Break out the Jiffy Pop, everybody!

Stupid-ass Leftard nigger shits, falls back in it.

Deadspin reporter blasted by mom of young Kansas City Chiefs fan he falsely shamed for wearing ‘blackface’: ‘He is Native American’
The mother of a young football fan who wore a headdress and painted his face red and black to a Kansas City Chiefs game has blasted Deadspin for accusing him of “doubling up” on racism against black and Native communities — noting that her son is himself Native American.

Holden Armenta became an unexpected focus of an article by senior writer Carron Phillips that focused on a photo of the boy standing sideways, suggesting he was wearing blackface with no mention of the red side.

“The NFL needs to speak out against the Kansas City Chiefs fan in Black face, Native headdress,” read the headline, which accused the boy of “doubling up on the racism.”

Phillips, a former New York Daily News reporter, also slammed Holden’s Native American headdress and his “Tomahawk Chop” gesture, claiming the boy “found a way to hate Black people and Native Americans at the same time.”

“It takes a lot to disrespect two groups of people at once,” Phillips wrote in the article, which has since been tagged with a community note on X branding it “purposely deceiving.”

No link to Phillips’ original hit-job here, because fuck that noise.

The boy’s outraged mother, Shannon Armenta, shared numerous images of her son getting a warm reception at the game — while suggesting Deadspin focused on a photo that hid the fact that half her son’s face was painted red.

“This has nothing to do with the NFL,” she wrote, suggesting the photo was picked purely “to create division”

“He is Native American — just stop already,” she wrote of her son.

In fact, Holden’s grandfather, Raul Armenta, sits on the board of the Chumash Tribe in Santa Ynez, California, according to the Post Millennial.

Raul is listed as a “business committee member” who was first elected to the board in 2016 on the tribe’s website.

Oooooops. Sorry, Karen, no bonus PC points for you, I’m afraid. Deadspin’s token darkie’s spectacular self-beclownment notwithstanding, shitlibs are rallying behind their latest Courageously Courageous Hero™ by doubling down on dumbass, to the surprise of precisely zero (0) sane, sensible humans.

“The right picked this up and said, ‘Sue Deadspin, bankrupt Deadspin.’ And I can’t help but laugh at the center of this, I can’t help but laugh at the idea that they want them sued for one racism, while the kid is still in full racist garb,” Le Batard said. “The only part of him that’s not intentionally, kind of, racist is the black part! The rest is team colors and he’s going for just being a fan, but the racism is already in there, just not the kind the right is picking up and flogging Deadspin with over a five-year-old kid. Like, the stupidity of this is remarkable.”

Unsurprisingly, Le Batard’s take ruffled some feathers, especially at Outkick, where Bobby Burack authored a post titled “Update: Dan Le Batard defends Deadspin for lying about Chiefs kid wearing Blackface.” The post, which suggested the kid in question’s family could sue Le Batard, would have been ridiculous enough considering the Meadowlark Media co-founder wasn’t defending Deadspin so much as he was mocking the right’s outrage despite his belief that the costume was still racist in nature. But that was before Burack took to social media to produce the a “gotcha” moment: a picture of Le Batard wearing black and red face paint while dressed as the professional wrestler Kane.

Lawsuits all around, I’m thinking, which hopefully will at the very least bankrupt Deadspin, thereby depriving Karen Phillips of gainful employment and forcing him into a field of endeavor more suited to his abilities, such as cleaning hotel rooms or manning a drive-thru window in Keokuk or something.

1
1

T’was the night before Christmas

And thru the White House
Not a creature was stirring
Not even a louse

An Alt Christmas Carol
The White House, Christmas Eve, 2023. Imagine the painfully lugubrious scene….

“Joe Biden” rattles around in the upstairs “residence” like a BB in a packing crate. Nobody is around besides a few secret service agents, so still at their posts they might as well be statuary. The Big Guy is all alone. His spouse, Dr. Jill, had enough of pretend caretaking quite a while ago, and flew off to Oprah’s place in Santa Barbara for counseling and commiseration. Hunter is Gawd-knows-where doing Gawd-knows-what.

“JB” shuffles out of the residence kitchen, where he just demolished a half gallon of Ben & Jerry’s Americone Dream® ice cream, against his doctor’s orders. His gall bladder writhes in revolt, sending a distress signal up the vagus nerve to the shriveled hypothalamus in his brain. A jumbled fugue of emotions — rage, fear, sexual arousal — quickens his step as he navigates by dead reckoning to the executive bedroom where he hurries to bed and falls into leaden slumber — only to be awakened by a cacophony of ringing bells. His eyelids roll open like shades in the windows of a skid row hotel room. Plangent moaning resounds as a mist emerges through the bedroom door and resolves into a mysterious figure garbed in the raiment of the Ku Klux Klan.

“Joe Biden” shrinks under the luxury Boll & Branch signature duvet— acquired when the agriculture minister of Ukraine slipped him an envelope stuffed with 100 hryvnia notes. The spirit wails something that resembles the old Confederate anthem Eatin’ Goober Peas.

“Who are you spirit?” the quaking president asks.

“Why, I am your old pard from the Senate,” the ghost of Robert Byrd declares, removing the pointed hood to reveal his leonine head of hair and scowling face. “Why have you thrown our sacred borders wide open, suh? I should die a thousand times, and see Old Glory trampled in the dirt never to rise again than to see this beloved land of ours become degraded by race mongrels.”

“Y-y-you don’t uh-uh-understand,” “JB” says, his childhood stutter returning. “They are muh-muh-migrants from oppression and vuh-vuh-very fine people.”

“Fine people, my ass,” the former Senator from West Virginia cries and clears the dust of the sepulcher from his throat. “I will send three spirits to you this night as a review of what has been and what shall become, so beware….” And with that the spirit returns to mist and slips back out through the keyhole…

“Joe Biden” is shocked from slumber again as an attractive blond female ghost floats through the bedroom window.

“Don’t I know you?” he asks.

“Cad! That is the very line you used to pick me up on spring break in Nassau, 1966,” says “JB’s” first wife, Neilia Hunter. “Shall I show you the meretricious spectacle you made of our family after that truck driver on Limestone Road ended my life and your little daughter’s too!”

“No-o-o-o-o,” the president moans, but is magically transported to the Wilmington Hospital room where his banged-up boys, Beau and Hunter, are recovering from their injuries. A TV crew is present as “JB” emotes for the camera, a cruel victim of fate, he blubbers, who will yet conquer his grief and go on to forty years of electoral victories and the sedulous gathering of tribute from “donors” far and wide to soften the blow of his loss. The room dims…

Read on for the other spirit visitations: second being the martyred Saint George of Fentanyl, complete with Neegrow dialect deftly translated from the original ghetto-ese, representing the Ghost Of Christmas Present; Christmas Yet To Come I’ll leave unnamed so as not to spoil the surprise for ya, but take my word for it, t’is a consummation devoutly to be wished. Kunstler uncorks his by no means inconsiderable writerly chops and lets ‘em really soar in this one, and it’s a joy and a wonder to behold.

6
4

Is the tide turning at long, long last?

Could be, could be. Via Zero Hedge:



Heh. Indeed. The anguish of shitlibs the world over brought on by these revoltin’ developments was best expressed by Whittier: Of all sad words of tongue and pen/The saddest are these, “It might have been.” From where I sit, Geert Wilders’ win in the Netherlands may not turn out to be quite the “landslide” being proclaimed by exultant right-wingers—the numbers are from those notorious exit polls, and Wilder has called for a coalition-government with the liberal-Left VVD—but it’s still a damned good start anyway; verily, the Progtard wailing comes as sweet music to mine ears. As Tyler Durden commends to our attention, it’s not as if the media propagandists will ever back down:

Just remember folks, it’s not the will of the people reflected at the ballot box, it’s the “far right” winning a “shock victory.”

ShockVictory

An old truism holds that in this world, the only constant is change. Then again, some things never do. We shall see.

Update! That off-the-chain hairdo ain’t the only reason you just gotta love the guy.

MileiNeedNotRight

Bang, zoom, to the moon with ye, libtards! Thanks to our boozum bud Concerned American for sending this one along.

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1

Happy belated birthday to Pedo Peter!

Now kindly drop dead already, you addle-pated old crook.

Joe Biden’s 81st Birthday Cake Was the Perfect Metaphor for Our Country
Did you know that it was Joe Biden’s 81st birthday on Monday? Because it was Joe Biden’s 81st birthday on Monday. He turned 81 years old—a fairly common occurrence for someone who was born 81 years ago.

Did I mention he turned 81 years old? Because he did, in fact, turn 81 years old. Of course, as PJ Media previously reported, the White House didn’t exactly want to call attention to the fact that Joe Biden is 81 years old, because Americans aren’t exactly comfortable with his advanced age and want him to call it quits and let someone else seek the Democratic nomination. As such, none of the social media accounts connected to the White House or Joe Biden mentioned his 81st birthday on Monday until the evening, when fewer people are paying attention. If the evening news was hoping for an 81st birthday photo op to report on, they didn’t get it in time.

And boy, what a mistake that was.

But what really got me about the photo was how familiar the cake was. Did you notice? It wasn’t just that the 81 candles looked like they were going to burn down the White House, but there was an undeniable resemblance between the cake and something that makes it the perfect metaphor for our country:


As soon as I made this connection, I couldn’t unsee it. Joe Biden’s birthday cake resembled a dumpster fire, and how perfect is that for Joe Biden, considering what he’s done to this country in just a few short years? Of course, there are a variety of fire metaphors that could work, but I think the dumpster fire is the most spot-on. I’m not sure who thought putting 81 candles on such a small cake was a great idea, but I’d be willing to bet there was some debate over whether a raging inferno was politically safer than a cake with two candles reading “81.” In the end, they clearly figured the cake requiring a fire extinguisher was the way to go, which tells you exactly how much the White House public relations team understands that Joe Biden’s advanced age is a problem. I suspect they figured it was literally worth the risk of setting the White House ablaze rather than publishing a photo with Biden in front of a cake with candles reading “81.”

Heh. There’s another humorous angle to the photo which Matt doesn’t touch on here—apart from the obvious Reichstag fire one, I mean—but Steve Miller helpfully did.


Thanks to Ed for the steer to that last.

Update! Jacked from WRSA. Thanks!

AmericanTurkey

1
1

A little good news

Contra the self-obsessed blubbing of shitlib idiot and sportsball also-ran Megan Rapinoe, God is real, and He’s laughing His almighty ass off.

Guest Column: God Here. Megan Rapinoe’s Career-Ending Injury Is Proof That I’m Real.
I thought it would be hilarious, and it was.

KINGDOM OF HEAVEN—Hey, folks. God here. I’m writing in response to recent comments from Megan Rapinoe, a human female best known for playing the so-called sport of soccer, or “Satan’s Folly” as we call it up here.

Rapinoe invoked my name on Saturday after injuring her Achilles tendon in the opening minutes of the National Women’s Soccer League Championship. It was the final game of her professional career.

“I’m not a religious person or anything and if there was a God, like, this is proof that there isn’t,” Rapinoe told the demonic cretins you call journalists during the post-game press conference. “This is f—ed up. It’s just f—ed up. Six minutes in and I eat my Achilles.”

LOL!

I knew this would happen, obviously, but that doesn’t make it any less hilarious. The last game of Rapinoe’s career—the league championship, no less—and she injures herself immediately then has to watch her team lose from the sidelines. I’m still laughing about it.

Now, I know what you’re thinking. Yes, I technically “created” Rapinoe and “love” her the same as all my “children,” even the ones who deny my existence. Even the ones who worship Satan and play soccer, to the extent there is a difference.

Nevertheless, I think we can all agree Megan Rapinoe is an obnoxious shrew who had it coming. Right? I’m willing to forgive almost anything, but one thing I simply can’t abide is disrespect for my country, the United States of America. Just ask Gabe Kapler or Colin Kaepernick.

Did I take it too far? Maybe. When the U.S. women’s soccer team protested the National Anthem during the World Cup earlier this year, I made sure they were humiliated by Sweden, an inferior country. I engineered it so Rapinoe, playing in her final World Cup, would contribute to the loss by whiffing a penalty kick, one of the easiest shots ever invented in the history of sports.

“That’s like a sick joke,” Rapinoe said after the crushing defeat. It sure was. “Sick” as in awesome.

Heh. Seconded from here below, dearest Lord. Many humble thanks for checking in and keeping Your obedient, devoted children hip to the Heavenly haps like this.

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2

FINALLY!

The Nazis take London.

80 Years After Hitler Failed, Nazis Finally Seize London
LONDON — Eighty years after Hitler’s failure, the Nazis have at last seized London.

“Hitler’s dream has finally come true,” said John MacDonald, watching as Picadilly was overrun with Nazis. “You just know that somewhere, Hitler is looking on today and smiling.”

As chants of “Death To Jews” and “Final Solution” rang through the London air, longtime Nazi leader Josef Schmidt was overwhelmed with joy. “After so many decades of being an outcast here in Britain, to now watch Nazis march through the heart of London yelling ‘Gas the Jews’ – well, it brings a tear to your eye,” said Mr. Schmidt. “I’ve had to hide my swastika flag for years, but no more! We’re going out for a triumphant walk right by Buckingham Palace.”

At publishing time, the London mayor was warning the Jewish community to refrain from engaging in hateful Naziphobia.

As of presstime, probably but not necessarily owing to his having died years ago, Brit fascist irritant Oswald Mosley was unavailable for comment. And, just to make it more difficult than it already was to discern whether the Bee is in fact satire, there’s this…

Newsom Deploys Giant Can Of Febreze Over San Francisco To Mask Poo Smell
“Come on, people! We’ve got to hide the aroma of dookie,” Newsom was heard shouting at city workers. “It’s fine for the city to reek of excrement under normal circumstances when it’s only Americans walking around trying to live their lives, but when a communist authoritarian comes to town, we don’t want him stepping off his plane and being greeted with a strong whiff of caca.”

The Chinese president was scheduled to arrive in the Golden Gate City today ahead of next week’s important U.S.-China summit with President Joe Biden. With much riding on the meeting of two of the world’s superpowers, Newsom wanted steps taken to address the city’s problems with cleanliness and its homeless population. “Governor Newsom wanted us to come up with a final solution to the homeless problem,” said one San Francisco official who asked to remain anonymous. “With that in mind, we’ve started rounding up all the homeless people so they can be concentrated in specially designated camps. We even transported them with their piles of poop so they will still feel at home.”

At publishing time, the giant can of Febreze was being positioned to begin spraying a wide radius across the city, with many residents secretly hoping the city’s areas densely populated with deodorant-resistant hobos would take a heavy dousing.

Parody? Reality? Is there really any difference anymore?

1
1

Happy Memorial Day!

As ever, Pedo Pete is a bit confused.

Biden suffers ANOTHER embarrassing gaffe as he stumbles through Veterans Day service and appears to get lost while laying a wreath

  • Biden appeared confused at Arlington National Ceremony to mark Veterans Day
  • The president, 80, needed stage directions after laying a ceremonial wreath
  • In his remarks, Biden said ‘war and conflict’ are ‘part of the American story’

Biden was joined at Arlington National Cemetary by Harris, First Lady Jill Biden and Second Gentleman Doug Emhoff to celebrate the armed services.

Speaking before members of the Armed Forces and Gold Star families, Biden began: ‘Here in Arlington lie heroes who gave what President Lincoln called ‘the last full measure of devotion.’

‘They did not only die at Gettysburg or in Flanders Field on the beaches of Normandy, but in the mountains of Afghanistan, the deserts of Iraq in the last 20 years.

‘Hundreds of graves are here from recent conflicts. Hundreds of patriots gave their all, each of them leaving behind a family who live with their pain and their absence every single day.’

He added that veterans are the ‘steel spine of this nation’, and recounted famous battles that saw soldiers ‘linked in a chain of honor that stretches back to our founding days.’

‘This Memorial Day, we honor their legacy and their sacrifice, duty, honor to their country.’

Saturday’s service was the 70th annual National Veterans Day Observance at Arlington, and followed a private reception in the White House East Room for veterans and military officials.

What a sad, sorry joke this senile old kleptocrat is, was, and shall remain.

3

Practical advice

Now THIS is news you can really use.

9 Ways To Scare Off Californians Looking To Move Into Your Neighborhood
Wait a minute, is that young couple looking for a home in your neighborhood from California? You better get them out of here pronto before they turn your beautiful state into a socialist cesspool! If you don’t, you’ll both have to look for a new state to move to in about ten years after they bring their California politics with them.

These are the absolute best ways to scare off a Californian:

  1. Smile and wave at them: Californians hate this! They might even be killed in the process.
  2. Offer them sweet tea: They will instantly become diabetic just by looking at a full pitcher of Southern-style Sweet Tea. As an added bonus, the polite gesture will also scare them (see above).
  3. Show off a cool gun you’re packing: They will freak out even though this is only one of the guns you are packing. The others aren’t as cool, sadly.
  4. Ask them where they are going to church immediately after meeting them for the first time: It’s normal to do that where you’re from, but this question is basically kryptonite to a Californian.
  5. Invite them to your church this Sunday: (Same as above)
  6. Show them your house and the several acres you live on: Their brains literally can not comprehend the idea that a family of four isn’t crammed into a tiny studio apartment. It will seem icky and wrong to them for it to be any other way.
  7. Point out how many houses in town have American flags: Once they notice this little detail, they will react like vampires to the sun coming up at dawn.
  8. Start talking about what they can expect when winter rolls around: They are only used to one season that lasts all year round and you may need to explain the concept of winter several times before the horror for them really sets in.
  9. Show off your Trump 2020 and 2024 bumper stickers: This is sure to send them back to California in absolute terror.

Helpful, effective, to the point, indisputably true and reliable—is it any wonder the shitlib “mainstream” media hates the Bee so much?

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1

Sticker shock

Just another nail in the EV coffin.

The true cost of an EV? Think tank claims subsidies for electric vehicles cost $50,000 PER CAR over a ten-year period
The true cost of electric cars to the average American taxpayer has been laid bare by a landmark new study into the eco vehicles.

In order to bring EVs to market, governments have created a variety of tax incentives for buyers and manufacturers. They have also sponsored the development of the infrastructure needed to charge them.

But those subsidies can come at a cost to taxpayers, buyers of gas vehicles or simply households that pay electricity bills.

A new paper by conservative think tank Texas Public Policy Foundation estimated that the average electric car incurs hidden costs of $48,698 over a 10-year period.

‘Electric vehicle owners have been the beneficiaries of regulatory credits, subsidies, and socialized infrastructure costs totaling nearly $50,000 per EV,’ said one of its authors, Jason Isaac.

eparately, it found that the infrastructure required to facilitate electric cars in America is not paid for directly by the owner of the car. It described those expenses as ‘socialized infrastructure costs.’

‘Home and public charging stations used by EVs put a significant strain on the electric grid, resulting in an average of $11,833 in socialized costs per EV over 10 years, which are shouldered by utility ratepayers and taxpayers,’ read the paper.

The authors argued that the gasoline infrastructure is used for other products and society at large, whereas electric vehicle charging costs currently only serve EV owners.

They also claimed that the additional strain placed on the power grid when charging electric cars would ordinarily incur ‘demand charges’ – or a premium for higher energy consumption at a certain time.

‘Currently, most utilities are socializing that cost for EV owners by not assessing demand charges on residential EV chargers, even though those chargers can use as much power at certain times as several homes,’ the report claimed.

Right up until the useless Wokester toy blows up and burns the house to cinders and ash.

So let’s see, now:

  • Random explosions;
  • Random deadly fires;
  • Hours wasted searching for and/or sitting in long, slow charging-station queues;
  • Yet more hours wasted “refueling” enough to at least maybe make it back home;
  • Unsatisfactory, grossly-exaggerated range;
  • Ruinously expensive battery replacement;
  • Total reliance on those horrible, horrible coal-fired power plants;
  • Drastically-shortened tire, hub-bearing, suspension, brake, and/or steering-component life due to the vehicle’s excessive weight;
  • Exorbitant towing charges when the PoS boat-anchor leaves you stranded;
  • Inability to enjoy battery-exsanguinating ”luxury” accessories including but not limited to heat, defrost, A/C, stereo, wipers, &c;
  • Ditto for carrying passengers;
  • Ditto for hauling loads or towing even a lightweight trailer with your electric pickup truck;
  • Don’t EVER touch ANYTHING under the hood or attempt to fix anything yourself, OR YOU MAY DIE

OOH-OOH-OOH I WANT ONE I WANT ONE I WANT ONE!

What the heck, whoever said virtue-signaling came cheap, right? Them’s the breaks. All of which I’d be okay with; hey, if smug, self-righteous Enviro-nut assholes don’t mind paying through the nose to establish their presumed moral-superiority bona-fides, well then you just have at it, fools. Unfortunately, though, we ALL get to pay for their dubious “privilege” right along with ‘em. To wit:

But the largest cost identified by the report was that on buyers of gas cars.

According to the paper, around 16 states have ‘zero emission vehicle’ (ZEV) mandates whereby the state sets a number or percentage of new vehicles sold that must be zero-emission.

‘Of course, the cost to meet these mandates is not limited to the states that impose them but spread out over the entire fleet of each automaker trying to meet them,’ read the paper.

On top of that, federal regulations impose similar obligations on automakers that incentivize them to make more electric vehicles.

‘The largest source of financial support for EVs comes not from direct subsidies but from hidden costs driven by federal regulations,’ read the paper.

‘The Biden administration’s stringent fuel economy standards and regulatory manipulations are driving American automakers toward bankruptcy and adding thousands of dollars to the cost of every gasoline vehicle,’ said Brent Bennett, another of the paper’s authors.

Just this month, Ford said during its third quarter earnings call that it lost an estimated $36,000 on each electric car it sold in the quarter.

Well, whaddya know about that: look closely enough, dig down far enough, and we learn that, of course and as always, the real problem has its roots deep within the bowels of the meddlesome, authoritarian Leviathan-state. Quelle surprise, that.

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1

National laughingstock

Everybody was getting in on the act of mocking our moronic, shambolic pRetend pResident for Halloween, even the kids.


Beaucoup more examples at the link, all of them hilarious. No capo, consigliere, confrere, or co-conspirator of the Bribem Crime Familia is spared, and it’s good stuff.

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1

“Argue with them and get in their face”

Throw their own shit back at them, exactly as Bathhouse Barry once recommended be done to us.

A Wine O’Clock Wendy — I’m really trying to make this put-down go viral; I think it’s Streets Ahead of “AWFL” — and her Frankencuck husband were videoed ripping down posters of American hostages held by Hamas.

The woman putting up the posters was not having it.

Indeed she was NOT, bless her heart. After the “man” had committed assault and battery by placing “his” dainty hand over the justly outraged woman’s camera and shoving her—a Mark-1 Mod-0 insufferable shitlib smirk all over “his” womanly face—our Power Couple quickly scurried off with their tails tucked (y’know, like “his” squirrel-dick usually is) between their legs before the Bad Woman could punch their dim fucking lights out.

 

HELL yeah, that’s how you do it. The happy ending:

Brooklyn man suspended from job by his Jewish dad after ripping posters of Hamas hostages
A Brooklyn man seen tearing down posters of Israeli kids held by Hamas has been identified as a former magician — whose Jewish father suspended him from his gig at a user experience company, according to a report.

Noah Schaffer, 41, and his wife, Kelly, were seen being berated by a Jewish woman after they removed the posters this past weekend at Brooklyn Bridge Park, the group StopAntisemitism posted on X.

“This couple has been identified as spouses Kelly Ann and Noah Schaffer. Kelly has been previously arrested and works as a social worker for @UrbanDoveNY. Noah works as a strategist for @humanfactors,” the group wrote.

Again, that’s Noah and Kelly Ann Schaffer, likely of some precious, too-twee Brooklyn hipsterhood. Wherever these two vile creatures may reside, I think it would be just AWFUL if large, angry mobs started showing up on the doorstep of their domicile with torches, truncheons, and bullhorns at 3 AM every night for about, oh, a year. Anybody out there knows how to find their home address, feel free to let me know and I’ll happily update this post with it. Goose, meet gander.

Update! Done and done, courtesy of our friend Aesop, reporting in from his extended vacay:

Apparently, that address would be

Noah and Kelly Ann (McManus) Schaeffer
191 Willoughby St. Apt 12K.
Brooklyn NY 10026

Well whaddayaknow about that, in Brooklyn, just a hop, skip, and a jump from the borough’s Ft Greene nabe. Only reason I know even that much is I had two musician friends who lived thereabouts, but that was back in the mid-90s: bassist Bill and drummer Stanley. Used to drive out from Manhattan to fetch the boys a cpl-three nights a week, load their gear, and whisk the three of us off to whatever extra-money side gig we had scheduled in Brooklyn, central Lawn Guyland, or out in the Hamptons. As many times as I did that, I very much doubt I could find either of their houses today.

Billy has long since moved to Norway, where his lovely and vivacious wife Ingegerd hails from originally. Aussie Stan, as his friends called him, lived in a HUGE three-story Victorian-style house on a lovely, quiet, tree-lined block off Flatbush Ave which his wife had inherited some years before I met him. I won’t say it was a mansion, but if somebody else wanted to I might put a “yes” to it. I pure-tee loved Stan and Mrs Stan’s crib; for starters, it had a paved driveway leading downhill into a three-car (THREE!) garage under the house equipped with automatic bay-doors and remote-opener fob. Through the inside door from the garage waited a sumptuous, nicely-appointed rumpus room/man-cave, complete with:

  • A tournament-size pool table
  • A vintage Wurlitzer jukebox loaded with old blues, country, and rockabilly .45s
  • A fully-stocked bar from the late 1940s–dark, worn wood and the traditional brass foot-rail at bottom, out of a long-deceased neighborhood gin-mill owned by a friend of Stan’s who just gave him the bar gratis when it finally shut down for good; the guy even went so far as to help Stan move the heavy-ass thing to his house
  • A classic Bally KISS pinball table in near-new condition
  • Assorted plush, comfortable leather sofas and recliner-chairs deep and soft enough to sink down into without a trace
  • A German foosball table, likewise meticulously preserved, but with that easy, loose feel to the action that all properly broken-in German tables ought to have; a fast, hard front-man pull-, toe-, or slap-shot past the opposing goalie would always yield that sharp, satisfying BANG! that every skilled foosballer lives for, so loud it can easily be heard way over on the far side of a packed, noisy arcade—a sound those shitty French tables with their wimpy cork balls simply can’t produce—usually accompanied by the metallic, whispery TINK! of the hard plastic ball meeting the thin sheet-steel plate mounted at the back of the goal-hole to protect the wood behind it. The game rooms I loved best in my misspent youth would go dead silent for a few seconds in the wake of such a resounding score, after which respectful pause the shouts and applause would ring out from the other players: POINT! HELL yeah! BURN! Sucker just got his ass SLAMMED!!! High fives, backslaps, gales of raucous laughter all around; those were the rooms I went to again and again and again, and there’s a damned good reason for that

Let me tell ya, driving down to park in the underground garage, unass the vehicle, from there to emerge into a veritable palace like Stan’s basement hideaway was, the whole damned house was—in cramped, overcrowded New York City, mind, not exactly renowned for its generously-sized, airy, comfortable indoor spaces—made you feel like you were really somebody. And that is the God’s honest truth.

Fort Greene was a nice enough if not particularly fancy area back then, but by now who knows. Been nigh on twenty years since I was last in Brooklyn, so I couldn’t guess how extensively or even whether Ft Greene has been gentrified; I do know that at this point most of seedy, grubby old Brooklyn has been tidied up, refreshed, and/or rebuilt to at least some degree. But no matter. Whatever the neighborhood’s current condition, if you’re in the area I think the sudden wee-hours appearance of a flaming bag of fresh-squeezed dogshit at Chez Schaeffer’s front door as a Halloween gift would surely not go amiss, to hijack from its proper context a fine old Captain Mal line.

A flick of the Bic, a press of the doorbell, a fleet-footed dash back into the anonymity of night’s darkness, and voila! Mission accomplished, and well done to you. Maybe the pissed-off woman in the above Andy Ngo vid would enjoy dropping one off for ‘em. T’is a consummation devoutly to be wished, the absolute least the rotten, uncaring douchetools deserve for what they did. A standard issue non-apology “apology” accompanied by an insincere, blasé shrug just ain’t gonna cut it, I shouldn’t think.

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In a nutshell

The tall but brilliant Diogenes Sarcastica sums the Mooselimb/Leftist alliance up.

The virulent anti-Israel protests across America and Europe throw a glaring light on the bizarre alliance, the odd combination of far left activist at universities and the anti-west, militant followers of muhammad that now threaten Jews in the street, and intimidates anyone brave enough to voice their dissent.

What makes the alliance so strange are the deep-seated differences between leftists and muslim fundamentalists over core beliefs. The left supports women’s rights and full equality. Militant muslims oppose them. The left supports gay rights and gay marriage. Militant muslims toss homos off buildings. The left supports abortion rights. Militant muslims oppose them. They need the children to hide behind. The left is indifferent to religious freedom, Militant muslims believe infidels should be executed. The left opposes the death penalty. Militant muslims endorse it and praise their governments for using it.

These beliefs are not marginal for either group. They are foundational, and they are profoundly opposed to each other.

But they deal with differences very simply – Hate.

That about covers it, yeah. And why not, really? A feral, perfervid hatred for all and any who dare to disagree with their rigid orthodoxy is the one thing they have in common. Our pal DS also has a truly excellent random-thoughts-type post up:

Late-night Musings From The Bathtub
I think the single most important thing a man can do to be an ally is give his lady friends permission to give persistent dudes at the bar his number so when they call he can angrily say that’s not funny because she died 15 years ago that very night.

Nervous of flying? Don’t be. As long as 2 million parts in a plane work perfectly while traveling at close to the speed of sound as sharp metal blades rotate at supersonic speeds in temperatures of -65 degrees 7 miles above the earth surface, you’ll be just fine. Enjoy the in flight movie…

Someone told me yesterday that they don’t eat tacos because they’re bad for you, and I’m starting to realize what my parents meant when they said I should be careful who I surround myself with.

Anyone who says their wedding was the best day of their lives has clearly never had 2 snickers bars fall down at once from a vending machine.

Heh. That’s some goooood squishy right there.

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Turnabout: fair play

Paleosimian dismayed to find shoe on other foot.


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My heart, it breaks for them

Awwww, the poor widdle dear.

NYU Law Students Say Classmate Losing Job Offer Over Pro-Hamas Statement Is ‘Violence’
Ryna Workman said ‘Israel bears full responsibility’ for Hamas attacks that have killed thousands

Wails the oppressed, put-upon snowflake upon receiving her first lesson in what the word “responsibility” means.

New York University law students are rallying behind a student who lost a spot at a white-shoe law firm for defending Hamas, saying the firm’s decision to rescind their offer constitutes “violence.”

The Chicago-based Winston & Strawn withdrew its offer of employment to Ryna Workman after the nonbinary NYU student issued a statement claiming “Israel bears full responsibility” for the terrorist attacks that have left more than 1,300 dead, including at least 30 Americans. The firm’s decision is just one instance of “systemic, concentrated violence” Workman has experienced since issuing her anti-Israel pronouncement, according to a letter of support obtained by the Washington Free Beacon.

You keep using that word, “violence.” I do not think it means what you think it means. Here’s hoping you find out real soon.

There’s a pic at the link; the fat, melanin-enriched shitwit looks about like you’d expect she would, although she probably considers herself victimized yet again when the article dropped the apostrophe from “R’yna.” Via Ace, who also includes a truly jaw-slackening slice of moronicity from loathsome flatus Bill Kristol.

Bill Kristol @BillKristol

I came to D.C. to work in the Reagan Administration because (to oversimplify) it was pro-Constitution, pro-U.S. global leadership, pro-military, pro-Israel, pro-democratic capitalism, and pro-American dream. And that’s why I now support the Biden Administration and Democrats.

Great Scott, he seems to be serious! With Kristol, it can be hard to know for sure. It’s mortifying to think how many times I approvingly quoted, excerpted, and linked this sleazy, slithery reptile’s Weekly Standard pieces right here at Ye Olde Colde Furye Blogge in the aftermath of 9/11. Ace follows up with an inside story.

Bill Kristol called Claremont writer and former Trump NSA spokesman Michael Anton a Nazi in print. A source who was present in the room for the incident tells me that both were guests at a dinner party, and Bill Kristol came up to Anton with a smile and with his hand extended for a shake. As if they were Best Budz who were just having a play-fight on the internet for clicks and giggles.

Anton refused to shake his hand, and told him why.

So, per my source, Bill Kristol is the kind of man who either 1, slurs people as Nazis even though he knows for a fact they are not Nazis, just to get some more donations from the AWFL Wine O’Clock Wendys who make up his Democrat donor base, or 2, is perfectly willing to shake the hand of a man he actually believes is a Nazi so as not to bring down the vibes of the swank DC insider dinner party he’s intending.

You choose! I’m not here to bias you towards either conclusion. Personally I favor un-offered choice 3, that Bill Kristol is a very fat, small, cowardly weakling and sexually-ambiguous Gollum whose testosterone levels would allow him to enter “women’s” sports, and then come in last place, because seriously, this is one short obese red-faced pudge of a “man.”

Option Three has my vote too. Although upon reflection, ain’t no reason it can’t be all three of ‘em. None of them says anything at all good about Kristol, which at this point can’t come as any big surprise.

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Handing a Leftwit “journalist” his head

I wish he’d head South and run for President. Yes, I know, I know, he wasn’t born in the US and is thus Constitutionally ineligible. On the other hand, that sure didn’t stop Kenya-born Bathhouse Barry, now did it?


Calm, unflappable, laconically munching an apple while he takes this Mark-1 Mod-0 shitlib apart on camera—it’s entirely possible M Poilievre is actually Superman. As the esteemed Andrea Widberg says:

I’m one of those people who hates watching embarrassing things on TV or in movies. If I know the scene will be embarrassing, I take off my glasses and plug my ears. I almost had that urge to do both when watching Poilievre destroy the reporter. What Poilievre did to him was that brutal. Then I thought, “No, this reporter is a leftist hack. I’m not watching something painfully embarrassing. I’m watching something absolutely beautiful.”

Amen to that. Personally, I’d be every bit as happy if he’d just hurled his apple at the “journalist”’s nose à la Sam Gamgee (“waste of a good apple,” quoth Samwise afterwards), picked up a stout tree branch, and beat the dirtbag half to death with it upon said dirtbag’s first insufferably smarmy, smug insinuation disguised as a “question,” but that’s probably just me.

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