GIVE TIL IT HURTS!

A New (York) low

It’s as if they actually WANT to burn in the fires of Hell for ten thousand years.

‘Offensive’ musical starring a pansexual Anne Frank could save Broadway
A show has turned the tragedy of Anne Frank into an ‘inclusive’ commentary on wokeness. And New York City audiences can’t get enough.

I recently saw the most brilliant new musical in New York City. It’s not on Broadway. It’s not even in a traditional theatre.

It’s at a bar and performance space called AsylumNYC. And it lives up to the name of its venue.

Slam Frank, whose developmental run opened on September 17 and closes on October 26, is a reimagining of the story of Anne Frank that asks: What if her diary were inclusive? What if we addressed the lack of queer representation in that attic? What if we finally told the story of the Holocaust in a way that honours all people, not just the white people it has always centred on?

In other words: what if someone produced a musical about Anne Frank fit for the 2020s?

The result has been a hit. With mostly word-of-mouth buzz, driven by a monthly publicity budget of less than $60, Slam Frank has so far sold out 28 of its 34 performances, the show’s press agent told me.

Clearly, these pustules have neither shame, conscience. nor decency, not even in undetectable trace amounts. Then again, if they did have, they wouldn’t be Left/liberals in the first place, I suppose. COMING SOON TO A CINEPLEX NEAR YOU: Traci Lords stars as Mother Teresa, with Ron Jeremy as Dondi and Christy Canyon as Sister Bhuvika, in Disney’s’ Taj Mahal Gang-Bang Nuns!

Just in case any of you were wondering if there truly was nothing at all they wouldn’t gleefully shit on from a great height, you have your answer.

Happy Halloween!

Presenting our usual annual mish-mash of 50s and 60s pop-rock chestnuts, a light dusting of spooky orchestral music, including the most spectacular setting of Orff’s Carmina Burana ever mounted, PLUS whatever the hell else I can think of, PLUS an assortment of Halloween-theme memes, most of which were swiped from your friend and mine, the lovely and talented Midwest Chick.

And now for the memes!

Nig-O-Ween?

Oh for cripe’s sake.


If they couldn’t whine, they’d have nothing to say at all.

A big part of the reason why I find the JewJewJewJEEEEW-haters schtick  so annoying is the way they blame Dem Pesky JOOOZ for absolutely every bad thing that’s ever happened, going all the way back to the crucifixion of Christ (sorry, imbeciles, that’s actually down to the Romans). Sounds exactly like the Nig-Nogs blaming De Wite Man for all their troubles to me. You’d think that at least SOME of them would find that near-equivalence embarrassing. You’d be dead wrong about that, too.

2
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You don’t mess with JD, nor his ol’ lady neither

Not if you know what’s good for you, you don’t.

In case you missed it, Joe Biden’s former White House press secretary, Jen Psaki, made some vile comments about Vance’s marriage earlier this week, implying that JD is “scary” and Usha is being held hostage somehow.

I think the little Manchurian candidate, JD Vance, wants to be president more than anything else. I always wonder what’s going on in the mind of his wife. Like, are you okay? Blink four times. Come over here. We’ll save you. He’s willing to do anything to get there… he’s scarier in certain ways.

I’ve debated writing about this since it happened, but it’s so irritating that I couldn’t bring myself to give it the time of day. First of all, Psaki spent 16 months telling us that Biden was a good president, so why would anyone take anything she says seriously? Second, I’ve learned a lot about the second lady since her husband took office, and she is an incredible woman — a wonderful role model for young women and girls. By all accounts, she adores her husband, and it’s evident in every appearance they make or interview she gives. But even so, she’s an independent woman who has her own interests, thoughts, goals, and affairs. And to hear him tell it, she’s called a lot of the shots in JD’s career.

Anyway, a reporter asked the vice president, who is in Israel today, about Psaki’s statement. Vance couldn’t help but laugh at the absurdity of it all, but he also reiterated how lucky he is to have her by his side and let the world know that she can speak for herself on the matter if she wants.

I think it’s disgraceful, but, of course, the second lady can speak for herself. I’m very luck to have a wonderful wife. I know, at least I hope, that my wife feels the same about me, but we’re very lucky to have this journey. Or I should say, I’m very lucky to go on this journey with a very loving wife. We’re going to keep on serving the country together, and I’m honored to have Usha by my side…

I have little else to say about this. Vance’s laugh says it all. It’s ridiculous, and I suspect these attacks will ramp up as Democrats realize they don’t have an obvious 2028 candidate, while we have at least two, with Vance as the obvious frontrunner. Expect this kind of talk to ramp up: Vance is weird, he’s mean, he’s whatever… the reality is he’s a patriotic American, a man who’s serviced his country in the military and in public office, a husband, a father, a Godly man, a masculine man who protects his family but doesn’t overstep his role, and someone with one heck of a sense of humor. He’s overcome so many odds to get here, too. Liberal harpies are no match for the VP.

Of COURSE they’ll “ramp up” the noxious, repulsive bullshit. What else CAN they do? D卐M☭CRAT scumbuckets realize they simply can’t lay a glove on Vance no matter what or how hard they try; the guy just doesn’t rattle, he doesn’t scare, and he never, ever runs away from a fight.

One other thing The Best Darn Veep America Ever Had has got going for him: it’s entertaining as all git-out to watch him work. He floats like a butterfly and stings like a bee in dealing with the Leftard baglappers, and no mistake. JD doesn’t care what they think any more than the rest of us do, and it couldn’t be more obvious…or more terrific, if you ask me.

“Witch”

Uh HUH. Just keep talking, Commie baglapper.

Machado Warns Against Socialism as Maduro Cries ‘Witch’ Over Her Nobel Peace Prize
For two days, the Venezuelan government didn’t acknowledge that opposition leader María Corina Machado won the Nobel Peace Price, though it’s understandable. Illegitimate narco-terrorist president Nicolás Maduro is losing his stronghold on the nation, and Machado is largely the reason for that. On Friday, the whole world learned who she is and what she’s fighting for, which amplified the country’s desire for freedom and democracy, and especially its desire to remove the tyrant who holds it all hostage.

Best Maduro can do is pretend her team is blowing up the not-in-service U.S. embassy in Caracas and that his security forces stopped them — just like he told his country to pretend it’s Christmas or like he tells Donald Trump that he pretends to stop the flow of drugs through the Western Hemisphere.

Just like he pretends to be the nation’s president when it should be Edmundo González, the man who actually won last year’s election.

But on Sunday, during an Indigenous Resistance Day rally, he finally spoke on Machado’s win heard around the world, calling her bruja demoniaca or a “demonic witch.”

He’s another garden-variety Socialist twit, so of course any sensible person would just naturally assume he has no clue what he’s talking about. And said sensible sort would be perfectly correct about that.

Yes, yes, I know, t’is the season and all that (ie, Halloween), but fi the cutie depicted above is what this Maduro dorksnort considers a “witch,” he needs to wipe the goo off his glasses. I’m sure there are plenty of other pics out there in which she looks older, more haggard, more generally just, y’know, YIKES! But going by the pic above and ndthing else, if that’s a witch, then somewhere along the line somebody fed me a whole pack of lies about witches.

Now dig this…

For anyone who still retains even the most tatterdemalion shred of affection for the Greatest City On Earth, the city that never sleeps, so nice they had to name it twice, New York Fookin’ NOO YAWK—which, Lord help me, I do; I still consider my years in a succession of tiny, too-expensive mouse-holes on the good old LES* to be the absolute best years of my life, and no matter how terribly the shitlibs who run the place damage it, there will always be some part of me that loves the Big Rotten Apple—this video of 1960s NYC is really gonna grab ya, but good.

Via Ace; helluva find, buddy!

* Excepting my last apartment way down on East Broadway betwixt Clinton and Montgomery: stashed just east of Chinatown smack dab in the middle of the Williamsburg and Brooklyn bridges; convenient to absolutely nothing and/or nowhere at all; completely impossible to find a cab any time of the day or night; who even knows how many hundreds, perhaps even millions, of blocks’ walk from the closest F train (ie, Orange Line) subway station; perched atop an ultra-Orthodox shul and synagogue, providing daily opportunities for low ethnic humor to us non-payessed, goyische shmendricks; 3 bedroom/1 bath/full kitchen/spacious LR, two BRs on the front of the building with street -facing windows, 3rd BR with French doors, parquet floors, and a big window looking down on a street-level garden alcove; a three-floor walkup building in a quiet, calm, safe working-class neighborhood w/ mostly Puerto-Rican residents—that pad was incredibly roomy by NYC standards, quite affordably priced to boot; admittedly, our place was located well away from anything remotely resembling The Action (a/k/a The Scene, The Lifestyle, The Haps) but after a short while that started to look to us more and more like a benefit, rather than a drawback

Update! Dunno why it never occurred to me to check before, but a quick Luxxle search yielded this:

Yep, there she is all right: 241 E BWay, home sweet home.

Second helping

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.

Whuuuu….???

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.

Coulterville

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.

Trans, vegan death cult?

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.

Correct, on all counts

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.

When you’d rather have your arm broken during a carjacking than see Cheetoh Hitler do something about crime

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.

NUTS! Redux

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.

NUTS!

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.


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.

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