“Safety” theater

Odd how closely it parallels our farcical post-9/11 Security Theater, innit? Why, it’s almost as if the goobermint only has one tune in the whole hymn book.

If you go to a restaurant in Gotham right now, you might be subjected to a temperature check. It’s no big deal, it takes a second — but it’s pointless; plenty of COVID-positive people don’t have a fever. So why do we do it? It’s part of a growing trend of COVID-19 security theater. We do things that have no bearing on our actual safety but that make us feel safe.

Take masks. It makes sense to wear masks inside businesses or for any close contact with strangers.

No it doesn’t.

But why are people wearing them outside, when they’re not near anybody? Neighborhood message boards across the country are filled with complaints like: “I saw a bicyclist without a mask today!”

The problem is messaging from the top. Dr. Anthony Fauci, the Centers for Disease Control and Prevention coronavirus guru, is the man we all look to for direction. In March, he said, “There’s no reason to be walking around with a mask.” Now he’s gung-ho, yet his mask instruction is very convoluted.

He wore a mask to throw out the first pitch at the Opening Day game at Nationals Park — while standing more than 60 feet away from the nearest person. Then he sat down in the stands with his wife and friend, and they all took turns wearing and removing their masks.

In restaurants in New York, you must wear a mask to your seat. But then you take it off to eat, drink and talk, which is clearly where all the danger lies.

Not to worry; once the dwindling few NYC restaurants still hanging on by their fingernails are driven under too, that little conundrum pretty much solves itself. Of course, the, ummm, flexible standards the “elite” hold themselves to are yet another indicator that this whole shamdemic thing is just so much smoke. But speaking of NYC, there IS some truly hilarious news:

The governor of New York has begged the city’s wealthy, who fled the coronavirus outbreak, to return and help it recover.

Andrew Cuomo said he was extremely worried about New York City weathering the Covid-19 aftermath if too many of the well-heeled taxpayers who fled to second homes decide there is no need to move back.

“They are in their Hamptons homes, or Hudson Valley or Connecticut. I talk to them literally every day. I say. ‘When are you coming back? I’ll buy you a drink. I’ll cook,’ “ Mr Cuomo told MSNBC, naming popular getaways for the rich.

Lawmakers have proposed a wealth tax targeting the city’s 100 billionaires to help fill a $30 billion (£23bn) budget shortfall created by the Covid-19 crisis.

However, Mr Cuomo, a Democrat, said he could not support greater taxes on the ultra-wealthy as rich people already have one foot out of New York City and he fears they will leave for good if their taxes go up.

Instead, he wants the federal government and New York’s congressional representatives to send billions of dollars in aid. 

LOLGF, asshole-eyes.

Update! What the hell, more NYC hilarity.



Aww gee, my heart is just breaking over here.

NYC Kommissar DeBalledZero doing a bang-up job

Coming soon to a soon-to-be hellhole near you, as ever-more New Yorkers flee the cesspit they created to begin the process all over again in your hometown.

It’s the Great Black Tar Way.

A cluster of junkies has turned Broadway into a shooting gallery, injecting drugs unhampered in broad daylight and then shuffling around in a zonked-out stupor, seemingly oblivious to the Midtown bustle around them, The Post has learned.

If that wasn’t enough, the addicts are peppering the area with used syringes, turning individual planters on 40th Street and Broadway into mini needle parks.

“They’ve taken over the tables, blatantly using needles and shooting up heroin all day long,” said a local worker who asked that he only be identified as James. “There’s no police action, there’s no reach-out. There’s nobody preventing this, and you know we’ve had multiple calls to 311 but nobody really responds. It’s becoming a real problem.”

He called his own 311 calls “futile exercises.”

The Post spotted several of the spent needles dumped at the scene — and even caught one of the vagrants shooting up out in the open on Tuesday afternoon, with no one stepping in or saying a word.

The accompanying pictures are…well. Hate to say it and all, because I still have plenty of friends in NYC and its environs, people I love and care greatly about. But the sad, sorry truth is this: New Yorkers twice elected the asshole primarily responsible for The City’s current sad collapse into misery and chaos. They should now be forced to enjoy what they voted for.

I suppose the ship already sailed on that Big Beautiful Escape From New York-style Wall idea, eh…?

Of pots, and kettles

As always with these reprobates, pay attention to what they’re screaming loudest at their opposition for supposedly doing. Because that’s precisely what they’re doing, each and every time.

‘Trump Might Not Accept The Results Of The 2020 Election,’ Says Movement That Still Hasn’t Accepted Results Of 2016 Election
U.S.—Leftists are warning that President Donald Trump might not accept the results of the 2020 election.

These same leftists have spent the last four years declaring that Trump is not their president, that Hillary Clinton actually won because she won the popular vote, and that Trump only won because of Russian interference.

“It would absolutely destroy our democracy if Trump were to decide he won’t accept the results of the election,” said one woman in Seattle wearing a “Hillary Is My President” T-shirt. “We can’t continue to exist as a society if people don’t accept the basic rules governing a peaceful transfer of power.”

“Also, Trump stole the election and is not my president.” She then faced Washington for her evening screaming at the sky, a ritual she performs five times a day.

The party that still believes Al Gore actually won the 2000 election, Hillary won the 2016 election, and Stacey Abrams is actually the governor of Georgia continues to sound the alarm that Trump will destroy our national norms should he cast doubt on the results of the coming presidential race.

Trump dispelled rumors that he will not accept the results of the election, saying that he will definitely abide by the results as long as he likes them.

That’s the Bee, of course. If you prefer a more serious take, Mollie Hemingway has you covered. But as far as I’m concerned, the Bee says all that really needs to be said about the disgusting farce America has been forced to put up with for four long years.

TRAGEDY!

I’m inconsolable. Grief-stricken. Desolated.

Three people were injured in downtown Louisville when a member of an armed black militia group carrying semiautomatic weapons accidentally discharged a firearm as they marched to a demonstration.

Despite earlier reports that the shots were fired as a result of an argument between the group and a far-right organization gathered nearby, it was later confirmed that a member of the Atlanta-based ‘Not F*****g Around Coaltion’ (NFAC) had accidentally fired on other members as they assembled in Baxter Park.

An estimated 350 armed members of the group had gathered there before marching toward the main protest site in downtown Louisville, where about 50 member of the far right militia group Three Percenters were also gathered.

Just hours after the shooting, the leader of the NFAC vowed the group would return to Louisville to ‘burn this motherf****r down’ if the investigation into the death of Breonna Taylor is not completed in four weeks time.

So what’s the tragedy, you ask? Why, that not a one of these three NFuKD buffoons seems to have incurred himself a fatal injury in the dustup. Oh well, better luck next time, I guess. Somehow, it all reminds me of this classic scene:




So totting things up, we have an unfortunate dearth of death in Louisville, and therefore no desperately-needed and long-overdue culling of the current oversupply of violent, moronic Leftard protesters, either. Gladder tidings from down in Austin, though.

The incident leading up to the 28-year-old’s death began about 9:50 p.m. when a driver on Fourth Street honked his horn and turned right onto Congress Avenue where there was a crowd of protesters, Austin Police Chief Brian Manley said Sunday.

Several protesters — including Foster, who was holding an assault rifle — approached the car, Manley said. He said the driver reported that Foster pointed the weapon at him. The driver then pointed his handgun outside the window, fired multiple shots and drove away, Manley said.

Someone else in the crowd opened fire on the car as it drove off, Manley said.

First responders performed CPR on Foster, but he died at Dell Seton Medical Center less than an hour after the shooting, officials said.

The lesson: Don’t start no shit, won’t be no shit.

While ruefully acknowledging the somewhat disappointing outcome of the first story, Real Americans must nonetheless put both of these into the Win column.

“Experts,” bureaucrats, and ruination

He’s not just incompetent; he’s a fraud and a liar, too.

There are so many things wrong with the picture of Dr. Fauci taking in a Washington Nationals baseball game that one does not know where to start – and no it is not the fact that at that moment he is not wearing a mask. The first thing is that he is there at all, unlike the rest of America that he forbids from watching a baseball game. They’d like to take in a game too but only Fauci, secure in the knowledge that he has a regular job and a regular paycheck gets to enjoy America’s new favorite national pastime, players kneeling during the National Anthem.

Dr. Fauci took a break from his world tour long enough to take in a game and throw out the first pitch, which was predictably wild and to the left, the latest in a long series of curveballs he has thrown at us. After all, doing photo shoots ad interviews for InStyle Magazine can be exhausting. As the New York Post reported:

Dr. Anthony Fauci can add cover model to his resume.

Fauci, director of the National Institute of Allergy and Infectious Diseases, ditched his mask to pose for the September cover of InStyle magazine.

The top infectious disease expert invited photographer Frankie Alduino to his home last month to capture him sporting sunglasses and a button-down for the glossy, poolside shoot.

Fauci and his wife, bioethicist Dr. Christine Grady, also spoke with journalist Norah O’Donnell for an interview that will be featured in the issue.

To ask a question that would be asked of President Trump at the next press briefing had he done so, how many COVID deaths were there during the photoshoot or during the baseball game that people watched on TV because they have no jobs, they have lost their businesses or are just locked up in their homes under your order? The left-wing press would never ask such a question of the great Dr. Fauci, who once suggested millions would die if we didn’t shut up, sit down and obey his sage advice. Photo-ops are things evil conservative Presidents do.

Certainly, Fauci took umbrage at the question of where was his mask and why he was not social distancing with colleagues while he was sitting in the stands at the game. As the New York Post reported:

“I had my mask around my chin. I had taken it down. I was totally dehydrated and I was drinking water, trying to rehydrate myself,” Fauci insisted. “And by the way, I was negative COVID literally the day before. So I guess people want to make a big event. I wear a mask all the time when I’m outside. To pull it down to take some sips of water and put it back up again, I guess if people want to make something about that, they can. But to me, I think that’s just mischievous.”

You weren’t rehydrating yourself, Dr. Fauci, you were being a hypocrite, a fraud and a liar. Why can you and your companions juke elbow-to-elbow while you and your ilk ban people sitting three to a pew in a church in observing the constitutional freedom of religion you took from them?

Lord protect us from arrogant, power-drunk goobermint “experts” and their capricious whimsy. I’ll say this much: if Fauci’s brazen, staggering arrogance in enjoying a de facto private major-league baseball game—a once-mundane leisure activity you’ll never have the opportunity to enjoy again yourself—while letting the very mask he and his fellow dimestore-dictators nationwide demand that YOU wear properly until they tell you different by God dangle uselessly under his chin doesn’t leave you spluttering with rage, then you have no business calling yourself a Real American.

Believe it or not, though, this gets worse still. Over a grotesquely-extended sinecure stretching all the way back to the fucking 80s, when he flubbed the AIDS “crisis” in the exactly the same way he did this one, the despicable little creep Fauci has been wrong repeatedly, attempting to gin up baseless panic after baseless panic, over and over and over again, as if it was a cherished hobby with him or something.

Which serial futility and self-beclownment, mind, is no kind of obstacle to “success” when you work way down in the deeps of the topsy-turvy rabbit hole that is Big Government Wonderland.

Let’s get to some just plain vanilla stuff that I’m surprised the media doesn’t talk about when it comes to Tony Fauci. The first one may not be a big secret because it comes up a lot, but it merits meditation upon. And that is that this guy has had the same federal job for thirty-six years. It’ll be 37 years this year he’s had the same job in the federal bureaucracy. That is unusual. That means you’ve had to survive many different presidents, many different parties, many different regimes, many different social changes. And yet he’s always there. Now, I only know one other guy that pulled that off in American history: J. Edgar Hoover.

We’re talking deep state. Fauci survives because he does what the deep state wants him to do. He’s also a superb politician. And that’s very important. He’s got an M.D. degree. But the idea he’s a physician is a joke. The idea that he’s a scientist is a joke. And I wish Kary Mullis hadn’t passed away last summer because he could really be talking to this. Fauci is not a scientist. What he is is just a world-class bureaucrat. And that’s why he has survived for 36 years. That and the fact that he does what deep state people would like him to do.

Now, here’s a little trivia question. And you would think in our money-mad culture, this would have come out. There are two million people getting a paycheck from the federal government as employees. Who do you think the third highest-paid employee in the entire federal bureaucracy is? It’s Tony Fauci. Now, how do you bury that? That’s just a factoid you’d think somebody would come out with. Of two million people, he’s not in the top one percent of the one percent. (He’s in the .00015 percent!)

Did I mention rage before? Well, if that last article doesn’t push you well beyond rage and straight on into KILLING MAD territory…well, you’re probably either dead, or you’re reading this here post with your silly little mask on, you fucking idiot. In any event, the article paints a most repellent picture, one that serves to clear up one hell of a lot about why FUSA is in such awful shape. It’s a portrait that encompasses far more issues than our current catastrophe alone.

Fauci’s misbegotten career could easily have been the inspiration for Lawrence Peter’s work, if he was a bit older. Certainly, his picture should be emblazoned on the cover of every future edition of Dr Peter’s book. It would be a fitting tribute to the miserable, contemptible oxygen-thief.

Update! Leftymedia and preening peahen Fauci: birds of a feather, peas in a pod, on the same team, partners in crime.

He reinforces their preferred narrative about the virus and has assisted them in moving the goalposts to suit their agenda. Often he is vague, leaves out encouraging information, and even ignores alternative points of view. Despite telling Senator Rand Paul he was not “the be all, end all,” his public demeanor implies a far more inflated self-image.

With a new virus, the failure to hear competing theories has warped public perception, causing widespread panic. And Dr. Fauci himself has been inconsistent. White House advisor Peter Navarro was not wrong about many of Fauci’s missteps in his op-ed for USA Today. Even now, The Expert™ dithers on kids returning to school despite the fact that 20 other industrialized nations have done so without incident or needless restrictions.

Now, see, that right there is something I don’t quite get. Nobody on the notional Right should be demanding that the government schools reopen, soon, late, or ever. Seems to me that a golden opportunity exists here: keep the schools closed, abolish the federal Dept Of Ed, then quickly move on to disband the teachers’ unions and replace the whole dysfunctional dumpster-fire with a ground-up-new system structured very, VERY differently—one whose focus is on actually educating rather than indoctrinating. But YMMV, I guess. Onwards.

Fauci is often referred to as “the top infectious disease expert in the country.” Is he? I am sure there are other comparable minds on infectious diseases in the United States and globally. In fact, several have come out with views that are different than Fauci’s, but they rarely get airtime outside of podcasts and maybe Fox News.

Fauci is, in fact, the top government bureaucrat working in infectious disease. He joined the government during the Reagan administration. Does his government service mean we should ignore Nobel laureate and Stanford University biophysicist Michael Levitt? After he and his team studied 3,546 locations worldwide with COVID-19 outbreaks, they determined the curve is self-flattening.

Then there is Dr. Harvey Risch. He is a Yale epidemiologist who has done a review of the studies of outpatient use of hydroxychloroquine with an antibiotic and zinc. He is advocating for the use of the combination early in diagnosis to prevent hospitalization based on his findings. There are similar findings in France and India. Yet 44 states are monitoring its use, and medical associations are disciplining doctors for using it to treat patients.

Why isn’t Dr. Fauci telling the public that we may have an effective outpatient treatment? Shouldn’t he be calming fears by celebrating our improvements in therapy for hospitalized patients lowering the death rates? Maybe tell the FDA to let hydroxychloroquine to be used off-label for the foreseeable future? Dr. Risch believes this could save thousands of lives.

Of course, he should. Instead, he goes on television and wrings his hands over case numbers. It is maddening for anyone following the science of COVID-19.

Well, naturally. This isn’t about science, anymore than it’s about a virus, or public health, or anything else you’ve been told. Whatever might have been the case early on, this is now about power, and control. Nothing more, nothing less.

Beginning to figure it out yet?

It still amazes me how dismayingly many conservative op-ed writers and bloggers—people usually given to gimlet-eyed skepticism about blanket statements or decrees from government and its pet “experts,” as they certainly should be—allowed themselves to be suckered by it. But the contrived Covidiot “crisis” was a steaming, stinking heap of bullshite from jump.

More than 8 weeks have passed since the publication of the ICL (Imperial College of London, the selfsame one whose “scientific models” got the stampede rolling with their initial hysterical prediction of 2.2 million American deaths from the Little Plague That Wasn’t—M) team’s warnings against reopening, meaning we can now see how their model performed.

As with other examples of ICL COVID modeling, their attempt to predict the effects of a US reopening can only be described as an embarrassing scientific failure.

The image below shows the three modeled scenarios from May, as depicted in the ICL report for the five states under consideration. Note that even under the “constant mobility” scenario of remaining under lockdown, their model predicted an increase in COVID deaths for every state except New York, which had already peaked. Under the reopening scenarios where mobility increased 20% and 40% respectively from its lockdown state, all five states were predicted to surge into apocalyptic territory by the middle of July. Under the 40% scenario, this even entailed upper boundaries of more than 4,000 deaths per day (the bands represent the 95% confidence interval). Massachusetts and New York, two of the hardest-hit states from the first wave back in March and April, would easily match or exceed their previous COVID-19 daily death records.

To see how these predictions held up, I indicated the daily death totals for each state for July 20th with a small red dot on the graphs above.

If you don’t already know perfectly well exactly how they held up…well, dammit, you certainly should by now, that’s all. But I’m afraid some of us, a great many most likely, never will get it. The growing legion of increasingly-belligerent Face Diaper Ninnies afflicting the land like a biblical plague testifies well enough to that.

The long and the short of it: you’ve been had, people. Hoodwinked, bamboozled, and with your own eager cooperation and full participation, too. But hey, all it cost us was our liberty, our prosperity, our Constitutional rights, our livelihoods, and our country.

Hey, if even one life is saved, amIright?

Even classical music now, too?

If you’re still one of the wilfully-oblivious few who thinks there’s anything at all the sick bastards won’t try to ruin and destroy, kindly allow me to recommend that you reconsider. Fast.

What’s the most important thing about opera singer Luciano Pavarotti?

(A) He used his vocal gifts to bring joy to millions;

or

(B) He was white, and not black or Latino.

If you’re a normal person, you’d choose option A. But if you’re the New York Times chief classical music critic, Tony Tommasini (or some other equally lousy person), you choose B.

Tommasini last week published what might be the single worst arts piece ever published by the formerly revered, now auto-cannibalizing Gray Lady. And since I have no word limit on this column, I might as well add that in my imagination, the backstory to Tommasini’s piece (about which more below) goes something like this.

Only a few more steps of Manhattan sidewalk, a quick right turn, and the weekly ritual would begin. Again.

“Is my tie okay?”, asked Tony.

“Stop”, said Benjamin.

Squaring himself to his partner, Benjamin directed an urgent OCD gaze toward Tony’s silk accoutrement (knotted as always with a modded half-Windsor, which Tony proudly believed he had invented all by himself, and that he alone on earth used).

Reaching out, Benjamin shifted Tony’s custom-knotted tie precisely .87 millimeters to the left, patted his partner’s lapels, stepped back, and smiled. “There. C’est magnifique!”.

“God…I love it when you speak French”, Tony cooed. Moistly.

Rounding the corner, Tony and Benjamin – one of New York’s (that is, the world’s) top power couples, with bonus-point gay cachet to boot – merged with streams of other self-important people draped in mink and gold heading toward the front doors of the Lincoln Center. It would be yet another evening of seeing and being seen, aristocratic chit-chat right out of a Tolstoy novel, and eventually, watching the world famous New York Philharmonic perform. What Tony didn’t know as he strolled into the building was that everything was about to change.

The program began typically enough: a Ravel piece; a Copland piece; a screeching atonal piece of avant garde garbage written only the month before by an Albanian communist no one had ever heard of, etc.

But when the orchestra’s principal clarinetist, Anthony McGill, rose to perform…Tony felt something snap inside.

It wasn’t McGill’s felicity of phrasing, his emotive dynamics, or the transcendent beauty of the melody which so affected him.

No. For Tony – a wealthy, highly-educated man born into privilege – it was McGill’s skin color. It was chocolate…but all the other players’ skin was…well, it was wrong. Even the tapioca-to-teak skin tones of the Asian musicians now seemed to blend into the now-intolerable Dairy Queen whiteness of the rest of the orchestra.

Only one of them…but four dozen whites, thought Tony. No. No no no no.

Tears of indignant rage welled in his eyes – sharp, stinging, Tabasco tears.

What…the actual f***…have I been part of?!

Tony was shouting silently to himself now, his thoughts racing.

How did I not see this before? NO. This is WRONG. F*** this music! F*** everything about this whole f***ing thing! There’s only ONE, um, African black American, um, of colour! That poor, poor man!

He looked around at the audience. Almost all white. That was the last straw. This is like a **** KLAN RALLY! THIS MUST END!

For the first time in Tony’s 72-year long life, a geyser of bitter gall, guilt, shame, and fury exploded within him, consuming him…And in that moment, the music stopped mattering to Tony. The only thing that mattered anymore was devoting his life to a cheap, destructive, ultimately meaningless, colour-by-numbers social justice game which required “correct” distribution of skin tones, in every time and place and situation – including orchestras.

And that, my friends, is how it came to pass, that Tony Tommasini just wrote the worst arts piece in the history of the New York Times.

After confessing that the above was his own instant-classic spoof of the twee douchebag Tommasini, Tal Bachman goes on to beat both the dweeb and the NYT soundly about the head, neck, and shoulders for stupidly demanding that racial quotas and political correctness must now trump ability even in classical music, concluding thusly:

I’m no virtuoso, but I did grow up playing and singing in classical ensembles at university, in high school, in the community, in church. So I admit I might be unusually sensitive to the displacement of musical merit and the diminution of musical experience by race obsessions and political ideology. That displacement and diminution feels like something out of communist China (which banned Bach, Beethoven, and Brahms), the Soviet Empire (which banned Shostakovich, Stravinsky, and the overtly Christian composer, Arvo Pärt), or Nazi Germany (which banned Jewish composers like Mendelssohn, Mahler, and even Debussy, on grounds he had married a Jewish woman).

Actually, no, strike that. This doesn’t “feel” like that. It is that. It’s the same old rotten, thuggish, conscription of everything – film, sport, love, family, history, literature, science, everything – into the service of some hideous, ultimately inhuman, ideology.

At some point, someone, something has to stop The Destroyers. But who, or what, and how?

Easy: sane people, that’s who or what. The how is a little more problematic, maybe. But in the end there really ain’t but just the one way, and we all know what it involves. Because Bachman is perfectly correct: it IS “the same old rotten, thuggish, conscription of everything” into a hideous ideology we all ought to be familiar enough with by now. When it comes to that one way of dealing with it, the song remains the same, and it always will.

Thanks just the same there, Juggsy

Nice of her to admit it, I guess, even though we all knew it already anyway.

McBigTitsadmitsit.jpg

Done and done, Theo.

I’ve said it before, I’ll say it again: this lackwit missed her true calling in life when she decided to run for Congress instead of heading on down to Flashdancers in Manhattan for a job working that Pole. Hey, it’s honest work, she woulda made fantastic tips (about fifteen hundred a night; ask me how I know), and would’ve made a lot of horny fellas very, very happy.



I just can’t see any way around it, fellas: she’s dumb as a bag of hammers, but she’s also a smokin’ hot, sexy little thing. Great big bodacious titties; nice, warm, open smile; smooth, un-self-conscious dance moves and gyrations—c;mon, man, what’s not to like? Other than pretty much every squawk emitted whenever she opens her fat, stupid yap, I mean.

Link to Theo Spark’s Tweet-tit capture via MisHum, who throws in:

We’ve dealt too long with gloves on and at least one if not two arms tied behind our backs. Fight. Fight back against the progressives who want to destroy this country.

24 flawless carats of Gott Damned Skippy.

Hatehoax nation

Racist hate crimes: so scarce on the ground they have to make ’em up themselves.

As the great woke wars of 2020 continue, an Oregon politician has found himself on the receiving end of a racist latter. Of course, he also found himself on the sending end of it.

Candidate for Commissioner of Umatilla County Jonathan Lopez has apologized for writing the letter and dropping it in his own mailbox in one of the lesser convincing faux hate crimes.

The letter avows “America is for the God fearing, pro gun, pro life humans who refuse to be controlled by the government. Theres (sic) no room for people like you here!”

This stunt is the latest in a string of fake hate from notes supposedly scribbled on restaurant bills towards black waiters to actor Jussie Smollett’s infamous Subway run-turned-hate crime hoax.

That they have to gin these things up so that a sick, obssessive fantasy might be brought to some kind of life is a measure of just how truly demented Lefty race-fanatics are. That they’re so often caught at it, yet keep right on trying their hand anyway, is a measure of just how truly fucking stupid they are.

Liberal Utopia: if you build it, they will run

Looks like we’re gonna need another Big Beautiful Wall, stat.

Former New York City mayor Rudy Giuliani and his former police commissioners such as Bernard Kerik, who headed up the NYPD force from 2000 to 2001 and directed the police response to 9/11, can only watch and weep as the city they had so successfully cleaned up rapidly descends into chaos and carnage. This Nightmare in New York is brought to you courtesy of Gov. Andrew Cuomo; Mayor Bill de Blasio; and a cast of thousands of Black Lives Matter protesters, anarchists, and street thugs. The once vibrant city is turning into a virtual no-go zone of looted shops, shuttered store windows, and skyrocketing murder rates. The number of shooting victims is up 51% this year so far, and that tragic trend is accelerating. In June of this year, there were 250 shootings, as opposed to 97 in June of 2019.

New York was already reeling from the highest coronavirus death toll in the (formerly) United States, due in large part to Gov. Cuomo approving the transfer of thousands of recovering COVID-19 patients to nursing homes at the height of the pandemic. Then the rioting began, and Mayor de Blasio’s response was to shame cops and propose cutting his city’s police department budget by more than one billion dollars. (That’s one thousand million for those of you who were educated in the city’s public schools.)

The Dimwitted Duo have caused a mass exodus, with 500,000 mostly middle-class New Yorkers fleeing the city thus far and many more likely to follow. Half a million New Yorkers heading for the proverbial hills. That’s more than the entire population of Minneapolis, where all the madness started. Of course, with the Minneapolis City Council repeatedly voting to disband its police force, the entire population of the “Mini apple” may head for the hills as well.

They should all be forced—at gunpoint if necessary—to stay and enjoy the fruits of their labor. They should DAMNED sure not be permitted to scatter out and infest the more civilized and liveable parts of the country, locust-like, to then start lobbying for, voting for, and otherwise insisting upon the exact same policies that they fouled their own nests with all over again.

Plea for assistance

One of my oldest and dearest friends, fella named Tom King, a riding partner of mine since the 80s, nearly lost his life in a serious motorcycle crash over in Charlotte a month or so back. After lapsing into DOA status on the way to the hospital—fortunately, the accident happened within a mile or so of what used to be known as Charlotte Memorial Hospital, who the hell knows what they’re calling it now—he was revived, but suffered the multiple broken bones, abrasions, and brain-rattling skullcracker of a concussion that seems to go hand in hand with most bad bike spills.

The docs say his recovery since has been nothing short of miraculous, considering the extent of his injuries. I’ve told him he had an angel riding on his shoulder that night.

Tom has always been a damned goofball; I pick on his ass all the time about his advanced-level dorkitude, which ribbing he’s always accepted with grace and good humor, along with the occasional subtle jabs back. He’s a truly serious Ironbutt, though, and a damned skillful rider. I won’t say he’s a better rider than I am, mind, because in my own humble and honest opinion (ahem) almost nobody in the whole world is. But there’s not much argument to be made that he’s put more miles under his ass than I have, even though I started riding at a much earlier age than he did. I harbor no illusions of ever catching up, either.

Whenever we’d make the annual trek to Myrtle Beach for the spring rally, which for a long time was every year without fail, we’d go in a large group of ten or fifteen of our biker buds, with Tom as Road Captain in the front-left position and me solid and unflappable on his right. Those rides and rallies are some of the fondest memories of my life. I really oughta write them down one of these days, before I’m too old to remember ’em all. Don’t know why that never occurred to me before.

Did I say Ironbutt? Tom has never thought a thing about making a run up to Lake Lure just to have breakfast, then heading on up to east Tennessee or some other hours-away place just for the sheer hell of it. He always loved to ride fast as hell on his highway jaunts, too. I never was any kind of shrinking violet myself when it came to the Need for Speed—one of my earliest internet nicks, one I still use here and there, was “speedfreek,” and nobody ever claimed it was inapt—but Tom was so incorrigible about it he used to piss me the hell off blasting down the interstate doing the ton, with me lollygagging behind not even trying to keep up. He’d slow waaaaay down once he’d lost sight of me in his mirrors, and exact his revenge for my ribbing by taunting me, “You gonna keep up or what, Grandma? Jeez!”

Tom worked as a journeyman printer at the CLT Observer for more than twenty years, which means he was around long enough to have made the transition from lead type to the digital age. But after the McClatchy buyout, the Observer did some serious downsizing, and Tom’s entire department was eliminated. Understand: Tom has been a worker his whole life, and it about killed him to suddenly find himself on the street. He found another job at a small printing concern up in Davidson fairly quickly after a couple of piddling pick-up gigs, making considerably less money…and with no insurance benefits at all.

Maybe you can see where this is going, I’m thinking.

It ought to be fairly obvious that Tom is up against it here. So a friend put together a GuFundMe campaign to help defray his horrific medical costs, which will be ongoing as he undergoes an extended course of therapy. I thought I’d mention said fundraiser here, since I am too damned perennially broke myself to offer much else in the way of help for him. If you can afford it in these uncertain times, please do consider tossing whatever you can manage in the pot. My thanks to you, and Tom’s and his wife Jen’s as well.

Oh, and why not take this opportunity to get in an additional jab at him, right? I DID say goofball, I believe. First: me, Tom, and his wife Jen at one of those great Myrtle Beach rallies, at our hotel bar at the Ocean Drive Golf Resort.

MikeTomJenTikiPatio.jpg

Next: a shot of me, Tom, and my ravishingly beautiful late wife Christiana—same day, same location.

MikeTomCTikiPatio1.jpg

Hm. Okay, looking at it again, I see that there is just the merest of possibilities that Tom might not be the only goofball in that one. Which is the only comment I’m going to make on exactly where my bleary, blurry gaze seems to be locked. Last one, of us two boys confirming our coveted Master Goofball status for all time.

MikeTomGanstersOnAPatio.jpg

How many strikes do we have to give ’em before they’re out?

Glenn keeps saying how “sad” and horrible it is that the public no longer much trusts the goobermint’s health “experts,” but I don’t see it that way myself. I mean, come on: when your trust has been misplaced, your faith in over-powerful and unaccountable authorities betrayed, only a damned fool would continue to trust them.

We listened as bureaucrats like Dr. Anthony Fauci dictated economic, social, political and health policy from the widely watched White House stage, successfully shutting down businesses, sending people in fear to their homes, upsetting entire national industries and shuttering the doors on schools — all while claiming a complete hands-off approach to economic policy, political policy, education policy. All while claiming he spoke only to the “science” — all while waving his wand over the ever-changing “science.” All while pressing, pressing, pressing for patience until the development of a global vaccine. All while expecting his rapt, fearful audience to turn blind eyes to his own conflicts of interest with the development of a global vaccine — namely, that he sits on the board of the Bill Gates’ Decade of Vaccines campaign, aimed at developing and selling cure-all shots for what ails humans around the world.

And for the most part, the media did turn blind eyes.

Turn blind eyes, hell. They were cheering him on. And as long as what he says works to Trump’s and America’s disadvantage, they will go right on doing it.

The science was that the science was ever-changing, so to keep up, the rules, the regulations, the mandates, the orders, had to — simply had to! — change as well.

That’s not science. That’s flipping a flipping coin, again and again and again.

Well, in America, it’s time for the citizens to take back their rights from the charlatans. Scientists, on the coronavirus, have spent all the capital they have. They deserve to be drummed out and sent home. It’s time for the individuals to chart their own courses on personal health care.

Fool me once, shame on you. Fool me twice, shame on me. Fool me as many times as Fauci has since the AIDS scare back in the 80s—which he was wrong about too, along with every other damned thing he’s pronounced upon since, yet inexplicably still holds his powerful position rather than mopping a Wal-Mart restroom in Keokuk—well, I don’t even begin to know who gets shamed over that.

Go home

Why the red-raw fuck is this depraved, lying, Moslem-terrorist-supporting degenerate even still allowed to stay in this country? Much less hold a seat in the US Congress, for Christ’s sweet sake? Are we really at the stage where treason and/or sedition mean literally nothing anymore?

Never mind; probably best not to answer that one. Or even think about it for too long, really.

Brotherfucker and Immigration Fraudster Ilhan Omar Calls for “Dismantling” of American “Economy and Political Systems”

That’s Ace’s headline, which suffices to tell you pretty much all you really need to know.

It is well-established that the vile “Omar” came here under fraudulent pretenses, which ought to be quite enough to deport her ass toot sweet. She has now graduated from denouncing her foolish host country for every imaginary crime under the sun to calling openly for revolution against it. Can somebody give me a single goddamned reason why we SHOULDN’T give her the heave-ho back to the sub-Saharan shithole that is her true spiritual home so fast it would make her fucking teeth hurt? Just ONE?!?

Punch like a girl

Must drive ’em even more nuts than they already are, I bet. After all, he’s a white guywho beat up two black guys and a Russian.

PHILADELPHIA, PA—First, the rioters came for Andrew Jackson. Then, they came for Ulysses S. Grant. Then, they came for the Fonz for some reason. But finally, they came for the ultimate racist statue: the famous monument to Rocky Balboa in front of the Philadelphia Museum of Art. It’s not clear why they thought it was racist, but the guy in the statue seemed to be happy, so he was probably a conservative of some kind whenever he existed, they reasoned.

But the statue survives to fight another day, as it went a full 15 rounds against rioters and was still standing after the bout.

The weak, sissy rioters charged the statue and started punching it, hurting their little man-baby hands and running away to cry to their parents, whom they probably still live with. A second wave came in, but Rocky stood strong. Things got a little dicey in the seventh round, when one rioter threw a rope around the statue and suggested everyone start rocking it back and forth, but then their soft, buttery smooth hands got chafed by the rope and they had to call it quits to nurse their wounds with coconut oil.

“Balboa was a real champion out there,” said one witness. “It was incredible.”

Finally, after 15 waves of angry rioters charged the statue, the dust settled, and Balboa won again, having gone for a full 15 rounds without breaking a sweat. Balboa was declared the winner in a unanimous decision as the judges were appalled at the rioters’ lack of form, indicating they had never punched anything before, except maybe customers’ buy-six-get-one-free cards at Jamba Juice.

Then they all went back home to Mom’s basement for a good, long cry.

Interview with a vampire

ZMan does a wicked-fine parody his own self.

The following is a fictional transcript of a negotiation between white people and black people in America over reparations. Representing black people in the negotiations is Nikole Hannah-Jones, a staff writer for New York Times magazine. She is the creator of the 1619 Project, which is an ongoing blood libel against white people. Representing white people of America is the typical white person, who has tried in good faith for generations to figure out how to include blacks in civil society.

White Person: Thank you for agreeing to begin this dialogue. Having read your latest, uh, column on reparations, we, and by “we” I mean white people, have decided that it is time to think about reparations. While we in no way accept the claim that modern whites owe modern blacks anything for the alleged crimes of our ancestors, in the furtherance of peace between the races, we are open to discussing reparations.

Nikole Hannah-Jones: Yes, well, as I said in my post, if true justice and equality are ever to be achieved in the United States, the country must finally take seriously what it owes black Americans. It is time for this country to pay its debt. It is time for reparations.

WP: Presumably, when you say “the country” you mean white people. You don’t expect Asians, newly arrived Africans and Native Americans to be part of this.

NHJ: I don’t understand.

WP: What don’t you understand?

NHJ: I don’t understand what “presumably” means.

WP: Oh, I see. Well, I’m here to speak on behalf of white people. I cannot obligate Asians or newly arrived Africans, or Arabs or anyone else to reparations. You mentioned white people 197 times in your column. You mentioned black people 179 times. Asians, Jews, Native Americans, Arabs and so on were mentioned zero times, so this is about blacks and whites, correct?

NHJ: That’s right. As I said in my piece, generations of white violence against black bodies has to be addressed. There can be no peace until white people accept what they owe to black people. Going back to the very beginning….

WP: I don’t mean to cut you off, but I read your piece and I have read all the other stuff in the 1619 project. Like all white people, I have grown up hearing the long list of grievances of black people. That’s why I’m here. We agree. It is time to negotiate a settlement in order to get racial peace.

NHJ: If black lives are to truly matter in America, this nation must move beyond slogans and symbolism. Citizens don’t inherit just the glory of their nation, but its wrongs too. A truly great country does not ignore or excuse its sins. It confronts them and then works to make them right. If we are to be redeemed, if we are to live up to the magnificent ideals upon which we were founded, we must do what is just.

WP: Yes, well, that’s fine, but can you tell us what you mean by pay its debts? I’ve read all of your work. I’ve read Ta-Nahesi Coates on the subject of reparations. What seems to be missing is the dollar figure.

NHJ: As I said in my piece, generations of white violence against black bodies has to be addressed. There can be no peace until white people accept what they owe to black people….

WP: Right, I’ll stipulate that. In fact, without qualification, I’ll stipulate to all of the claims in your work. What I’m here to discuss is reparations. What number do we put on the check to make black people whole? What is the debt you expect us to pay?

NHJ: As I said in my piece, until white people atone for their crimes against black people and pay their debt…

WP: Hold up, I just said we will stipulate to all of that.

NHJ: I don’t know what you mean by “stipulate”, but white people need to accept their debt to black people. As I wrote in my piece…

WP: Sorry to cut you off again, but that’s what stipulate means. We agree to all the claims made in your work and in the work of others. We’re not here to debate it or hear another recitation of it. We are here to negotiate the check.

NHJ: I don’t think a check can cover the pain of 150 years of suffering…

WP: Okay, then what else do you want? Land, like a black homeland? A ride to the airport? What? Tell me what we have to do to close the books on this.

NHJ: As I said in my piece, until white people atone for their crimes against black people and pay their debt…

WP: I got it. We all get it. That’s why we’re here. What do you want from us?

NHJ: We want justice.

WP: Fine. What does that mean? What do we need to do in order for you to have justice? If it is not a check, then what is it.

NHJ: We still want the check.

But of course they do. Before we write it, though, we’d all better damned well understand that no check will ever be enough to shut them the hell up at last, and end their demands for moremoremoreMORE, no matter how big it might be.

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