GIVE TIL IT HURTS!

Yet she persists

Directly, hilariously related to tonight’s Eyrie topic, your feel-good video of the week month year century.


Almost perfect, except ol’ Two-Ton Tallulah there seems to have survived her foolhardy brush with the Law, regrettably. Better luck next time, officers.

Update! A cpl good un’s via the Ace Place.



Do your worst, bitches. Since it appears you may have forgotten already, I’d like to remind you again of who it is that has all the guns in this badly-broken nation.


Q: Are ALL “transgenders” depraved, degenerate lunatics?

A: Yes. Yes, they most certainly are.


For those who don’t feel like watching the vid, I’ll go with Ace’s description of what’s depicted therein.

The very obvious man pounded it out like he was John Bonham playing Kashmir at Wembley.

The male public masturbatior jerked off openly with women present. When one woman reported him to the staff, they kicked her out of the Planet Fitness and let the sex criminal stay.

Because he’s “transgender” and so he’s allowed to pull his dick like choad-flavored taffy.

The mentally-ill man and sex predator was in a stall, but you could see what he was doing in the shadows beneath him. It’s obvious he’s jerking off. Either that or he’s trying to start an outboard motor he keeps on his belt.

Planet Fitness instructs its female clients to show “understanding” towards publicly-masturbating men invading their private spaces.

This took place near San Francisco — of course. A place called Concord.

Of course.

Some things never change

England: still a godawful tyranny, just like in the days of our Founding Fathers.

UK Imprisons Man for 17 Days — for Each X View of His ‘Hate’ Speech
British authorities sentenced a Dorset man to 18 months in jail for inciting hate and violence on X in the heated aftermath of the 2024 Southport stabbings that left three children dead and another 10 people injured.

Luke Yarwood’s posts were viewed a total of 33 times before being taken down. If I’ve done my math correctly, that’s nearly 17 days of jail time per view. If I know anything about people, half of those views were Yarwood checking his mentions.

There’s no denying the nasty nature of Yarwood’s posts, sent to X before the identity of the killer — 17-year-old Axel Rudakubana — was known, but was widely misreported to have been a Muslim immigrant. Rudakubana was born in Cardiff, but his parents were evangelical immigrants from Rwanda.

Yarwood’s posts called for “slaughter in the streets” of Muslims and encouraged people to “Head for the hotels housing them and burn them to the ground.”

“Violence and murder is the only way now. Start off burning every migrant hotel then head off to MP houses in Parliament. We need to take over by force,” he wrote.

Even a veteran of intemperate tweets like myself would never post anything like Yarwood did, but still, 33 views? This guy barely incited more racial hatred than Martin Riggs and Roger Murtaugh in all three Lethal Weapon movies combined. See, that’s funny because one is black and the other is white and they’re basically family and race hardly comes up. I miss movies like those.

Judge Jonathan Fuller said Yarwood had a “preoccupation with immigrants” and an “obsession with Islam,” alongside “extremely right-wing views.”

And now he has almost 17 days of jail time for each time those views were seen by the public.

Message sent and received, five by five.

Indeed so. How typical of all tyrannies, that their hypersensitivity to any and all opposition should blind them to the very real catastrophe they’ve inflicted on themselves.

It doesn’t make a blind bit of difference what or whom Yarwood is or is not “obsessed with,” his God-given right to inveigh against what his lords and masters have brought down on British heads unasked for is absolute. Bitch as I do about what dire shape the FUSA is in these days, I can still be thankful that our Founders—those incomparable 18th-century titans, every one of them—were bold enough, brave enough, and foresighted enough to perceive what the future held in store for the pitiable subjects of His Royal Majesty’s goobermint, and to decide that they wanted no part of it.

How it is fucking DONE

Looks as if there might possibly be a little life left in the old town yet.

NYC serial spitter bloodied in street-style justice during epic beatdown: ‘Worse than jail’
Anthony Caines — the sicko busted by the NYPD for allegedly spitting in the faces of white women who passed him in Williamsburg — has apparently been on the receiving end of some street-style justice.

Video footage shared on social media showed two men beating and kicking a man who appeared to be accused spitter Caines, 45, outside of a hair salon on Sixth Street.

It was unclear when the footage was shot.

Caines, curled up on the sidewalk in a defensive fetal position, is dealt multiple blows by the two attackers, whose faces are never shown.

The two men laugh to themselves as they kick Caines and stomp on his legs.

Caines is heard wailing in pain during the beatdown.

The clip quickly cuts to an image of Caines with a large gash on his forehead, above his left eye. Blood streams down his face as the men issue a final warning.

Yes, the Post report includes a capture from that part of the clip, and it is GLORIOUS.

“Stop violating these females out here, you heard?” the man filming the footage tells him.

“We’re tired of that s–t,” the man explains. “You’re making us look bad.”

Caines appeared to confirm he understood, before saying, “I went to jail, didn’t I?”

“F–k jail — we’re worse than jail,” the man yells before delivering one last punch to his head.

You tell ‘im, boys. Yawp all you like about “vigilante justice,” but it’s a dead cert that Hell will freeze over before Mr Psycho-Spook hocks another loogie in that locality again. In fact, uness he lives there himself, I very much doubt he’ll ever so much as show his face in Williamsburgh again.

Too-public “education”

David Thompson carries on with his long-established habit of speaking perfect truths and unassailable common sense.

Readers may recall this chap here, a cross-dressing educator – the one who records classroom videos of himself faffing about with his wig while expecting applause for his feats of fake-hair management:
As I said at the time,

Schools have surrendered to cross-dressing men with a rapidity and full-throatedness that is quite remarkable. The place where cross-dressing men should not be – in positions of intimacy with, and authority over, children – is where they seem to find the most gushing welcome and the most ludicrous indulgence. Such that children are coerced to mouth fabulist pronouns and to regurgitate obvious lies.

Despite much higher rates of sexual offending, including offences against children, and similarly high rates of serious mental illness, people who identify as trans appear to be favoured in school hiring. Their numbers, and social-media prominence, does seem noteworthy. Among successful candidates, there is a certain triumphalism. A confident strutting.

Hence the numerous videos of such men vamping and cavorting in a classroom setting. Marking their territory with an arsenal of bad wigs and curiously oversized fake boobs.

It is, I’d suggest, enormously presumptuous, and selfish, to coerce other people’s children into what amounts to a personal affirmation exercise. A gratuitous flex at their expense. While knowing that the parents of those children may not approve, and may be left to deal with whatever upset or confusion ensues. Any number of inapt or premature questions.

Well. Let’s catch up with the chap in question, Mr James Roman Stilipec, and his predictably emboldened activities:

Then Dave proceeds to do exactly that, and it’s quite a revelation. So to speak. Yes, there are pictures, and yes, they’re revolting.

A notorious bank-robber (Willie Sutton, I think it was) once quipped when asked why he knocked over banks, “Because that’s where the money is!” That same sort of thinking explains why these days there are way too many pedo pervs like the above creep haunting classrooms, Scout troops, youth sports leagues, etc etc : because that’s where the kids are.

It must be made abundantly clear to all concerned that 1) we know what they’re up to; 2) that the jig is up; and 3) that henceforth, any “Minor-Attracted Person(s)” found within fifteen (15) statute miles of a school or playground will be beaten to a sticky, reddish goo forthwith, said process to be repeated as needed until either the weirdo-shit is ended, or the weirdos themselves are.

Manwoman strikes again!

This time in DeKalb County, just outside ATL.

Police Officer Under Investigation for Calling a Man a Man

Transphobic, hate-filled, genocidal Nazis.

Tucker, Georgia, is an eastern Atlanta suburb, located in the ultra-woke Dekalb County, so this story may not come as a surprise, but it’s infuriating a lot of people, so I thought I’d share.

It all started a few weeks ago with a man who identifies as a woman by the name of Sasha Swinson. He was at the Tucker-Reid H. Cofer Library, a place he claims he frequents regularly, and had just used the bathroom. The women’s bathroom. When he stepped outside, a DeKalb County police officer allegedly told him that he needed to use the men’s bathroom next time as there were women and young girls in the other. As you can imagine, that didn’t sit well with Swinson.

“I use the restroom, the women’s restroom, like I have been for months, if not years,” Swinson told local news outlets. “He says, ‘Excuse me, sir.’ So, misgendering me right away, just goes, ‘But you’re not a woman. That’s obvious.'”

By now the level of patent absurdity has been jacked up so sky-high that many of these off-plumb anomalies no longer bother making even a token effort at passing for female anymore. Hobbled by having not the vaguest inkling regarding the qualities, physical distinctions, mentality, and emotional/psychological characteristics that make a woman a Woman, men like this addled mess have thrown up their hands and decided they neither need nor even want to know any of that boring, mind-numbing guff.

i am a Real Women, by cracky, and since a Real Woman consists of precisely what I say it does and not a jot or tittle else, then how dare some pig-ignorant slob of a lowly, dime-a-dozen copper misgender ME? Just where does this uppity little whelp get off, anyway? Oh, the audacity! The unmitigatef gall! The sheer impudence! The infuriating disrespect!

With their male courting tackle intact and unmolested, plus their having no intention of undergoing the horrifying, ludicrously misnomered “sex reassignment surgery” which would at least lend some small weight to their obnoxious, counterfactual insistence that they’re anything more exotic than mere garden-variety cross-dressers, today’s Bogus Broads have abandoned any semblance of verisimilitude in favor of re-making themselves into hollow, grotesque caricatures of what a woman really, truly is. Exhibit A for the prosecution:


Sorry Mister, but you ain’t fooling ANYONE with that deep, rumbling voice, that dowdy outfit, that paint-by-numbers makeup job and El Cheapo costume-joolery accessories purloined from your great-Aunt Tilly’s Stuck-In-1940 wardrobe. Given the rest of this certified fashion calamity, I have to wonder what he has on for shoes. A pair of size 13 1/2 clodhopper brogans just like Grampa used to wear to work at the cotton mill, perchance? Some certified US Army-surplus BDU boots in Desert Camo? Made in China, poor-quality name brand-knockoff basketball shoes from WalMart?

Sorry again, Bubba, but all things considered you make about as convincing a woman as the cat currently fast asleep on what’s left of my lap does a live, full-size Ankylosaurus. If you seriously do want people to accept you as a Real Woman, despite, y’know, the gravelly voice, the facial hair, the cock ’n’ balls, the testosterone, the muscle and bone structure, and that darn pesky Y chromosome, you’re gonna have to demonstrate one HELL of a lot more want-to than I’ve seen from you so far.

Nobody who observes this not-a-woman trying to slip unnoticed into the Ladies to get himself some pervert jollies waving his goob at little girls and their appalled moms need have the least qualm about grabbing Girlyman by his burly bicep and marking the auspicious occasion with a celebratory war-whoop of “WHOA there, Jimbo! That one’s for ladies ONLY, which any fool can see you definitely are NOT! You wanna try the Mens’—it’s made specially for Pysynnzzz Of Penyzzz like myself and, well, not to put too fine a point on it, you. Nobody in that one is gonna file a complaint with the management about that dress-wearing lady-boy skulking in the Little Boys room back by the last urinal; nobody’s gonna call the cops or security; there will be no TV cameras, newspaper reporters. or Nitwitness News Eye In The Sky helicopters hovering around to raise a stink.”

Ahh, but there’s more from our Manwoman Uprising Dept this fine evening. Namely:

NFL’s First Transgender Cheerleader Says Panthers Fired Him Because He Is Trans
The NFL’s first transgender cheerleader, Justine Lindsay, claims he was fired by the Carolina Panthers just because he is a trans person.

“I was cut because I’m trans,” Lindsay claimed in an Instagram Live video, according to Blavity. “I don’t wanna hear nobody saying ‘She didn’t wanna come back.’ Why the hell would I not wanna come back to an organization that I’ve been a part of for three years?”

Lindsay says he is “devastated,” “stung,” and “hurt” by the firing, but is not necessarily attacking the Panthers.

“I love them, I appreciate everything that they’ve done for me,” Lindsay said of the team.

Lindsay joined the TopCats cheer squad in 2022 and spent three seasons with them. But earlier this year, the cheerleader and trans trendsetter said he would not be returning next season.

“I’m happy because I was able to break down that door and tell people, ‘Hey, we are not just sexual beings,’” Lindsay said back in 2022. “‘We are actual human beings who want to better ourselves.’ I felt like, why not tell the world: ‘Hey, listen, this is a great accomplishment.’”

Actually, this guy sounds a hell of a lot more reasonable than is typical of his sort, which I find refreshing. Although I must also note that if “transgenders” want Normals to stop assuming that they’re nothing more than “sexual beings,” maybe they might try not bleating ceaselessly about their sexuality, see if that brings the desired results or not.

Don’t hate me ’cause I’m beautiful, but we gots one more:

New Jersey Judge Rules Nude Massage Parlor Must Allow Trans Customers in Female Only Section
Trans woman wins fight to access nude section at New Jersey spa after discrimination lawsuit

Palisades Park, NJ – A well-known Korean spa that requires full nudity in certain areas has revised its rules to let transgender women enter female-only sections after settling a discrimination lawsuit.

King Spa & Sauna confirmed that patrons may now use the facilities corresponding to the gender shown on their official identification, regardless of anatomy or surgical history.

The update follows a legal battle sparked by transgender woman Alexandra Goebert, who accused the Bergen County spa of barring her from the women’s area and questioning her about her body.

Sorta sad to see that this local-news website goes along with the politically-correct unofficial rule mandating that “transgenders” be referred to by the pronouns which conform to his/her/its specific psychopathology, rather than sticking strictly to biological reality, as in the Breitbart report cited above.

(Last two via Lakeside Joe)

Horror story of the year the decade the century all fucking TIME

What can one say, but…YIKES!!!

Why you don’t want to get tuberculosis on your penis
While tuberculosis can attack anywhere, it’s extremely rare on the penis.

Well, we got that going for us, at least. For those of you who aren’t prone to nightmares, onwards.

A man in Ireland earned the unpleasant distinction of developing an exceedingly rare infection on his penis—one that has a puzzling origin, but may be connected to his work with dead animals.

According to an article published in ASM Case Reports on Thursday, the 57-year-old man went to a hospital in Dublin after his penis became red, swollen, and painful over the course of a week. He also had a fever. Doctors promptly admitted him to the hospital and noted that he had received a kidney transplant 15 years prior. As such, he was on immunosuppressive drugs, which keep his body from rejecting the organ, but could also allow infections to run amok.

Initial blood work found hints of an infection, and the doctors initially suspected a bacterial skin infection (cellulitis) had taken hold in his nether region. So, they put him on some standard antibiotics for that. But his penis only got worse, redder, and more swollen. This prompted consultation with infectious disease doctors.

A more thorough review of the man’s case revealed that in the three months before his hospital visit, he had experienced fever, drenching night sweats, chills, loss of appetite, and weight loss. They also noted that he had a lot of dead animal exposure. He was born and raised on a farm in rural Ireland, worked as a butcher handling deer and occasionally cattle, and was an avid hunter who field -dressed game.

Happily, I myself am not disposed towards any of those activities, although neither am I opposed to them. Well, until just now I wasn’t. More, and even worserer:

While Mycobacterium can spread through the air and are often found in the lungs, the bacteria can strike anywhere in the body. Still, penile tuberculosis is exceedingly rare. In fact, it’s uncommon to have tuberculosis erupt anywhere in the urinary and genital tracts. Among the infections that spring up in the region, penile infections account for less than 1 percent.

But, given the man’s lungs and his immunosuppressed status, the unusual presentation became their leading guess—and tests soon confirmed it. Mycobacterium were identified in the man’s respiratory tract, and penile tissue tested also showed the bacteria, though the testing couldn’t identify what species of Mycobacterium.

Treatment for tuberculosis requires a regimen of several antibiotics and takes months. In the man’s case, they customized his treatment with a 12-month, four-drug regimen that wouldn’t interfere with his transplant.

Still, the penile lesion got worse before it got better. He developed a large necrotic ulceration on the side of his penis, and his foreskin began to “break down.” Surgeons had to mechanically cut out the dead tissue. After 10 months, his infection appeared to have cleared, and his penile lesion had improved.

Bold mine, natch, and that part of this horrible story makes me feel particularly bad for the guy. I mean, think about it for a sec: the poor fella’s White, and Irish to boot, so we can safely assume that he didn’t have any spare pecker to be slicing off, know what I mean?

I said “Yikes!!!” already, right? Well, I’d like to add a “Holy shit!” to that sentiment, if I may.

(Via Insty)

True Hollywood stories

Al Bundy dishes.

Ed O’Neill has new bombshells about his longtime bitter feud with his “Married…With Children” co-star Amanda Bearse.

The sitcom ran for 11 seasons on Fox, from 1987 to 1997, starring O’Neill, Katey Sagal and Christina Applegate.

O’Neill, 77 starred as family patriarch Al Bundy, married to Peg (Sagal), while Bearse, 65, played Marcy, their neighbor and Peg’s friend.

During a recent appearance on the “Dinner’s On Me” podcast of his former “Modern Family” co-star Jesse Tyler Ferguson, O’Neill shared that he had some “regrets” about his relationship with Bearse.

In a 2013 interview with the Television Academy, O’Neill revealed that he and David Faustino were the only cast members who were excluded from the invite list when Bearse married her wife, businesswoman Carrie Schenken, in 2010.

When O’Neill confronted Bearse about being excluded from her wedding, according to him, “[She said]: ‘This was a very tough call, but I just feel that you would find it amusing that me and Becky would come in tuxedos in a church and walk down the aisle, and you and David would be snickering and finding it funny,’ ” he said, incorrectly recalling her wife’s name.

“I started laughing and she said, ‘See!’ And I said, ‘Well, you know why? Because it is f–king funny, and I’m not going to be the only one that doesn’t think so.’ But it was funny. She had a little white tux and, to me, it was funny. But in other words, she may not have been wrong in excluding me.”

Well hey, at least he can look back on the whole dustup realistically, rationally, and with good humor now. Which won’t ever be enough to dulcify the rage-a-holic bull dagger, her outraged “wife,” or their absolutely furious Big Gay Circle O’ Friends, no matter how many years have flown by since. Still, it’s something, right?

Oh, for the love of…

Just put a sock in it already, whiny-ass nigger bitch.

Would you believe that in the entirety of human history, no one has been oppressed as much as Michelle Obama? It’s true. Whenever she gets in front of a microphone, she can’t help but complain about how unfairly she’s been treated, how terrible white people are, or how racist our country is. She paints herself as chronically oppressed, endlessly scrutinized, and forever burdened by a country that never treated her fairly. I know it must not be easy having fame, fortune, a bunch of multimillion-dollar homes, and all that. It must be really, really brutal. The routine has become predictable, and her latest appearances only reinforce the sense that she carries a deep resentment toward white America, while insisting she’s the one who never got a fair shake.

Last month, in an interview with ABC’s Robin Roberts to promote her new book, she literally had the gall to claim that people unfairly scrutinized her while she was in the White House. Roberts began by quoting Michelle’s own words.

“You said, ‘We were all too aware that as the first black couple, we couldn’t afford any missteps.’ And you also say that as a black woman, ‘I was under a particularly white hot glare.’ Did you feel that?”

“For sure,” Michelle replied. “You can’t afford to get anything wrong because you didn’t get the, and at least until the country got to know us, we didn’t get the grace that I think some other families have gotten.”

Anyone who lived through the Obama years remembers the media environment. The media swooned over Barack’s speeches and treated Michelle like a cross between a fashion icon and a national therapist. Editors placed them on magazine covers every time they could justify it. Journalists fawned over Barack’s wardrobe, his aura, and even the crease in his pants, all while ignoring scandal after scandal after scandal. But, yeah, sure, let’s talk about how they were held to some fantasy standard that no first couple ever had to meet before or since.

Michelle Obama doesn’t know what unfair scrutiny is. She wouldn’t be able to tolerate a fraction of the scrutiny that the Trump family had to endure daily. Reporters attacked Melania for everything from her shoes to her accent. They smeared Trump’s children for no reason beyond their last name. Even the Bush family took heat, including the teenage daughters who never sought public attention. Those families took incoming fire every hour of every day.

Yet Michelle keeps insisting she lived through hardship that no other first family could possibly understand. Cry me a river. That narrative has become her brand.

Matt’s closing ‘graph is a killer.

Here’s a reality check, Michelle: You’re not a victim. You never were. The left canonized you the second you hit the national stage, and you’ve spent every moment since trashing America and demonizing white people — enough with the performative oppression routine. You’ve built an obscenely lucrative post-White House empire selling a completely fabricated narrative of “constant struggle” while swimming in wealth, worshipful media coverage, and cultural influence that 99.9% of Americans will never experience. Your sycophantic media allies breathlessly amplify every manufactured grievance as gospel, but your own venomous words keep exposing what this really is: barely concealed contempt and racism wrapped in designer victimhood.

So let’s tot it all up, then:

  • Not just one but three (3) palatial mansions in tony, exclusive locales;
  • A no-show job back in Chicago, arranged for her by her “husband” the Senator, which paid 350k/year;
  • 24/7 Secret Service protection for the rest of her useless life;
  • More money than she can ever possibly spend even if she just started lighting handfuls of it on fire and throwing it into the street to burn;
  • Anything and everything she could want, hers merely for the asking;
  • A large staff of hairdressers, makeup artists, chefs, maids, chauffeurs, personal attendants, and miscellaneous go-fers, knob-polishers, and rumpswabs for whom her every word is their command

This is a woman who, for most of her adult life, has never wanted for anything whatsoever, has never known need or hunger or poverty or lack. A spacious, lovely home, designer clothes, shoes, jewelry, and purses—all hers, without her ever even having to go fetch any of it—she has “people” to send out on such lowly, menial tasks, see. She travels in the most rarified circles, keeps the most exalted company, rubs elbows with the rich and famous..

The fanciest restaurants, the finest wines, the best seats in the theater, the concert hall, or the arena…and all she has to do to get them is simply nod her head at the right time, in the right place, to the right person. Nothing more taxing or obsequious than that. The people in charge of these amenities WANT her to have them, for no more complex or justifiable reason than that she is who she is, knows who she knows, and hangs out with all the right people. Her taste, in everything from sports cars to cashmere sweaters, is beyond reproach; an approving word for a product, a service, or a facility murmured into the right ears can keep a business humming busily along for a year…as a negative assessment can shut one down forever.

All this finery, this pampering, this sycophancy, flattery, and preferential treatment, this carefree, luxurious lifestyle—no part of it either earned or, really, deserved, but all of it hers nonetheless, most of it free of charge—yet STILL this ingrate bitches, she whines, she moans, she kvetches about how terribly, terribly HARRRUD De Wite Mayne has made life for her.

Meanwhile, for all her claimed victimization by Rayciss!© White Debbil oppressors, she could search arduously every minute of the rest of her life and never find one single ghetto-blighted soul who wouldn’t jump at the chance to exchange places with her, the blind, self-obsessed cretin.

What must life be like with one so bitter, so unswervingly determined to be unhappy always, so intently focused on the black storm clouds in the far distance that she’s totally incapable of seeing the silver lining right in front of her nose? How could ANY normal, sane person live with such a bleak, cheerless sort? For that matter, how does such a morose person live with herself?

I never imagined it could be so, but it would seem that Big Mike is an even more annoying, insufferable twatwaffle than his/her/its light-in-the-loafers “husband” is.

To make her shit at all worth putting up with, she’d have to be funnier than Dave Chappelle; smarter and more eloquent than Thomas Sowell; more talented than Wynton Marsalis; more graceful than the Nicholas brothers; better-looking than Billy Dee Williams at 32; and more personable than Louis Armstrong. Alas for poor Moochelle, she comes up way, WAY short in every category.

Just once,  just ONE. FUCKING. TIME in her miserable, oxygen-thieving existence, I wish I could see some burly, ill-tempered, and yes, WHITE project foreman hand her a shovel, direct her precious ass into a deep, muddy ditch, and command her to start digging and to go on digging until he specifically tells her to STOP. OH, what a beautiful sight that would be.

All is well, all is well!

He’s awfully sanguine for a guy with such a feeble grasp of the actual, y’kow, historical facts.

Sorry, Democrats — No Civil War is Coming

No, probably not. Not while Real Americans remain content to sit passively back and permit Violent Left mountebanks to harrass them, torment them, murder them at will, and just generally run roughshod over them, makig no response to such abuse more devastating than filing another lawsuit, penning another windy op-ed threatening dire repercussions such as frowning angrily in their general direction, and of course Voating Harderer!© at them than ever before.

I shit you not, our Founding Fathers wouldn’t deign to piss in our mouths if our gums were on fire, we’ve become so gorram weak, evolved, and contemptible these days. Fret not, though, final victory is at hand. Yeppers, after rancorous internecine debates, investigations by blue-ribbon Congressional panels, and blood-curdling threats from Ms Lindsey Graham, we’ve got ’em right where they want us!

In 1776, American colonists, despairing that their rights as British citizens were being trampled upon by their overbearing king, George III, decided to secede from the British Empire. Thomas Jefferson wrote down their grievances in the Declaration of Independence. Just a few of them include the cutting off of trade, imposing taxes without consent, depriving the people of trial by jury, suspending colonial legislatures, and waging war on the colonists. I think Jefferson’s best argument was, “He has plundered our seas, ravaged our coasts, burnt our towns, and destroyed the lives of our people.” Yep, sounds as though they had reasons to rebel.

In 1861, following the election of Abraham Lincoln, wealthy landowners pushed eleven Southern states, where slavery was legal, to secede from the United States. Much of the rhetoric claimed that the war was about states’ rights, but that was mostly a smokescreen. Unlike the rebellion against King George, these people had no grievances — only fears that slavery would be abolished, ending the free labor on which their economic system depended.

Yeah, no. NOT about States’ Rights, you protest? A”smokescreen,” you aver? Poppycock, sayeth moi.

Of course, CW v1.0 anti-historians like the above yayhoo are extremely eager to dismiss States’ Rights as one of the leading causes for the War Of Northern Aggression, likely because the complex realities make it much more difficult to saddle up the “all about slavery!” hobbyhorse and ride it into the fucking ground.

So just never you mind, you RAYCISS!!!©, that no more than 30%, AT MOST, of Southerners ever actually owned slaves. Nor did most of them own plantations, land, those lovely antebellum mansions as seen in Gone With The Wind, a pair of shoes, or much of anything else, frankly.

This being so, presumably the aforementioned dirt poor, slave-deprived sons of Dixie wouldn’t likely have been just wildly enthusiastic about packing up Grampa’s old shootin’ arn; some moth-eaten scraps of clothing, shoes if he had any; a small haversack of acorns, hardtack, grain, and two=three strips of moldy possum jerky, and go a-traipsing off to war in defense of a “peculiar institution” he’d never had much to do with his entire life long.

Of course there were several other factors which our disingenuous “scholar” above appears not to know much about either. Maybe he could try boning up on, say, cotton warehouse receipts sometime; that oughta be enough to give him a solid head-start before he begins working his way up to the more complicated, obscure stuff.

As we all know, after every war the victors write the history in whatever manner suits them, forever painting themselves as saintly, noble, and entirely blameless while their defeated foes were in fact ravening demons in human shape. But dammit, do they have to be so blasted sanctimonious and just plain obnoxious about it every single time? Having grown up in the South, I can confirm that after having this fictitious twaddle crammed down one’s gullet without remit can wax pretty durned wearisome over time.

Those unshod, dirty-faced, ill-nourished field hands, sharecroppers, and sundry ragamuffins had another rationale for fighting the Yankee aggressor, surely a more compelling reason than the remote, otherworldly principle of States’ Rights.

This rationale, not particularly well-known even among ardent students of Civil War lore, reveals itself in a brief exchange shouted across the soon-to-crumble MLR during a lull in the horrific Battle of Fredericksburg, betwixt one of Lee’s Weary Boys and his Union counterpart. Asked by the Bluebelly why he was fighting, Johnny Reb hollered in reply: Because y’all are down here, Yank, that’s why!

Kinda says it all, wouldn’t you say? Viewed from this angle, the long, slow slide into war, anguish, and incomprehensible horror starts to look disquietingly familiar, doesn’t it? That plainspoken Confederate lad didn’t give a fiddler’s fuck about slavery; he took up arms strictly to protect his home, hearth, and kinfolk against an invading army conducting a war of aggression. So it was for the vast majority of Southern troops as well: they wanted nothing more extravagant or outlandish than to just be letf alone by an overbearing, rapacious, and too-powerful Federal megalith bent on ruling and not governing.

Naaahhhh, not familiar to the contemporary ear at all, is it? As far back as the mid-1800s, the pattern was set, the trend established, the die cast. By the turn of the 20th century the fork in the road which leads ever down and down into tyranny, despotism, and immiseration had been taken. Unfortunately, it’s a dark, narrow, poorly marked lane with many twistings and turnings, a one-way route on which there is no easy way to reverse course and return to Consitutionally-correct governance again. Not without a great deal of pain, bereavement, and injury to body, spirit, well-being…,just about everything you can imagine, really.

Worst of all, Tyranny Road had been mapped for us long ago, drawn expertly, exactingly, and in great detail for us by our forebears—a deadly highway to Hell which our Founding Fathers cautioned us repeatedly to keep ourselves well way from. it is to our eternal discredit that we sxtuidly refused to heed the warnings o our sagacious ancestors—not just one single time, but again and again and again and again. Our heedless, stubborn mistake was a century in the making, and was in no wise excusable as merely a fleeting relaxation of vigilance, a moment’s inattention, a minor stumble in which the only harm done is to our pride.

Nope, not hard;y, none of the above. This was a blunder of titanic proportions, a ruinous act of wanton negligence and hubris which stands to cost us absolutely everything.Nor is this  just “one of those things” that can happen to anybody, really. This was a heedless discarding of certain hard-to-come-by jewels (Freedom? Limited government? Consent of the governed? Unalienable rights? Government officials as servants, not masters?) which are beyond price, purchased for us by generations of Americans going waaaay back.

These extraordinary gifts were meant to be passed down to succeeding generations who would likewise appreciate them, nurture them, safeguard them, maybe expand them if possible. They would then be passed down again in due course. Thus did the world turn, for many generations.

The Big Q: Were we duly grateful for the unique legacy freely handed down to us? Did we strive ceaselessly to be mindful of the gift we had been given? To give humble thanks for the good people who worked so tirelessly, sacrificed so selflessly, gave of themselves so unstintingly, to bequeath such a bounty to us? Were we diligent in making ourselves worthy of this munificence?

Ohhh, if only.

I didn’t bother with the rest of this reeking shitpile of an article; the author having screwed the Civil War pooch so thoroughly in the opening ‘graphs, I just couldn’t see any reason to slog through the rest of it. I would like to note, by way of wrapping up this post, an additional related point:

Contra the self-serving version fabricated by the Yankee victors, the Confederate states wished to leave the Union peaceably, and firmly believed in their absolute right to do so, considering this to be so obviously in agreement with the precepts of America’s Founding documents as to make further explanation tantamount to a personal insult.

As no less august a personage than President Jefferson Davis said in his First Inaugural Address, the Confederacy bore the US government, its President, nor even the people of Yankeeland no ill will, and wished no harm to them. The address begins by spelling out the new Confederate nation’s philosophical roots in the ideals of the Founding Fathers.

Looking forward to the speedy establishment of a permanent government to take the place of this, and which by its greater moral and physical power will be better able to combat with the many difficulties which arise from the conflicting interests of separate nations, I enter upon the duties of the office to which I have been chosen with the hope that the beginning of our career as a Confederacy may not be obstructed by hostile opposition to our enjoyment of the separate existence and independence which we have asserted, and, with the blessing of Providence, intend to maintain. Our present condition, achieved in a manner unprecedented in the history of nations, illustrates the American idea that governments rest upon the consent of the governed, and that it is the right of the people to alter or abolish governments whenever they become destructive of the ends for which they were established.

The declared purpose of the compact of Union from which we have withdrawn was “to establish justice, insure domestic tranquillity, provide for the common defense, promote the general welfare, and secure the blessing of liberty to ourselves and our posterity;” and when, in the judgment of the sovereign States now composing this Confederacy, it had been perverted from the purposes for which it was ordained, and had ceased to answer the ends for which it was established, a peaceful appeal to the ballot-box declared that so far as they were concerned, the government created by that compact should cease to exist. In this they merely asserted a right which the Declaration of Independence of 1776 had defined to be inalienable; of the time and occasion for its exercise, they, as sovereigns, were the final judges, each for itself. The impartial and enlightened verdict of mankind will vindicate the rectitude of our conduct, and He who knows the hearts of men will judge of the sincerity with which we labored to preserve the Government of our fathers in its spirit. The right solemnly proclaimed at the birth of the States, and which has been affirmed and reaffirmed in the bills of rights of States subsequently admitted into the Union of 1789, undeniably recognize in the people the power to resume the authority delegated for the purposes of government. Thus the sovereign States here represented proceeded to form this Confederacy, and it is by abuse of language that their act has been denominated a revolution. They formed a new alliance, but within each State its government has remained, the rights of person and property have not been disturbed. The agent through whom they communicated with foreign nations is changed, but this does not necessarily interrupt their international relations.

Ayup, seems clear enough to me. Even this slightly more bellicose pre-war speech still commends the olive branch over the bayonet.

It requires but a cursory examination of the Constitution of the United States; but a partial knowledge of its history and of the motives of the men who formed it, to see how utterly fallacious it is to ascribe to them the purpose of interfering with the domestic institutions of any of the States. But if a disrespect for that instrument, a fanatical disregard of its purposes, should ever induce a majority, however large, to seek by amending the Constitution, to pervert it from its original object, and to deprive you of the equality which your fathers bequeathed to you, I say let the star of Mississippi be snatched from the constellation to shine by its inherent light, if it must be so, through all the storms and clouds of war.

I say to you here as I have said to the Democracy of New York, if it should ever come to pass that the Constitution shall be perverted to the destruction of our rights so that we shall have the mere right as a feeble minority unprotected by the barrier of the Constitution to give an ineffectual negative vote in the Halls of Congress, we shall then bear to the federal government the relation our colonial fathers did to the British crown, and if we are worthy of our lineage we will in that event redeem our rights even if it be through the process of revolution. And it gratifies me to be enabled to say that no portion of the speech to which I have referred was received with more marked approbation by the Democracy there assembled than the sentiment which has just been cited. I am happy also to state that during the past summer I heard in many places, what previously I had only heard from the late President Pierce, the declaration that whenever a Northern army should be assembled to march for the subjugation of the South, they would have a battle to fight at home before they passed the limits of their own State, and one in which our friends claim that the victory will at least be doubtful.

Now, as in 1851, I hold separation from the Union by the State of Mississippi to be the last remedy—the final alternative. In the language of the venerated Calhoun I consider the disruption of the Union as a great though not the greatest calamity. I would cling tenaciously to our constitutional Government, seeing as I do in the fraternal Union of equal States the benefit to all and the fulfillment of that high destiny which our fathers hoped for and left it for their sons to attain. I love the flag of my country with even more than a filial affection. Mississippi gave me in my boyhood to her military service. For many of the best years of my life I have followed that flag and upheld it on fields where if I had fallen it might have been claimed as my winding sheet. When I have seen it surrounded by the flags of foreign countries, the pulsations of my heart have beat quicker with every breeze which displayed its honored stripes and brilliant constellation. I have looked with veneration on those stripes as recording the original size of our political family and with pride upon that constellation as marking the family’s growth; I glory in the position which Mississippi’s star holds in the group; but sooner than see its lustre dimmed—sooner than see it degraded from its present equality—would tear it from its place to be set even on the perilous ridge of battle as a sign round which Mississippi’s best and bravest should gather to the harvest-home of death.

Bold mine, and wholly dispositive.

The claim that the uniquely American concept of States’ Rights was not a primary cause of the first Civil War is laughably spurious. To disregard said concept’s crucial importance to the Founding Fathers as one of the strongest bulwarks against the establishment of tyrannical government in America is to be historically illiterate. To contend that Jefferson Davis was ever anything but A) a conscientious, ruminative patriot who reverenced his former country, and B) a reluctant secessionist who had to be all but dragged into rejecting the grotesque parody of itself the US government had become, is the mark of either a perfidious liar, an ignoramus, or a self-beclowning fool.

1
1

Turducken dismissed

Ooops ooops oooopsie.

US gov’t admits F-35 is a failure
With some wonky, hard to decipher language, a recent GAO report concluded the beleaguered jet will never meet expectations

Nearly a quarter century after the Pentagon awarded Lockheed Martin the contract to develop the Joint Strike Fighter Program into the F-35, the government finally admitted the jet will never live up to Lockheed’s ambitious promises — used to sell the $2 trillion boondoggle to nearly 20 countries around the world.

By admitting that the program cannot deliver the jets that were promised is really an admission that the entire project is a failure. The implications of that could be profound beyond the money that has been wasted throughout the past quarter century. There are 19 countries that either already are, or will shortly, operate F-35s after buying them from the United States. Several countries like the United Kingdom, Norway, and Italy have been a part of the program well before Lockheed Martin won the contract to develop the F-35. These countries have invested heavily in the program with the expectation that they would receive the most combat capable aircraft in history. All have seen their costs rise throughout the years and now they find out that the jets will never live up to the hype.

So, in addition to being a military disaster, the F-35 many also prove to be a foreign relations disaster as well. F-35 boosters in the United States sold the jet to the leaders of these countries with elaborate pitches of the combat capabilities they planned to deliver. There were also promises made early in the process about the program’s affordability, which seem comical today. The next time an American attempts to sell a “transformative” weapon abroad, they shouldn’t be terribly surprised if a potential customer expresses skepticism. F-35 customers have paid a fortune above the quoted price, receiving only a fraction of what was promised. The United States may find a shrinking market for weapons exports in the years ahead.

This should be a moment of deep reflection for the entire national security establishment. The F-35 was never going to live up to expectations because its very concept was deeply flawed. Trying to build one jet that could serve as a multi-role aircraft to meet the needs of just a single military branch is a highly risky proposition. When you try to build a single jet to meet the multi-role needs of at least 15 separate militaries, while also being a global jobs program and political patronage scheme, you get a $2 trillion albatross.

But…but…but…WAIT!! You mean to tell me that “one aize fits all” never fits anything? That the much-ballyhooed “all-purpose” tools, hunting-fishing-camping gear, and kitchen contraptions rarely function even semi-adequately at ONE purpose? That those mini-trucks (ie, Ford Ranger, Chevy WhateverTheFuck) that were en vogue for a while there weren’t actually very good pick-em-up trucks (what with their short, narrow, shallow cargo area; anemic powerplant; lack of towing/hauling capacity, and other shortcomings) but performed even worse as cars, owing to their uncomfortable seats; Spartan interior appointments; godawful ergonomics, and sundry other “creature comforts” that would make Torquemada himself blush to contemplate, handling even a homebuilt Go-Kart wuuld sneer at; and harsh, bruising ride?

So now we are to accept that those so-called enduro “dual-purpose” bikes—built to impersonate a lean, mean, motocross machine, but also overly gussied-up with the mandatory head, tail, and brake lights, turn signals, and horn that make the “enduro” machines (barely) street-legal, plus generously padded two-up seats, non-cleated footpegs that seem to actively draw mud like a lamp does bugs, and mediocre semi-knobby tires which were useless in the woods and actually hazardous on pavement—pig-in-a-poke motorcycles some people were foolish enough to shell out for in the erroneous belief they were getting the best of both worlds, although the painful truth was that these “dual-purpose” bikes were every bit as shitty in the dirt as they were on the street?

I can’t so much as hear or read “F-35 Thunderbolt II” nowadays without remembering all the aforementioned hunks of junk, I really can’t. The one and only safe assumption to make any time some slicky-boy salesjerk starts in telling you that this car, bike, truck, whatever can really do it all! is that no, it can’t do ANYTHING very well. And with that blinding flash of insight and enlightenment you take to your heels and head for the hills with great alacrity, before your Newest Bestest Buddy here at Auto/Cycle/Truck/Camping/Tool World© can draw breath and flick out his forked tongue to hiss another fucking gigantic lie.

What, the USAF design/procurement doofi didn’t think designing, engineering, and building a new military aircraft was tough enough as it was? They thought it would be just a super-neat idea to work up a 5th generation all-weather day-night intercepter/CAS/attack-bomber/air-supremacy strike-fighter from scratch, a virtuoso airborne Death From Above dealer-outer complete with

  • Invisible to radar Stealth construction
  • STOL-VSTOL-STOVL capability
  • Designed and built robustly enough to survive multitudinous man-and-machine-kiling catapult launches and arrester-wire traps which are the standard fare of life on an aircraft carrier
  • Bleeding-edge avionics, comms, and electronic-warfare suites also tough enough to ditto
  • Supersonic flight, multi-G rate of climb and turn, extremely high ceiling
  • Solid gold, platinum, and authentic diamond EVERYDAMNEDTHING
  • So much other cool, ultra-futuristic shite you just can’t even

Although I’ve poked a goodish amount of fun at the poor F35, I did rein it in at least somewhat, figuring that, given five-six years to get all the inevitable bugs worked out, the Turducken might still turn out to be a durn good plane despite…well, pretty much EVERYthing. After all, the old familiar tale of the puny, weak-kneed, sickly kid down the block who eventually grows up to be a sturdy, capable adult is applicable to way more than just airplanes, y’know.

For instinks: I remember when the H-D Evolution engine came out, back in—what, 84, 85, thereabouts? Hawked for several years pre-release by Harley bigwigs as the most wonderful thing since sliced bread, the Evo-powered bikes turned out to be…mehhh. not too good. After years of looking forward to H-D’s first redesign/upgrade since a consortium of H-D execs headed by Vaughn Beals had bought Harley-D back from the despised AMF wreckers who had been running the last American motorcycle manufacturer into the ground since 1970*, this spanking new Evolution motor turned out to be a SERIOUS disappointment to pretty much everybody but the dastardly fiends at Yamazukisaki Corp Co, Inc.

Leaky, underpowered, unreliable, chattering and clanking from the valve train louder than even the AMF Shovelheads, the vaunted Evo powerplant nearly sank beneath the crushing weight of its own inadequacy before the Milwaukee brain-trust could so much as furrow their brows, scratch their heads, and mutter bilious imprecations. But after a few seriously rocky years years, the kinks had all been ironed out, the bugs squashed, and HEY PRESTO! Finally, the Evo had lived up fully to the typhoon of hype to become what, in my opinion, was and stil is the absolute best engine Harley has ever made, or ever will make.

And then there’s a story pretty much every worth-his-salt military history buff knows: the true-life saga of North American Aviation’s iconic P51 Mustang. Initially burdened with an Allison not-turbocharger-equipped engine, a long-since proven dog of an engine, the Mustang was an allegedly aerodynamic flying turd which was slow, not especially maneuverable, saddled with a piss-poor rate of climb, a relatively low ceiling, and truly abysmal performance at what meager altitude it could achieve. Unsurprisingly, next to the rough-and-tough Republic P47 Thunderbolt the Mustang was a pitiful excuse for a fighter/pursuit/escort plane; it had pretty much zero (0) admirers through its unimpressive A thru C versions.

Until the frabjous day, that is, when some clever Brit with sufficient rank, juice, and pull whispered into the right RAF ear his own crackpot idea for redeeming the unloved P51: let’s try swapping out the woefully inadequate Allison with Rolls Royce’s red-hot Merlin engine! The results of which ingenious mod stunned the whole world by transmogrifying an underfed, scraggly, mange-rife cur into a fast, powerful, deadly Hun’s Bane.

Thanks to the Merlin mill which might have been built with North American’s ugly duckling specifically in mind, the Mustang instantly became the verymost superb plane to emerge from the fiery WW2 air-war forge, acknowledged by everyone except diehard devotees of the Supermarine Spitfire as The Plane That Won The War.

Hell, the born-again-hard P51D was so amazingly bad-ass that no lesser a light than the incomparable Chuck Yeager became one of the small handful of Allied Mustang-jocks to shoot down the first jet fighter ever, the Luftwaffe’s fearsome Me262 Schwalbe, which could handily fly rings around everything else in the sky at that time and, but for some serious fuck-uppery on the stupid, maniacal dictator s’cuse me, military GENIUS Hitler’s part, might well have reversed the course of the entire war on its own hook had it burst onto the Western Front scene sooner, in larger numbers.

So yes, despite my making sport of the ill-starred apteryx jet, I nonetheless held out some small hope that the F35 might come into its own eventually, thereby confirming yet again that I am in fact a dad-gum idiot. However, the above-mentioned announcement sounds as if the USG and/or the Navy, Chair Farce, USMC, and everyone else that matters has decided to throw in the towel on this inadvisable attempt at force-fitting a single aircraft into every conceivable role somehow.

Oh well—designed by committee, approved by bureaucrat, and built by hapless incompetents, the Turducken was so jaw-droppingly expensive I imagine there wasn’t a great deal of enthusiasm to be found for flushing several billion more trying to make the PoS right at long last. At some point, it’s time to stop throwing good money after bad, and just move on to the next project.

What I think will be the really interesting aspect of this dumpster-inferno will be learning whether Amerika v2.0 remains functional enough to produce a world-dominating warplane anymore; the spectacular crash ’n’ burn of the F35 constitutes powerful evidence against, seems to me.

* A LITTLE HISTORY: AMF purchased Harley-Davidson in late 1969; the first model year featuring all-original AMF designs was 1971 (the ugly-as-a-mud-fence boattail 71 Stupid Glide; the big brother to 1970’s boattail Sportster; the wildly and eternally popular Low Rider; and the slow, heavy, poor-handling, unpopular then but a sought-after collector’s item today, the 1978 XLCR Sportster pseudo-cafe racer, all these conceptualized and designed by affable and beloved legatee chump Wille G Davidson

Sink, Britannia

For the small handful who haven’t had quite enough of Once-Great Britainistan’s bullshit yet.


Found guilty of being a ((((****JooJooJooJOOOOO!!!****)))) in public, now a capital offense in certain less-enlightened districts.

Fucking lousy fucking Limey Pig. Choke to death on your own entrails, copper. Seems like a reinforced platoon of amped-up IRA shooters is never around when you really need one.

The pathetic embarrassment formerly known as Great Britain, America’s staunchest, most important ally? Not on your life; Jack. No conquered fourth-rate power whose native population consists mainly of contemptible curs too cowardly, difckless, and weak to rise up and fight their ongoing subjugation will ever be any kind of ally of mine. Except for that Tommy Robinson feller, that is. I like him.

(Via the Ace Place)

Gee whiz, how did THAT happen?

If We Duh Peepul could ever get to the bottom of this sort of thing and then put an end to it, we’d be a long way toward fixing most of what’s wrong with this benighted country.

Rep. Ilhan Omar’s net worth skyrockets to as much as $30 million – months after denying she was a millionaire
Rep. Ilhan Omar (D-Minn.) reported a net worth of up to $30 million in her latest financial disclosure — a document filed just months after the congresswoman dismissed claims she was a millionaire as “ridiculous” and “categorically false.”

The disclosure, filed in May, shows the far-left “Squad” lawmaker and her husband, Tim Mynett, experienced a roughly 3,500% increase in net worth last year, compared to 2023.

The surge in the couple’s wealth was first reported by the Washington Free Beacon on Monday.

Now in fairness, there does seem to be a reasonable explanation for the sudden explosion in the wealth of this particular ProPol which doesn’t indicate the usual bribery, influence-peddling, or general corruption. To wit

The financial gains came from Mynett’s two businesses, a Santa Rosa, Calif.-based winery and a venture capital firm headquartered in Washington, DC.

Omar valued the winery’s assets at between $1,000,000 and $5,000,000 in her latest disclosure. By comparison, the winery, eStCru LLC, was only worth between $15,000 and $50,000 in Omar’s previous financial disclosure.

More dramatic was the explosion in growth experienced by Mynett’s venture capital firm, Rose Lake Capital LLC.

Rose Lake Capital’s assets were valued at between $5,000,000 and $25,000,000 by the end of 2024. The company had less than $1,000 in assets the previous year.

Okay, I’ll allow it. Now do all the other Congresscritters who wind up loaded to the bejeezus bells after only a cpl-three terms, please.

Perhaps Omar/Nur didn’t straightaway get to grifting and grafting with all hands and feet the moment she took office, but she still shouldn’t be allowed in the US Congress except as a tourist just the same, simply by virtue of having publicly declared that she considered herself a representative NOT of the citizens of her state or district but of her native country of Somalia and intended to conduct herself accordingly, thereby rendering the oath of office she took “freely, without…purpose of evasion”—in which she solemnly swore that 1) she would to the best of her ability “preserve, protect, and defend the Constitution of the United States” and 2) that she would “bear true faith and allegiance to the same”—nothing but an obscene joke.

Also in fairness, she’d hardly be the first ProPol to take said oath with fingers and toes crossed, more’s the pity.

Correct, on all counts

Kevin Kinkead positively unloads on Springsteen and Born To Run. Not being a fan of either of those, I just about killed myself laughing at this masterpiece.

Happy 50th Anniversary to Bruce Springsteen’s “Born to Run,” One of the Worst Albums Ever Recorded
There is so much to hate about this album, it’s hard to know where to start. Thunder Road is the opener, and it begins with Bruce mumbling over over piano and harmonica for 90 seconds before someone mercifully hits a drum. Then there’s Tenth Avenue Freeze-Out, which shows some promise at times, but is really more of a soul song than a rock song. The album finally starts to display some balls with the underrated third track, Night, which at least has some tempo to it. It only lasts about three minutes though, then we’re slowing it down with Backstreets, featuring more piano wankery, but at least there’s a guitar solo at the 3:33 mark. Unfortunately it’s only 19 seconds long, but better than nothing. Then you’ve got the overrated title track, which builds but never really goes anywhere, bookending two side B filler tracks with Jungleland salvaging a D+ album grade.

The other thing is that Bruce can’t sing, which makes it tough to get into the music itself, which isn’t very good to begin with.

I think the thing that offends me in particular about Springsteen is that those of you who are 50+ got to experience the height of the 1970s music scene, when so many great bands were making so much great music. Even in 1975 alone, when Born to Run came out, Zeppelin released Physical Graffiti, Queen released A Night at the Opera, and Pink Floyd released Wish You Were Here. Aerosmith dropped Toys in the Attic and Black Sabbath was on to Sabotage. You had prime ZZ Top and Deep Purple and David Bowie and Fleetwood Mac and all of that, and your favorite artist was BRUCE? For who? For what! We millennials would have killed to be alive during that era. Imagine wasting it listening to The Boss mumble on about his friend being a good baseball player in high school. Listening to Bruce in the 1970s would have been like wasting the 90s listening to Dave Matthews Band (shout out to that one reader who has seen Dave 47 times in Camden).

If you’d like to hear more Bruce slander, I recommended our Pulitzer-winning column from a few years back, titled Someone has to Say it: Bruce Springsteen Totally Stinks.

Oh, you’d just better believe I’m a-gonna be checking that one out right away.

Cracker Barrel breakdown

So first, there was this:

A YUUUGE change for sure and certain! Next up, I’ve had DEI dragon-slayer Robbie Starbuck’s exposé sitting in an open tab for several days now. Transcript:

Cracker Barrel has been one of the most loved brands in America for decades… That changed this week with a logo redesign that infuriated the public but… the problem goes MUCH deeper than a logo.

@CrackerBarrel has gone fully woke and now it’s time to expose everything.

Here’s the highlights you need to know:

  • Cracker Barrel has funded “all ages” Pride events for many years like Nashville Pride and Third River City Pride.
  • Cracker Barrel worked with the far left HRC organization and reportedly sponsored HRC events for 10 years. They even brought an HRC representative to their Tennessee HQ to do a pronoun and transgenderism training. We’ve included photos of this in the video. As a reminder, the HRC supports child sex changes and men in women’s bathrooms. They work to normalize/legalize both things and they work to force transgenderism in the workplace.
  • Cracker Barrel worked with a group called Conexión Américas as part of their DEI efforts. This group helps illegal immigrants, providing them lawyers and the executive director opposes President Trump’s deportations. 
  • Cracker Barrel sponsored the Out & Equal LGBTQ Workplace Advocate Conference and presented a workshop on how Cracker Barrel has made progress supporting LGBTQ+ causes. This group works to push sexual topics and pronouns into the workplace.
  • Cracker Barrel was awarded Out & Equal’s 2018 top LGBT ERG group award and they won the Nashville LGBT Chamber of Commerce “Corporate Diversity” award.
  • CB created a special “diverse” suppliers program focused on increasing “diversity” among suppliers. To most people this just reads as: less white people.
  • Had Coming out day pamphlets passed out at their TN headquarters as well as pamphlets about supporting “LGBTQ YOUTH” and creating “Safe Zones” at work, free from “heterosexist or cwordgendered comments and actions” (X will downrank my post if I spell that word out). If you said anything activists would describe as “heterosexist” then you were told that you’d be “educated” by their LGBT office group.
  • CB has had multiple DEI focused employees and had CB employees attend DEI roundtables.
  • CB had pride flags at their corporate office.
  • CB promoted the Stonewall riot to employees and on their website despite the fact that the Stonewall Inn was reportedly owned by the mafia, rife with drug dealing and also the site of teen “prostitution” for older men. 
  • Had a Cracker Barrel employee on the HRC’s business advisory council.
  • Has ERG groups in the office that are divided by race and sexual preferences.
  • A total commitment to DEI policies.
  • CB has had MANY activist employees driving this far left policy agenda, including a head of training + management, top execs and a board of directors member who owns a DEI consulting firm.

To put it mildly, Cracker Barrel has forgotten who their core customers are. It’s time for us to remind them.

They depend on YOU to keep their business afloat so now YOU have to ask yourself: Do you want to fund people or companies that hate your values?

It’s time to remind them who their customers are.

If you think their values don’t align with yours and you’re a customer who wants to speak out, you can write to them here: https://guestrelations.crackerbarrel.com/s/contactsupport

Reporters can also call their reporter hotline at: 615-235-4135 or email them: media.relations@crackerbarrel.com

Remember to ALWAYS BE KIND. Many in customer service agree with you. Being rude hurts our cause!

I give everyone permission to use my video and what we found to make your own content. You can rip this, clip this, make your own content, etc. You can even monetize my video. Just get this information to everyone you know. We have to take our power back as consumers. Every company needs to get the message that THIS ENDS NOW.

Oh, you just bet your sweet bippy it WON’T end now, Rob, more’s the pity. Cracker Barrel itself may end, but the Wokester juggernaut will keep right on keepin’ on, seeking that which it may devour.

Last but not least, Sean Davis sums the whole contretemps up rather nicely, in another Tweet/X/whatevs that I’ll provide a complete transcript of rather than embed and have to deal with that irritating “Show more…” Shinola.

The real reason Cracker Barrel has been struggling is that its service and food quality nose-dived after COVID, and instead of fixing that, the company and its woke executives decided to go full Bud Light and taste the rainbow and dare its customers to object. 

They stopped bringing you biscuits and cornbread as a matter of course, then they shrunk them, the food started to taste and look reheated instead of freshly prepared, and the service got slower and sloppier. Everyone who’s been a loyal customer over the years has experienced this. It’s undeniable.

Those are admittedly tricky problems to fix, especially given how service quality everywhere has sucked after COVID. It’s hard to find wait staff and cooks who always show up when they’re supposed to and take pride in their work.

Cracker Barrel executives refused to address those problems—problems that any customer would’ve pointed out had they bothered to ask. Instead, the executives went all-in on woke alphabet BS: DEI this, BLM that, LGBT whatever. 

Because that’s what people want at an old country diner: gay race communism shoved in their faces. 

The stupid rebrand in which executives stripped every last bit of charm and character from the company and its restaurants and stores was just the latest in a long line of attempts to set money on fire by breaking what didn’t need to be fixed and refusing to fix what was obviously broken.

Cracker Barrel had the simplest restaurant model possible, and it was one that made people fall and stay in love with the brand for decades: comfort food in a setting that reminded you of your grandparents’ home. The food was good, the people were kind, and the setting felt like a loving home filled with people who cared about each other. That was it.

And the moronic executives who’ve now destroyed something like $2 billion worth of that company’s value since 2020 have decided the last little bit of charm left in the place needed to have its soul ripped out and covered up with ship lap and geometric artwork and consultant-approved off-white paint. Forget your grandmother’s home-cooking after church—this is now IHOP by Joanna Gaines, complete with gay pride rainbows and in-your-face DEI sloganeering.

Cracker Barrel wasn’t just a company or a restaurant. It represented a slice of Americana that millions would desperately like to return to. A time where people worked with their hands, and prayed before meals, and didn’t bother locking their doors at night. The old soda signs reminded us that our money wasn’t always worthless and our country wasn’t always run by greedy bankers. We used to be a country that built things and conquered the frontier.

That’s the feeling that Cracker Barrel used to evoke, and it’s what made its customers so loyal. It’s why people would stop there for lunch during a long road trip instead of just grabbing fast food and getting back on the highway. It’s why people were happy to wait 30 minutes for a table after Sunday School and happily mill about the store until their table was ready.

And it’s that feeling and that America which the woke parasites in charge of Cracker Barrel deliberately sought to maliciously destroy. They refused to fix the actual problems and instead decided the real problem was its own customers, which it set out to re-educate.

I hope they had their fun, because Cracker Barrel is done. They killed it, wrapped the corpse in a rainbow flag, and then made it do a little puppet show in New York City for the entertainment of all their woke little friends. If the stupid woke CEO Julie Felss Masino had the sense to lose the dumb prop glasses and stop looking down her nose at the millions of people who used to frequent Cracker Barrel, it would’ve been obvious to see.

But no. It was beyond her capabilities. It’s not that she’s dumb. Poor woke little Julie is just plain “eg-no-ra-moose.”

Dumb? Well, no more than every shitlib is, I guess. But like others of her loathsome ilk, she’s all too accustomed to getting her way, thus will most assuredly learn nothing from this gratuitous little episode, and will just pick her little self up, dust her little self off, and move on to her next project of mass destruction.

Update! A cri de coeur.


Also via the above-linked AoSHQ post.

Updated update! A small victory.

The People Have Spoken: Cracker Barrel Caves
Cracker Barrel announced on Tuesday evening that it’s giving up its rebranding plan—or, at least, doing away with its new generic logo and bringing back its “Old Timer.”

It also looks like the company scrubbed its X account and removed the LGBTetc. page from its website.

All well and good, and I’m happy to see it. BUT…near as I can make out, the Wokester/shitlib CEO is still in place, and I gravely doubt she’s adjusted her thinking as regards the need to educate Cracker Barrel’s staid, stuffy, RAYCISS!©, misogynist, homo/transphobic, unenlightened customer base about the vitally critical critically vital importance of making sure gays, Groomers, “transgenders,” kiddy-diddlers, et al feel “seen,” and aren’t “marginalized,” “shamed,” or “excluded” for being “different” at any Cracker Barrel restaurant.

In other words, is this gesture of newfound respect for the views cherished by their most loyal customers a permanent thing, or is it just a knee-jerk response to the feeding frenzy of fury and indignation the CB leadership brought down on itself, an expedient PR maneuver that will be rescinded the moment Cracker Barrel executives think nobody’s watching?

We’ll see, I reckon.

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