Catchall for whatever doesn’t fit elsewhere
GIVE TIL IT HURTS!
Okay, this here is just too cool for school.
My ongoing war with the HOA may be about to reach a new, critical phase. https://t.co/POQVkf25hJ
— Sean T at RCP (@SeanTrende)
Gonna have to find some way to come up with a cpl-three thou, I’m thinking. And I mean FAST, too.
(Via Sarah Hoyt)
Moar Mark Steyn, men!
Because they made the mistake of sabotaging his escalator and then his prompter, the President of the United States opened up a supersized can of geopolitical whup-ass on the UN General Assembly this week, pithily summarised by many headline-writers thus:
Trump’s middle finger to the UN: ‘Your countries are going to hell’
In fairness, this insight was mainly directed at America’s “allies” in Europe. The particular hell they are going to will not be news to those who’ve swung by this shingle over the last twenty-three years, but I thought it might be worth doing a brisk tour d’horizon of where we’re at:
Follows, a tour de farce of some of the more farcical nation-states currently blighting this beleaguered blue marble, such as…oh, go on, take a wild guess…
*AFRICA
In 1900 the population of Africa was 140 million. That’s why it was possible for one continent to be entirely owned by another – Europe – and why a mere five dozen British civil servants could until 1956 govern the whole of the Sudan, reasonably well and better than any time since.
Today the population of African is one-and-a-half billion. In fact, the continent now adds the equivalent of its total 1900 population – 140 million – every four years. In 2020 Africa had 1.38 billion people; in 2025 1.55 billion people. By 2050 the UN projects another billion Africans. By 2070 – or Thatcher/Reagan to now – the world will have five billion (and falling) Asians, over three billion (and rising) Africans, and Europe and the Americas will be a bit of loose pocket change rattling around between those very round numbers.
It is possible, of course, that those numbers will not come to pass. A significant percentage of those three billion might decide to head to almost any Libyan port delivered by Obama, Cameron and Hollande into the hands of the jihad boys and procure passage on a northbound ship to be ushered by a German or Scandinavian “refugee” “charity” into an Italian port.
As with all things, we did this to ourselves: Western medicine eliminated childhood mortality in the most dysfunctional and corrupt countries on earth, thereby incentivisng millions (billions?) to head for a four-star country-house hotel in England. But, as it is, almost all population growth across the planet right now is coming from sub-Saharan Africa and the wackier Islamic redoubts. Would you stay in Chad when your cellphone is full of EU politicians insisting that “Diversity is our strength”?
To put it at its mildest, when do the citizens of countries “going to hell” at least rouse themselves to boo the cobwebbed clichés?
What more might one say about the Dark Continent, really? Leaving that insuperable mess aside, we’ll just avert our eyes as we shuffle on off to another Earthly garden spot, namely:
*THE MIDDLE EAST
I don’t write much about “Palestine” mainly because I haven’t had a new thought on the subject in a quarter-century. But forget, for a moment, the Jews: I understand many people find Jews all a bit Jewy and agree with that Brit Wanker Copper that it’s unacceptably provocative to have Jews strolling the streets looking “openly Jewish”. So set aside your antipathy to the Chosen; it is not in your interest to have another Islamic krappistan to add to the dozens out there.
There are fifty-seven members of the Organisation of Islamic Co-Operation; and, unlike the Commonwealth, at the UN they all vote as a bloc. So far Europe’s only member is Albania, but, given that over ten per cent of Albanian males are now resident in England it can only be a matter of time before the UK applies for “associate membership”. As it is, J D Vance has already suggested that His Majesty’s Dominions and the Continental powers are recognising “Palestine” only for domestic demographic reasons. Why would that surprise anyone? It’s in America Alone, for cryin’ out loud – although admittedly I wrote that when JD was in junior high.
Was “President” Mahmoud Abbas, now in the twenty-first year of his five-year presidential term, grateful for “recognition” by every Ukrainian rent-boy’s favourite bottom? No. He immediately demanded Sir Keir pay him two trillion dollars in reparations for Britain’s administration of its UN mandate for Palestine. The UK is broke but I suppose it could find the money if it, say, downgraded its Albanian sex-traffickers to three-star hotels.
But all “President” Abbas would do is sluice it to his sons, who, after a lifetime’s devotion to “Palestinian” public service are now among the richest men on the planet, thanks to USAid and its Euro-equivalents.
Abbas and the sewer he presides over are the problem not the solution. If conjuring into being such a “state” – with embassies in London, Paris and beyond – is the best we can do at this stage in the Great Game, our civilisation deserves to die.
Can’t quite make out how, for all his perception and analytical skills, Mark nonetheless managed to let the Tribe primarily responsible for the woes of the ME evade his notice here; probably another ((((****JooJooJJooJOOOOO!!!****)))) plot, I suppose.
Next, Steyn takes a quick, hard swipe at China before getting around to the main event.
*THE UNITED STATES
America’s 1950 moment is drawing to a close. If it ends with every US “ally” going off the cliff and the BRICS crowd collapsing the dollar, its three-quarter-century dominance is unlikely to be regarded by posterity as a grand success. Both scenarios are quite likely: for everyone accept the US and its client states, the inauguration of the post-dollar world is simply a matter of agreeing the timing. As for going off the cliff, whether one can remain a First World society of 400 or 500 million is an interesting question, but you’re severely worsening the odds with all the diversity wankerama.
To be sure, Donald Trump has spent the last nine months demonstrating an energy in the executive unimaginable in France or Germany, Canada or Australia. However, he is stymied at every turn by the industrial-scale hollowing out of every institution from your local kindergarten to the Pentagon. A third-rate politicised judiciary – with an extraordinary number of foreign-born judges whose English comprehension does not apparently extend to the separation of powers – is confident it can stall the President’s drive and determination until the next election.
Furthermore, the United States is the fons et origo of every madness afflicting the core west, starting with mass trannification. Millions of apparently sane people, including your children’s teachers and your hospital management (and, in Minnesota, your governor), purport to believe that this is as much of a woman as the late Claudia Cardinale.
Lots more yet to come, folks. This being Mark Steyn, you won’t want to miss a single word of it, I’m sure.
Update! In the excerpt above, Steyn casually flays those who “purport to believe that this is etc etc,” with a link appended to “this” which I didn’t transcribe, as per usual. I just went and checked out said link, and great Googly Moogly! I figgered I knew what I’d find there, but as it turns out it was even worse than I dared imagine.
OOF! Also, ICK! And for good measure, YIKES!!!
Imagine, if you will, being a pretty teenage girl intent on zipping into the Ladies’’ for a quick, much-needed wee before dashing off to Principles Of Marxism class, only to descry that fucking gargoyle leering at you from the doorway of one of the stalls, just before he slams you bodily to the floor, tears off all your clothes, and rapes you.
Imagine, if you will, this creep’s rancid BO; the dank, greasy feel of that filthy t-shirt; his revolting cigarette-cheap-beer-and-Cool-Ranch-Doritos breath; the nose hair-singing piss/shit/jizz/scrote-sweat reek wafting up from his grayish-yellow tighty-whiteys as he slithers out of his raggedy Chinese Levis knockoffs; his rough, encrusted tongue crawling lIzard-like over your neck, face, and tightly-clamped lips.
Meanwhile, you thrash your head furiously from side to side, eyelids squeezed shut as if not seeing might offer some protection from feeling.. Your mind wails over and over that NO, NO, NO, THIS ISN’T REALLY HAPPENING TO ME, THIS CANT BE HAPPENING!!! Just when you notice one of the brute’s hands is insinuating itself into your clean, thick, curly hair, the other one is pinching your now-exposed left nipple roughly, painfully.
I say again: YIKES!!!
Always remember, it’s sickos like the scrofulous weirdo depicted above that shitlibs will defend to their dying breath as perfectly normal, in fact admirable and praiseworthy. Moreover, such creatures should be given full and unfettered access to your young sons and daughters to abuse, terrorize, and harm them in whatever fashion they deem fit.
If you haven’t figured it out already, there’s no time like the present: the REAL problem here isn’t so much the predatory perverts themselves but the vile and soulless shitlibs backing them. Do away with the latter and the former will soon subside back into the shadows of obscurity, oblivion, and disapprobation which had been their lot until fairly recently.
Starving these freaks of the instant celebrity, the exaltation, the manufactured glamor, and the societal and cultural breathing room provided them by the Conniving Left will do the trick right enough. After all, such things are to officially-designated Victim Class crumbums as nutrient-rich soil, water, and proper sunshine are to green plants.
Okay, this one’s just too dang weird.
After Days of Claiming Trump was Dead, Leftists Get a Nasty Shock
President Donald Trump walked out of the White House on Saturday morning along with his granddaughter Kai and got into a vehicle to head for Sterling, Virginia, for a few rounds of golf. This would have been an utterly insignificant bit of information were it not for the fact that Trump hadn’t been seen in public since his cabinet meeting on Tuesday. While he was out of sight, an increasing number of leftists began crowing gleefully that the president must be dead. Their disappointment on Saturday morning must have been overpowering, as the hatred they showed for the president and his supporters was truly shocking in its intensity. The party of compassion? Hardly. There are no more hateful people than leftists.Overexcited leftists began claiming that Trump was mortally ill several days ago, when a photo emerged of Trump with a large bruise on his right hand, similar to one that was spotted on Queen Elizabeth’s hand just days before she died. White House press secretary Karoline Leavitt explained Monday that the bruise was the result of Trump shaking hands with multiple people every day, combined with the effects of the aspirin he regularly takes.
This wasn’t enough, however, for the far, far-left Huffington Post, which dismissed what Leavitt said as a “grandiose explanation” and opined, without evidence, that “the discoloration on the back of his left hand would seemingly be more difficult to explain away by handshake.” The hand-bruise controversy, however, was nothing compared to the left’s hysterical joy at not seeing Trump around for a few days.
The New York Post reported Saturday that “online rumors of President Trump’s demise were greatly exaggerated — much to the dismay of creepy leftist critics.” The rumors started swirling “on Friday, when the White House released a blank schedule with no public events for the president during Labor Day weekend.” Old Joe Biden took almost four years off while he was pretending to be president and the media kept insisting that he was sharp as a tack as long as there weren’t any cameras around to capture the moment, but Trump takes a few days off, or at least out of sight, and the left goes nuts. (Yes, indeed, they were already nuts.)
I’m going to have to amend my earlier assessment—this ain’t just weird, it’s downright bizarre.
Such a country in the city.
Coulterville is on Hwy 49 about an hour and 15 minutes to the east of my place in Riverbank City of Action.
I had a placer claim there on Maxwell Creek just off of Dogtown Road south of town back around 1985 or so. I paid 500 bucks for the claim and figured to do pretty good because at least once a year a recreational panner would find a decent nugget in Maxwell Creek right in the middle of town. The creek is a proven gold producer.
What I didn’t know was the creek that far up by my claim dried up during the summer and fall months, leaving me about 4 months out of the year with enough water to work the claim. The other 8 months it was infested with rattlesnakes and those vicious little brown Mexican scorpions.
It took me 2 fucking years to make my $500 back, and this is when gold was running about 300 bucks an ounce. Back then I figured I needed to make 10 bucks an hour to make it worth my while because that was my average wage at the ammo plant, but I kept putting time into that claim because I just knew in my heart I was going to strike it rich. Haha, fooled me. As soon as I recovered my investment, I pulled my claim markers down and abandoned the claim. It just wasn’t worth my time and effort.
About 10 or 15 years later I was in the area and stopped in at one of the small mining/tourist shops in town. I knew the owner fairly well because he also sold local history books, and he told me that some kid on his very first prospecting trip found a 7 ounce nugget not a hundred yards from my old claim a couple months prior. He even showed me a picture of the nugget to rub it in, the asshole.
A fascinating true-life story from Ken Layne, a fascinating dude who seems to have led a pretty darned fascinating life. There’s more yet, of which you should read the all.
Turns out there is one. No, really.
It was a frost-bitten day in late January this year. On the Interstate 91 in Vermont, some 15 kilometres from the Canadian border, US border agents pulled over a blue Toyota Prius.
Law enforcement had been tracking the Prius’s two occupants, 21-year-old Teresa ‘Milo’ Youngblut and 26-year-old Felix ‘Ophelia’ Bauckholt for a couple of days. A hotel employee had raised suspicions about the pair after seeing them both wearing black combat clothes and seeing Youngblut carrying a gun. But beyond that, the agents knew little more about them.
The Prius came to a stop. Youngblut stepped out of the car. And then all hell broke loose. Youngblut began shooting, while Bauckholt also reached for a gun. In the ensuing firefight, border agent David Maland was killed, as was Bauckholt. Youngblut herself was eventually arrested.
The police soon discovered that the bloody confrontation near the Canadian border was part of something bigger. They were holding only the outermost threads of a strange and bloody web involving a small, bizarre group known as the Zizians.
The Zizians – named after their unofficial founder, 34-year-old Jack Amadeus ‘Ziz’ LaSota – had already gained a degree of notoriety over two years earlier. In November 2022, at a trailer park in Vallejo, California, a resident received an early-morning knock on his door. It was his landlord, Curtis Lind. ‘I’m dying’, the 80-year-old Lind said as he collapsed through the door, a katana sword protruding from his body. He was missing an eye and blood was ‘squirting’ from multiple stab wounds. Lind’s tenant called the emergency services and, miraculously, he survived this attack.
Lind claimed he had been attacked by a group of youngish people – Alexander ‘Somni’ Leatham, Tessa ‘Suri Dao’ Berns and Amir ‘Emma’ Borhanian – living on one of Lind’s trailer lots since early 2020. Neighbours had long referred to the group as ‘the cult’, on account of their bizarre behaviour. They were all trans, strolled around the site naked, carried weapons and staunchly refused to eat anything non-vegan.
Hooooo-KAY, then. Incredible as it may seem, the story gets even more bizarre from there. No, really.
Update! Has “trans” hit a turning point?
The Day the Trans Movement ‘Jumped the Shark’
The Minnesota school shooting was shocking and appalling. The perpetrator (who doesn’t deserve to be named — “deadname,” new name, or otherwise) was seemingly motivated by a litany of leftwing grievances against Christians (Catholics), President Trump, Israel, and other right-of-center bogeymen. Included in the madman’s notebook was a “defend equality” sticker with an LGBTQIA flag forebodingly placed over a gun.It also marked a turning point in how the trans community is perceived by the rest of the country.
For most of the last decade, liberal activists weaponized “trans rights,” using it as a club to bash traditional gender roles, mock religion, and attack the so-called patriarchy. (Indeed, the Minnesota shooter used images of Jesus as target practice.) For liberals, it was less about what trans want — and all about how their pain could be exploited for political gain. So they pushed… and pushed… and pushed.
But they forgot that the PR pendulum always swings back.
It only takes one big moment to crystalize a shift in public sentiment — a landmark, high-profile event that captures how much we’ve “jumped the shark.”
Last week in Minnesota, that’s exactly what happened. The shocking visuals have permanently changed how Americans see trans people: Instead of being perceived as vulnerable, they’re now seen as violent.
As well they should be, looks like. For example:
Horrific as it is, that list, of course, is by no stretch all-inclusive.
Deep Dive: Since 2020 Roughly 40% of Successful and Would-Be School Shooters Were Trans or Trans-Suspected, Data Shows
In the wake of the shooting at the Annunciation Catholic Church School in Minneapolis on Wednesday, we’re confronted with an uncomfortable but inevitable question: Is there some sort of correlation between transgenderism and mass school shootings?This is, after all, the second time a transgender shooter has claimed lives at a Christian institution in about two years. This time, Robin Westman — born Robert — killed two and injured 17 more before killing himself. In 2023, in the Covenant School shooting, Audrey Elizabeth Hale — who identified as Aiden Hale — killed six and injured two.
And then there’s these:
In 2019, one of the two perpetrators at the STEM School Highlands Ranch identified as transgendered. Maya (Alec) McKinney was one of the two Colorado students charged and convicted in the shooting that killed four. McKinney, who was a juvenile at the time of the shooting, was sentenced as an adult and faced a mandatory sentence of life in prison. Born as a female, but identifying as a male, few media outlets — except CBS were willing to report that she was transgendered. Most legacy media like ABC refused to acknowledge the transgender identity of the shooter in their reports at her sentencing — choosing instead to describe the shooter as “Alec” instead of her given name.
The year before, in 2018, a few media outlets reported that a transgendered individual fatally shot three people and injured three others at a Maryland Rite Aid warehouse. The Harford County Sheriff’s Office revealed the identity of the shooter as Snochia Moseley, age 26, as being a “transgender African American of Baltimore County who was a temporary worker at the facility.” Moseley shot herself in the head and later died of her wounds at the hospital. But, of course, CNN was unable to be straightforward in its coverage of the event and instead, published an article with the headline: “Why Maryland’s Shooter’s Gender is so Confounding.” Claiming that since most mass shooters are male, it was puzzling why Snochia could have done such a thing.
The transgender link is clear in each of these shootings. Yet, few in the media or the public will acknowledge this. And when there is a shooting in which the perpetrator’s gender is ambiguous, everyone seems to be afraid to even ask questions about their gender identity. This occurred following the Houston megachurch shooting in 2024 when a shooter was identified as transgender by some conservative media outlets, but the Houston police contradicted those reports by confirming that the shooter, Genesse Moreno, was indeed a woman and did not identify as transgender — even though she used a male alias and called herself “Jeffrey.”
And even this is just a drop in the bucket. Gee, what a shock, that deeply disturbed people afflicted by serious delusions regarding their gender might also be subject to other forms of mental disorder, such as a penchant for violence.
Kevin Kinkead positively unloads on Springsteen and Born To Run. Not being a fan of either of those, I just about killed myself laughing at this masterpiece.
Happy 50th Anniversary to Bruce Springsteen’s “Born to Run,” One of the Worst Albums Ever Recorded
There is so much to hate about this album, it’s hard to know where to start. Thunder Road is the opener, and it begins with Bruce mumbling over over piano and harmonica for 90 seconds before someone mercifully hits a drum. Then there’s Tenth Avenue Freeze-Out, which shows some promise at times, but is really more of a soul song than a rock song. The album finally starts to display some balls with the underrated third track, Night, which at least has some tempo to it. It only lasts about three minutes though, then we’re slowing it down with Backstreets, featuring more piano wankery, but at least there’s a guitar solo at the 3:33 mark. Unfortunately it’s only 19 seconds long, but better than nothing. Then you’ve got the overrated title track, which builds but never really goes anywhere, bookending two side B filler tracks with Jungleland salvaging a D+ album grade.The other thing is that Bruce can’t sing, which makes it tough to get into the music itself, which isn’t very good to begin with.
I think the thing that offends me in particular about Springsteen is that those of you who are 50+ got to experience the height of the 1970s music scene, when so many great bands were making so much great music. Even in 1975 alone, when Born to Run came out, Zeppelin released Physical Graffiti, Queen released A Night at the Opera, and Pink Floyd released Wish You Were Here. Aerosmith dropped Toys in the Attic and Black Sabbath was on to Sabotage. You had prime ZZ Top and Deep Purple and David Bowie and Fleetwood Mac and all of that, and your favorite artist was BRUCE? For who? For what! We millennials would have killed to be alive during that era. Imagine wasting it listening to The Boss mumble on about his friend being a good baseball player in high school. Listening to Bruce in the 1970s would have been like wasting the 90s listening to Dave Matthews Band (shout out to that one reader who has seen Dave 47 times in Camden).
If you’d like to hear more Bruce slander, I recommended our Pulitzer-winning column from a few years back, titled Someone has to Say it: Bruce Springsteen Totally Stinks.
Oh, you’d just better believe I’m a-gonna be checking that one out right away.
Houston, she has a problem—a BIIIIIG problem. In fact, we all do…worse, when you get right down to it it’s the same damned problem.
An AWFL Made a Post About Trump’s Crime Crackdown, and It Broke the Internet
The most delusional, destructive demographic on the planet has struck again. No, I’m not talking about Islamic terrorists or Chinese communists. I’m talking about affluent, white, female liberals.In the wake of President Donald Trump’s crime crackdown, which is reportedly heading to Chicago next, an absolute unit of an AWFL stepped forth to deliver a post that broke the internet. Her name is Jill Ciminillo, and she wants you to know that she was carjacked in Chicago. Not only that, but she had her arm broken by the criminals who violently attacked her. In fact, she posted pictures of her bruising to prove it, along with a smiling selfie of her cast.
Through all the pain and turmoil, she was not deterred. Her total hatred of Donald Trump shone through, as she announced she’d rather be carjacked and beaten than have the president help stop crime in her city. Jill Ciminillo, the alpha AWFL, had spoken, and the internet broke.
As ratios go, I’m not sure I’ve ever seen one as bad as this. She eventually deleted her post, but not before it garnered over 18,000 replies. By then, the damage was done, and the internet had officially been broken.
Bonch embeds the TiQ (Tweet in Question) which features Mz CrayCray McNutjob’s rant along with a still of her wrecked arm, and it’s a laff riot.
Just in cause you thought that psychotic freak out was a unique occasion, a one-and-done—nope, not hardly, it’s a pretty regular thing.
Portland’s Screeching ‘Dog Park Karen’ Has Been ‘Off the Leash’ Before — and No, She’s Not Amy Schumer
As you may have suspected after reading about Dog Park Karen—who wildly menaced a man over his “pure-bred” dogs in a Portland dog park—we learn that this isn’t the first time this Amy Schumer look-alike has been let off her leash.If you haven’t read about this wild incident that has gone supernova on social media, by all means read ‘Karen’s’ Attack of Portland Dog Owner Perfectly Frames Left’s Insufferable Bigotry, and you’ll likely come to the same conclusion.
Indeed, this incident wasn’t a one-off, we find, based on reactions to this story. The screech-fest by this Portland cultist is part of a pattern of anti-social, untethered, and entitled behavior by a screeching blonde who wears a NASCAR-like patchwork of causes on her sleeve. Slack-jawed viewers are subjected to a panoply of pap about puppy mills, racism, purebred dogs, immigration, emotional blackmail, Donald Trump, adopting pets, victim-blaming, and frightening fake assault allegations.
She also works for Oregon Health & Science University, according to the account PDX Real, which posted the video.
Because of COURSE she does.
Karen, whose real name is out there in the ether, has done this before, according to people who recognized the woman from their interactions with her in Portland parks. In other words, this ain’t her first dogbroglio.
From looking at hundreds of comments on Reddit, I found three others who claimed to have been subjected to this woman’s out-of-control behavior.
One person remembered an incident with her right before COVID.
Whether she’s a certifiable mental case or not, one thing’s for sure: she’s frightening and assaultive. She needs to go to jail.
Don’t she just. But of course, we’re living in Amerika v2.0 now, where the inmates run the asylum.
Crazy lady illustrates just how very far we’ve fallen—as a nation; as Americans; as individuals; as civilized, rational, well-meaning human adults.
i’m telling ya, gang, you ain’t gonna believe this one.
A woman lost her mind and manners today at Mount Tabor Dog Park — because a man had purebred dogs.
Just in case you didn’t get your daily dose of crazy… pic.twitter.com/jYPFUFFLb1
— PDX Real (@PDXReal1)
This rage junkie’s unprovoked hissy fit deserves some kind of token of recognition—say, a trophy; a statuette along the lines of the Oscar, the Tony, or the Grammy; a colorful silk ribbon sizeable enough that it can be tied in back of the neck and draped over the collarbones and down to about mid-sternum, the way a proper necklace is usually worn; a gold medal to hang from said ribbon/necklace, a one-two knockout punch which results in a stylish accessory that, for all intents and purposes, might have been made to be shown off at private parties, film/art-show openings, next year’s Kentucky Derby, or some other such event; a generous cash prize; a professionally printed, suitable-for-framing certificate of merit presented personally by Hizzoner the Mayor’s very own hand; an honorary diploma from the nearest cow-college.
Then there’s the charity-fundraising dinner in a ritzy restaurant so jam-packed with minor to middling local celebutards that whenever at least two of said celebs stands close together and smiles for the cameras, the high-wattage light bouncing off the razzle-dazzle dentition on display produces a reflection so intensely retina-singing that any diner, restaurant employee, sidewalk-dwelling stewbum, or luckless looky-loo gawking through the establishment’s big front window who gets hit smack dab in the middle of his/her/its eyeball by the tooth polish-enhanced reflection will be blinded completely until mid-afternoon of the next day, a painful injury to delicate, highly sensitive tissue which hurts in a way reminiscent of the also-blinding eyeball burns incurred by looking directly at a welding torch’s brilliant light without welding goggles*.
There’s sure to be lots more bright ideas floating around out there regarding how best to recognize Miz Cray-Cray McNutcake’s and any subsequent amusing mental/emotional self-detonations, but the above ones should suffice to get the intellectual spark plugs firing, the creative juices flowing, and the internal kick-ball rolling in the right direction, I think.
One final thought: can you even begin to imagine what life must be like for this woman’s husband/boyfriend.significant other (if any)? Y’know, the poor soul who has to go to bed every night and wake up every morning beside this psychopath? Because I gotta say, I can’t. In fact, I really don’t want to. My life sucks bad enough as it is; I don’t like the idea of using my imagination to put my astral projection (a term I picked up from PG Wodehouse’s Laughing Gas) in that pyrsynzzn’s shoes for even one second, which pointless experience would only make things worse for myself than they already were. I ain’t nearly masochist enough to make myself suffer so gratuitously, and with any luck I never will be.
* Although I’ve had countless opportunities to score myself some welding-torch eyeball blisters, I never did; whenever I heard the snap, crackle, and pop seam-building soundtrack warning all shop-rats that Goose had one of our three (3) torches fired up and was starting another of his incredibly flawless welds, I made damned good and sure to keep my back turned to him. From what friends of mine who would know say, the blindness hits shortly after the damage has been done, while the godawful pain usually holds off until sometime next day. The only effective treatment for those blisters I know of is to cut up a raw potato into thin rounds and place a slice on the closed lids of the affected ocular orb, then let it/them sit there for hours and hours. Eventually, the pain goes away, the vision comes back, and the lesson has been learned, to be remembered forever.
It’s all but certain not to go that way, though, as you probably figured out by now. Thanks to inborn human blockheadedness, Nature’s eternal cycle begins anew: the lesson will be forgotten; the attention will stray; the primordial flesh-memory of what it felt like will fade. And before you know it, there you are: somebody is about to get hurt again.
Shop Life 101, that’s all, Shop Life 101.
Esteemed monster hunter David Codrea nails it down clean and tight.
Jackoff can’t handle the truth either.
https://waronguns.blogspot.com/2008/03/im-jack-nicholson-and-i-approved-this.html
Then there was the time he went “clubbing”:
And how about Jack Nicholson, who added his name to the list? To borrow a line from “A Few Good Men,” hey, Jack, do you want the truth? You can’t handle the truth. Because the truth is, an out-of-control berserker bashing in someone’s windshield with a golf club over a traffic dispute deserves to be repelled. With a gun, if necessary.
https://www.history.com/this-day-in-history/february-8/jack-nicholson-smashes-windshield-in-episode-of-road-rage
Yeppers, couldn’t possibly agree more, David.
1The Sidney Sweeney saga continues, and it’s BEAUTIFUL, man!
for anyone gen X or older and many who are younger, the sydney sweeney jeans ad is an obvious icon, a cultivated callback to a genre that once was, the latest modern take on a corbusier chaise lounge or an homage to 1950’s sport shirts. it looks like 1,000 other things you saw your whole life, a piece of classic americana once as common as summer sunshine and about as objectionable.
on its overt level, this branding makes deep sense as jeans styles are changing, moving from the stretch-fit skinny jeans paradigm of the last 15 years back to a looser and baggy 80’s and 90’s low-rise style. it’s all of a piece: a throwback ad style to foreground a throwback clothing style. it caught the zeitgeist. it’s clever, stylish, sexy, and strong. she’s an attractive woman doing cool stuff in a cool stuff in a cool way. sweeny looks like a bad ass, the car is epic, and this triggers appeal to women and men alike. you want to go to there.
so why has the internet and the aggrievement industrial complex of media babble-heads exploded into such a lockstep tizzy over an ad that would have been utterly unremarkable during most of living memory?
El Gato goes on to expound on more than one of said reasons, all of which are perfectly plausible. But for my money, it really all boils down to just one crucial element: The Wokester Left—never among the most stable of us to begin with, either psychologically or emotionally—has now gone officially, certifiably, irretrievably, pathologically bugfuck NUTS. The slavering moonbats have lost contact with rationality and/or reality altogether and aren’t gonna be coming back anytime soon, assuming they ever come back at all.
Put another way, the loony Left’s visceral hatred for Mighty Whitey, physical comeliness, mainstream opinion, and a refusal to evince proper contrition—ie, to hang one’s head apologetically, as is only meet and just, for the abominable H888Crime!™ of being young, White, good-looking, independent-minded, and wildly popular with Normal Americans—has finally driven the poor dears clean around the bend and into the ditch.
Add to these egregious offenses the fact that Our Sydney remains defiant and unflappable under a heavy (and intensifying) barrage of Wokester vitriol, obloquy, and unhinged threats. Most maddening of all: she’s female but is in no wise the Wokester-approved flavor of Toxic Feminazi, nor does she show the slightest inclination to sign on. Really, it couldn’t be more obvious as to why the whackadoos loathe her so frenetically, yet can’t quite seem to quit her even so.
Remember back when Rush used to boast about “living in Liberal heads rent free?” He might’ve written the book on the idea, but Sweeney has taken it farther than even Rush himself ever imagined going. You just gotta love the girl for that, if for nothing else. Back over to El Gato for the happy ending, unexpected as it was until it landed in our laps.
the vestigial remnants of the cancel culture mob were all out in force demanding boycotts and censorship and playing that favorite role of theater kids everywhere: the victim.
but a funny thing happened on the way to the struggle session:
nobody cared.
academia roused itself to towering rage.
yawn.
newspapers manufactured outrage at printing press scale.
yawn. snork.
the internet exploded in outpourings of tearful anxiety projection and attempted villification.
and the jeans sold out in record time.
you cannot just tell people, “this is normal,” “obesity is healthy,” or “if a man (or a woman) will not date a woman because she has a penis, that’s transphobic” (people really claim this by the way and disagreeing with it has been treated as hate speech) and expect to be believed or to become a cultural touchstone.
and people are exhausted by it, desperate to return to a different time and a set of standards more in line with their lived (and biological) experience and preferences.
it’s about power.
they experience the empowerment of a woman like sydney as an assault on them because they see power as a zero sum game.
but so intense is this will to power that it cannot be admitted, least of all to themselves.
they are absolutely sincere to the point of non-interrogatable delusion on this topic.
it’s grinding them to dust because none of this works anymore.
the magic words have lost their power. yell “racist! sexist! structural oppressor!” until you sprain your tonsils.
outside of your ever-shrinking always on rage tribe, no one cares.
As I always say, couldn’t happen to a nicer bunch of assholes. Didn’t happen a moment too soon, either. A few paragraphs along, El Gato throws us a helpful compare/contrast bone:
CORRECTION: I wuz wrong just then; sorry, everyone. There’s no comparison to be made here, the two specimens depicted above are about as dissimilar as dissimilar gets. They are unrelated; exact opposites; light years apart; as different as chalk and cheese. They clash worse’n a brown shirt with a blue suit. Please allow me to atone for my error with another shot of Ms Sweeney’s astounding fun bags.
I repeat: YOWZA!!!! A bit blurry and out of focus, sure, but unless my eyes deceive me I do believe an enticing half-moon of undraped right nipple can be descried in the above screencap.
Careful fellas; human saliva can wreck your keyboard should excessive quantities of it be drooled thereon.
Poised, indomitable, intelligent, fiercely confident—all these qualities and more come together to make Sidney Sweeney the Platonic ideal of what legendary ‘rassler Lex Luger meant when he decided to call himself The Total Package. Throw in that 1) she’s also a well-trained, skilled shooter, and 2) she’s an avid vintage-car enthusiast, restorer, and diehard Ford gal who enjoys nothing more than getting her hands greasy wrenching on her own prized 65 Mustang, first and foremost among other FoMoCo models, namely her grandpappy’s old F100 pick-em-up in which she learned to drive as a youngster (and that she still owns) and her 69 Bronco, for openers. She even co-designed a Mustang GT limited edition model for the Blue Oval boys to boot. Background:
Sydney Sweeney’s love for cars is deeply rooted in her family background and personal experiences. Growing up in a small town near Spokane, Washington, surrounded by mechanics, she developed a genuine passion for classic vehicles early on. This passion was not just a phase, it is a family legacy. While the world knows her for powerful performances on screen, off-screen, she is just as comfortable under the hood, restoring classic cars and proudly sharing her projects. One vehicle in particular has been generating buzz, a certain Mustang. But is it the iconic GT350?
Sydney Sweeney does not own a Mustang GT350. While she is prominently featured driving a GT350 in the recent American Eagle ad campaign, her actual Mustang ownership is different. Sweeney’s love for cars and vintage models does come from her bloodline. In a small town near Spokane, Washington, she first learned to drive on her grandfather’s F-100 farm truck, a vehicle she still owns today. During the pandemic, she purchased an original 1969 Bronco that required extensive restoration.
Sydney Sweeney owns a classic 1965 Ford Mustang, which she has lovingly nicknamed Britney. This vintage Mustang is bright blue and has been the subject of her restoration projects shared on social media. Sweeney’s hands-on work and deep personal connection to her 1965 Mustang have inspired some of her automotive collaborations, including the custom 2024 Mustang GT she co-designed with Ford, but the only Mustang she personally owns and cherishes is her 1965 model.
To celebrate the Mustang’s 60th anniversary, Ford is building two custom Mustangs inspired by Sydney Sweeney’s Brittany Blue 1965 model—one for Sweeney, one for a contest winner. These cars feature a Robin’s Egg Blue exterior with a crushed glass clear coat, 20-inch chrome rims, Sweeney’s signature on the engine, and the Ford x Sydney Sweeney heart bolt emblem throughout the design.
Aiiight, I just can’t restrain myself: boyohboyohboyohboy, WHAT A WOMAN!! “Total Package”? Pish-tosh; doesn’t do her justice, not even close. Although I can’t honestly say I ever had such thoughts before right this very minute, saucy, sexy, succulent Sidney makes me wish I was about thirty years younger; way better looking; fit and healthy; independently wealthy; and lived half a block down from her crib. If I woke up to find all this had somehow come to pass, I’d run the shoes off my feet and my feet down to bloody nubs chasing after her fine self. I ain’t too proud to admit it, neither.
It’s about damned time SOMEbody said it.
It’s Time For Israel, For Once And For All, To Put An End To This “Palestinian State” Nonsense
No other nation on the face of the Earth has allowed itself to be bullied into aiding its sworn enemies, especially during a protracted state of war against it…The history goes all the way back to 1916, when Amin al-Hussein launched a series of wars against Jewish migrants who had bought barren and unproductive lands in the British Mandate, and turned them into productive agricultural lands, something that al-Hussein’s Wahhabist “Palestinians” were never able to do – and since 1948, despite massive aid from the UNRWA, have not been able or willing to do.
Israel has been supplying water and electricity to Gaza since 2005. If those were cut off, Gaza would be finished, because with all of those billions of UNRWA aid, they’ve never managed to build any electrical generation facilities, or water wells – or a desalinization plant. And, of course, they don’t grow their own food or have a fishing fleet, so they’re dependent on UNRWA or Israel for food. Same case for the West Bank, I think, if I’m not mistaken. All of the money went to Hamas, to either enrich its now billionaire founders who now live far outside of “Palestine”, or to buy weapons. And Hamas didn’t get in by free elections, they seized power in a coup in 2006.
“Palestine” is an utterly dependent population. If Israel were to go away “from the river to the sea”, they would end up like Zimbabwe, which is desperately seeking to bring back the English farmers they ran off of their lands, because the natives know only subsistence farming, and are utterly ignorant of how to make productive farms or to maintain agricultural machinery more complicated than a pointed stick. That point could be – and is being – driven home by Israel, because if “Palestine” were anything other than a dependent state, they wouldn’t be having problems with starvation.
It is plainly apparent that Hamas intends to wipe Israel off the map – and that has been their historical intent, first with the Jewish settlers, and then with the State of Israel, since 1920 – over 100 years. And they have periodically declared their intent to do so, the last such statement of intent 8 years ago, in 2017.
To Hamas and its supporters, there is no “two state solution” as plainly and unequivocally demonstrated above, and this is the case for their supporters in Gaza and the West Bank. For Israel to have peace and sovereignty in its own lands, there is no other solution but to drive these avowed enemies out of the lands which they presently occupy – and they have no duty to provide any assistance to, or cooperation with, these people.
Palestinian Arabs – most notably the Bedouins – have peacefully co-existed with Jewish settlers in the British Mandate from the 1890s until 1948, until they were incorporated into the State of Israel, and they have peacefully co-existed ever since. It is the Wahhabist Islamic religious extremists, such as the Muslim Brotherhood, Hamas, and like organizations, who refuse this peaceful co-existence and insist on genocidal jihadi warfare – and to have peace, they must be driven out – just as the Muslim Brotherhood was driven out of Egypt and other Arab countries.
Egg-ZACKLY, right down the line. It’s as the now-classic meme says of shitlibs and conservatives in the US: If the Paleosimians wanted peace, there would be peace; if Israel wanted war, there would be no Paleosimians.
So much for the ***((((Joo))))*** -hatin’ Right’s “our ‘natural allies’ the Mooselimbs” stupid-ass horseshit, also. The time has at long last come for the dream to become reality: from the mountains to the sea, Israel shall be free…of murderin’ Muzzrat savages of whatever national origin—be they fake “Palestinians” or, y’know, what have you.
1American Eagle jeans has fired back in the Great Jubbly War of 2025, and it’s wonderful, meet, and just.
I do so hate to be the bearer of bad news, so I’ll just step aside, shut up, and let Ace do the dirty work for me.
American Eagle has issued a response to ugly cat ladies unashamedly showing their envy and resentment that a white woman is getting more attention online than they are.
No, it’s not this one. This one is a parody, though most wish American Eagle would endorse it…
American Eagle’s genuine response is good enough: They are defiant, and they say, correctly, that a bunch of ugly harpies coping on TikTok and BlueSky is not real life, and that their own polling shows that 71% of respondents like the ad.
Happily, he’s perfectly correct on that. Click through for a partial screen grab of the unapologetic real response. Back over to Ace for the sum-up.
At the Federalist, Rich Cromwell writes that this contretemps, as stupid as it is, is important. It shows that the mentally-ill, unaccomplished social-media-addicted nobodies who have bullied, harrassed, and deplatformed us for ten years are shrieking because they’re realizing they have no power here.
They are nameless and formless and accursed. Like Sauron, they are now banished to the void from whence they came.
Even a complete dumbass ought to know better than to pick a fight with a pretty young woman who’s sporting a serious shirtfull of big, beautiful titties. Such abject cluelessness is bound to turn every Normal in the world against these Leftist screechweasels. To which I can only say: keep up the good work, shitlib imbeciles. More glad tidings from the Cromwell piece.
The Woke Scolds Who Look At Sydney Sweeney And See Hitler Don’t Control Culture Anymore
The arc of history is long, but it’s bending away from mentally ill, terminally online fun-crushers.
“Mentally ill, terminally online fun-crushers”? ZOMG, that’s such a delicious, direct-hit description of Church-Lady Wokesterdom you can expect to see more of it around these h’yar parts. I definitely plan on getting lots of use out of it my own self. Thanks, Rich, you just made my day with that riposte. Shine on you crazy diamond, shine on.
Given that denim is one of American Eagle’s staples and that Sweeney is rather attractive, it’s a brilliant pitch replete with a dad-level pun. At least, it’s a brilliant pitch to not insane people. For the insane, though, it’s “Nazi propaganda,” “Nazi fascism,” and “an unbridled cultural shift toward whiteness.”
Given such responses, including clickbait wackadoos proclaiming that Sweeny is mid, it’s tempting to get angry at the unbridled nutjobs propagating such nonsense. But that is exactly the wrong response, for it only builds bridges under which such trolls may take up residence. More importantly, though, is that the completely unhinged and disproportionate response to the campaign shows the inmates who have been running the asylum are losing the plot in real time.
For starters, it’s an advertisement for blue jeans and, to be honest, not exactly an original one. Don’t get me wrong, it’s fantastic marketing, people are talking, and American Eagle’s stock trended upward as a result. But using attractive people to sell products isn’t some revolutionary idea. It’s basically the foundation of advertising, albeit one that was briefly lost to the siren song of “inclusive beauty,” which, lol. Businesses may pretend to care about social causes and stakeholders, and there are definitely true believers ensconced in almost every Fortune 500 company out there, but at the end of the day, the purpose of business is to make money, not engineer social change.
But the brief stranglehold the inmates held over businesses gave them a false sense of security, of permanence. They thought they’d won the war, whereas we can now see that they only won a few victories and that those victories were not exactly strategic ones.
Yet again, we see confirmation of a longstanding contention of mine: Ultimately, the Madhouse Left’s argument isn’t with Republicans, conservatives, or any specific belief, agenda, policy, or proposal; their argument is with REALITY ITSELF. Which makes the argument unwinnable for them, their position in the long run untenable. Call it Mike’s Iron Law #20,376.
My brother Jeff has a good friend and former co-worker, Donnie Williams, another big-rig driver who lives about an hour’s drive from here in Pelion SC, just outside Columbia. As it happens, his 13-year-old daughter Delilah is…wait for it…WAIT FOR IT…
Umm, a national-champeen archer? Rilly?
Yup, seems so. According to the archery app Donnie recommended to me, called the NASP Portal (that would be the National Archery in Schools Program, in case y’all were wondering), Delilah got off to a somewhat sluggish start in the competitive bow-and-arrow field after having been encouraged to take up the Sport Of Kings by one of her coaches at school. After the merest handful of shaky outings, though, D quickly settled down to rise through the ranks to the very top of the youth-archery heap, and has stayed there ever since. In her first big tournament, she scored only 176 out of a possible 300 points, which sounded respectable enough to my unenlightened ass until Donnie assured me that it was no great shakes. Nowadays, Delilah’s numbers are consistently in the 270s, 280s, even 290s.
I’m told by both the young lady’s dad and my brother, who has met her a time or two his own self, that Delilah, while extremely intelligent and a solid. straight-A student, is also extremely shy—an unfortunate but fairly common combination of personality traits my Madeleine also had to deal with earlier in her childhood. Thankfully, as time went by and she got older she outgrew the shyness but held onto the smarts, as I’m sure Delilah will in her turn.
As for the brand, type, and string weight of the bow she uses in competition, NASP allows only Genesis compound bows strung at 20 pounds in their events, nothing else is acceptable.
From the NASP Portal app’s About page:
And here’s a snapshot of Ms D’s recent tournament performance:
Jeff informed me earlier today that the Williams clan is presently on their way to—what, either Virginia or West (by God) Virginia one—so’s young Delilah can dominate another tournament.
I fooled around with the bow and arrow as a wee sprat myself, although I wasn’t anywhere near in Delilah’s league. The deal was my late, much lamented Uncle Gene took up the bow and arrow to go hunting with, going so far as to set up a large, soft target surrounded by stacked-up hay bales in his long, narrow backyard, thereby creating a practice range where he might hone his archery skills. Unca Gene was kind enough to let any of us neighborhood kids who were big and strong enough to string his fancy recurve bow unaided use his range also, a pastime I greatly enjoyed. He insisted on being out there with us on these occasions as a semi-chaperone, the Adult Supervision who’d make sure we behaved responsibly, that we wouldn’t lose our heads, go feral, and start shooting arrows at each other.
Delilah would probably laugh at me for this, but I remember my first day of bow-n-arrowing: I wrecked my left forearm something fierce when I jumped in shooting without any kind of arm guard whatsoever—a rookie blunder which allowed the tough, rough bowstring to rake down the inside of my unprotected left forearm from elbow to wrist, leaving it skint-raw, swollen, badly bruised, even a bit bloody after I’d loosed only a few arrows in the general direction of that huge bullseye.
Note that I said I had fired my pointy, colorfully befeathered sticks “in the general direction of,” not “into” or “through” said target. All in all, even though we all had a lot of fun, that first experience as a bowman was not an entirely happy one for li’l old moi. Next time out, I vowed that I’d be bringing forearm protection of some sort or other along, even if the best I could manage was to wind an old t-shirt around my arm and knot up the sleeves to tie it down.
When Jeff told me about Donny’s kid and her unusual athletic career, I casually remarked that her story would make an excellent topic for a CF post. Right away, Donny got seriously stoked about the idea, fairly well dancing around on his toes like a guy, his back teeth afloat, urgently in need of a good, long whizz nownownowNOW with nary a Men’s Room in sight. Nor a tree; a deserted alley; the unlit doorway of a vacant building; a patch of unmanicured, overgrown shrubbery; or an abandoned car to provide concealment while he takes care of business.
So here we all are, then. Sometime soon, I think a short interview with Delilah to discuss her thoughts, her feelings, her ambitions, her likes and dislikes in regard to her sport of choice might be in order.
Last but not least, along with the other stuff Donnie sent me a pic of his favorite shirt:
Heh. ‘Nuff said, my friend. Not that any of those things are necessary, of course; from where I sit, it’s altogether clear that Delilah is perfectly capable of looking out for herself. If anybody warrants worrying about, it definitely ain’t this girl, it’s the hapless subnormal who decides it’d be a grand idea to mess with her. Aforementioned subnormal will wind up flat on his back and immobilized in a hospital bed, scratching his cracked, aching noggin in bewilderment as to how he came to be there in the first place.
Of the thousands, perhaps even millions, of CF-related spam emails I’ve received, snarled at, and summarily deleted over lo, these many years, this one has to be my personal favorite. C&P’d in its entirety:
FROM: HR & Admin – Coldfury <james@prestouniversal.com>
TO: E-mail (CF)
SUBJECT: Coldfury Employees Performance Appraisals – June’25Dear Gentlemen,
Please find below the link to the current month’s employee performance appraisals for June 2025.
https://staff.coldfury.com/inter-records/report-2025/
Note: All names highlighted in red indicate employees who are due for termination.
Your prompt attention to this matter is highly appreciated.
Best regards,
HR Manager
Human Resource Department
hr.director@coldfury.com | Headquarter
Wow, turns out I have not only an HR department but also an HQ, even an unspecified number of “employees” who can actually be “terminated” at the discretion of my (nonexistent) HR Manager, whose actual name I can’t seem to recall right now for some reason. Better still, my phantasmagorical “HR Manager” refers to me as a “Gentlemen” in interoffice correspondence. Who knew?
No, of course I didn’t click on the link to view the “employee performance appraisals” report, but I confess I’m mighty tempted to, if only to giggle like a delighted little girl at the no doubt voluminous “names highlighted in red.” That’s bound to be as epic a tale as has ever been told throughout the annals of creative writing. Lord knows I’ve taken a few stabs at composing fiction, only to find that, although I know I’m not completely bereft of writing talent, I don’t have it in me to create good fiction; somehow, I just can’t make it work.
2
2NOTE: In order to comment, you must be registered and approved as a CF user. Since so many user-registrations are attempted by spam-bots for their own nefarious purposes, YOUR REGISTRATION MAY BE ERRONEOUSLY DENIED.
If you are in fact a legit hooman bean desirous of registering yourself a CF user name so as to be able to comment only to find yourself caught up as collateral damage in one of my irregularly (un)scheduled sweeps for hinky registration attempts, please shoot me a kite at the email addy over in the right sidebar and let me know so’s I can get ya fixed up manually.
ALSO NOTE: You MUST use a valid, legit email address in order to successfully register, the new anti-spam software I installed last night requires it. My thanks to Barry for all his help sorting this mess out last night.
Comments appear entirely at the whim of the guy who pays the bills for this site and may be deleted, ridiculed, maliciously edited for purposes of mockery, or otherwise pissed over as he in his capricious fancy sees fit. The CF comments section is pretty free-form and rough and tumble; tolerance level for rowdiness and misbehavior is fairly high here, but is NOT without limit.
Management is under no obligation whatever to allow the comments section to be taken over and ruined by trolls, Leftists, and/or other oxygen thieves, and will take any measures deemed necessary to prevent such. Conduct yourself with the merest modicum of decorum, courtesy, and respect and you'll be fine. Pick pointless squabbles with other commenters, fling provocative personal insults, issue threats, or annoy the host (me) and...you won't.
Should you find yourself sanctioned after running afoul of the CF comments policy as stated and feel you have been wronged, please download and complete the Butthurt Report form below in quadruplicate; retain one copy for your personal records and send the others to the email address posted in the right sidebar.
Please refrain from whining, sniveling, and/or bursting into tears and waving your chubby fists around in frustrated rage, lest you suffer an aneurysm or stroke unnecessarily. Your completed form will be reviewed and your complaint addressed whenever management feels like getting around to it. Thank you.
"Mike Hendrix is, without a doubt, the greatest one-legged blogger in the world." ‐Henry Chinaski
If you enjoy the site, please consider donating:
Email addy: mike-at-this-url dot etc
All e-mails assumed to be legitimate fodder for publication, scorn, ridicule, or other public mockery unless specified as private by the sender
Click to embiggen
"America is at that awkward stage. It's too late to work within the system, but too early to shoot the bastards."
—Claire Wolfe, 101 Things to Do 'Til the Revolution
Claire's Cabal—The Freedom Forums
"There are men in all ages who mean to govern well, but they mean to govern. They promise to be good masters, but they mean to be masters."
—Daniel Webster
“When I was young I was depressed all the time. But suicide no longer seemed a possibility in my life. At my age there was very little left to kill.”
—Charles Bukowski
“A slave is one who waits for someone to come and free him.”
—Ezra Pound
“The illusion of freedom will continue as long as it’s profitable to continue the illusion. At the point where the illusion becomes too expensive to maintain, they will just take down the scenery, they will pull back the curtains, they will move the tables and chairs out of the way and you will see the brick wall at the back of the theater.”
—Frank Zappa
“The right of a nation to kill a tyrant in case of necessity can no more be doubted than to hang a robber, or kill a flea.”
—John Adams
"A society of sheep must in time beget a government of wolves."
—Bertrand de Jouvenel
"It is terrible to contemplate how few politicians are hanged."
—GK Chesterton
"I predict that the Bush administration will be seen by freedom-wishing Americans a generation or two hence as the hinge on the cell door locking up our freedom. When my children are my age, they will not be free in any recognizably traditional American meaning of the word. I’d tell them to emigrate, but there’s nowhere left to go. I am left with nauseating near-conviction that I am a member of the last generation in the history of the world that is minimally truly free."
—Donald Sensing
"The only way to live free is to live unobserved."
—Etienne de la Boiete
"History does not long entrust the care of freedom to the weak or the timid."
—Dwight D. Eisenhower
"To put it simply, the Left is the stupid and the insane, led by the evil. You can’t persuade the stupid or the insane and you had damn well better fight the evil."
—Skeptic
"There is no better way to stamp your power on people than through the dead hand of bureaucracy. You cannot reason with paperwork."
—David Black, from Turn Left For Gibraltar
"If the laws of God and men, are therefore of no effect, when the magistracy is left at liberty to break them; and if the lusts of those who are too strong for the tribunals of justice, cannot be otherwise restrained than by sedition, tumults and war, those seditions, tumults and wars, are justified by the laws of God and man."
—John Adams
"The limits of tyranny are prescribed by the endurance of those whom they oppress."
—Frederick Douglass
"Give me the media and I will make of any nation a herd of swine."
—Joseph Goebbels
“I hope we once again have reminded people that man is not free unless government is limited. There’s a clear cause and effect here that is as neat and predictable as a law of physics: As government expands, liberty contracts.”
—Ronald Reagan
"Ain't no misunderstanding this war. They want to rule us and aim to do it. We aim not to allow it. All there is to it."
—NC Reed, from Parno's Peril
"I just want a government that fits in the box it originally came in."
—Bill Whittle
- Entries
- Comments
