-biz street, cheap trumps all else. Especially when you know you don’t have to spend the night there your own self.

The first time a promoter tried to shoehorn us into the Benbow box, we took one look at our assigned room, looked at each other in horror, and agreed immediately that we would NOT be staying at this wretched shitpit after that night’s show, taking it upon ourselves to speedily flee to someplace fit for human habitation and just foot the bill ourselves, even though our contract rider called for two double-occupancy hotel rooms, comped. If I remember right, we ended up at a Red Roof not far away, likely the same one Gina Velour wisely decamped to.

Our next time in town, the guy who had booked us met us at the venue seeming quite pleased with himself at having procured our two rooms already, saving us the trouble of checking in. We pounced without delay: might these rooms happen to be at the Benbow, perchance? Sensing there was trouble afoot, his cheery face fell as he admitted that it was so. We informed him sharply that no, we would NOT be staying at the Admiral Benbow, neither tonight nor ever again. As a compromise measure, we WOULD be willing to hold off on starting the show until he got us rooms at an acceptable hotel, so he wouldn’t habe to miss anything.

It’s common knowledge in the rock and roll universe that when two touring bands hit the road together, even if only for a few days, there is a kind of accelerated bonding between the two camps which takes place, formed initially around all the experiences they have in common: days on end eating nothing but horrible food and the inevitable distress that comes along with it; hot, easy women in specific cities; crippling hangovers and how best to deal with ’em; where the closest liquor store might be, and who’s going to have to shag his ass over there after sound check but before downbeat to fetch a jug for the green room, and such-like topics. Included among these topics: the Admiral Benbow, and how incomprehensibly skeevy it was.

I mean, ALL of our peers knew the place; everybody had a horror story, each more grisly than the one before, and not a one of us doubted for a moment that every word was gospel truth. No one that had actually been there doubted, at any rate. Those who had lived to tell the tale KNEW the truth, having survived the trauma, learned the lessons, and earned the scars. The rest? Well, they’d be finding out soon enough, poor things.

Any hard-touring band that’s put enough miles under their asses can tell you that there are indeed places dotted all across the American road atlas which no normal person knows about, nor will ever see. We’ve all spent our share of sweaty, sleepless nights tossing, turning, and scratching our fresh insect bites in hotels and motels Normals wouldn’t even believe exist. But they do. Those squalid dens are indeed out there…WAITING.

Be afraid. Be very afraid.

Now where DID I put the world’s smallest violin, anyway?

My heart, it bleeds.

Waukesha parade suspect Darrell Brooks says he feels ‘dehumanized,’ ‘demonized’ in first jailhouse interview

Frankly, I should certainly think he would at that, and rightly so. He ain’t human, and his actions were nothing short of demonic.

“I just feel like I’m being monster – demonized,” Brooks, 39, said during a brief video visit in Waukesha County Jail – a stone’s throw from where tragedy struck over a week earlier.

What, you ain’t been put down yet, you filthy fucking baboon?

Not even his mother has dropped by, he said. Earlier in the day, she released a statement on behalf of the family decrying Wisconsin’s criminal justice system for failing her son, a longtime felon with a 50-page rap sheet detailing domestic violence, firearms, drugs and other convictions in Wisconsin, according to documents obtained by Fox News Digital.

Well, D’shalon’q’uish’itaa ain’t entirely wrong about that either, although she has things a bit back-asswards, which can’t come as any surprise to anyone with an IQ even a handful of points higher than hers and baby Dindu’s. The Wisconsin “justice” system failed alright—but not these two drains on society, nor any of the other shiftless dregs in dey ‘hoooit. No, D’shalon’q’uish’itaa, the system failed decent, law-abiding, utterly blameless Cheesehead Whypeepuhz, by not locking both you and yo’ Beeeoiiiyeeee* up and throwing away the fucking key after the third (3rd) strike on his rap sheet had been duly logged. Too bad a bunch of people whose only crime was to assume themselves more or less safe from marauding ape-men at a town Christmas parade had to pay the ultimate price for their error.

Still, Brooks said he was “very” close with his mother. He hasn’t spoken to any family since the parade attack but they talked earlier that day, he said. He said he was no longer staying at the address listed in city records as being his residence.

Just over one mile from the jail, Brooks allegedly plowed his red Ford SUV through a throng of paradegoers out taking part an annual holiday celebration that had been canceled last year due to the coronavirus pandemic.

“Allegedly.”

After a few minutes of conversation, shortly after he learned his mother had released a statement on his mental health, Brooks put down the phone and rose from his chair. Two flanking corrections officers shielded him from view, but the sound of what may have been sobbing rattled the receiver.

Good. May this worthless oxygen thief suffer all the tortures of the damned until the frabjous day he is reunited with his Father Below, where the Oweeoweeeoweeeee knob gets cranked up to “eleven” for a thousand years.

* No kidding, now, seriously: I actually made a delivery to a guy earlier tonight whose listed name in the app was exactly, precisely that—only the “B” was not capitalized. The shack, the yard, the whole neighborhood looked exactly as you’d expect it to. Looking back on it now, I’m probably lucky I didn’t get run over or something.

Mini-Mengele done unto death

Julie Kelly tears the Malignant Dwarf a richly-deserved new one.

It’s nearly impossible to select the most maniacal comment made by Dr. Anthony Fauci in his nearly 70-minute interview with “Face the Nation” host Margaret Brennan that aired over the weekend. Joe Biden’s chief coronavirus advisor and miniature global menace spent more than an hour denying responsibility for his documented mistakes, bragging about his self-appointed role as the world’s doctor, hogging credit for the vaccines, and attacking anyone who has challenged his unrivaled ego and track record of failure.

Portraying himself as a victim rather than the cruel, megalomaniacal tyrant he is, Fauci took aim at Donald Trump, Florida Governor Ron DeSantis, Senators Rand Paul (R-Ky.) and Ted Cruz (R-Texas), and Congressional co-sponsors of the “Fire Fauci Act,” which would zero-out the salary of the federal government’s highest-paid bureaucrat and audit Fauci’s correspondence and financial transactions during the pandemic.

While declaring, “I represent science,” Fauci humbly graded the scientific approach to the pandemic an “A+” while incongruently  warning about a “fifth wave” of the virus and explaining away one scientific stumble after another, from useless temperature checks to the need for bi-annual booster shots and randomly claiming the virus spread is “40 to 50 to 60 percent…asymptomatic.” 

Science!

Of all his alarming remarks, however, Fauci’s push to get experimental vaccines for babies and young children to market as quickly as possible is the most depraved. When asked by Brennan, who has spent the better part of two years asking Fauci how to run her life and the lives of 330 million Americans, when he expects vaccines for children between the age of six months and five years to be available, Fauci said he hopes the shots are ready by the beginning of next year. “I would hope it would be in the first quarter because the studies are being done right now on children from two to five and then from six months to two years,” Fauci told Brennan. “I don’t think there’s going to be an issue with efficacy. But when you’re dealing with children, it’s a very sensitive area. And that’s the reason why [it] may take a little bit longer.”

When parents question whether it’s necessary to vaccinate children, Fauci replies that, “yeah, we do want to be vaccinating the children because we want to vaccinate and protect everyone in society, including children.”

Now, that is not the conclusion of a sound man of science, as Fauci again insisted he is in the interview, or even a man of common sense and humanity—that is the raving of a madman.

Good, toothsome stuff so far, all of it. Following the above up with “demon,” “sociopath,” “sadist” and worse, though, serves notice to one and all that Our Jules, bless her savage heart, was only warming up.

In a just world, Anthony Fauci would be giving lengthy television interviews clad in an orange jumpsuit from the confines of a federal penitentiary. Aside from his crimes against humanity, especially the tragic toll on senior citizens and young people, Fauci has clearly committed a number of crimes including lying to Congress and the American people in his official capacity and misappropriating federal funds on ghoulish scientific experiments.

Disagree with the first sentence of that last ‘graph, muchly. No, in a truly just world this half-pint homunculus would be dangling by his scrawny neck from a high gibbet in some remote and lonely wood, his bulging eyes pecked at by ravens, his tangled, dripping entrails ripped loose from his flabby gut to sway gently with the midnight breeze, there to be the plaything of bobcats happily batting away at the rancid, gory goo with razor-sharp claws. Squadrons of buzzards would tear his putrefying flesh into bloody gobbets for their dining pleasure, swarms of blackflies the only crown ever to adorn this bargain-basement Messiah’s empty head—thorns being well above the station of such a lowly, miserable villein as he.

After all that, Fauxci’s unlamented corpus would, ideally, be left to hang in disgrace for a full month at minimum, speedily shrinking beyond its already laughably-diminutive stature due to the parallel ravages of carrion-beasts and the natural processes of decomposition—the noisome gases repeatedly belched forth in a cannonade of horror and shame; the fleshly shroud peeling back to commend the ghastly, undersized skeleton to the attentions of beasts inclined to gnaw and worry at such; whatever small dignity this sad, no-account wretch somehow managed to scrape up and retain over the course of a misspent existence suddenly collapsing into a vague, barely-perceptible feeling of shame—the kind that tugs weakly at a better man’s sleeve as he passes by, causing him not to slow down so as to either pay heed or offer respect for the departed, but to speed his pace, his departure made with a brief flash of mild annoyance at the useless distraction caused by one entirely unworthy of his, or anyone else’s, consideration.

Then, after the Animal Kingdom and nature’s elemental fury had all consumed their fill, the tattered, stinking remainders would be cut down and unceremoniously kicked into some unknown and unvisited crevasse or ravine, there to be reunited at long last with Mother Earth, whether She will or She nil—nobody asked what Her preference might be, I suspect—in the fullness of time to be erased from all memory of this mortal coil, all his futile works and flights if egotistical fancy gone and most definitely forgotten as well.

Now THAT, I think, is more like it. As I said the other night: why this contemptible gnome, this pluperfect Grey Man of Government, hasn’t been the recipient of some long-distance rifle-round lurvs way before now is beyond my ken. It’s baffling, is what it is, and I can see no explanation for it.

Omicron-O-Mighty!

Dick with ears skeets off yet again.

BRENNAN: Senator Cruz told the attorney general you should be prosecuted.

FAUCI: Yeah. I have to laugh at that. I should be prosecuted? What happened on Jan. 6, senator?

BRENNAN: Do you think that this is about making you a scapegoat to deflect–

DR. FAUCI: Of course-

BRENNAN: –From President Trump?

FAUCI: Of course, you have to be asleep not to figure that one out.

BRENNAN: Well, there are a lot of Republican senators taking aim at this. I mean–

FAUCI: That’s OK, I’m just going to do my job and I’m going to be saving lives and they’re going to be lying.

It is a tragic and embarrassing statement about the American people and their commitment to their own Constitutional rights, to liberty itself, that “Dr” Anthony “Mengele The Lesser” Fauxci’s brain-pan wasn’t ventilated via long-distance .308Win or .338 Lapua HVAC service years ago. I can think of no good excuse Americans might possibly come up with to explain it. Kunstler expounds further on the poisonous little gnome.

Does it finally look like Dr. Anthony Fauci is trying to carry out an assisted suicide of the United States? On the Sunday Morning TV chat circuit, the White House Covid-19 czar (a.k.a. The Science) declared that the new Omicron variant is “a clarion call” to get people vaccinated. Is that so, Dr. Fauci? Considering how well your “vaccines” work? And how many people have been maimed and killed by their side-effects? (More than all other vaccines combined over the past thirty years.) And how you knavishly outlawed effective and cheap early treatment protocols that would have put Covid-19 down by June of 2020 (and saved half-a-million lives). The Science also called on Sunday for the general re-masking of the public and averred to the possibility of more lockdowns ahead. And just at Christmas-time, you understand. What a nose this rascal has for politics!

Senator Ted Cruz (TX) called for the Department of Justice to prosecute The Science for lying to Congress, which The Science smugly laughed off, perhaps knowing that his world-beating, maliciously incompetent leadership in the Coronavirus saga would end up incriminating and delegitimizing the entire corrupt, Pharma-captured US public health bureaucracy, with collateral damage everywhere else in government — and therefore that no authority in the land would dare to swear him under oath in a court-of-law. Or so he may think for now.

Meanwhile, Virologist Barry Schoub, Chairman of South Africa’s Ministerial Advisory Committee on COVID-19 Vaccines, declared the new Omicron Coronavirus “mild.” Could it be that the whole hoary Covid-19 narrative is falling apart now? Could Dr. Fauci and his sleazy associates in the Bill and Melinda Gates Foundation, the WHO, the Big Pharma C-suites, the grifting university research labs, the despicable social media combine, and yet more sinister outfits such as the CIA and the WEF — might this unholy host of villains and fixers find themselves on-the-run? And might Omicron represent for them some final grasp at the last straw of narrative control?

It’s pretty clear that citizens of the liberal democracies are fed up with being pushed around, jabbed, driven out of business, lied-to, gaslighted, and deprived of their livelihoods. They increasingly can’t believe any of the bullshit issued by the medical establishment and its political hand-maidens, and why should they? The countries with the highest vaccination rates also happen to be the ones with the highest Covid cases. Countries with low vaccination rates and widespread use of early treatment with common drugs have low Covid cases. Two weeks after Japan okayed the use of Ivermectin in mid-November of this year, cases fell from a big surge down to near zero. What part of that is complicated?

The Covid-19 mindfuck worked to distract the country’s attention from the activities of characters like Lawfare avatar Marc Elias of the DNC’s Perkins Coie law firm and Marc Zuckerberg of Facebook, going all around the swing states in 2020 with sacks full of money, arranging election procedures such as mass mail-in voting with no voter ID to facilitate the victory of the obviously non compos mentis empty shell of “Joe Biden”. That did work. Just what the country needed, too, at this perilous moment of history: a fake head-of-state. The people mostly played along for two years until very lately, seeing at last how they have been robbed of their health, their wealth, their future, and very likely their children’s futures. Watch them now as they turn on the ones who made all that happen.

T’is a consummation devoutly to be wished. We’ll see, I suppose. Myself, I’m still up and then down on that prospect, and never have been anything like as confident as James is even on my best day. I’m still seeing FAR too many morons driving alone in their cars fully face-diapered up every day to be overly optimistic about it. One thing I AM absolutely certain of: No amount of Congressional “investigations,” blue-ribbon panels, and/or calls for the DoJ to “DO something!!!” are going to shift Herr Doktor Fauxci one centimeter closer to his final exit from government “service.”

No, the last, best opportunity to get rid of the mass-murdering sumbitch via nonviolent means was Trump’s, who as President could quite easily have fired the arrogant, loathsome rectal polyp long ago, and goddamned well should have too. For whatever inexplicable reason, though, Orange Man Bad didn’t get around to something that certainly should have been amongst the top five items on January 21st, 2016’s List Of Things I MUST DO As President Before Lunch Today, and…well, that’s that, really. Nobody better be wasting time or effort hoping Shits ‘N’ Giggles are gonna do it, nor whoever the next three or eight TPTB-approved Pretend Presidents end up being, either. It’s another of those jobs that, if they truly want it done, Real Americans are just going to have to roll up their sleeves—so to speak—and do it themselves.

Update! In New Zealand, in Australia, in the UK, in Austria, in the FUSA, there is a simple, self-evident truth that applies across the entire world: No national populace has ever complied its way out of tyranny.

Yesterday the Prime Minister, Jacinda Ardern, announced her infantile traffic light system, which will govern everything you can and can’t do as decided by the bureaucrats in Wellington.

It is as illogical as it is childish. For example “Green is when COVID-19 is across New Zealand, including sporadic imported cases. Community transmission is limited and COVID-19 hospitalisations will be at a manageable level. The health system will be ready to respond, including primary care, public health, and hospitals.”

That is like MOST OF NZ! Yet she’s plunged most of the country into Orange and the rest into Red.

Apparently, the draconian restrictions placed on the unvaxxed is to keep us all safe from the vaxxed…I’m not kidding. The lack of joined-up thinking is getting to ridiculous proportions.

If you are still unvaxxed at this point in time you aren’t going to get vaxxed. We’ve made our choice, we don’t need protection from anyone or anything. This is a nanny state writ large.

Meanwhile, more evidence has been revealed that shows the “protection” the vaccines supposedly impart to the population is a mirage, or a sham.

This ends when enough of you stop playing their stupid games. While you still think you can comply your way out of tyranny the silly games with silly prizes will just keep on coming.

The tyrant is drunk on the power she’s got. She isn’t going to let it go easily. She most certainly won’t let it go by you complying with the demands.

But the unvaxxed now have another tool in their kitbag. The government has declared us Untermenschen. Grant Robertson is suggesting that if you are unvaxxed or if your business doesn’t use their rules then you will no longer be able to access government assistance.

So the unvaxxed should cease paying tax and their businesses should cease paying tax. We have been frozen out of society, so we should cease to contribute to the society that is oppressing us.

Lock us out, ostracise us, take our freedoms, send us underground. This is a classic example of how people become radicalised. And this is all on Jacinda Ardern. She’s created divisions and hate when there was none before.

The tyrant must be deposed. I have no idea yet how that happens, but happen it must.

Oh, I think you do have an idea, actually. We ALL know full well “how that happens”; it’s never been any big secret, there’s no mystery to it all. There has only ever been just the one way to do it, and anyone with even a passing knowledge of history knows precisely what that is. While we’re at it, let’s be perfectly clear on an important distinction: excepting rare instances under unusual circumstances, throwing off a despotic government isn’t something that just “happens.” Rather, it is an extremely dangerous, drawn-out, and arduous process, requiring tremendous sacrifice of those valiant souls who actively and consciously undertake to DO it.

Liberation from tyranny does not HAPPEN—passively, spontaneously, all unlooked-for and out of the blue. Revolution, to call it by its proper name, is DONE—actively, purposefully, only after a long train of ever-escalating abuses and usurpations has finally outstripped the willingness or ability of the abused to endure more of it. My own internal back-and-forth over when, or even whether, over-entitled, risk-phobic Kens and Karens in what used to be America might get fed up enough to hoist the black flag and start cutting throats aside, make no mistake: EVERY national population has its limit, and WILL surely revolt if its would-be rulers exceed it, whether from malice, overconfidence, or fateful inattentiveness.

Present-day dimestore dictators such as Fauxci and the rest of his vile ilk do themselves no favor when they forget or ignore a certain truism, constant and reliable enough to amount to a mathematical equation of sorts:

What this is doing is encouraging extremism. It will, if it continues, end in bloodshed. Of either the refuseniks, or the tyrant enablers. A wise ruler would step back now.

Because the more one oppresses, the harsher will you be treated.

Yep. T’was ever thus, and ever will be. Sadly, tragically even, wise rulers seem to be in decidedly short supply nowadays. But sooner or later, in one way or another, they will learn. ALL will learn.

Again.

(Via WRSA)

Courting the ban-hammer

A bit of background will be needed on this one, folks. To wit:

Way back when Twitter first got cranked up, I was persuaded by a lovely and charming lady friend from the halcyon days when we were both working at the venerable and now-defunct Cheap Jack’s vintage clothing store on Broadway near Union Square—Heather by name, now residing in northern Califruitopia a stone’s throw from Sacramento, or she was last I heard anyways—to procure myself both a Twatter and a LinkedIn account, the better for us to keep in touch with. Never once have I bothered using either of them, although naturally I still receive multiple annoying e-mails from them every single damned day—along with same-same from Imgur, which outfit to my sure and certain knowledge I have never signed up for at all.

That said, I have now been driven to Tweet my first Tweet.


Wooden tit be awesome if my very first Twat wound up getting me banned for life? I think so. More from GP.

A Massachusetts liberal activist visiting his parents in Merrimack, New Hampshire over the Thanksgiving holiday had a meltdown over a gun store’s window display that features posters criticizing Joe Biden, Dianne Feinstein and Anthony Fauci, calling the display a “call to violence.” Nothing in the display explicitly or implicitly calls for violence. Apparently however, exercising First and Second Amendment rights is seen as a call to violence by this liberal activist.

Ben Jackson, a writer and producer who works with actress Alyssa Milano on her Sorry Not Sorry podcast, posted a photo of the store, 619DW Guns & Ammo, with the statement, “This is the gun shop in my parents town. Don’t fucking tell me this isn’t a call to violence. Don’t tell me gun culture isn’t sick to its very core. #NoRA #MerrimackNH #NHPolitics”

Jackson was further triggered by Guns & Ammo’s requirement that patron not wear masks in the store, posting a photo a sign in the door that reads, “Stop & Read: We Draw Guns on Masked Visitors – Take Your Mask Off before Entering.”

This is not the first time 619DW Gun & Ammo triggered liberals over their window display. A poster of Barack Obama captioned “Firearms Salesman of the Year” drew complaints in 2013.

Sounds like my kind of gun store. In my inaugural Twat, unfortunately, I totes forgot to include the appropriate “hashtags,” which are apparently de rigeur in that little demi-monde, I guess: #ComeAndTakeThem, #AnyTimeYouFeelFroggy, #CryMeARiverShitlibs, #BulletsFirst.

And with that, I hereby announce my permanent retirement from Twatter. Thanks so much, everyone, you’ve been a wonderful audience.

Careful what you wish for, bright boy

The absolute worst thing that could possibly happen to this witless proto-simian and his fellow sooties is to be right about this.

I realize that maf’s be harr-ud ‘n’ shit for ‘hood apes like yo’seff, but if I was you I’d go hunt up a Whypeepuh to axe him about how the raw numbers might stack up for y’all in any prospective “race war.” Believe me, it ain’t pretty for your side. Even allowing for a huge percentage of urban-shitlib sobsisters turning traitor against Team Whitey™ to miscegenate themselves on over to Team Mandingo™ instead, it will take no more than, oh, about five-ten minutes for us to obliterate every least trace that you shiftless numbskulls were ever even here at all.

Less, actually, what with the aforementioned defectors of Team Coalburner™ draping themselves over your shoulders, lying in the dirt pawing desperately at your legs, drooling and sighing in orgasmic anticipation all the while like they no doubt will be.

So yeah, you badasses just go on and say the word anytime you think you’re ready to brang it. Us White Foke™ will be over here waiting quietly, pondering the wisdom expressed by this classic in the meanwhiles:

You think you want a race war? Pray God we never decide to give you one.

So you wanna play in the streets, do ya?

Best make it count for something, then.

We’ve told people, multiple times, not to play in the street. But they were soooooo much smarter than we were. Right up until the ambush was sprung, and the whole idea blew up in their faces.

And then they got played again, at the Capitol last January, just to drive the point well home.

If you’re not going out to play with the express intention of racking up a body count in the mid four figures, you shouldn’t be going out to play in the streets at all.

I’d say that’s about where we’re at, yeah. We didn’t come voluntarily, perhaps, and aren’t in the least happy about having been dragged to this place. Which objections, plus more besides, have been rendered entirely moot by current circumstances. The one and only thing that matters at this point is seeing to it, for sure and certain, that the ones who brought us here pay for their miscalculation, in fullest measure, so that they don’t ever make the same mistake again.

Nothing you seek to win is up for grabs there, and like this verdict, when the dust settles, you’ll be eating a 20-foot-long party sub sh*t sandwich. Every last bite of it.

If you couldn’t figure out better uses for $26M, you’re definitely not bright enough for what’s coming. There’s a million things you should be doing, and not one single one of them is “go to a protest march”. Which same haven’t worked once, since ever.

In a better, non-dysfunctional country protest marches and such might be useful—a country, say, in which the consent of the governed mattered a whit; in which the nation’s elected “leaders” cared one iota about the opinions and desires of the citizenry; a country whose national elections were anything more than pure theater; a country in which the words “public servant” hadn’t become bitter satire, an obscenity.

Alas, this is NOT that country.

The key bit, the crucial bit: Nothing you seek to win is up for grabs there. In the properly-governed Constitutional republic envisioned by our Founders, all the things a free citizen might “seek” from his central government would have remained attainable via the institutions and processes established for the purpose: honest elections; petition for redress of grievances by lobbying or direct contact with one’s Congressional representative(s); lawsuit; even public protest when/if it came down to that. The rise of our present-day ProPol Ruling Class would never have been allowed to happen, nor would men of integrity, duly sworn to promote and preserve the interests of those who voted them into office, have dared to consider the rights and liberties of their constituents to be “up for grabs,” in ugly contrast to the vile reprobates who molest and abuse us today.

Again, this is NOT that country. Three of the famous Four Boxes have failed utterly and are now of no further use to us, leaving just the one to work with—the last desperate resort of men who would live in the ennobling glow provided by the Lamp of Liberty rather than under Tyranny’s grim, suffocating shadow. Which brings us all right back ’round to those “million things we should be doing” again, now don’t it?

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CF Glossary

ProPol: Professional Politician

Vichy GOPe: Putative "Republicans" who talk a great game but never can seem to find a hill they consider worth dying on; Quislings, Petains, Benedicts, backstabbers, fake phony frauds

Fake Phony Fraud(s), S'faccim: two excellent descriptors coined by the late great WABC host Bob Grant which are interchangeable, both meaning as they do pretty much the same thing

Mordor On The Potomac: Washington, DC

The Enemy: shitlibs, Progtards, Leftards, Swamp critters, et al ad nauseum

Burn, Loot, Murder: what the misleading acronym BLM really stands for

pAntiFa: an alternative spelling of "fascist scum"

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