Re the death earlier this week of David Allan Coe, a Fakeberg friend of mine posted this and I just had to swipe it.
As someone else said in the comments over at FB, you see this photo and you just KNOW some crazy shit’s getting ready to start. Heh. Indeed.
The perfect country song.
BACKSTORY: At NYC’s great old dive-bar, the Village Idiot (the original on 1st Ave, that would be, not the later incarnation over on W 14th), whenever the above tune came on the jukebox, whoever was tending bar would crank it waaaay up, every fist in the joint would be raised high in the air in gleeful defiance of…whatever, and every hoarse, cracked, alcohol-dehydrated voice would sing along with every last syllable. I tells ya, it was some of the most fun I ever did have in my life.
My old roomie Lisa bartended at the Idiot on Wednesday afternoons, and most of those days she’d call me at home around 5 or so demanding that I get down there right away because she was lonely and bored to tears by then. Afternoons tended to be kinda dull at the Idiot; the place didn’t really start to approach escape velocity until around ten or so, see.
Which request for company I was always quite happy to oblige. This reminiscence might convey some of the cheap-beer-sodden ambience of that truly magical place.
THE VILLAGE IDIOT
When I was 19 years old, I got a job working at a bar on the Lower East Side in New York City. You would’ve thought I had gotten into Harvard by how happy I was. The place, The Village Idiot, was a popular hole in the wall on 1st Avenue and 10th Street – far from Harvard.The owner, Tommy, was a giant Irish guy with an afro. Tommy was from Queens, and his success came from the authenticity of the bar he opened. Everyone loved him and his bar. There was nothing self-conscious about The Village Idiot, or Tommy, for that matter. He was a generous, kind man who loved to party and everybody loved him for it.
So that was Tommy – he was the brand and the bar was his product. Just like any great product, it was honest. It was honest because it was exactly the kind of place Tommy would have hung out had he not opened it himself. It was not a concept, and the people that came there intuitively knew that, so they came back, and they always brought a friend.
The Idiot, as it was lovingly referred to, was a narrow, dank “box car,” but not as big. There was a juke box up front that was on from the moment we opened at 10:00 am until the time we closed – sometimes 4:00 am, sometimes 2:00 am. This was dependent on how drunk Tommy got that night. One of his “tells” was if he came in licking his lips, hide the money. If his lips were dry, you were probably going to be okay.
The juke box was stocked with a collection of country music that was vast, impressive, and perfect. “The Box” had to be full blast at all times. Tommy lived above the bar – and he would call down, “Turn the box up! I can’t hear it.” We sold Pabst Blue Ribbon in a can for a dollar, and Tommy would occasionally bite the middle out of a can of beer to thrill his patrons if things seemed a little slow.
All of the bartenders were women, and were encouraged to drink with the customers. I started making fake pitchers of kamikaze shots because I would get so drunk I couldn’t do my job. Literally – I could not function. I’d pour you a real shot and I’d drink watered down kamikaze mix. No one ever caught me or cared. We were not allowed to wear hats behind the bar because Tommy said that was bad luck.
Another thing I well remember about the Idiot was something the girls working behind the stick called “the Idiot Virgin Ceremony,” a privilege reserved for those lucky souls who were experiencing their very first trip to the seedy, smelly little joint.
See, the unsuspecting newb was required to sit on a barstool with his back to the bar, bending his torso far enough back so that his head rested atop the bar. The on-duty bartendress would then tuck a rolled-up towel around the victim’s neck below his chin to cope with any potential overspill, grab a fifth of bourbon and one of tequila, clamber up onto the bar, straddle the victim’s head, squat down, and turn up both bottles into the guy’s mouth, inevitably splashing raw booze all over said victim’s face, neck, head, and shoulders. The vic had been sternly instructed beforehand that he was NOT to raise his head off the bar, scream for rescue, or in any way refuse the “service” he was being provided as an Idiot Virgin, on pain of punishment most dire.
I learned about the IVC when my friend Joe came up to visit from North Cackalacky, and Lisa did it to him. They ended up falling in love L-U-V, whereupon she moved out of our cramped shithole on Ave B and down to NC and in with him, staying together for several years before the formerly happy couple blew apart like an A-bomb.
As ever, the fine folks at Jimmy’s Seafood in Baltimore say it for me, so I don’t have to.
Heh. Y’know, I am consistently bemused by those who insist that anyone with an adequate vocabulary should never resort to blue language, lest he make himself look doltish, coarse, or low-class thereby. Au contraire, mon frère! I have always maintained, and will always maintain, that in certain circumstances a rousing cuss word is no more nor less than the mot juste, the only way to be sure the job is done RIGHT. I’m happy to see that the Jimmy’s crew gets that too.
A truly beautiful, beautiful thing.
‘This Is America’: Unclaimed Nashville Navy Veteran Laid to Rest; the Community’s Response Was Amazing
The older you get, the more you try to prepare for the eventuality that one day, you won’t be here anymore. You get your final papers in order, preplan for services, etc., with the mindset being that you want to make sure family members are taken care of, and that they won’t have to worry about paying for any final expenses.I don’t know what U.S. Navy veteran Lonnie Dee Wayman, 74, was thinking in his final days, but on February 21, 2026, he passed away after receiving hospice care, with no friends or family to claim his remains.
On Monday, one day before Mr. Wayman was laid to rest, a call was put out to the citizens of Nashville, inviting them to attend his service to pay their respects.
“Join us in paying respect to Lonnie D. Wayman, a U.S. Navy Veteran, who will be laid to rest with full military honors,” read a post on the Tennessee Department of Veterans Services’ Facebook page. “He was an unclaimed Veteran with no known family, and we invite the public to attend his service and show gratitude for his service to our country.”
As videos and photos show, the outpouring of support was incredible…
The Gallatin (TN) Police Department also had representatives at the service, and shared this account:
Today the Gallatin Police Department had the honor of paying our respects and representing the City of Gallatin at the funeral services for Lonnie Dee Wayman.
A Nashville native, Lonnie was born on April 8, 1952, and passed away on February 21, 2026. Sadly, Lonnie had no family to claim him, but today he was not alone. Members of our community came together to ensure he was honored with the dignity and respect he deserved.
Lonnie proudly served our nation in the United States Navy, and he was laid to rest with FULL Military honors at Middle Tennessee State Veterans Cemetery.
We are proud to stand in respect for a man who served his country. No veteran should ever be forgotten, and today we made sure Lonnie’s service and sacrifice were remembered.
Rest easy, sailor. Your watch is complete.
Amen.
Amen indeed, Miz Toldjah. Your feel-good story of the day week month year, at the very least.
Satire worthy of the Babylon Bee. Extremely high praise, I know. Nevertheless, I shit you not, sports fans.
Rest in Pieces: Ali Khamenei, Demure Progressive Stalwart and ‘Black Lives Matter’ Ally Who Inspired Democrats and Academics, Bombed to Death at 86
Ali Khamenei, the “Black Lives Matter” advocate and long-serving supreme leader of Iran, was a guiding light to Democratic lawmakers, Ivy League professors, and other progressive ideologues who endorsed his intellectual appraisal of America’s evil and the treachery of Jews.The ayatollah died like a dog Saturday when his “secure” compound in central Tehran was caved in by several dozen of the biggest, most beautiful bombs ever made. Khamenei’s body, so austere and worldly, torn to shreds. His mangled face adorned with one of history’s most distinguished beards. His agile mind—inquisitive and playful—literally blown amidst the ashes of scholarly texts and quirky beach reads. A name crossed off the top of Uncle Sam’s list. The emphatic ring of Mother Freedom’s bell. It must have felt as if the whole wide world was raining down. Because it was.
The Iranian people cheered a tyrant’s demise and hoped for what could be. You could tell their joy was real and not the Kamala Harris kind. The ayatollah’s left-wing comrades sobbed like sloppy seventh graders. They shook their fists at mushroom clouds and wept for what had been. The revolution. The hostages. The oil nonsense. Decades of degenerate behavior and the targeting of American soldiers. The homespun hipster in his button-down shirt (also killed). The slow death of the Iranian economy, which even the Obama nuclear shake-down couldn’t stop.
They had to hand it to the supreme leader. Fans commended him for dying honorably—on his own terms, mid-resistance, cowering in a bunker, surrounded by his closest friends and military commanders. They touted his progressive bona fides—he understood that decolonization was more than vibes and essays. In May 2020, he penned an eloquent clapback against white supremacy after the death of George Floyd. He never took Trump’s calls or laughed at a misogynistic joke, which in some ways made him even more of a winner than the USA men’s hockey team. He inspired a generation of Ivy League losers to hate Jews even more than they hate themselves.
Khamenei’s death was a crippling blow to America’s elite institutions, many of which had presumably shortlisted the supreme leader in their search for a commencement speaker. It was basically the last remaining option to forestall a shrieking walkout. Now what? The students and faculty who supported Iran’s proxy, Hamas, and its “anti-colonial insurgency,” are naturally devastated. Their terrorist allies have been crushed. They must endure the moral indignity of mourning a tyrant who murdered thousands and repressed millions. It remains to be seen which campus chapters of Feminist Fatties for Palestine will issue statements denouncing Iranian women for burning their hijabs. One can only marvel at the magnitude of self-absorption required to exist this way.
I don’t even have to tell y’uns to read the rest of it, do I? The closing ‘graphs are absolutely priceless, trust me.
If you aren’t damp-eyed by the time you get to the picture at the end of this touching story, you ain’t anything I’ll ever recognize as human. Period fucking DOT.
Fare thee well, CAPT Smoke. May you rest forever in the embrace of God’s strong, comforting arms, and may the bereaved, grieving souls of Station 51 also find comfort for the pain of their loss.
The great Robert DuVall, thespian extraordinaire, has departed this vale of tears.
‘Godfather’ star Robert Duvall dead at 95
Robert Duvall won an Oscar for his role in the ’83 film ‘Tender Mercies’Robert Duvall died Sunday, according to his wife, Luciana Pedraza Duvall. He was 95.
Circumstances surrounding his death were not immediately made available.
“Yesterday we said goodbye to my beloved husband, cherished friend, and one of the greatest actors of our time,” his wife shared online. “Bob passed away peacefully at home, surrounded by love and comfort.”
“To the world, he was an Academy Award-winning actor, a director, a storyteller. To me, he was simply everything. His passion for his craft was matched only by his deep love for characters, a great meal, and holding court. For each of his many roles, Bob gave everything to his characters and to the truth of the human spirit they represented.”
She continued, “In doing so, he leaves something lasting and unforgettable to us all. Thank you for the years of support you showed Bob and for giving us this time and privacy to celebrate the memories he leaves behind.”
He will surely be missed; they simply aren’t making ’em like Duvall anymore.
I’ve told the story before here, and also ran the pics if I remember right. But the sorrowful occasion calls for a rerun, I do believe.
Pictured above are Robert Duvall, captured on celluloid in mid-dip with his tango instructor. Onstage, in no particular order, are the BPs, Johnny Cash, Waylon Jennings, Jessi Coulter, and June Carter. Also in attendance were Tom Cruise and Randy Quaid. Never will I forget that extraordinary night.
God rest ye, Robert Duvall. I am fortunate indeed to have met you, and am deeply grateful for your awe-inspiring gift.
Another great one gone.
Hall of Fame quarterback Sonny Jurgensen dies at 91
Sonny Jurgensen, the Hall of Fame quarterback whose strong arm led to passing records for the Philadelphia Eagles and Washington Commanders and affable personality made him a beloved figure, has died at the age of 91.Jurgensen’s family announced his death in a statement released by the Commanders on Friday, saying he died of natural causes in Naples, Florida, after a brief stay in hospice care.
*Le sigh* OH, how I tire of this 190-proof horseshit. Sonny Jurgensen did not set so much as one (1) passing record for any Washington “Commanders,” nor did he lead them to any NFL championships. In fact, Sonny Jurgensen never took a single snap for the aforementioned “Commanders,” seeing as how he played his entire career quarterbacking for A) the Philadelphia Eagles, and B) the Washington fucking REDSKINS, you tres dainty “journ-o-list” suckers of all possible cock.
Yesterday was the 270th anniversary of the birth of the greatest composer of orchestral music to ever draw breath: the incomparable Joannes Chrysostomus Wolfgangus Theophilus Mozart. Yeah, yeah, yeah, I can hear you Beethovenn snobs sniffing and pouting and harrumphing from all the way over here. Just pipe down awready; you ain’t ever gonna get me to diss Ludwig Van, I wholeheartedly love his stuff. Bit considering that A) his output is simply not in Mozart’s league just in terms of sheer numbers; let’s see now, Beethoven’s Nine (9) symphonies against Mozart’s forty-one? One (1) Beethoven opera versus twenty-two for Mozart? Granted, Beethoven’s work is all top-notch (except for that one opera, which kinda sucks if you ask me), and Mozart had more active working years than Beethoven did. Mozart began composing seriously as a child, completing his Symphony No 1-—among his best creations, still performed to this day, a mature, fully realized, exquisitely put-togeher work, in no sense the slapdash, hit-and-miss, half-baked product from the mind of a child—at the tender age of eight (8) years!
Somewhat more telling, there’s also B) Beethoven himself was profoundly influenced by Mozart, an influence which is easily discerned in several Beethoven compositions. Ludwig Van maintained deepest respect for his gifted peer, even going so far as to lift sections from Mozart pieces and insert them, whole and intact, into his own work, even giving official, written credit to Mozart on one of them. Beethoven also wrote some of the all-time best cadenzas for Mozart compositions. Extra-secil fine are the cadenzas for several Mozart piano concertos.
Taken all together, these gestures are indicative of Beethoven’s high regard for Mozart’s creative ability, ingenuity, impeccable taste and sense of style,, and positively uncanny talent. Whenever somebody tried to cop something from one of my songs to use himself, I considered it a tremendous complimen: sincere. honest, and stright from th heart, mo way of faking it. To me, that’s high praise indeed.
Anyhoo, yes, sinçe I was a young kid taking piano lessons I have considered Mozart the absolute best ever, although there quite a few other greats I revere as well: Beethoven, Haydn, Schubert, Tchaikovsky, Dvorak, Chopin, to name but a few. At ay rate, here’s the third movement of the wee tyke’s First Symphony, one of my personal faves since I was about nine (9) my own self. Never tried to write up an arrangement of it for solo piano but I never did, it just never occurred to me until recently and now, with my hands crippled into near-uselessness, it’s too late.
Happy birthday, Wolfgang. We will never forget you.
Our friend MWC reminds us of a YUGELY important day of remembrance.
Today is J.R.R. Tolkien day. If you feel like it, raise a glass to The Professor at 9:00 pm your local time.
My boxed set of The Hobbit and the Lord of the Rings is one of my treasured possessions. The daughter of a friend just told me she is re-reading the books and was halfway through The Return of the King.
Between Tolkien and C.S. Lewis (yes, two ends of the spectrum) I found new worlds and new ways of looking at the world. They led me into a lifetime of reading.
Ditto here, girlfriend. For years, I would re-read the LOTR trilogy every fall, because September was when both Bilbo and Frodo began their epic journeys.
These excellent but overly-maligned doggehs are due some, that’s for sure. But, as those of us who have had pitties before already know, almost all of what the congenitally dishonest, pig ignorant “they” say about the breed isn’t remotely true.
The Jews of the Canine World
Pit bulls have been unfairly stereotyped as genetically dangerous monsters. Sound familiar?I’ve always loved dogs that look like pit bulls: wide and smiling faces, goofy expressions, broad chests, sturdy bodies, short coats, enthusiastic tails. I grew up not knowing about dog fighting, or about this breed’s vicious reputation. My terror was reserved for German shepherds (my equally frightened little brother tremulously called them “sheffers”), with their pointy, mean faces and loud barks. There were some territorial ones in the yards in my Providence, Rhode Island, neighborhood.
But after moving to New York, I came to understand that pit bulls are hated. My little East Village copy shop, where we got Josie’s bat mitzvah invitations, has a big, short-coated, wide-chested, flat-faced dog behind the counter. His name is Curtis. He comes when you call and accepts head-pats with dignity. But when I asked the owner, Santo, what kind of dog Curtis was, he hesitated. “He’s a mix,” Santo said. “Terrier, other things … pit bull.” He clearly was reluctant to say those two words. He thought I’d recoil.
You know what people say about pit bulls: Violence is in their genes. They have double rows of teeth. Their jaws can unhinge like a snake’s. Their jaws lock after they bite. They don’t feel pain the way other dogs do. In 1987, U.S. News and World Report called them “the most dangerous dog in America,” able to “chomp through chain-link fences.” The Guardian called pit bulls “dogs of war who can bite through concrete.” Time called them “time bombs on legs” and started a story on them with a quote from The Hound of the Baskervilles:
Fire burst from its open mouth, its eyes glowed with a smouldering glare, its muzzle and hackles and dewlap were outlined in flickering flame. Never in the delirious dream of a disordered brain could anything more savage, more appalling, more hellish, be conceived than that dark form and savage face.
A friend had her family dog genetically tested, and when she discovered it had some pit bull lineage, she gave it away. Her kids sobbed. But what if the dog just lost it one day? That’s what pit bulls do, right?
None of this, of course, is true. Bronwen Dickey’s fascinating new book Pit Bull: The Battle Over an American Icon charts the evolution of pit bull stereotyping. (It begins with a quote from André Gide: “There are very few monsters who warrant the fear we have of them.”) In the late 19th and early 20th centuries, pit bulls were considered the family-friendliest dogs. Dogs that looked like them served in the Battle of Gettysburg and in Normandy. One accompanied Laura Ingalls Wilder’s family in their covered-wagon journey across the prairie. Helen Keller owned and adored one. Another (named Votes!) accompanied suffragist Virginia Watrous on the campaign trail in 1915. Still another starred in the “His Master’s Voice” campaign for RCA and another in the “Our Gang” kiddie comedies. Dickey observes that pit bulls were then seen as “quintessentially American: good-natured, brave, resilient, and dependable.” But within a few decades, they’d become DNA-driven vicious beasts, “biologically hardwired to kill.”
My first dog was a pittie, as was my last, along with a few others in between—the last one being just the sweetest ol’ girl ever to walk on four legs and shit in the backyard and tremble like a leaf in a gale during thunderstorms: the late, great Cookie (Monster). A photo of my dear, departed friend: 
Pretty girl, no? When I took her to the Gastonia, NC animal shelter to be put down at not quite 16 years of age, after the attendants had put her in the little cart and wheeled her off and inside to do the dirty deed I sat out in the parking lot and cried like a disgruntled infant for well over two hours. I still can hardly believe my darling pupster is gone, and I miss her still.
Don’t bother, they’re here.
New York magazine writer stumps Zohran Mamdani, top aides with ‘cost of living’ question
A magazine reporter stumped Mayor-elect Zohran Mamdani and his closest advisers with a question about lowering the cost of living in the Big Apple.Mamdani and his crew didn’t have an answer when a New York Magazine writer asked for a comparable city as the democratic socialist waxed poetic about his lofty “principle” of bringing down the cost of living in the five boroughs.
“I asked him and some of his advisers if there were cities that had pulled this off that New York could emulate, places that had managed to meaningfully lower the cost of living. None sprang to mind,” the article stated.
“Talk to policy experts, and they find the prospect laughable; the only cities where this has happened are ones where the quality of life dropped so dramatically that no one wanted to live there anymore.”
Point being…? What with the recent mass exodus of the last pitiful handful of sensible, intelligent souls from the ruins, NYC is already sprinting just as hard and fast as it can for the very bottom of that particular fly-blown dungheap. And with commie nitwit Zsa Zsa “A job? ME?!?” Mammyjammy at the wheel, you gotta like their chances. Taking the checkered flag in this particular race is nothing to get excited about, certainly. Even so, purblind City dwellers had better make the most of it and enjoy the Booby Prize while they can—this will be the last victory New Yorkers will have for a long, long time. Après MammyJammy, le déluge.
Clearly, the above-mentioned New Yorker hack didn’t get the memo: you never, but NEVER, ask a Socialist a question about economic policy. They know about as much on that subject as famous retard Tampon Timmeh! Walz does about string theory, therefore are sure to make a dog’s breakfast of the whole enterprise.
Sorry to be the bearer of bad tidings, gang, but after all the years, all the tears, and all the predictions of imminent doom which turned out to be a trifle premature, New York is truly over and done with. You only get so many spins of the cylinder before a loaded chamber comes up, so many goes at taunting the tiger before the tiger chews you to pieces and spits you out. About three weeks worth of MammyJammy (mis)rule ought to put the final nail in NYC’s coffin. Resilient as the City has proven itself to be time and again, selecting as Mayor a dull-witted, silver-spoonfed Muzzrat Richie Rich who has never worked a day in his useless life is a self-inflicted wound from which Noo Yawk Fuckin’ City will not recover.
Trump must continue to hammer the point home like a broken record: there will be NO bailout, NO federal relief programs, NO FederalGovCo knight in shining armor riding up on his snow-white charger to pull NYC’s chestnuts out of the fire in the very nick of time. New Yorkers, having voted for the assclown MammyJammy overwhelmingly—a landslide romp which, in effect, bestows one of the strongest mandates ever on an egomaniacal muttonhead who is singularly illl-equipped to wield it judiciously—now have no one but themselves to blame for what they’ll soon be getting. Let them get it then, Mencken-style (ie, good and hard), until they’re so completely downcast that the humiliation of this latest and greatest folly in a long and distinguished line of foolish, impenitent acts of municipal auto-annihilation shall be seared into their collective memory forever.
May New Yorkers rue the day they made such an suicidally-unwise choice. May the impending catastrophe scar them so indelibly they will be driven to reconsider…well, damned near everythiing, actually. May the enduring pain of this experience burn away, like a chill morning fog, their abiding arrogance; their deep-seated superiority complex; their ahistorical ignorance; and their counterfactual assumptions. May the sight of their once-majestic City burning all around them—collapsing into violence, lawlessness, and anarchy thanks to their own infantile prejudices and delusions—inspire them at long last to embrace humility, contrition, and thoughtfulness.
And if that doesn’t work out, just build a 40-foot high, razor-wire-topped, concrete wall around Manhattan, post armed guards along the perimeter, shut off the electricity, rename it Manhattan Island Federal Penitentiary. Then, should PoTUS’s chopper go down inside the Wall, send Snake Plissken in to bring the blaggard back out again.
Nobody seems to know exactly on which date Ludwig Van Beethoven’s birthday falls, but what is known is that today, Decembef 17th, is the anniversary of his baptism. Which is all the excuse I need to run this.
Assuming I did that right, which I freely admit I may not have, the above vid should begin with the opening of the 2nd movement of my personal favorite of the Beethoven symphonies (ie, the oft-overlooked number 7), and carry on from there.
Just the 2nd and 3rd movements are my faves, I should say; the first movement is alright, I have no real gripe with it, but the 4th just leaves me altogether cold; for whatever reason, I just can’t get with it AT. ALL. Probably on account of I’m an idjit, I suppose.
Really, when it comes to the finales of Beethoven symphonies it’s pretty dang tough to top the triumphant, rousing finale of the famous 5th, sometimes spuriously referred to as the “Fate” Symphony*.
Yeeee-OOOWWWW! Man, music just does not GET any better than that, if you disagree, please keep it under your hat or I cannot be your friend anymore.
* It has been claimed that Beethoven said of the stirring “ dit-dit-dit-DAAAH” riff which opens the Fifth, “Thus Fate knocks at the door.” Hence, the “Fate” Symphony. This tale is almost certainly apocryphal, however; the most credible explanation of it I ever read was that the “Fate” moniker was actually coined by his secretary/publicist, who put it about to generate some extra buzz for his boss’s latest masterwork.
Ain’t.
A Lot of “Randomness” About
Some readers have wondered why I have not commented on the weekend shooting at Brown University. That’s chiefly because I have no insight into the event you haven’t heard from others:This beautiful young girl was one of the murdered students at Brown University. It takes special courage to lead an organization of conservatives on a left wing campus, and I am very sorry our country has lost one of its bright young stars.
Eternal rest grant unto her, O Lord. https://t.co/icGrwJAAlX
— JD Vance (@JDVance)
The loss of a child offends the natural order. The loss of a child at Christmas taints the season for what’s left of a parent’s life. We know the murder of Sarah Beckstrom at Thanksgiving was a direct consequence of government policy whose terrible costs do not fall on those who impose it. Why Ella Cook was killed we cannot yet say. However, her fellow victim has now been named:
The second victim of the Brown University shooting has been identified as 18-year-old Mukhammad Aziz Umurzokov.
After brain surgery at age 10, he always dreamed of becoming a neurosurgeon, which is what he was studying for.
So a rare public conservative on a left-wing campus and a young man called Mukhammad are killed in the classroom of a Jewish professor. Any or none of those could be relevant factors. Alternatively, it could be some other motive – or no motive at all. Just the rotten luck of the draw. I hope we shall find out, but – thanks to the usual clown-car of forty-eight different municipal, county, state and federal “law-enforcement” agencies – the murderer remains at large.
A shitshow of a dumpster fire of a trainwreck of a dog’s breakfast of a shit-circus all around, then—no more nor less than what we’ve come to expect in Amerika v2.0 these days, sad to say.
One of the funniest things I ever saw, on TeeWee or anyplace else. Most of you will probably remember it well, and any of you who have’t seen it before, trust me: you’re in for a real treat, bitches.
Good, good stuff. Tragically, Charlie Murphy is yet another stellar entertainer who left us way too soon.
Murphy was a resident of Tewksbury Township, New Jersey. He was married to Tisha Taylor Murphy from 1997 until her death from cervical cancer in December 2009. The couple had two children together, and Murphy had a child from a previous relationship. He was a karate practitioner.
Murphy died from leukemia on April 12, 2017, at age 57 in New York City, New York.
Sad, sad, sad. The Prince skit at the first of the above vid is funny as all hell, too.
NOTE: In order to comment, you must be registered and approved as a CF user. Since so many user-registrations are attempted by spam-bots for their own nefarious purposes, YOUR REGISTRATION MAY BE ERRONEOUSLY DENIED.
If you are in fact a legit hooman bean desirous of registering yourself a CF user name so as to be able to comment only to find yourself caught up as collateral damage in one of my irregularly (un)scheduled sweeps for hinky registration attempts, please shoot me a kite at the email addy over in the right sidebar and let me know so’s I can get ya fixed up manually.
ALSO NOTE: You MUST use a valid, legit email address in order to successfully register, the new anti-spam software I installed last night requires it. My thanks to Barry for all his help sorting this mess out last night.
Comments appear entirely at the whim of the guy who pays the bills for this site and may be deleted, ridiculed, maliciously edited for purposes of mockery, or otherwise pissed over as he in his capricious fancy sees fit. The CF comments section is pretty free-form and rough and tumble; tolerance level for rowdiness and misbehavior is fairly high here, but is NOT without limit.
Management is under no obligation whatever to allow the comments section to be taken over and ruined by trolls, Leftists, and/or other oxygen thieves, and will take any measures deemed necessary to prevent such. Conduct yourself with the merest modicum of decorum, courtesy, and respect and you'll be fine. Pick pointless squabbles with other commenters, fling provocative personal insults, issue threats, or annoy the host (me) and...you won't.
Should you find yourself sanctioned after running afoul of the CF comments policy as stated and feel you have been wronged, please download and complete the Butthurt Report form below in quadruplicate; retain one copy for your personal records and send the others to the email address posted in the right sidebar.
Please refrain from whining, sniveling, and/or bursting into tears and waving your chubby fists around in frustrated rage, lest you suffer an aneurysm or stroke unnecessarily. Your completed form will be reviewed and your complaint addressed whenever management feels like getting around to it. Thank you.
"Mike Hendrix is, without a doubt, the greatest one-legged blogger in the world." ‐Henry Chinaski
If you enjoy the site, please consider donating:
Email addy: mike-at-this-url dot etc
All e-mails assumed to be legitimate fodder for publication, scorn, ridicule, or other public mockery unless specified as private by the sender
Click to embiggen
"America is at that awkward stage. It's too late to work within the system, but too early to shoot the bastards."
—Claire Wolfe, 101 Things to Do 'Til the Revolution
Claire's Cabal—The Freedom Forums
"There are men in all ages who mean to govern well, but they mean to govern. They promise to be good masters, but they mean to be masters."
—Daniel Webster
“When I was young I was depressed all the time. But suicide no longer seemed a possibility in my life. At my age there was very little left to kill.”
—Charles Bukowski
“A slave is one who waits for someone to come and free him.”
—Ezra Pound
“The illusion of freedom will continue as long as it’s profitable to continue the illusion. At the point where the illusion becomes too expensive to maintain, they will just take down the scenery, they will pull back the curtains, they will move the tables and chairs out of the way and you will see the brick wall at the back of the theater.”
—Frank Zappa
“The right of a nation to kill a tyrant in case of necessity can no more be doubted than to hang a robber, or kill a flea.”
—John Adams
"A society of sheep must in time beget a government of wolves."
—Bertrand de Jouvenel
"It is terrible to contemplate how few politicians are hanged."
—GK Chesterton
"I predict that the Bush administration will be seen by freedom-wishing Americans a generation or two hence as the hinge on the cell door locking up our freedom. When my children are my age, they will not be free in any recognizably traditional American meaning of the word. I’d tell them to emigrate, but there’s nowhere left to go. I am left with nauseating near-conviction that I am a member of the last generation in the history of the world that is minimally truly free."
—Donald Sensing
"The only way to live free is to live unobserved."
—Etienne de la Boiete
"History does not long entrust the care of freedom to the weak or the timid."
—Dwight D. Eisenhower
"To put it simply, the Left is the stupid and the insane, led by the evil. You can’t persuade the stupid or the insane and you had damn well better fight the evil."
—Skeptic
"There is no better way to stamp your power on people than through the dead hand of bureaucracy. You cannot reason with paperwork."
—David Black, from Turn Left For Gibraltar
"If the laws of God and men, are therefore of no effect, when the magistracy is left at liberty to break them; and if the lusts of those who are too strong for the tribunals of justice, cannot be otherwise restrained than by sedition, tumults and war, those seditions, tumults and wars, are justified by the laws of God and man."
—John Adams
"The limits of tyranny are prescribed by the endurance of those whom they oppress."
—Frederick Douglass
"Give me the media and I will make of any nation a herd of swine."
—Joseph Goebbels
“I hope we once again have reminded people that man is not free unless government is limited. There’s a clear cause and effect here that is as neat and predictable as a law of physics: As government expands, liberty contracts.”
—Ronald Reagan
"Ain't no misunderstanding this war. They want to rule us and aim to do it. We aim not to allow it. All there is to it."
—NC Reed, from Parno's Peril
"I just want a government that fits in the box it originally came in."
—Bill Whittle
- Entries
- Comments
