Category: Flotsam and/or Jetsam

Catchall for whatever doesn’t fit elsewhere

Something missing from this picture

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And Justine Bateman knows what it is.


As Arte Johnson used to say:

I do like Justine’s “Selective Activism” formulation, it suits the bastard Left to a “T.”

Update! You’ll probably notice a link to the “Peter Sellers on Rowan & Martin’s Laugh-In” clip at top left when the above vid ends. I clicked on it, and the guy rising up from the shrubbery at stage right is none other than the incomparable Peter Sellers. Sellers pulls off his brief Laugh In cameo with his usual élan, brio, and understated brilliance. Ah, those were the days.

Updated update! Just spitballing here, but if the esteemed Ms Bateman keeps on like she’s been doing I’m gonna have to institute a “Celebrity Smart” category just for her, as a counterweight to our long-established “Celebrity Stupid” one. In fact…a-yup, done and done. You go, girl, and welcome aboard!

Trump has a posse

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And it’s hella-cool.

Meant to go further into this back when it happened not quite a month ago and let it get by me—then, as I was out earlier running a cpl errands, heard Kid Rock’s classic barroom brawl of a tune “Cowboy” on the car radio, and it reminded me. If the above ain’t one helluva pic, I sure don’t know what would be. Backstory:

Donald Trump Returns To Madison Square Garden For UFC Fight, Flanked By Elon Musk and MAGA Allies
Before a roaring crowd, the president-elect walked into the “World’s Most Famous Arena” to Kid Rock’s “American Bad Ass” less than a month after his controversial rally.

Link is to the de-paywalled version of a typically twee Vanity Fair article whose very first ‘graph should suffice to explain why I won’t be excerpting anymore of it than this.

President-elect Donald Trump returned to Madison Square Garden for an Ultimate Fighting Championship event on Saturday, less than one month after his supporters descended on New York City for the then-candidate’s hate-filled homecoming rally.

“Hate-filled.” Yeah, Kid Rock has a little something for ya on that, shitlib fucksticks.

FAIR WARNING: Definitely NSFW, for rough language. Then again, I figger if y’all let liberal use of the “F” word get your panties in a bunch, you wouldn’t be hanging out here in the first place, amIright? Hey, every single asswart he hurls the word at in the vid richly deserves it, so there’s that too.

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Did someone say “shithole” just now?

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Why yes, I believe someone did.

It turns out that Haiti is indeed a shithole
One of my MP buddies had been in Haiti after a hurricane. Disaster relief and all that. Some of the locals had decided to steal a 55-gallon drum of something or other. Just tipped it over and rolled it away, all the way to their shack. Now, this being Haiti, a lot of the roads are dirt roads, which means that my MP buddy and his squad simply had to follow the tracks that are left when one is rolling a 55 gallon drum. And so the did. Just following the tracks for about 500 yards, whereupon they found the 55 gallon drum “hidden” under a pile of garbage, and when my buddy and his squad went to retrieve that drum, they were met with accusations of theft and thuggery. And when my buddy pointed out that they were simply retrieving an item that the locals had stolen, every single person there swore on a stack of bibles that they didn’t steal anything.

Despite the evidence. The blatant, obvious evidence that they had stolen the 55 gallon drum, clearly marked as US property, with the tracks still fresh and clean in the dirt road.

Haiti is a shithole. It’s always been a shithole. The Dominican Republic knows this, which is why they built a fence along their border with Haiti and they refuse to let Haitians into the DR. There is absolutely no reason that we should be letting Haitians into the USA, as the chance of them acculturating and integrating is pretty damn small. If you want to help Haiti, do it in Haiti, but you’re going to have to bring guns, a strong stomach, and the will to be ruthless to the gangs that currently control Haiti. And I don’t see many Americans willing to do that. In order to help Haiti, you have to be willing to kill the cannibalistic gangs. Let me say that louder for the people in the back: In order to help Haiti, you have to be willing to shoot the gangs that are killing and eating people. I don’t see the American public being willing to (do) that.

I don’t see the American sheepul being willing to do much of anything that would inconvenience themselves in even the smallest way. Best thing to do for Haiti is to get the hell out of the nightmarish hellhole altogether, stay the hell out, and studiously ignore its very existence henceforth. Let the feral CHIDs (Cannibalistic Humanoid Island Dwellers) burn their own country to the ground if that’s what they want to do, and to hell with every man Jack of them. The DR obviously understands the proper way to deal with Haiti, which doesn’t involve “helping” in any way, shape, or form. And after all, having been forced by an accident of geography to live next door to these irredeemable animals, who would know better than they?

Pick us another winner, Donald

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It appears that he has, actually.

BOOMITY! Donald Trump Names Harmeet Dhillon As Assistant Attorney General for Civil Rights
With a few notable exceptions, the vast majority of Donald Trump’s nominees for his second administration have been home runs with conservatives.

Yesterday, however, Trump announced another pick that may have had his voters cheering the loudest of all.

Can’t honestly say I know a heck of a lot about the lady, but from the way the Leftard sob-sisters are carrying on about her (more on that at the link, and it’s hilarious), she sounds pretty damned good to me. Trump runs down just a few of her finer qualities, to wit:

I repeat: sounds pretty good to me.

Daniel Penny followup

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Really, the whole contretemps comes down to just one thing.

Daniel Penny and the Attempted Murder of Courage: The Dangerous Precedent of Prosecuting Heroes
Though the Daniel Penny trial is deadlocked with the judge urging jurors to continue deliberating, should they reach a decision, the verdict may ultimately be on something far bigger than the actions of one Marine on a New York City subway. It could be about what kind of country we want to be—a nation of men and women willing to step up in the face of danger, or a nation of cowards who film chaos on their phones and do nothing to stop it.

Penny, a Marine veteran, was riding the subway when Jordan Neely—a man with a long history of mental health issues and violent outbursts—began threatening passengers. Witnesses described Neely’s behavior as erratic and frightening. Penny acted decisively, restraining him in a chokehold to prevent what he and others clearly believed was a potential attack. Tragically, Neely died.

What followed wasn’t a nuanced look at a tragic situation, but an immediate rush to blame Penny, in part or in whole, because Penny is white and Neely was black. Neely also had a history of mental illness…and violence. His death was tragic, but the threat he posed to passengers on the F train that day was real. Despite that, Manhattan District Attorney Alvin Bragg wasted no time charging Penny with second-degree manslaughter. Bragg, known for his soft-on-crime policies, seemed determined to make an example of Penny—a man who, unlike the violent criminals Bragg often releases with a slap on the wrist, tried to protect people. How dare he?!? That’s Bragg’s providence.

Make no mistake, the prosecution of Penny sends a chilling message to all Americans: if you step up to stop violence, you might become the next defendant. At the very least it tells us that in Bragg’s New York, the safest course of action is to do nothing. Let the chaos unfold, keep your hands to yourself and pray the police arrive before anyone gets seriously hurt (and in Bragg’s New York as well as other cities with liberal district attorneys, even the police may wind up getting charged.) Better yet, pull out your phone and get it all on video. At least you won’t end up behind bars. Dead or seriously wounded maybe, but not behind bars.

The irony is almost unbearable. In a time when violent crime is rising and public safety feels more fragile than ever, Penny’s actions represented exactly the kind of courage we need. He saw people in danger and acted, not out of malice but out of a sense of duty to protect those around him. He didn’t wake up that morning or board that subway training thinking, “I want to hurt or kill somebody today.” His sense of duty—the willingness to defend others even at personal risk—is at the core of what makes a society function. Without it, we’re just bystanders to our own demise.

And let’s not kid ourselves about what happens next if this precedent sticks. Imagine the next subway, the next mall, the next street corner where someone decides to lash out. Will anyone step in? Or will they hesitate, thinking about the potential criminal charges that might await them? Alvin Bragg might not care, he’s sitting safely in his ivory tower, far from the danger spawned by his choices, but the rest of us will be living with the consequences of his decisions for a long time.

It’s worth noting that the jury couldn’t reach a unanimous decision in Penny’s trial—at least not yet, and maybe the won’t. That’s no surprise. The case was never black and white, and it shouldn’t have been brought to court in the first place. Prosecuting Penny wasn’t about justice—it was about politics. It was about sending a message that the powers-that-be are more interested in virtue-signaling than protecting their citizens.

But here’s the real question: What kind of country do we want to live in? Do we want to raise our kids in a world where good men like Daniel Penny are punished for doing the right thing, or do we want to stand behind them? Do we want to reward courage or cultivate a culture of fear? Part of that answer arrived during last month’s elections where a majoirty of Americans voted “enough” on the weakness of our country under the wan leadership of Joe Biden, Kamala Harris and the Democrats and decided they wanted a strong leader, the type who can take a bullet and stand back up undaunted.

Annnnnd BINGO! THAT’S what this whole thing is really all about when all’s said and done. In selecting for cowardice, you reinforce the better-not-get-involved, just-stay-out-of-it mindset rife not just in NYC, but right across non-rural Amerika v2.0 entire. Step in to help someone in need? Not on your life, pal, I could get sued. Interpose your own frail, easily-maimed physical person between a violent assailant and a weaker assailee? Whaddya, fookin’ nuts or sumpin’?

Yes, there are exceptions, of course. We hear about ‘em regularly: whenever some passerby chases off a would-be mugger; a woman turns the tables on her would-be rapist; or a jewelry dealer, convenience store manager, or pawn-shop proprietor pulls a firearm from under the counter and burns down a thief. But that’s exactly why we hear about them: they are EXCEPTIONS, just doing what exceptions do: proving the rule.

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Justice, for once, is served

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I’m stunned.

Daniel Penny acquitted in subway chokehold death of Jordan Neely, sparking applause, uproar in NYC courtroom
A Manhattan jury has cleared Daniel Penny of criminal wrongdoing in the chokehold death of Jordan Neely on a crowded subway — a caught-on-video killing that sparked fierce debate over the city’s mental health system and crime underground.

The courtroom erupted in applause as the panelists acquitted Penny of criminally negligent homicide — which could have put him behind bars for up to four years — in Neely’s chokehold death aboard a crowded uptown F train in May 2023.

The part I bolded is probably the most stunning of all. Oh, and by the way, NYP: it was NOT a “chokehold death” as you so manipulatively claim. More on that later.

Penny immediately broke out a huge smile and turned to hug defense attorney Thomas Kenniff — even as Neely’s father, Andre Zachary, was escorted from the courtroom. 

“Racist f—ing country,” one Black Lives Matter supporter yelled as she left the room. Another Neely supporter, turning to Penney, screamed, “It’s a small world, buddy,” before leaving the room.

If Penny and his family aren’t already halfway to their new FLA home by now, they’re nuts. One of Penny’s lawyers asks the most pertinent question of them all.

Jurors sided with Penny’s defense attorneys, who had argued that the Marine veteran was justified in rushing to protect his fellow subway straphangers when he subdued the erratic homeless man. The lawyers had also questioned whether there was sufficient evidence that the chokehold caused Neely’s death.

“Who do you want on the next train ride with you?” one of his lawyers, Steven Raiser, in his closing statement in Manhattan Supreme Court.

“The guy with the earbuds minding his own business who you know would be there for you if something happened? Or perhaps you just hope that someone like Jordan Neely does not enter that train when you are all alone, all alone in a crowd of others frozen with fear?”

Or, perhaps, this fine, upstanding New Yorker:


Now for that “chokehold death” horseshit.

Twilight of the Race Hustle
“There is nothing more fake than when the libs pretend to have an emotional outpouring over some dead loser they didn’t give a f**k about while they were living.” — Aimee Terese

Were you thinking of Daniel Penny this weekend? A year and a half ago, the US marine veteran, age 26, subdued one Jordan Neely, 30, a homeless schizophrenic with a record of 42 arrests who was menacing riders on a New York City subway car. Neely was, at the time, a fugitive on an arrest warrant for felony assault on a sixty-seven-year-old woman. Penny applied a choke hold after Neely declared he was of a mind to kill somebody on the train. Neely was still alive when the cops came, but they declined to give him CPR because he was filthy and an apparent drug-user, and they feared getting AIDS or hepatitis from giving him mouth-to-mouth resuscitation. . . so Neely died there in the subway.

Again: bold mine, and entirely dispositive. Meanwhile, via Ace, NYC’s rational, eminently fair minded Nee-grow community is reacting to the verdict with all the sober, judicious moderation we’ve come to expect from them—ie, by declaring a total chimp-out.


You got a mighty big mouth on ya for somebody who represents 13-14% of the total population, I’d say. Whyn’tcha shag your sorry ass down here to South Cackalacky with that shit, see how that works out for ya.

Got a cpl-three more links on this story waiting for attention, but I wanted to go ahead and get this much up quick as I could, so expect updates later on.

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A noble idea

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Ever since my Madeleine was born, I’ve thought a great deal about, but somehow never quite gotten around to, putting together for her a sort of quasi-biographical compilation encompassing but not necessarily limited to:

  • My stories of the rock ’n’ roll road life and the many musical icons, actors, painters, authors, and other such notables and quotables I’ve rubbed elbows with along the way
  • Other enduring interests of mine such as riding and wrenching on custom go-fast Harley Davidsons and vintage beater Fords
  • Shooting, full-auto subguns in particular
  • Aviation and aircraft, both military and civilian
  • Reading and/or writing, both fiction and non-fiction
  • Website design, construction, and management
  • US history, Civil War v1.0 in particular
  • Philosophy, logic, and Western literature
  • Rockabilly, blues, bluegrass, trad country, classical, swing, and early (ie, pre-bebop) jazz
  • Composing, recording, and performing my own original music
  • My years in NYC

It would be a fine thing, I think, to be able to pass this stuff on to my daughter for purposes of self-explanation, a way for her to know who and what her Daddy was to the fullest extent practicable. And now, thanks to AoSHQ’s scampydog, I’ve found what looks to be a handy dandy kick-in-the-butt motivator for getting started on this admittedly daunting project at last. Namely: Your Father’s Story.

About this item

✨YOUR FATHER’S STORY: Have you ever wanted a more in-depth look at your father’s life? What he valued most from his parents or maybe a funny habit that he had as a child? This journal will uncover all of the little things you might not know about your father.

✨DOCUMENT HIS LIFE: The Your Father’s Story journal is filled with prompts for your father to write his memories and knowledge to pass on to you, give you more insight into his live and experiences that have helped shape him and in turn, help shape you.

✨CHERISH THE MEMORIES: Strewn throughout the journal are inspirational quotes as a reminder to treasure the moments, to remember what was and have the courage to pass it forward.

✨LAYOUT: Prompts are divided into six chapters with one to two questions on each page. Gift our journal to your father and discover new details about his journey through life.

✨PREMIUM PAPER: Let his story unfold on premium cream-colored writing paper. We care about preserving your memories, our “Acid-free” paper resists the yellowing and crumbling that comes with age.

✨YOUR STORIES SERIES: Get to know your family history with our new guided journal series. Click the blue “Piccadilly” button under the title to find all our family journals, sketchbooks, guided journals, notebooks and more!

Pretty cool, no? Next time I get my hands on a few spare shekels, I’ma look into picking one of these things up. A bit too rich for my po-ass blood on Amazon, but they can be had on eBay at a more reasonable tariff.

Update! The above mention of full-auto subguns reminded me of my personal all-time favorite pic of Madeleine’s mama, to wit:

Snapped by Yr Humble Hoste at Shooter’s Express in Mt Holly, immediately after the ex had popped off an entire thirty-round stick magazine at full auto for the first time in her life, using the über-righteous H&K MP5 chambered in the venerable Europellet 9mm. Her beatific, rapturous smile should tell any deprived soul who hasn’t experienced the deliriously pulse-pounding thrill of full auto pretty much everything he/she will ever need to know about how much fun it really, truly is.

Man, I seriously LOVE that photo, it’s a real gem. Like I always say: you haven’t really flown until you’ve flown an open-cockpit biplane, and you haven’t really shot until you’ve shot full auto. Trust me, that’s the truth, the whole truth, and nuttin’ but the truth. Oh yes, I knew that huge grin was coming, so I stood behind her waiting for it, digital camera in hand (what was that little thing anyhow, Sony, Canon? Can’t remember now, but it’s still around here someplace), prepped, aimed, and ready to capture the moment.

A cpl of other MP5 snaps, then. First up, my dearly beloved NYC partner in crime Rachel, now tragically deceased:

God only knows how Rachel managed to find a range in NYC where she’d be allowed to shoot an MP5, much less the MP5 itself; she emailed me that pic with no further explanation, and insouciantly laughed me off every time I asked about it, which was just like her. Then again, knowing that wild, wilfull, and wanton woman as well as I did, it must be acknowledged that if anybody in the world could pull off such an extraordinary feat, it would have to be her. Could ONLY be her, actually.

6 feet nothing of mostly long, shapely legs, thick, stick-straight black hair, and big giant titties; eternally sarcastic; unfailingly cheerful, confident, and socially adroit; the snappiest dresser you ever did see, whether in a lovely vintage dress and heels or her preferred black jeans, T-shirt, and scuffed-up engineer boots—verily, Rachel was in a class of her own. They broke the mold and threw away the pieces the day that girl was made. Of all the multitudinous Pyrsynzz Of Vagina I’ve known over lo, these many years, I never met another quite like Rachel Gudera, bless her big ol’ heart.

Rachel also happens to be the naughty little girl who once sent me the best Christmas card I ever received. It’s on the hard drive somewhere, I think; I’ll see if I can dig it up and post it in an update.

Of course, I simply MUST throw in a snap of little ol’ moi firing SE’s rental MP5, right before I reloaded and passed the sweet-shooting little beastie along for the ex-wife to get her projectile-weapon rocks off on.

Good times, folks, good times indeed.

Not nice update! A-yup, found the aforementioned Xmas card. CAUTION: definitely NSFW, this one. Delicate, less-worldly sorts are hereby advised to avert their eyes. I’ll tuck it below the fold so as not to spook the horses, frighten the children, or offend the aged and infirm.

Continue reading “A noble idea” →

Happy Pearl Harbor Day!

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SO, here’s where we’re at 83 years on: “Great” Britain, France, and Germany have all been overrun by Mooselimbs, without ever bothering to put up a fight. The FUSA has been overrun by pretty much everybody, including the ChiComs, who already effectively owned it lock, stock, and barrel anyway. Japan, after looking for a few years there like they’d be the Far Eastern nation that was gonna end up owning everything and everybody, is now a floundering economic and military basket case whose young men have been so cowed, beaten down, and feminized they can’t even be bothered to chase pussy anymore.

The Dutch? Same-same. Spain is well on its way to becoming Andalusia v2.0, just another brick in the global-caliphate wall. The Eyeties? Who cares. Does that country still even exist?

Korea is still scarred by a fiercely-enforced DMZ separating its two (2) halves after the Chinks stepped in and dealt the Yanks a solid ass-whupping which ran them back across the Yalu and out of Korea altogether. After almost two (2) decades of pointless war Vietnam was reunified, which all involved parties seem to regret.

Russia is having tremendous difficulty kicking ass and taking names against an adjoining former-USSR shitrapy around one-sixteenth its size which has been saddled with a corrupt government led by a midget robbing both his own nation and the FUSA blind.

Meanwhile, the FUSAn central goobermint is under the iron-fisted control of a shadowy cabal of authoritarian incompetents whose identities We Duh Sheepul will never know, not that most of us seem to care all that much one way or the other as long as we still have Netflix and Super Bowl Sunday to placate us. Said cabal installed as its frontman “President” a hilariously inept, barely-ambulatory, shameless, astoundingly corrupt, unintelligent career conman so far advanced into the final stages of dementia he has repeatedly gotten confused about where he is, why he’s there, how he got there, who brought him, who he’s supposed to be talking to, why certain ex-people who died years ago aren’t there, etc etc.

Then his own criminal organization masquerading as a political party elbowed him out and anointed as his replacement a visibly drunk, embarrassingly inarticulate, cackling old whore that nobody but NOBODY liked at all. Thankfully, an irrepressible, rambunctious, fun-loving outsider promising vengeance against the Swamp critters who have tormented him and his family incessantly for nigh on a decade kicked the day-drinking whore’s ass so hard she ended up wearing it as a hat, crushing her well beyond the margin of fraud which had sufficed to install the previous two (2) “Presidents” at the very least.

Now tell me again who won WW2, please. Hell, for the matter of it, can anybody truthfully be said to have won it? From where I’m sitting, it’s beginning to look like EVERYBODY lost.

No pressure

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Is the misbegotten Daniel Penny trial coming apart at the seams? Or is the biased, rabidly anti-White “judge” attempting a little kangaroo court jiggery-pokery in hopes of teasing out a guilty verdict somehow, some way, on ANY charge at ALL?

Daniel Penny trial judge agrees to drop top manslaughter count after jury deadlocks twice
A Manhattan judge on Friday agreed to drop the top charge against Daniel Penny in the subway chokehold death of Jordan Neely.

“We move to dismiss the top count of manslaughter in the second degree,” Assistant District Attorney Dafna Yoran told the court at around 3:30 p.m.

The judge then signed off on the request — which came after jurors twice said Friday they couldn’t come to a verdict on the manslaughter rap.

The 12-person panel will continue deliberating Monday on the lesser charge of criminally negligent homicide, which Penny, 26, faces in the fatal May 2023 encounter aboard an uptown F train.

He has pleaded not guilty.

Which, of course, he is. In truth, the man is a bona fide hero—and in a sane, righteous city (if any still exist in Amerika v2.0) he’d be hailed as one for such an exemplary display of selflessness, initiative, physical courage, and derring-do in defense of a subway-car load of total strangers. Instead of this revolting abomination of a politically driven witch-hunt stunt of a show-trial of a shit circus, NYC ought to’ve expressed appreciation and humble gratitude via a tickertape parade down Broadway in Penny’s honor for stepping up like he did to protect his fellow straphangers from an aggressive, proven-dangerous predator with an extensive record of mental illness, serious health issues, substance abuse, chronic hallucination, and random violence.

Poor Perry Mason must be spinning in his grave on an 800-horsepower rotisserie rack at this vile molestation of the very concept of justice.

It’s a lead-pipe cinch that every other passenger riding the train that day (hell, any day, EVERY day) would’ve sat timidly back, kept quiet, and pretended not to see a thing, hoping and praying that said maniac would just pass them by and go threaten, harass, and assault somebody else. How sad it is that, in the topsy-turvy, Bearded Spock universe NYC clearly prefers, any valiant soul who unhesitatingly puts his own safety—his very life, even—on the line for the sake of others will inevitably wind up being the victim of 1) Überstadt malifecence, and 2) the cowardice, complacency, and ignoble self-absorption of his fellow New Yorkers ere the end.

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When men were men, and sheep were scared

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Bayou Peter kicks things off thusly:

As part of my research for a forthcoming book, I’ve been reading up about the history of dueling in New Orleans during the 18th and 19th centuries. I came across this very unusual account.

“Unusual,” he says. “Unusual,” forsooth! Just get a load of this, it leaves “unusual” in the dust.

M. Augustin … who afterward became a district judge and general of the Louisiana Legion, was the victor in several … encounters in which the temper of the period caused him to be engaged. One in particular is noteworthy on account of the part it played in an extraordinary freak of fortune. Alexander Grailhe was the offending party, though the insult (or rather provocation, for gentlemen seldom insulted) would in this day be of scant concern. But some cause of action was present, and each was sure that a deadly meeting would certainly follow. They rode together in a carriage with ladies, who, after the duel, commented on their mutual affability during the entire trip, which only serves to show how delicately adjusted was the code of etiquette—especially in the presence of ladies.

They fought at The Oaks, and as soon as the weapons had been crossed and the impressive “Allez, Messieurs,” pronounced, Grailhe, who was high-strung and hot-blooded—doubly so under the stress of what he regarded as a grievous provocation—lost his temper and furiously charged his antagonist. Augustin, on the contrary, was cool, collected, and agile, parrying each savage thrust, until by a temps d’arrêt (sudden pause), judiciously interpolated into a vicious lunge of Grailhe’s, he pierced him through the chest. Grailhe, with one of his lungs perforated, remained for a long time hovering between life and death, and when at last he did come out of his room, he was bowed like an octogenarian.

It was now only a question of time for the wounded man, as an internal abscess had formed where it could not be reached, —surgery then was not what it is now,— and the doctors despaired of saving him. Some time after he had been up and about, a quarrel with Col. Mandeville de Marigny resulted in his challenging that distinguished citizen. This duel was also fought at The Oaks, but as Grailhe was too weak to do himself justice with a sword, the weapons chosen were pistols at fifteen paces, each to have two shots, advance five paces, and fire at will. At the first shot, fired simultaneously, the unfortunate man fell forward, pierced by his adversary’s bullet, which had entered the exact place of his former and yet unhealed wound. Marigny, with pistol in hand and as placid as a marble statue, advanced to the utmost limit marked out, when Grailhe, who was suffering greatly, exclaimed: “Fire again; you have another shot.”

With grave dignity Marigny raised his pistol above his head and fired into the air, saying with frigid politeness: “I never strike a fallen foe.”

More dead than alive, the stricken duelist was carried home by his friends and consigned to the care of his physician; but instead of sinking rapidly, as was expected, he really began to mend, and by the following morning was much improved. The ball had penetrated to the abscess which had threatened his life, and made an exit for its poisonous accumulations. Some time afterward he walked out of his room as erect as ever, and soon regained his health and stately bearing.

YOWZA! I don’t think even “bizarre” quite meets the case here—downright otherworldly, I’d call it.

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End Times alert!

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Well whaddya know, maybe Woke really IS dead after all.


When the Superdooperdoublesecretultraüberlibs at Apple release an ad as White family-positive as this—not a jot or tittle of mockery, sarcasm, or sneering; no thinly-veiled insinuations of LiterallyHitlerGenocideNaziSupremacissism in sight—something’s going on out there.

Steve Jobs must be spinning in his grave. Which, just this once, is by no means a bad thing.

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Brine shrimp

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Anybody out there old enough to remember Sea Monkeys?

Sea-Monkeys is a marketing term for brine shrimp (Artemia) sold as novelty aquarium pets. Developed in the United States in 1957 by Harold von Braunhut, they are sold as eggs intended to be added to water, and most often come bundled in a kit of three pouches and instructions. Sometimes a small tank and additional pouches are included. The product was marketed in the 1960s and 70s, especially in comic books, and remains a presence in popular culture.

Ant farms had been popularized in 1956 by Milton Levine. Harold von Braunhut invented a brine-shrimp-based product the next year, 1957. Von Braunhut collaborated with a marine biologist, Anthony D’Agostino, to develop the proper mix of nutrients and chemicals in dry form that could be added to plain tap water to create a suitable habitat for the shrimp to thrive. Von Braunhut was granted a patent for this process on July 4, 1972.

They were initially called “Instant Life” and sold for $0.49, but von Braunhut changed the name to “Sea-Monkeys” in 1962. The new name was based on their salt-water habitat, together with the supposed resemblance of the animals’ tails to those of monkeys.

Sea-Monkeys were intensely marketed in comic books throughout the 1960s and early 1970s using illustrations by the comic-book illustrator Joe Orlando. These showed humanoid animals that bore no resemblance to the crustaceans. Many purchasers were disappointed by the dissimilarity and by the short lifespan of the animals. Von Braunhut is quoted as stating: “I think I bought something like 3.2 million pages of comic book advertising a year. It worked beautifully.”

Good old American marketing genius and ingenuity, that’s what, enhanced by a heaping helping of old school medicine-show hucksterism. What reminded me of it all was this post over at BRM. I tried leaving a comment over at Peter’s joint, but I don’t think it took.

There are several iterations of the Sea Monkeys ad findable via Luxxle search, but the one I remember best is this one:

Please note the disclaimer at bottom left—truth in advertising if ever I saw it, although as a kid I of course would pay it no heed. After refusing for a few years, my Dad finally consented to order some for me back then, and I must say the main result of the whole project was profound disappointment. Be all that as it may, one has to ask: was the world really a more fun place then, or were we all just more gullible? All things considered, this might be the perfect time to embrace the healing power of “and.”

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Being New York

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Not a hell of a lot of fun in it these days, I’m afraid.

Straphanger slugged by irate seatmate wrestles attacker to floor — but then fellow passengers helped HIM after he ‘turned into a little b—-h’
A straphanger was slugged in the face by an irate seatmate on a Manhattan-bound subway, but he managed to wrestle the “little b–ch” to the floor — but that’s when fellow passengers jumped in to help his attacker.

Alexander Rakitin, 42, was riding the N train to his Manhattan finance job Monday morning when he sat down next to 34-year-old Timothy Barbee.

As the train took off, the car jolted, causing Rakitin’s knee to jostle Barbee’s — which set the alleged assailant off.

“Apparently my knee touched his knee. That triggered him,” Rakitin told The Post.

“He was just very aggressive. I’m like, saying, ‘Dude, just chill, it’s like 8:30 in the morning. Like, who needs this s–t? Just chill.’”

Footage taken by another straphanger captured the two staring each other down, before Barbee yelled “It’s f–king done, stop staring at me” — and proceeded to tell the protesting Rakitin to “Make me chill” and “Shut the f–k up.”

Their verbal exchange quieted for a moment while they continued to stare each other down, before Barbee said, “I ain’t got time to go to jail today.”

Then he smacked Rakitin across the face — sending his glasses flying — before the camera cut out.

“I was able to wrestle him to the ground after that, and just kind of hold him,” Rakitin said. “And the craziest part was that — and this is literally upsetting, like I’m actually emotional about it — people on the train were trying to help him. Like, that was the most insane thing.

“It was also remarkable — he went from acting like such a thug. And then he turned into a little b—h right away. He’s like, ‘I can’t breathe. Please, let me go. Please, let me go. I can’t breathe. Somebody give me some water. I can’t breathe.’ And people started giving him water. That was so insane.”

Gotta give the candy-ass nigger credit for one thing: he seems to have taken fully aboard the things he needs to say so as to get him off the hook for being an obstreperous, mouthy, violent subway-shitbird, what with all that “I cain’ breeve, I cain’ breeve ’n’ sheeit” horsepuckey.

Rakitin’s stunned assessment is mostly on target in re his fellow B&T straphangers who jumped in to render aid to his attacker, except that “insane” doesn’t even begin to meet the case here. What they of right ought to have been doing was getting in some good, stiff kicks to the ribs and head while Rakitin had the PoS pinned for ‘em. That’s a world’s-record instance of squandered opportunity, if you ask me, a true teachable moment flushed right down the toilet. You can bet your sweet bippy that it’d be a long, long while before this Barbee cunt-fart tried cutting up rough on the subway again if they had.

That which doesn’t kill me

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Makes me stronger.

I ate like Trump for a week. I don’t understand how the man is still alive
It was a picture that revealed more than just Donald Trump’s inner circle. Following the jubilation of the US election, the grinning president-elect was pictured on board Trump Force One tucking into a McDonald’s with Elon Musk and Robert F Kennedy Jr. Donald Trump Jr, seated to his right, would later joke that Mr Kennedy Jr’s mission to “make America healthy again” would have to wait until “tomorrow”. Mr Trump’s penchant for fast food was once again in the spotlight. But what does his diet consist of?

Breakfast – nothing. Lunch – nothing. Dinner – a McDonald’s, KFC, pizza or a well-done steak. Twelve Diet Cokes a day, and snacking on Doritos. The man appointed to become his own health secretary, RFK Jr, described what Trump eats as “poison”.

“His diet is exceptionally poor,” agrees Telegraph nutritionist Sam Rice. “It’s unbalanced, with far too many ultra-processed foods, too much saturated fat from red and processed meat, simple carbohydrates that can cause sugar spikes and lead to insulin resistance. It’s also low in fibre and gut-friendly plant foods. The copious amount of Diet Coke he drinks, which contains the artificial sweetener aspartame – identified as a possible carcinogen by the World Health Organisation – makes his diet a nutritional nightmare.”

The sissy-mary went on the Trump diet for a week, and says it damned near kilt him. Me, I’m with Al Bundy.

It’s always made me tired, how so many Righty bloggers want to whimper and whine about how godawful McDonalds is, as if the mere thought of eating a Big Mac suddenly transmogrifies them into the Leftards their bitching makes them sound so much like. Is McDonalds the best burger ever? Of course not. But will a Quarter Pounder or McDouble do when you’re in a rush, are hungry, and there just happens to be a Mickey Ds drive-thru on your way to wherever you have to be shortly? Of course it will.

Leave the sniffy, über-sanctimonious disdain for the corporate grab ’n’ grub fare to the shitlibs, sayeth I; they’ll always be better at it anyway, having had so much more practice. You can definitely be sure that finding common ground with you over the appalling toxicity of junk food isn’t going to make them hate you any less.

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Okay, THIS is weird as all hell…

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SO: in the course of going through my contacts for numbers to send to an old friend whose phone got busted up and thereby he lost all his contacts, his photos, music, downloaded files—basically, everydamned thing—I ran across a number for one Matt Walsh who, yes, appears to be THAT Matt Walsh. No idea when, how, or even WHY I got Matt’s digits in the first place, it just shocked the ever-loving shit outta me. So naturally I called him up and explained who I was and what the call was all about, whereupon he said he was in the middle of something just then and would call me back as quick as he possibly could.

Now, I used to know Ben Shapiro fairly well, corresponded with him on the regular before he became Ben Fucking Shapiro, even helped him get his first blog up and running back when dinosaurs ruled the Earth. There are quite a few other OG warbloggers I used to count as good friends, some of whom I’ve actually met and hung out with IRL. But for the life of me I don’t remember Walsh being among ‘em, I solemnly swear I don’t.

Ah well, just thought it was a pretty cool story to share with y’all. Hopefully this Mystery Dood will get back to me soon, and if it really is THE Matt Walsh he can set me straight on all this craziness.

Update! Yep, it’s the real Matt Walsh alright. What a crazy world, huh?

Updated update! No wait, I don’t think it is the same one after all.

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