Over the target

Taking flak.

Disney CEO Bob Iger rips Ron DeSantis over Florida battle: ‘It’s a matter of retaliation’

Why yes, it most certainly is at that. So? Sit back and suck on it then, you twisted, pedophilia-pimping fucksickle.

He’s the Mouse that roared.

Disney boss Bob Iger slammed Florida Gov. Ron DeSantis on Wednesday in the escalating tit-for-tat over the special tax district that oversees the company’s Orlando theme parks.

“This is about one thing and one thing only: them retaliating against us,” Iger said during a call with investors after the Mouse House reporting second-quarter earnings in line with Wall Street estimates.

“Does the state want us to invest more, employ more people, pay more taxes or not?”

Not exactly, no, or not entirely anyway. It wants you to stay in your lane as a business and keep your stunted, withered little wang out of the political arena, thanks. Quite rightly too, I might add. You decided to test the limits of the Disney Corp’s sweetheart deal which placed the Corp outside the purview of the duly-established State and local governments, and you fucking lost. Next time, consider waiting until you can fuck around with a less-politically astute, less-feisty governor, that’s my advice. Failing that, find out.

For my money, the truly salient point here is DeSantis’s refusing to daintily tiptoe around a giant multinational corporation based on some sort of misbegotten Repugnican “principle.” We’re well past the point where slavishly hewing to “principle” is ever going to get us a goddamned thing. So to hell with principle, I say.

In any fight with a thuggish bully who’s flush with victory after victory against the Marquess of Queensberry, unilaterally sticking to the Queensberry rules yourself is a mug’s game. Yes, yes, principles are fine things to have…right up until you find yourself in a bloody street brawl against an opponent who recognizes no rules whatsoever.

“Losing honorably,” after all, is still losing. When winning is a matter of life and death, literally existential, then it’s time to recognize that the one, the only meaningful imperative becomes survival. Far better to “win dishonorably,” if you must. And that’s precisely where we are now; if “principle” still means more to you than the permanent defeat and extinguishing of those selfsame principles, then in my view your thinking is badly, badly skewed, and you probably deserve to lose.

3

The antitode: think it through

How a fully-Woke D卐M☭CRAT—a former Hollywood actress, no less—finally came around.


Welcome to the party, babe. Fellow Red Pillian Elon Musk responds with a funny-because-true riff, to be immediately set upon by the usual jackal-pack of screeching idiot shitlibs bridling at such an uppity display of dissent from their ultra-orthodox catechism…thereby proving the lovely Ms Beisner’s (and Elon’s) essential point far more convincingly than anything else ever could. Good show all around, everybody!

(Via Ace)

Update! What the heck, while I’m posting amusing Tweets here, have another.


Heh. Nailed it in one, Mr Jockey, sir.

4
1
2

The universal language

Okay, I just love the everlovin’ hell out of this one.


Fookin’ brilliant! Especially at the very end, where the clearly-disgruntled FiQ (Feline in Question) has gotten tired of the whole damned thing, making that sleepy, semi-pissed-off, won’t you just leave me the hell ALONE face that every cat-lover on earth knows all too well.

2

Another righteous blast from the past

In this instance, from 2018, involving none other than Tucker Carlson, showcasing his newly-red-pilled status in his pre-Fox-juggernaut days. Via Brother Bob:

An Interview With Tucker Carlson on What Makes Trump a ‘Political Genius’
Tucker Carlson, host of the popular Fox News show “Tucker Carlson Tonight,” spoke to Daily Signal Editor-in-Chief Rob Bluey at The Heritage Foundation’s 41st annual Resource Bank meeting in Fort Lauderdale, Florida. Carlson received the prestigious Salvatori Prize, recognizing his work to uphold and advance the principles of America’s founding. The full video, plus an edited transcript of the interview, is below.

Rob Bluey: It is a true honor to celebrate the work that you’ve done, and I want to begin with the advice that you left this audience on how conservatives can take back the culture. You had two pieces of advice. Tell us about them.

Tucker Carlson: Well, have more children. I grew up in a world where it was considered embarrassing to have more than two children. I don’t think that’s the case now among middle-class, upper middle-class people, but it was.

First of all, it’s the most rewarding, greatest, most fun thing you can do. But it’s also the most profound thing. If you don’t like the direction of the country, have children, raise them the way that you want, consistent with your beliefs. It seems like all the answers are basic, nature-based answers, in my opinion. To everything. That’s the most basic of all, have more kids. Raise decent children.

And the second was just say what you think is true. I don’t actually think you get a ton out of confronting people and getting in people’s faces. I don’t think you’re going to convince anybody that way. But I think there’s inherent value in speaking principle out loud without shame or fear. And again, without the expectation that you’re going to win people over right away, because most times you’re not going to.

Aggression really doesn’t help much. I’ve definitely concluded that after years of being aggressive. But I think telling the truth is an inherently valuable act.

Bluey: You’ve had tremendous success with your show. It’s highly rated and millions of people are tuning in. How does that last point inform the work that you do on a day-to-day basis?

Carlson: The show’s successful because it’s on Fox News, which is successful. I’ve worked at a lot of different TV networks, and the network is what matters most.

I don’t imagine that my show is successful because I’m so great. I do think much more about what I say because there’s a bigger audience and because we’re in the middle of this revolutionary moment, and I’m counterrevolutionary.

I don’t say a lot of things without thinking them through, which is good. I mean, occasionally I do and get in trouble for it. But I really try to think through what I really believe and what I really think is true.

Good stuff so far, to be sure, but now we come to the real meat of the matter, at least in regards to the Trump mention in the piece’s title (bear in mind, Trump was still President at the time this interview was published).

Bluey: But I’d say the topics you cover and the way that you conduct your questioning is different and unique from other TV hosts.

Carlson: Well, I don’t have a lot to add. I would just say two things. I think President Trump is interesting, and I agree broadly with his agenda. I certainly agree with immigration, that’s for sure. But I don’t think that every story is about Donald Trump, and most other people at the other networks think every story is about Trump.

I don’t have anything to add to that; I don’t think it’s that interesting. I don’t want to talk about Trump five hours a week, I just don’t. And not because I have some political agenda and it’s bad to talk about; I’m just not that interested, actually. There’s a lot of interesting stuff going on. I try to talk about that.

…The book, like the show, is based on the most obvious questions. I’m not a super-clever person, I try to keep it very simple. Why would America elect Donald Trump president?

And the explanation in Washington is, well, they didn’t really. Putin did. Or voters were just so dumb, they didn’t know the difference. Or America’s racist, so they elected a racist. Those are contemptible nonexplanations. Those are stupid.

The real answer, obviously, is that people were so dissatisfied with the leadership in place as of the first Tuesday in November of 2016, that they decided to punish them by electing Trump.

This was a referendum on the ruling class; and by the way, we have a ruling class, and I’ve lived in it most of my life, so I know it’s real. It’s not a conspiracy, but we have a class system, increasingly, in this country.

The people in charge have done a really bad job on the big things, on foreign policy and the economy; and they’ve gotten us into a number of counterproductive wars. That was a bipartisan effort. It was started by Bush, but it was applauded by Clinton. So it wasn’t one party, it was both parties.

They made a bunch of assumptions about the economy that turned out to be wrong, and they helped destroy the American middle class, and then they don’t care. So they’re terrible. They’re deeply unwise and selfish and stupid.

Trump is the result of decades of unwise, selfish, and stupid leadership. It’s so obvious. I’m not a genius, I’m hardly a genius. It’s just so clear, and no one says that. I’m not sure why.

Lots more to it yet, and it’s all fascinating. I’ve read before in many other places that Tucker was a pretty solidly anti-Trump guy early on, and maybe he was at that, I couldn’t really say. But from this interview, it’s quite clear that Carlson really GOT the whole Trump phenomenon better than just about any other of his big-media confreres did, well before they did—those few of them who actually did come around to understand it, that is.

Perhaps unrelated, but purely in the interests of safeguarding my prized rep as a gadfly-contrarian against any unfounded accusations of being a Trump-licker, I’ll just throw this in too, from Margolis’s Meme-manic Monday email.

Trump Licker NOT

For whatever it’s worth, I checked a cpl of the above quotes I wasn’t totally sure about, and yes, it appears he really DID say all those puzzling-at-best things. I dunno, go figure; I ain’t even gonna try to explain what, if anything, it might mean. I’ve defended Trump plenty over the last six-eight years; I’m just about all “defended” out over here, frankly.

At this point, either you love him or hate him, and are probably no longer subject to persuasion either way. As I’ve said, I believe Trump could still have a significant, positive role to play in what’s to come, but not as President; that, he oughta just give up and walk away from, it’s a total waste of his time and effort.

Moar Tucker

I repeat: If you strike him down, he shall become more powerful than you can possibly imagine.

‘I’M PROBABLY THE FIRST UNEMPLOYED PERSON YOU EVER INVITED TO SPEAK’: TUCKER CARLSON TO SOLD OUT CROWD
Tucker Carlson had a great joke for a sold out crowd in Alabama as he talked about being ‘fired’ and some other things. The crowd wasn’t huge, but it was sold out as 1,189 people showed up to see him speak at the Oxford Performing Arts Center for a fundraiser for Rainbow Omega. Jokingly, Tucker Carlson started off with the epic one-liner saying “I’m probably the first unemployed person you ever invited to speak.” Then Carlson said, “It’s funny. I never give speeches because I’m working. When I accepted this speech six months ago or something, I didn’t realize how much free time I would have. One never knows, does one?”

What else did Tucker Carlson say during his speech? Well, here’s some quotes thanks to AL.com who posted it in a news story about the former Fox News host:

I accepted for two reasons, one shallow and one a little deeper. One is, I do love Alabama. I’m not just saying that. We spend a lot of time in rural Maine, which is so close to this culturally, you have no idea. In a great way. The food is not very good in rural Maine. The food here is unbelievable. I’ve spent a lot of time in this state, and part of the reason is you have great hunting and fishing. The real reason is it has everything that I like. It has really nice people. It has amazing food. I have the world’s worst eating habits and here that’s not judged. Fried Oreos? Okay! I love that. I love the lack of judgment.

The perceptions, national perceptions kind of shift very slowly, then you wake up in the morning and everything’s different. The rest of the country’s view of Alabama is one of those things that just changed completely. Nobody makes fun of Alabama, at all, because they realize actually that’s how you’re supposed to be living. The only way to know what people think about something is to not listen to what they say, I say this as someone who has talked for a living for a long time, ignore the words. Watch what they do. Watch how they live. That’s the only accurate measure of what people really think. Ignore that. Be like your dog, who understands not a single word of what you’re saying but knows exactly who you are.

Are people moving to Alabama? Oh, yeah. I love that. Why are they moving here? They’re moving here because Alabama’s everything that you would want in a place that you live. It has cohesive communities, super-nice people, gentle people, people who care about their neighbors, and it has an abundance of nature, something that we I think undervalue. We went through this weird, kind of mass hypnosis where everyone was convinced we had to move to some horrifying concrete city in order to make a living and forgot that actually you need to see green, or else you’ll go insane. If you’re alienated from God’s creation, you become fundamentally alienated. Nature is the most beautiful thing. Driving around here today, I thought to myself, you think of Alabama, if you don’t live in Alabama, as a place that has a lot of past attached to it. And I thought today, especially reading the numbers about what’s happening in your state, Alabama is not the past, Alabama’s the future.

We’d damned well better hope it is, yeah. Thankfully, as Tucker implies, that’s something that just kinda-sorta happens when nobody’s really looking, or expecting it to.

2

SAVE THE WHALES!

Again, that is, this time from the shitlibs and their preposterously unworkable “Green energy.”

Conservative watchdogs highlight ‘alarming’ surge in whale deaths as wind farms grow off NY, NJ coasts
Conservative watchdog groups ran a guerrilla-style ad campaign on the Jersey Shore for Earth Day, drawing attention to a surge in whale deaths amid the growth of offshore wind farms.

Beachgoers in Atlantic City on Saturday looked on as a single-propeller plane carried a message waving from a banner — “SAVE-WHALES-STOP-WINDMILLS.ORG” — and drivers heading out of town saw a billboard with the same message and a picture of a dead whale washed ashore.

The Committee for a Constructive Tomorrow and the Heartland Institute sponsored the ads to highlight the potential threat that wind turbine development poses to whales, dolphins and other aquatic life.

The campaign comes after a ProPublica report last week found that federal regulators in the Biden administration have downplayed environmental risks to greenlight “an unprecedented expansion for offshore wind” projects — including tax incentives through the president’s Inflation Reduction Act for renewable energy developers.

Pics of the aforementioned ads included at the NYPost link, and they’re truly wonderful. Well done, guys, and good on ya for turning the Left’s own twipe back on ‘em and hosing ‘em down good with it like this.

2

Dirty blues & boogie woogie

Whenever I’ve heard some dumbass libtard—usually a 60s refugee, but by no means always—deride the 50s, 40s, or anytime before the Sexual Revolution as pretty much a barren desert in terms of human sexuality, I’ve always just had to shake my head and smile to myself. The musical evidence against such an obviously specious supposition abounds; herewith, a mere few examples that present an airtight case to the contrary, which I’ll tuck below the fold for safekeeping. Trust me, folks, this stuff is NOT safe for work, wives, or young children, not even a little, tiny bit.

Continue reading “Dirty blues & boogie woogie”

Self-pWnage

Stephen asks the pertinent question.

Are These the Worst 9 Seconds of Joe Biden’s Political Career?

Worst YET, Steve. YET.

When we’re talking about Presidentish Joe Biden’s increasing senility, it’s difficult to choose the worst, most embarrassing moment of his time in office.

Okay, I gotta admit: I like that “Presidentish” formulation so much, I’ma gonna be purloining it for my own use. Fair warning.

Like most folks suffering from Alzheimer’s, senile dementia, or maybe the long-term effects of two brain aneurysms, Biden has good moments and bad ones. But the bad ones seem to be becoming more frequent.

Honestly, it seems impossible that we’d ever see a moment more revealing than this one from last week. I’m a fan of it, so to speak, because this particular moment didn’t just reveal Biden’s creeping senescence but also showed the world how our pliant press pretends POTUS is compos mentis.

You know, it’s one thing — not a good thing, mind you, but perhaps a less-bad thing — when the American press hid from the world how feeble FDR had become, particularly during the last two or three years of his life. It’s quite another to pretend that a nuclear-armed POTUS is still capable of even friendly give-and-take (with) the White House Press Corps(e).

Put them all together and it’s like the opposite of a greatest hits collection. But as any record collector can tell you, no greatest hits album is complete without at least one new song to force die-hard fans to buy it. And that’s exactly what I have for you today.

Here’s the Quick & Dirty VodkaPundit Transcript (from one of several YewToob vids emdebbed in the post—M):

[unintelligible, sounds vaguely like “I’m a puff”] Florida’s small business… winner… award winner… of, uh, the, uh, business week winner… [slams mic on lectern] YOU WON.

Who won exactly what is, like the workings of whatever is left of Joe Biden’s mind, a mystery.

Anyone still in doubt about just how much relevance the show-office of US “President” might still retain to the day-to-day machinations of FederalGovCo is hereby cordially referred to the Biden Puppet’s obvious inability to string together three words intelligibly. This, mind, with a giant-print cheat sheet in palsied hand. As I’ve said, at this point the Rutabaga In Thief isn’t even in charge of his own morning bowel movement, much less the central government.

CRITTERS!

Among the many, many email list-type things flooding my inbox daily are quite a few from Twatter (since Musk took over and cleaned house I’m gonna have to stop referring to it with such disparaging names), which I haven’t long since relegated to the CF Spamme Trappe because I actually enjoy quite a few of them. Sander from the Netherlands, a/k/a Buitengebieden, would be on the list of Twitterers I like.


HAAA! Good stuff, no? I mean, really now, just look at the grin on that face at the end.

The cute little critter coming home to mama for a perfect three-point landing in her hand is a sugar glider, if I’m not mistaken; being a certified Elly May Clampett-level critter person (DEAD GIVEAWAY ALERT: there’s even a “Critters” category here, has been for a long time), I always did want one of those myself. Can’t recollect ever seeing a snowy-white one before, though. Some info on the li’l beasties, for those who might not know what the hell I’m even talking about here.

The sugar glider (Petaurus breviceps) is a small, omnivorous, arboreal, and nocturnal gliding possum. The common name refers to its predilection for sugary foods such as sap and nectar and its ability to glide through the air, much like a flying squirrel. They have very similar habits and appearance to the flying squirrel, despite not being closely related—an example of convergent evolution. The scientific name, Petaurus breviceps, translates from Latin as “short-headed rope-dancer”, a reference to their canopy acrobatics.

The sugar glider is characterised by its pair of gliding membranes, known as patagia, which extend from its forelegs to its hindlegs. Gliding serves as an efficient means of reaching food and evading predators. The animal is covered in soft, pale grey to light brown fur which is countershaded, being lighter in colour on its underside.

The sugar glider is native to a small portion of southeastern Australia, in the regions of southern Queensland and most of New South Wales east of the Great Dividing Range. Members of Petaurus are popular exotic pets and are frequently also referred to as “sugar gliders”, but these are now thought to likely represent another species from West Papua, tentatively classified in Krefft’s glider.

“Short-headed rope-dancer”—gotta love that, it certainly seems apt enough. Here, have yourself another adorable pic:

Ellymae

Oh oh wait, dang it, that’s Elly May. Sorry ‘bout that, folks…maybe. Here’s the one I meant to put in there.

SugarGlider

Heh. Ye Olde Colde Furye Blogge: where the smart set goes for all their “cuteness” needs.

Moar adorable update! Another critter I always wanted, but never did get.

Those are African pygmy hedgehogs, comically enjoying one of their favorite pastimes: tubing, they call it. Too, too funny, and totally cute too. (SIDE NOTE: yes, that’s an old toilet-paper-roll tube they’re playing with; they’re known for keeping that up for hours, walking themselves off of tabletops, falling off chair seats and sofas, repeatedly crashing into walls, you name it)

The trouble with keeping exotic pets like gliders and hedgehogs is that they’re costly to keep and maintain, in all sorts of ways. They usually need a great deal of attention and affection; their dietary requirements can be expensive and, well, exotic, thus tough to fulfill; finding a vet for one outside of major urban areas can be extremely difficult, the visits frequent and expensive. Exotics are susceptible to bizarre, unheard-of diseases, for which treatment is both demanding in terms of effort and ruinously expensive.

All in all, then, not the best choice of pet for someone who travels as much as I used to. Hell, just keeping up with two cats, two dogs, and a freshwater aquarium which I successfully kept going for well over ten years (stocked with two clown loaches, an albino shark, an albino cory cat, and a firebelly newt; the pleco I got for algae-control purposes, a tiny thing at first, I finally gave away to a friend when the ugly bastid grew to just over two feet long) was hard enough, thanks.

Never too old to rock and roll

Divemedic recounts the incredible story of a bona fide American hero—a valiant and doughty warrior I’ve written about here myself. DM includes some aspects of the story, most notably a memorable quote, that I hadn’t heard before.

There are so many times that I have heard people, including myself, say that we are getting too old for the conflicts that are to come. It’s easy to think that the trials that we all see as inevitable are for young men, and let’s face it, many of us cannot consider ourselves to be young any longer. So let’s take comfort in the story of Samuel Whittemore.

Comfort? I hardly see it as comforting. Confers a YUGE burden of responsibility, and imposes a very real debt of awestruck gratitude, more like. At the very least, Whittemore’s story is enormously humbling for any present-day Real American with half a lick of sense and a knowledge of US history.

Anyways. Onwards.

Samuel was not a young man when he enlisted in the Third Massachusetts Regiment and fought the French in Canada. He was 49 years old when he killed a French officer and took his sword as a war trophy.

Mr. Whittemore wasn’t done. He fought again against Chief Pontiac in the Great Lakes region at 67 years old as he led troops against the French and Indians. During that conflict, he took a pair of dueling pistols as war trophies.

For the next decade or so, he became a respected leader in the civic arena. He lobbied against the government, speaking out and being a general pain in the ass. He protested the government’s actions, complaining about this and that, went to meetings of government, and represented his town as a member of the Committee of Correspondence. That was how it came to be that, in 1772, Whittemore was one of the three contributors to Cambridge, Massachusetts’ statement in objection to the Tea Act:

If we cease to assert Our rights we shall dwindle into supineness and the chains of slavery shall be fast rivetted upon us 

Then came the day when Samuel Whittemore’s family found him in his farm’s field, lying in a pool of blood, and even the town’s doctor didn’t believe that he would survive. British soldiers had left Samuel Whittemore in a pool of blood alongside a stone wall in Menotomy, Mass. after shooting the old farmer in the face, then bayoneted him at least six times and clubbed him, apparently, to death as they retreated from the skirmish at Lexington and Concord on April 19, 1775. Samuel was 78 years old.

Located near him were the bodies of three British soldiers: one shot by a musket, another by a dueling pistol, and a third run through with an ornate French sword.

Samuel survived that day, against all odds, and lived to the ripe old age of 96. He is currently buried in Arlington, Massachusetts.

This is the reason why we stand for the National Anthem, to honor men such as this.

Indubitably so. It’s to our everlasting disgrace that, were you to ask any random “American” schoolkid nowadays, he/she/its/zhir/zhimz would have no idea who Samuel Whittemore even was. Hell, he/she/its/zhir/zhimz parents wouldn’t know either. I very much doubt whether their teachers would.

As Founding Father Patrick Henry so unforgettably implored the flock at St John’s Church in Richmond:

Let us not, I beseech you, sir, deceive ourselves. Sir, we have done everything that could be done, to avert the storm which is now coming on. We have petitioned; we have remonstrated; we have supplicated; we have prostrated ourselves before the throne, and have implored its interposition to arrest the tyrannical hands of the ministry and Parliament. Our petitions have been slighted; our remonstrances have produced additional violence and insult; our supplications have been disregarded; and we have been spurned, with contempt, from the foot of the throne. In vain, after these things, may we indulge the fond hope of peace and reconciliation. There is no longer any room for hope. If we wish to be free, if we mean to preserve inviolate those inestimable privileges for which we have been so long contending, if we mean not basely to abandon the noble struggle in which we have been so long engaged, and which we have pledged ourselves never to abandon until the glorious object of our contest shall be obtained, we must fight! I repeat it, sir, we must fight! An appeal to arms and to the God of Hosts is all that is left us!

They tell us, sir, that we are weak; unable to cope with so formidable an adversary. But when shall we be stronger? Will it be the next week, or the next year? Will it be when we are totally disarmed, and when a British guard shall be stationed in every house? Shall we gather strength by irresolution and inaction? Shall we acquire the means of effectual resistance, by lying supinely on our backs, and hugging the delusive phantom of hope, until our enemies shall have bound us hand and foot? Sir, we are not weak if we make a proper use of those means which the God of nature hath placed in our power.

It is in vain, sir, to extenuate the matter. Gentlemen may cry, Peace, Peace but there is no peace. The war is actually begun! The next gale that sweeps from the north will bring to our ears the clash of resounding arms! Our brethren are already in the field! Why stand we here idle? What is it that gentlemen wish? What would they have? Is life so dear, or peace so sweet, as to be purchased at the price of chains and slavery? Forbid it, Almighty God! I know not what course others may take; but as for me, give me liberty or give me death!

Amen. May we all draw strength from history, from the deeds of our glorious forebears; may we resolve to live up to their illustrious example. May the memory of that history, that example, never fade from our hearts and minds. In awakening Real Americans from their long, torporous slumber, Leftards know not what they have done. Let them reap the whirlwind, then, in fullest possible measure.

6

Another Righteous Shoot

Fucked around. Found out. Exactly as he damned well deserved to.


Divemedic says it for me.

I have heard the complaints that the guy shouldn’t have shot him when he was leaving, and you know what? I don’t give a shit. If the cops and courts won’t protect their citizens, the citizens eventually will.

Precisely so. I’m not so sure the soon-to-be-ventilated perp actually was leaving. He walked back around the counter, but he wasn’t moving in the direction of the door; probably looking around to see what else in the store might be worth stealing, seems to me.

“Shouldn’t have shot him”? Like bleedin’ hell. What shouldn’t have happened was, the predatory Gibmedat shouldn’t have robbed the guy in the first place, that’s what. Had he not chosen to commit armed robbery and ADW, thereby putting an innocent man in fear for his life, then he wouldn’t have gotten his sorry ass shot. That’s all on Sh’Quan’zellaramalamadingdong, and absolutely nobody else.

Be sure to stick with it for the happy ending; the footage of the worthless parasite writhing in pain on the sidewalk, bleeding profusely, is worth the price of admission all by itself.

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Fox augers in

They unceremoniously dump the biggest star the network ever had, and now they’re surprised at the outrage that bonehead maneuver generated?

Back there in the 1960’s golden era of rock and roll, (from 1966 to 1968) a group known as Buffalo Springfield dominated the air waves for a rock moment. Their big 1967 hit was titled “For What It’s Worth.” And its lyrics included these memorable lines:

There’s something happening here

But what it is ain’t exactly clear 

…Paranoia strikes deep

 Into your life it will creep 

It starts when you’re always afraid

Step out of line, the man come and take you away…

The lyrics came to mind this week in watching Fox reel from the backlash of the company’s “parting ways” with host Tucker Carlson. (And full disclosure, I am a Newsmax contributor.)

And speaking of Newsmax? The network has not been shy in reporting its 8 p.m. audience nearly doubled Monday, reaching 531,000 viewers, based on Nielsen figures. The following night, the number rose to an average 562,000 viewers, a five-fold increase from the previous week.

By contrast, the Tucker hour’s ratings at Fox plummeted, from 2.59 million on Monday (when his departure was formally announced) to 1.7 million on Tuesday and 1.3 million on Wednesday.

Not to put too fine a point on this, but Tucker himself has released his own two-minute video statement on Twitter. In less than 24 hours the video had brought in over 60 million views. Yow.

One can only wonder, as many have, why in the world Fox would shut down its number one host. Tucker Carlson is a very popular conservative and a decidedly smart guy as well. All of which has been evident on his nightly show, and all of which his audience both understands and loves.

Not to mention another popular host, Dan Bongino, has also vanished from Fox.

So why in the world would Fox do this?

At this point, I imagine a good few of the Fox higher-ups are wondering the same thing.

Okay, okay, I admit it—my main motivation for posting this is the excuse it affords me to put up that great old Buffalo Springfield tune.

With a glowingly-affectionate intro by Monkee-man Peter Tork, no less. What can one say but: COOOOOOOOL.

Update! For those younger readers who somehow wandered in here by mistake and who aren’t old enough to know anything about Buffalo Springfield (for SHAME), here’s some background info.

Buffalo Springfield was a rock band formed in Los Angeles by Canadian musicians Neil Young, Bruce Palmer and Dewey Martin and American musicians Stephen Stills and Richie Furay. The group, widely known for the song “For What It’s Worth”, released three albums and several singles from 1966 to 1968. Their music combined elements of folk music and country music with British Invasion and psychedelic rock influences. Like contemporary band the Byrds, they were key to the early development of folk rock. The band took their name from a steamroller parked outside their house.

Buffalo Springfield formed in Los Angeles in 1966 with Stills (guitar, keyboards, vocals), Martin (drums, vocals), Palmer (bass guitar), Furay (guitar, vocals) and Young (guitar, harmonica, piano, vocals). The band signed to Atlantic Records in 1966 and released their debut single “Nowadays Clancy Can’t Even Sing”, which became a hit in Los Angeles. The following January, they released the protest song “For What It’s Worth”, which became their only US top 10 hit and a counterculture anthem. Their second album, Buffalo Springfield Again, marked their progression to psychedelia and hard rock and featured other well-known songs such as “Bluebird” and “Mr. Soul”.

After several drug-related arrests and line-up changes, the group disbanded in 1968.

For all intents and purposes, Springfield was one of the earliest examples of what later on came to be referred to in the rock world as a “supergroup,” even though Young, Stills, Messina, et al weren’t all that well known at the time. This next is a bit of trivia for the ages:

While in Toronto in early 1966, Young met Bruce Palmer, a Canadian who was playing bass for the Mynah Birds. In need of a lead guitarist, Palmer invited Young to join the group, and Young accepted. The Mynah Birds were set to record an album for Motown Records when their singer Ricky James Matthews—James Ambrose Johnson, Jr., later known as Rick James—was tracked down and arrested by the U.S. Navy for being AWOL.

ZOMG! Okay, I never knew that myself. It calls for a CELEBRATION, BITCHES!

Heh. Don’t hate me ’cause I’m beautiful, y’all.

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Tales from the tour bus

Commenting on last night’s Junior Brown post, Skeptic said:

I’ve been fortunate enough to see Junior, the Reverend, and Big Sandy live (although not on the same bill). Great entertainers all.

Indeed they are, and excepting Brown, who I’ve never met, just really great guys as well. So I began my response to Skeptic thusly:

Man, Big Sandy (Robert Williams, actually, as you probably know), in addition to being enormously talented, is without doubt one of the sweetest, nicest human beings I’ve ever had the privilege of knowing. When my wife was killed, he was one of the very first to call me. He had been friends with both her and her mom since way before I’d met them myself, and you could easily tell he was just heartbroken over it. I’ve never forgotten that act of kindness and open-hearted generosity, and I never will.

First time I ever did a show with him was out in LA, at Ronnie Mack’s Barn Dance. There was just all kinds of big rockabilly names on the bill that night; hell, even Brian Setzer showed up to make a surprise appearance to close out the evening. While Brian was on, me, James Intveld, Sandy, and a handful of others were brought onstage with him as well.

I got that far in, and that’s when it hit me: this story is just too damned good to let it languish in comment-section obscurity, it really merits a main-page post of its own. So here’s the rest of it, blockquoted just becuz.

Brian called out for us to do Eddie Cochran’s “Summertime Blues” to end the set, which the backing band launched into. Setzer sang the first verse, then frantically waved all his fellow frontmen into a midstage huddle before going on with the song–he had forgotten the rest of the lyrics, and wanted to know if any of the rest of us knew ’em!

Naturally, being under pressure like that, smack in the middle of actually PLAYING the song in front of a packed house, the spots circling us like hungry sharks, every damned one of us immediately lapsed into a total brain fart, failing to come up with so much as a single syllable of the blood-simple lyrics to one of the hoariest old RaB chestnuts known to man.

I mean, really, now. “Summertime Blues”? Hell, plenty of people who wouldn’t know rockabilly from Adam’s housecat probably know the words to that song! KNEW them? Of course we knew them! We’d all played and sung the blasted thing a million and one times; every one of us was a professional player, with years of onstage experience under our belts, so stage fright couldn’t have been an issue.

But still—there we all were, drawing a total blank, as the backing musicians went right on endlessly repeating the lead-in to the second verse whilst darting looks of confusion, wonderment, and dismay at our little stage-front conference as we all went right on NOT stepping up to the center mic to take charge and get the stalled-out show moving again.

Finally, I did so myself, just repeating the first verse Brian had already sung in hopes that it might jar something loose in my bourbon-addled brain which would bring the rest back to me again. But it’s what happened right before then that still makes me laugh to this very day.

See, Big Sandy was absolutely high-school drunk at that point, drunk as a boiled owl—or, as my friend Joe used to say, fucked up as a nine-eyed nigger. The guy had this goofy, vacant grin smeared loosely all over his slaphappy mug, the look of a man totally at peace with the entire world, delighted to be where he was in that golden moment—wherethehellever THAT might have been.

One of the other players, can’t remember who, nodded me over to where he was struggling to hold Sandy more or less upright by his right arm, in an unmistakable plea for assistance—Sandy is a big, heavy dude, see, and whoever-it-was, well…wasn’t.

So I got myself over there straightaway, latched onto Sandy’s free left arm, and our two-man rescue squad proceeded to walk/stagger/drag our cheerfully-inebriated charge over to the area of the stage known amongst showbiz types as the backline—ie, the row of guitar/bass amps and drum kit prepositioned for all the night’s bands to use, standard practice when a big venue has an unusually large number of groups booked, so as to shorten the time needed to break down the stage and set up for the next act.

And the backline is where we dumped Sandy, gently lowering him to sit atop a tweed Fender Bassman amp, his back against the rear stage wall. He was a sight: that same smile on his face, tapping both feet to the music, his body precariously swaying, a bottle of Heineken clutched tightly in each hand. Years later, I asked him if he remembered that auspicious evening, to which he replied, “YES! Ummm, maybe. Well, okay, parts of it.”

Too, too funny. I told him if he ever needed help remembering any of the more lurid details, I’d be glad to remind him, because I was never gonna forget it. We both laughed, and then headed on back to the bar.

Big Sandy was by no means the only one deep in his cups that night, mind; it was also the night I hung out after the show with a cripplingly-blasted Janeane Garofalo, which I told all about here. An auspicious occasion indeed, all the way ‘round.

Update! Added a green-room pic from after the Horton’s Holiday Hayride show to the Junior Brown post, in case any of y’all might be interested in such piffling trivialities.

1

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