Business as usual, only more so

America just put itself through a two year-plus hazing ritual.

More than a century ago, Mark Twain identified two fundamental problems that would prove relevant to the Covid pandemic. “How easy it is to make people believe a lie,” he wrote, “and how hard it is to undo that work again!” No convincing evidence existed at the start of the pandemic that lockdowns, school closures, and mask mandates would protect people against the virus, but it was remarkably easy to make the public believe that these policies were “the science.” Today, thanks to two years of actual scientific evidence, it’s clearer than ever that these were terrible mistakes; yet most people still believe that the measures were worthwhile—and many are eager to maintain some mandates even longer.

The mental mistakes were not made by citizens who dutifully sacrificed for two years. They assumed that the Centers for Disease Control knew how to control disease and that scientists and public-health officials would provide sound scientific guidance about public health. Those were reasonable assumptions. They just turned out to be wrong.

After a great disaster, the traditional response is to appoint a blue-ribbon panel to investigate it, and a bill has already been introduced in Congress to create a Covid commission. In theory, this could be a worthy public service, allowing experts to sift the evidence impartially and determine which strategies worked, which ones failed, how much needless damage was done—and whom to blame for it. But in practice, which experts would the current Democratic administration or Congress appoint? Presumably, the pillars of the public-health establishment—the same luminaries whose advice was followed so calamitously the past two years.

Before Covid, the United States drew up plans for a pandemic and maintained the world’s most lavishly funded scientific and medical institutions to deal with one. When the coronavirus arrived, the leaders of those institutions should have identified who was at serious risk and who wasn’t and adopted proven strategies to protect the vulnerable while doing the least harm to everyone else. They should have monitored the effects of their policies and adjusted them based on what they learned. By honestly communicating the risks and considering the overall public good, they could have tamped down needless fear and united the country behind their efforts.

Instead, they proceeded to ignore their own plans as well as the basic principles of science and public health. Leaders of the CDC terrified the public with worst-case scenarios based on computer models—and then used those blatantly unrealistic projections to claim unprecedented powers and experiment with untested strategies. Their pre-Covid planning scenarios had rejected business and school closures even for a pandemic as deadly as the Spanish flu of 1918, but when the Covid-19 pandemic came, they imposed lockdowns without even pretending to weigh the hypothetical benefits against the tangible economic, medical, and social costs—not to mention the intangible costs in emotional hardship and lost liberty. Randomized clinical trials conducted before the pandemic had repeatedly shown that masks did little or no good at preventing viral spread, but the CDC proclaimed them effective against Covid and promoted mask mandates nationwide. As the pandemic wore on, federal health officials looked for excuses to justify the lockdowns and mandates, hyping flawed studies and cherry-picked data, while failing to sponsor rigorous research testing their strategies.

They stubbornly ignored the hundreds of studies around the world showing that, except in a few isolated places, lockdowns did not reduce Covid mortality and that mask mandates were generally ineffective and senselessly cruel in classrooms. The most glaring evidence came from places with the least restrictive policies, like Florida, along with the Nordic countries Sweden, Finland, and Norway, which avoided lockdowns and mask mandates—yet did as well as, or better than, the average in preventing both Covid deaths and overall mortality during the course of the pandemic.

Instead of heeding all this evidence of their mistakes, federal officials did their best to suppress it and silence dissenters.

And that right there, all by itself, tells you everything you’ll ever need to know about not only the Fauxvid disaster specifically, but about tyranny more broadly. US government leaders, as well as those of most of the States, were intent on one thing only: POWER. The tinhorn megalomaniacs saw their opportunity and seized it, using what they saw as a chance of a lifetime to their greatest advantage.

HONEST men—true scientists, healers, and statesmen, would have looked carefully at the ever-mounting evidence that upheld their previous studies and long-standing official views on the failings of masks, lockdowns, “social distancing,” school closures, and other such balderdash right away. They would have put the good of the people over their own petty ambitions, focused their energy and attention on doing their fucking jobs instead of stroking their own egos and feathering their own nests (Fauci was the ne plus ultra example of this preening and strutting, but he was hardly the only one), and went back to the original, long-established plan.

Instead, these FederalGovCo bureau-rats lied, swept the truth under the rug as best they could, and enlisted their partners in academia and Establishment Media in their campaign to destroy the lives and careers of the many actual scientists and health care professionals who were doing the research, crunching the numbers, and working tirelessly to get the truth out there.

Francis Collins, the head of the National Institutes of Health, wrote to Anthony Fauci in October 2020 urging “a quick and devastating published takedown” of the “three fringe epidemiologists” responsible for the Great Barrington Declaration. These three researchers—from the “fringe” institutions of Harvard, Stanford, and Oxford—criticized the deadly harms of the lockdowns and urged an alternative strategy of focusing protection on the high-risk elderly, allowing natural immunity to grow among the younger population at low risk. Fauci and Collins went on a media offensive, dismissing the focused-protection strategy as “very dangerous” and “not mainstream science.” Other scientists quickly joined the attack on the Great Barrington Declaration by signing a rebuttal, the John Snow Memorandum, which asserted that lockdowns were effective and dismissed the idea of natural immunity, claiming that “there is no evidence for lasting protective immunity to SARS-CoV-2 following natural infection.”

It was a remarkably irresponsible claim, given already-existing evidence at the time (the fall of 2020) that people’s immune systems developed defenses after a Covid infection. It would have been surprising if an infection didn’t produce durable protection. Yet this denial of natural immunity appeared in The Lancet and was signed by thousands of scientists and doctors, including Rochelle Walensky, who enshrined this unscientific notion as CDC policy when she became the agency’s leader during the Biden administration. It didn’t matter that natural immunity was repeatedly shown to be stronger and longer-lasting than vaccine immunity, or that other countries exempted people with natural immunity from vaccine mandates. The Biden administration insisted on vaccinating everyone—and firing workers who refused, including hospital staff and other essential workers whose prior Covid infections gave them stronger immunity than their vaccinated colleagues. Instead of uniting Americans against the virus, public-health officials chose painful policies that divided the faithful from the disobedient.

The public needs to learn what went wrong during the pandemic, but they’re not going to hear it from the Biden administration. It rewarded Fauci for his failures by giving him a new title, Chief Medical Advisor to the President, and would surely resist any serious investigation of its Covid strategies. Republicans could start the process if they win control of Congress in November and establish a Covid commission, but they’d be taking on the federal bureaucracy as well as the public-health establishment.

Waste of time. Or did we so quickly forget all those endless Repugnican promises to “end Obamacare,” which rapidly softened into a pledge to “repeal and replace” it with some other government health-care scheme, before they all just closed the door in our faces, sat down to talk the whole thing over, and quietly agreed among themselves to just pretend none of it had ever happened.

The public—we fully-paid-up members of the Disobedient Class who have long understood the true nature of government and its personnel, at any rate—already KNOWS what “went wrong” during the pandemic, or close enough. The lies, reversals, and shifty maneuvering of Fauci and his fellow scuttling homunculi gave the game away; the more perceptive of us had begun to smell a rat from the earliest stages of this shitshow. As I’ve told a few women I’d caught cheating: You just looked me in the face and told me a lie. Everything else is just details, which aren’t really worth bothering about anymore. I know everything that matters.

We know a few other important things about the Fauxvid grift, too. For instance, we know what the odds are that parasitical malefactors like Fauci, Collins, Walinski, and enough of their co-conspirators to populate an entire Supermax wing will ever be brought to justice for the irrepairable damage they caused. We know that the great mass of putative “Americans” are in fact AINOs, Americans In Name Only: cowards, sheep, ratfinks, and knob-polishers who must never be trusted or relied on in any effort more important than a neighborhood grill-out. We know, or we ought to, that Heritage Americans no longer have any representation in the seat of national government—that the so-called “two-party system” we’ve been sold our whole lives as the ideal arrangement for the governance of a free and independent citizenry, explicitly urged on us by the Founders (although, strangely enough, I can’t recall ever seeing any mention of this “two-party system” in the Constitution) is in reality a sour, piss-poor joke; what we actually have is a Uniparty whose two faces have far more in common with each other than they ever will with the average Heartland Joe. Scott Atlas, for one, has seen enough of it to know what’s up.

Atlas, the health-policy analyst from the Hoover Institution who joined the Trump administration’s Covid task force and fought unsuccessfully against Fauci’s pandemic policies, says that his experience in Washington has convinced him that any government-run commission would be a mistake.

“It’s massively naïve to think that our government will do anything objective,” Atlas says. “Any U.S. government panel would be viewed as, or be in reality, 100 percent partisan. It could be smarter to have an international organization do it, looking at the overall questions of management, because if it’s only an assessment of the U.S., then it naturally becomes a political blame game.” But which international organization could be trusted to do a fair investigation? The obvious candidates, like the World Health Organization or the World Bank, would presumably rely on establishment figures loath to admit their mistakes. And even if they honestly evaluated the pandemic strategies, how much impact would the report have? The mainstream press would probably either ignore it, as it ignored a recent meta-analysis concluding that lockdowns had “little to no effect” on Covid mortality, or attack it with the same tactics used to smear the Great Barrington Declaration as “not mainstream.”

Actually, it wouldn’t so much be a mistake as it would just a complete waste of time. The mistake would be to place an ounce of faith in this or any other “commission,” “panel,” or “investigation” charged with “getting to the bottom” of some government misdeed or other. The real purpose of such commissions is to throw the rubes a bone, distract the slack-jawed yokels for a short while until the whole thing starts to bog down, gets supplanted in the news cycle by fresher material, and just sort of quietly peters out, with maybe some obscure lawyer or staffer nobody knows or cares about getting sentenced to twelve minutes’ unsupervised probation and 18 holes of golf with his legal team upon his “release” to make it look good.

As for “international organizations,” I’d posit that, if this nation has reached the point where we think it necessary to submit ourselves to investigation and juridication such as that, then our government is well beyond salvage, and we must look elsewhere for solutions.

The fundamental character of Amerika v2.0’s federal goobermint, at every level and in all contexts, is this: it is a charade. Nothing about it is real; there is no truth in it, no solidity, nothing you can take hold of and think, Gotcha! The speechifying, the press conferences, the committees and glandhanding and logrolling and paperwork—all of it as flimsy as gossamer, undulating and wispy like smoke on a gentle breeze. It may seem real enough when you look at the thing just right, but blink your eyes and POOF! It’s gone.

Well, except for the FBI. Now, THOSE people you definitely need to stay way the heck away from. They’re as real as a pitbull with your calf clamped between its jaws, only a lot less amenable to reason. Tierney closes this way:

After the pandemic, Americans should never let public-health authorities deprive them of their liberties.

Sorry, but they’re lost now. Before we can see to not repeating the error, we’ll first have to take ’em back again. And I do mean take, too; you can be damned sure that The Power isn’t going to just hand ’em back over simply because we asked them nicely to.

2

The Great Unmentionable

Andrea wonders why nobody seems to be asking a certain simple question.

Fewer than ten years ago, even Planned Parenthood acknowledged that abortion is a “difficult decision.” On its website in 2022, it no longer does.

On the pro-abortion side, many women offer variations of the same two arguments: (1) I had things other than motherhood that I wanted to do with my life, and (2) it was the best thing I could do for the baby because it wouldn’t have had a good life with me. Regarding the second argument, I’d love to see a person charged with the murder of an adult successfully make that same argument: “Yeah, I had to kill my wife because I couldn’t support her in the way I wanted for her. Killing her was the best choice for me and for her.”

For those who say it was a hard choice, the logical question is “Why? Why was it a hard choice?” If the pro-abortion side is correct — that the fetus is not a baby, is an insensate bundle of cells, is inseparable from the woman’s body so it’s like having an appendix removed, or is lacking the intellectual or emotional capacity to have an existential desire for life — abortion should be no harder than eating chicken for dinner. (I have no idea how vegetarian and vegan women justify abortion.)

Pro-life people seldom ask women the “why” question because they already know the answer: a fetus is an independent life within the woman, who is both life-giver and incubator. This is not a conspiracy by the White patriarchy; it’s a biological fact of life. But still, what pro-lifers must do moving forward is to ask the question every time. Only in that way can they force women to acknowledge what they’re saying when they proudly recount that they had an abortion even while acknowledging the tough decision they made: they sacrificed a human life for their own benefit.

Funny, innit, that Lefty women would find that idea troubling, given the Left’s perennial emphasis on selfishness and “living your best life” and all that rot. Funnier still is how often Leftards manage to undercut their own arguments this way; as I’ve been saying for years, your typical, standard-issue shitlib will contradict himself eighteen times before lunch every day. Reminds me of another abortion-issue oxymoron:

The debate concerning “fetal homicide” hinges on the issue of fetuses killed by violent acts against pregnant women. Pro-life advocates typically support legislation that defines the fetus as a person under fetal homicide laws, or otherwise confers rights or protections upon the fetus or unborn child. Common references to such laws include the Fetal Protection Act, the Preborn Victims of Violence Act and the Unborn Victim of Violence Act. Those supporting these laws say that both the lives of the pregnant woman and the fetus should be explicitly protected. They assert that fetal homicide laws justly criminalize these cases and address both unborn children and their mothers.

Currently, at least 38 states have fetal homicide laws.

This obvious contradiction can’t go on forever. Is it a developing human life, or is it a gaggle of cells with no more moral or emotional heft than a random wad of pocket lint? Sooner or later, society will be forced to settle on whether it’s going to be the one, or the other.

8

Hydrophobia

Put ’em down.

BREAKING: Mobs Protest at Homes of Supreme Court Justices

Which is, y’know, blatantly illegal.

Ugly protests erupted outside the homes of several Supreme Court justices Saturday night.
An angry mob showed up in Chief Justice John Roberts’ neighborhood as well as Justice Brett Kavanaugh’s home.

Imagine what would’ve happened had Trump supporters marched on the home of Ruth Bader Ginsburg. President Biden would have called out the military, Congress would have called for hearings, and CNN anchors would have soiled themselves.

It turns out the protests may, in fact, be illegal.

“According to 18 U.S.C. 1507 – which relates to Obstruction of Justice – anyone who has the intent of ‘interfering with, obstructing, or impeding the administration of justice, or with the tent of influencing any judge, juror, witness, or court officer’ and pickets or parades in or near a court building or residents ‘occupied or used by such judge, juror, witness or court officer’ will face a fine or imprisonment of one year,’ the New York Post reports.

Ummmm…MAY?!?

If that’s the case, police should arrest every person protesting outside the homes of the Supreme Court justices. They should be treated just as harshly as those arrested for the January 6 riot at the U.S. Capitol.

No, they should be treated much, much worse, seeing as how these psychopaths are ACTUALLY doing the very things—insurrection, sedition, directly threatening the American system of government—the J6 Gulag-ees did NOT do. But hey, if this were anything resembling a sane, sensible country with a functional legal system, we wouldn’t even be having this conversation at all, now would we?

Just remember folks, this shitstorm of angst and aggro is happening because shitlib “women” are terrified they might lose their “right” to unlimited promiscuous, casual sex with no consequences, as is explicitly spelled out in the US Constitution. Although I’m much too busy to look up that specific passage right now, so just stop pestering me, willya. That’s all the whole abortion melodrama was really about from the very beginning, anyway.

Update! More:

The offices of Wisconsin Family Action, a pro-life ministry, were firebombed early Sunday morning in Madison, Wisconsin. There were no injuries.

“If abortions aren’t safe, then you aren’t either,” was spray painted on the outside of the building.

Trust me on this: if enough of us Normal American-types begin to feel that WE aren’t safe, then you’re soon going to learn that whether abortion remains legal or not has all of a sudden become the least of your concerns, sweetie.

In recent days a Catholic church in Colorado was heavily damaged by pro-abortion vandals and over the weekend, protesters blocked the entrances of church houses and protested outside the homes of conservative Supreme Court justices.

“The Madison Police Department understands members of our community are feeling deep emotions due to the recent news involving the United States Supreme Court,” Madison Police Chief Shon Barnes said in a statement. “Early Sunday morning, our team began investigating a suspicious fire inside an office building on the city’s north side. It appears a specific non-profit that supports anti-abortion measures was targeted.” 

I hope the Madison Police Department also understands that “feeling deep emotions” should have absolutely no bearing whatsoever on arresting people who firebomb offices, wreck churches, physically interefere with the right to worship of their parishioners, and illegally try to intimidate Supreme Court justices.

Let’s get real. This is a domestic terrorist attack against pro-life Christians and it should be treated as such.

YOU get real, bub. In Amerika v2.0, a Leftist dystopia which is rigidly anti-Christian, pro-lifers have no rights and are fair game for anything Leftards can think to do to them.

Hope everybody out there is just about done loading those mags, because from where I sit estimating when Spicy Time might officially kick off is now less a matter of calendars and day-planners, and more of clocks and wristwatches.

2

The New New Right

Bret Stephens—stale, stuffy, irrelevant, and insufferable as is typical of his type—asks (and answers) the most meaningless question I can think of right offhand.

What is conservative?” columnist Bret Stephens asked in Tuesday’s New York Times.

Who the fuck cares? Also: who the fuck thinks there could ever be a worthwhile answer to be found in, of all places, the NYT, ferchrissakes?

“It is,” he posits, “above all, the conviction that abrupt and profound changes to established laws and common expectations are utterly destructive to respect for the law and the institutions established to uphold it — especially when those changes are instigatedgggggzzzzzzxxxsknxxxxzzzz…”

Night-night, sleep tight, don’t let the bedbugs etc.

Stephens was responding to the broad conservative and Christian excitement that America’s extreme abortion regime might finally be struck down by the Supreme Court; but Stephens might as well have been writing about J.D. Vance’s hard-fought Tuesday night victory in Ohio’s Republican primary. Or Blake Master’s primary race to represent Arizona. Or Tucker Carlson’s intellectual ascendancy. Or the rise of a young and invigorated American New Right.

Stephens is wrong, of course. Conservatism isn’t remotely about process: It’s about traditional wisdom and values; it’s about conserving things of generational, transcendent value.

It means understanding that man is fallen, and society must protect families, workers, traditions, and, yes, the unborn from being wiped aside; oppressed from above.

It means conserving the truth — the truth about men and women, the truth about the unborn, the truth about human equality, and the necessary limits on government power.

That’s not to say there isn’t still an important place for process: In a civilization governed by prudent and benevolent institutions that buttress and strengthen traditional wisdom and values, process protects those cherished things from rapid change.

In a world governed by imprudent and vindictive institutions, however, that claw, gnash, and tear at traditional wisdom — that usurp traditional values — the “process” merely fools us into believing that what these institutions are doing is normal, when in reality it is profoundly abnormal.

I can’t honestly say I care all that deeply about “conservatism” anymore, if I ever truly did. What I DO care about is America as the Founders envisioned it. I care about the values codified in their Constitution, which I do believe remains far and away the most brilliant, visionary, and timeless document on what does and does not constitute a legitimate government of, by, and for a free people, along with the Declaration, the Federalist Papers, and the correspondence shared between several of the key figures most responsible for creating them.

I care about the fact that those men, those precious and incomparable documents, and the government they bequeathed to us have all for many decades been under relentless assault by vermin unfit to clean the privy stall of giants among men like, say, Washington, Jefferson or Adams with their own tongues. I care that these vermin have succeeded so wildly at besmirching so much that was good in the world, bringing Virtue to Her knees in the muck and mire. I care about stopping these vermin. I care about ridding this land of them, as near to permanently as may be. I care about punishing them, by the harshest and most extreme measures imaginable, pour encourager les autres.

I like JD Vance, and I do not give a tinker’s damn whether Bret Stephens and the rest of his ivory-tower ilk thinks he’s a “conservative” or not.

He’s a man who doesn’t “care if Google is a private company, because they have too much power; and if you want to have a country where people can live their lives freely, you have to be concerned about power — whether it’s concentrated in the government or concentrated in big corporations.”

He thinks our corporate overlords would happily satiate us with whirling gizmos and gadgets while capturing our culture and selling us out to China. This places him directly at odds with tired, established Republicanism, which would prefer to slander the ghost of Ronald Reagan while they simp for corporations that work to undermine our national economy, our traditions, our families, and even our children’s sexuality.

Vance is also a man who doesn’t “really care what happens to Ukraine one way or another,” and thinks “it’s ridiculous that we are focused on” their border over our own.

Far more than Ukraine, he cares “about the fact that in [his] community right now, the leading cause of death among 18- to 45-year-olds is Mexican fentanyl.” This places him directly at odds with all of established Washington, where $5 billion for our country’s border security is too much to ask, but politicians crow about sending six times that amount to defend the sacred territorial integrity of another’s.

Vance is a man who thinks, “If any of us want to do the things that we want to do for our country and for the people who live in it, we have to honestly and aggressively attack the universities in this country.”

“So much of what we want to accomplish,” he recognizes, is “…fundamentally dependent on going through a set of very hostile institutions, specifically the universities, which control the knowledge in our society, which control what we call truth and what we call falsity, that provides research that gives credibility to some of the most ridiculous ideas that exist in our country.”

This once again places him directly at odds with Washington, which every years sends billions in federal aid to colleges and universities, with nary a whimper of a fight.

More broadly, “Vance,” Harpers editor James Pogue writes, “believes that a well-educated and culturally liberal American elite has greatly benefited from globalization, the financialization of our economy, and the growing power of big tech.”

“This,” he continues, “has led an Ivy League intellectual and management class…to adopt a set of economic and cultural interests that directly oppose those of people in places like Middletown, Ohio, where he grew up.”

In other words, Vance knows what time it is.

It’s an excellent piece; you’ll want to read all of it, I assure you.

2

Electric bricks

We used to have a fine old term for this that got used quite a bit back in the 70s: planned obsolescence.

None of these are old cars. In fact, the oldest Spark is younger than the average non-electric car currently in service as a daily driver, which is about twelve years old. Most of these with many more years of useful service left, because they don’t have battery packs that cost more than the car is worth (by then) to replace.

Which is a built-in problem for all electric cars. Some may recall the case of the irate Finnish man who TNT’d his not-very-old Tesla Model S when he found out that replacing its dead battery pack would cost him on the order of $20,000.

But at least a replacement battery was still available.

Without that, you’ve got nothing – no matter how much you’re willing to pay for it. And unlike non-electric cars, there is very little you can do about it – other than eat the loss and move on to the next one. This is because an EV’s dead battery pack is not like a non-electric car’s failed transmission or engine – or even both, together. In the case of the latter, it is almost always possible to swap in a used or remanufactured/rebuilt transmission or engine – and drive on. It is not possible with electric cars for which there aren’t any replacements available, new or used.

And even if the original manufacturer no longer makes new replacement engines/transmissions for a given IC car, these can usually both be rebuilt at a price that’s worth the doing. Electric car battery packs, once dead, are throw-aways – just like the dead battery that no longer powers your sail fawn. At which point, you throw away the sail fawn.

The electric car, too.

The difference being you probably paid a lot more for the electric car.

Interestingly, there has been little-to-no coverage in the general or even the automotive press about this business. It’s interesting – because you can imagine the uproar that would arise if any other barely ten-year-old car was no longer supported by its manufacturer – and had a built-in design feature that assured it would be rendered useless years before it reached the age of the average non-electric car currently in service.

Of course, the reason for the absence of such coverage is because it might call attention to the shorter useful lifespan of electric cars, due to the shorter useful life of their battery packs relative to the useful life of an IC car’s engine or transmission. These are expected to last at least 12-15 years – and most last longer. If they fail sooner, the car – and its maker – gets a well-deserved reputation for shoddiness and most people will avoid buying a car made by that maker.

It is discharge-recharge cycling that ages a battery. Especially “fast” charging. You can limit the damage by not “fast” charging – and not discharging – the EV battery. But then the EV isn’t much use, is it?

No such issue exists with non-electric cars in that driving down to fumes in the tank has no effect at all on the useful service life of the vehicle. A non-electric car that’s 15 or 20 years old holds as much gas in its tank – and travels just as far – as it did when it was new. An electric car’s battery pack is unlikely to be capable of holding the same charge it could when new when it is ten years old – and maybe sooner.

And if there’s no replacement battery available – or it costs more than it’s worth to replace it – the car is useless.

Many people will find out about this after they bought an EV. It probably explains another interesting thing about EVs that the general press (and the automotive press) haven’t covered much, which is that a large percentage of first-time EV buyers didn’t buy a second one.

Yeah, well, you know what they say about “fool me once, fool me twice.” Guess that smug, superior feeling an EV owner gets from knowing he’s being a good, obedient little shitlib and Doing His Part to help save Gaia only goes so far when, after being a full-time pain in the ass the whole time he’s had it, his little toy strugglebuggy shits the bed for good at the exact same time his neighbor’s Focus or Elantra is only just beginning to hit its stride.

2

UNPOSSIBLE!

I have been assured by all the best people that this never happens. It’s all a damnable lie, spread by reich-wing Christian Nazi white suoremacist extremist MAGA insurrectionists who hope to destroy the lives of gay people, and ruin our sacred democracy also.

New York group busts TV news anchor allegedly trying to meet underage boy for sex
When confronted by the filming crew, Wheeler initially attempts to deny the accusations

Can’t blame the filthy pedo for that subhed, it’s exactly what I’d do myself. Hell, who wouldn’t?

A New York group that exposes child-sex predators online busted what appears to be a local TV anchor who was allegedly at the scene to meet with what he thought was a 15-year-old boy.

The group, which goes by 607 Predator Hunters, posted a video to YouTube that appears to show Zach Wheeler, an anchor at NBC affiliate WETM-TV, at a store in an attempt to meet with the underaged boy.

This fine organization is truly doing the Lord’s work. May He watch over and protect them all for their courage, their righteousness, and their willingness to take direct, effective action on their own, rather than sitting back, eyes wide shut, and assuming the cops will take care of predators like this depraved freak. HINT TO THE GORMLESS: They won’t.

When confronted by the filming crew, Wheeler initially attempts to deny that he was at the location to meet or have sex with the teenager, instead insisting multiple times he was only there to “talk” to the kid and warn him to get “off of these apps.”

But when the group doesn’t appear to buy Wheeler’s excuse, he pivots to a more combative tone.

“Why do you guys do this to gay and lesbian people,” he asks, with the group insisting they attempt to catch all pedophiles.


They do NOT “do this” to inoffensive gays and/or lesbians who have done nothing wrong or illegal. Only mentally disturbed, repulsive crawly things like, say, yourself. Get yourself and your abnormal sexual obssession under control; stop arranging play dates with pliable, perpetually horny jailbait who are disturbed enough themselves to be susceptible to the manipulations and self-serving wheedling of sick pedo fucks.

Bottom line: any individual who is so immature and dysfunctional he’s been left incapable of—perhaps even entirely uninterested in—sustaining a healthy, enriching romantic relationship with another likewise mentally-stable adult, homo or hetero, who can offer the properly-informed consent to said relationship, has a moral obligation not just to himself and his partner but to society itself to just stay the hell home and watch Netflix. If that sounds too harsh and uncaring to some of you, well, hey, I don’t give a fuck. Sorry, not sorry. I am bereft of fucks. I have precisely ZERO fucks to give, as can be readily discerned from my GAF-ometer.

In the negative

One more look at a non-analog, more modern-type indicator just to make sure.

Modern alternative

And there we have it. To no one’s surprise, our whining kinkster continues his woebegone attempts to defend the indefensible.

“Are you guys here to ruin people’s lives,” Wheeler asks at another point, noting that the group was going to “ruin my whole entire life” and he is “going to lose my job and everything.” At another point, Wheeler argues that the group is engaging in “cancel culture” because of his job.

Funny as that is, better get ready to laugh yourself sick over this feculent worm’s final desperate try at wriggling off the hook.

The group then confronts him with the chat logs of his conversation with the boy, which at times contain sexually explicit messages.

Wheeler then asks the group if they “need money” and also offers to help them get their organization on TV.

Niiice. Final score? This Wheeler bitch has taken us from ludicrously implausible claims that he’d arrived at the hookup location without hinky intentions; to the completely preposterous contention that his TRUE objective was to warn his underaged boy-toy about the dire perils of the same apps that this instant mentor had installed on his own phone and had recently used to arrange the day’s tryst; to theatrical outrage and self-righteous accusations of anti-gay bigotry; all the way to fumbling attempts at naked bribery—first in the traditional cash-money-up-front fashion, then, when even that ad-libbed gambit had flopped like all the others before it had, we get an exhausted, vanity-based promise that he would use his negligible celebrity to cut a little tit-for-tat deal, if only the Predator Hunters would forget all about what he’d done.

Surely the practically nonexistent possibility that the humiliation and terror of being caught with his whistle in his hand might compel the onanistic fool to abandon his wicked, wicked ways, which delusional bargain must then earn for itself the right to be thought of as a fair and eminently satisfactory exchange for the gift of a fleeting moment of fame and glory? In the words of his brothers-in-sleaze back in Hollywood’s infamous casting-couch days, “I’ll make you a star!”

Of course, forgetting Chubbsy-Ubbsie’s thwarted attempt at a private round of the beloved Where’s The Pickle? game wouldn’t be the only thing the Hunters would have to forget. There’s also trivial items such as their core values; their integrity; their self-respect; their committment to an honorable and needful mission they’d sworn themselves to; their estimation of their own personal worth—all this and more still to be scoured from all recollection. Of course, having erased all such silly, stifling notions from his own memory long ago, it would have to be difficult if not impossible for the fat toad Wheeler to comprehend any unwillingness on the part of his tormentors to just do the same for him now so as to justify letting him slide unmolested, shall we say—a soul-blighting favor they have no desire whatever to grant to a malefactor they don’t know, admire, or like. A twisted creature to whom they owe not the first iota of pity, charity, compassion, or forebearance. A favor that will haunt them for the rest of their lives.

The overdue exposure of this pitiful pudhead’s dirt-cheap depredations, in concert with the steadily-escalating clownish efforts to escape from the hole this dumbass had dug for himself—efforts which only planted him even deeper—is abolutely hilarious to me. It’s become a rare and wonderful thing these days to see an irredeemable filthbag like our Loser Lothario here finally get his just deserts. You can be sure I’ll be watching carefully for the conclusion of this sordid tale. The wheels of justice are already turning: the TV station has quietly suspended him, and removed his bio from the “Meet The Team” section of the WETM website.

Many kudos and congrats to the intrepid 607 Predator Hunters crew on this smashing success. You guys have rolled up your Civvy-Street sleeves and taken up a dirty, difficult, but extremely critical mission, a job nobody else would accept—not even the local police department, who are the ones officially charged with it as an integral part of their job description. 5-0 preferred instead to shirk their clear duty, to their everlasting disgrace—an ignoble act of cowardice and treachery they should all be fired for. In welcome contrast to those lousy bums, you Hunters are doing what so badly needed to be done, manfully taking upon yourselves the burden of some very real risk for the benefit of your families, your neighbors, and your communities.

You are exactly the kind of no-bullshit, stout-hearted, git ‘er done individuals this battered and bruised nation will always and forever need more of. Yours is the heart of the lion, the stubborn tenacity of the wolfpack, and the proud soul of the Minuteman. The true warrior spirit lives on within your breast, never to be quenched, weakened, or tainted by dishonor or corruption. May God continue to bless your noble efforts, and may the number of your fellow Americans who will draw encouragement, inspiration, and motivation from the shining example you’ve set for them be both enormous and continually rising.

10

Moar Maine Coon!

As part of a discussion about the coolest housecats in the world with my friend Don, he confessed to never having seen one, even in a photo. Naturally, I busied myself right away with a Startpage image search, wherein I caught some really good ‘uns.


B-O-B
Entry #1 in the CF Biggest Orange Belly contest


Harvey...?
Her sciatica is gonna give her fits tomorrow


This is how Resting Bitch Face usually presents in the Maine Coon Cat


BIGGEST ORANGE BELLY!!!
I think we may have found our winner in the B-O-B contest


Cozy Cat
How total contentment usually presents in the Maine Coon Cat

4

Gimme shelter

I’ve always wanted a Maine Coon Cat, which as far as I’m concerned are among the verymost way-cool pets one can possibly have. I’ve actually known a few, actually, which served as confirmation for my fondness for them. Unfortunately, it’s a virtual certainty that I’ll never have one, for reasons simultaneously both varied and incontestable. So I’ve tried to ease the heartache by looking at Maine Coon-oriented websites now and then, even going so far as to sign up for the email list of two of the better ones.

Today, I found this urgent missive in Ye Aulde Inboxxe:

Mike — Support Mom’s favorite breed — A card or engraved pet gift will be sent directly to your gift recipient for Mother’s Day:

HELP MAINE COONS

DONATE TO 200+ OTHER BREEDS

VIEW ADOPTABLE PETS

Select ‘Instant Gift’ when donating to send an instant email gift today. Cards and engraved pet gifts requested today may not deliver until Monday. Donation acknowledgment gifts are also available for other occasions including birthdays, anniversaries, and memorials.

Mom’s favorite breed, hell. My mom just spent a few weeks staying at my cousin Karen’s place, whose husband recently died after having spent MONTHS at his brother’s bedside in an Arizona hospital, attempting to comfort him any way he could while he slowly died from cancer. The killer note is that, the morning after the night Karen’s husband had gotten back home, he keeled over on the kitchen floor, dead from a sudden heart attack.

Point being, Karen has two Maine Coons in temporary residence at her place. My mom loves ’em all to pieces, but as is typical of the breed, they’re both inclined to curl up on the nearest available lap waiting for some love to be thrown their way. After a short petting session, my mom’s bony 84 year old legs begin to ache and stiffen, requiring her to shoo the economy-sized fluffballs off and away, then painfully climb to her benumbed feet and do the Biden zombie-shuffle around the house until blood flow and sensation in her legs is fully restored.

By an amazing coincidence, I had a long conversation about all that with my mom just last night, then received the above Maine Coon email this morning. I’ll take this curious sequence of events as a directive from God Himself that I must post something on Maine Coons right away, lest I find myself cast into Outer Darkness to be punctured with tiny pitchforks wielded by proportionately diminutive Satans hanging from my corporeal being in Divine retribution. Being acutely reluctant to directly defy a personal command sent to me from Heaven above, I now fulfill my quest with a few lovely Maine Coon pitchers. We’ll begin with a map of US states with Maine Coons available for adoption, which I find astounding:


Sad map
So few of them? SRSLY?


Tortoiseshell Xena having her din-din, wants to know what the hell you’re looking at


Sluggo III
Orange tabby Punkin Boy is just too fluffy for words


AWWWW
Pocket-sized kitten is just too, too sweet


A Maine Coon Tux-cat? Reminds me of my own Fuzzle Wuzzle, a short-hair Tuxie herself with personality and smarts to burn


Hunter and Hazel
Playful siblings Hunter and Hazel

It seems incredible that I didn’t establish a “Critters” category years ago. But thats aiight, I gots one now.

1

NASA beclowns humanity

Remember, these are America’s greatest minds we’re talking about here.

NASA to launch naked pictures of humans to space in hope of ‘attracting aliens’

DUDE! Have you seen what humans look like these days? Most of us have devolved into doughy, flubberous tubs of jigglesome goo at this point, barely hardy enough to peel themselves off the dangerously over-stressed sofa and lumber over to the fridge for another desperately-needed snack. The remainder of us hoo-mans are, quite literally, starving—horrifying, dead-eyed skels who more closely resemble Auschwitz survivors about ten minutes after being liberated by Allied forces than anything else.

Not for nothing, folks, but I’m thinking “attract” might not exactly be the mot juste here.

NASA scientists plan to launch pictures of naked humans into space in the hope of luring aliens to us.

The depictions will also include an invitation to respond should an intelligent alien race find the space nudes.

Fortunately, the hypothetical aliens shouldn’t be too shocked by the unsolicited nudes.

The pictures aren’t graphic photographs of naked humans but a drawing of a naked man and a woman next to a depiction of DNA.

The article includes this space smut, which is…well, let’s be charitable and call the pre-K level drawing “good enough for government work” and just leave it at that, shall we?

The main aim of the BITG project is to send a message to any alien civilizations that could be out there.

Scientists think the pixelated illustration of a naked man and woman waving hello could help us finally make contact with extraterrestrials.

Oh, sure. Either that, or guarantee that they will never, ever permit such contact, preferring to make a mad dash for galaxy’s edge instead. NASA’s ridiculous and inartful scribblings are more likely to instill in Marvin the Martian a frantic desire to put as much distance between himself and humanity as he possible can, seems to me. The next passage glosses over something important.

Scientists think a binary-coded message is most likely to be understood by aliens.

The scientists explain in their study: “Though the concept of mathematics in human terms is potentially unrecognizable to extra-terrestrial intelligence, binary is likely universal across all intelligence.”

Across all HUMAN-type intelligence, you mean—intelligence itself being strictly definable in terms comprehensible to HUMANS. Me, you, NASA, everybody—none of us have any clue as to alien physiognomy. We don’t know if they even HAVE brains, never mind how those brains work or how advanced their cognitive function might be. IF they have brains at all. Alien perception of basic physical reality might well diverge so radically from our own as to disallow any possibility of communication between our two species. Such an unbridgeable chasm renders NASA’s fanciful speculation that “binary”—an exclusively HUMAN construct, mind, never independently present in Earth’s planetary bioforms, geology, or atmosphere—is “likely universal across all intelligence” the callow daydream that it most definitely is.

This is where we must pay our respects to an irony so deep, so powerful, so profound it almost has a discernible aroma about it: only our most brilliant scientists and thinkers could be arrogant enough to blithely skate past the abundantly obvious possibility that alien life forms are likely to be so wildly at variance with us in every imaginable way—not to mention the UNimaginable ones, which would of necessity be beyond counting—that the very idea of ANY commonality between us physically, intellectually, or emotionally is patently absurd.

Not so for the good-enough-for-government-work Superbrains of NASA, however. These impeccably well-educated and competent “experts” seem to think it squarely within the expansive ken of such Übermenschen as themselves to make certain assumptions without squandering a second of their priceless time and energy pondering whether or not those assumptions are valid. Funny, innit, that one of the bedrock prequisites which help to not only identify true intelligence but also elevate it from mere gauzy potentiality into a genuinely useful thing—from the nebulous stuff of idle fantasy into real-world practicality—would turn out to be plain, familiar old humility.

Funnier still that arrogance should be the easiest, most natural-feeling attitude for most humans to adopt, the very first resort of both the egotistical but otherwise well-intentioned chowderhead and the conniving scalawag whenever forced to confront his own insufficiency of knowledge, his unwarranted overconfidence, his fallibility—while humility is by far the most awkward, toilsome, and wholly alien-seeming and oblique character trait to summon, much less to maintain. The demands humility imposes are numerous, non-trivial, and painful. But the rewards it bestows are rich beyond belief, a fulsome bounty reinforced and multiplied every time we choose it as our response to challenge or adversity.

Arrogance always makes one look like a goddamned jackass in the end. Worse still, most who succumb to its empty blandishments never even know what utter fools arrogance has made of them, their heads being crammed too far up their own asses to see the light of day. Those capable of inculcating and bolstering a proper sense of humility, on the other hand, will find themselves widely admired and respected for the very trait that did so much to ensure their success, whatever their chosen field of endeavor may be.

They added: “The proposed message includes basic mathematical and physical concepts to establish a universal means of communication followed by information on the biochemical composition of life on Earth, the Solar System’s time-stamped position in the Milky Way relative to known globular clusters, as well as digitized depictions of the Solar System, and Earth’s surface.”

“A universal means of communication.” Do these people even hear their words? Across, what, about 2-300,000 fucking years of the existence of what we think of as “modern” man, no “universal means of communication” has ever been developed. EVER. Dios mio, mankind has never created a universal language in all that time, nor is there the slightest prospect of such a thing on the horizon. But hey, that can’t stop the bright boys at NASA, and why should it? They’ve been sooooo incredibly successful since the halcyon days of the 1960s and 70s, right?

The concept of sending depictions of naked humans to space isn’t new.

The Pioneer plaques sent to space on the 1972 Pioneer 10 and 1973 Pioneer 11 missions, also featured drawings of naked humans.

The plaques are attached to the antennas on the crafts.

They’re still sailing away from Earth to this day.

With nary a peep heard from any of our prospective alien friends from that day to this. Those NASA folks might be smart, but they don’t seem to have learned a whole lot. But hey, I’m probably just too dumb to understand such heady stuff; it’s all probably WAY over my head. So shamed am I by my intellectual inadequacy, I’d never even DREAM of asking the NASA brain trust to explain—in detail and with extensive confirmatory references in the footnotes—exactly what all that taxpayer money bought for us.

Hope those brainiacs will remember to request access to the FBI “evidence” locker so’s they can glom some kiddie-porn to slap onto that phallic launch vehicle of theirs. Celebrating the entire spectrum of human sexual “diversity” is what the modern American “space program” is all about, don’tchaknow.

Oh, and Mooselimbs too. Gotta throw a few Korans in there, maybe a nice set of those checkered kitchen drapes they like to wear on their heads.

1

Guitar heaven

Ed Driscoll reports from the Dallas International Guitar Festival, and if you’re at all into guitars, it’s pretty sweet stuff.

On Saturday, I attended the 2022 Dallas International Guitar Festival at the Dallas Market Hall, the second festival after a timeout in 2020 due to the pandemic lockdown. As I wrote last year at Instapundit, unlike the previous guitar shows in the DFW Metroplex, 2021’s show had a somewhat more low-key feel, lacking the large exhibits by the music industry heavy hitters such as Gibson and Fender. (In pre-pandemic times, a large trailer owned by Gibson would be displaying their newest and most impressive guitars, Fender usually had a large display, and Roland was showing off the latest effects in their Boss line as well.)

While Gibson and Fender were still absent in person, this time around it was nice to see a few bigger names back on display, such as…

Fender, Boss, Gretsch, Taylor, Eventide; Les Paul, Strat, Tele, Black Beauty—the names alone evoke an overwhelming nostalgia in me whose taste is bittersweet at best nowadays, seeing as how my hands have been utterly ruined by the curse of DePuytren’s Contracture, or Viking Disease. My left-hand ring and pinky fingers are curled tightly up against my palm and can’t be straightened, even by physical force; as I tell foks who ask, my once-agile fretting hand is useful mainly as a place to hang my keys, no more. The right hand is only a little bit behind, but well on its way. The sensation brought on by this condition is so intensely unpleasant it actually wakes me up at night sometimes. It’s fucking awful, is what it is.

All that aside, any halfway serious guitar slinger—by which I do NOT necessarily mean a professional musician who earns his daily bread wielding an axe onstage and/or in the studio—will enjoy Ed’s reportage tremendously. The photos alone will be enough to bring a tear of joy to your jaded eye, trust me. Although I must say the Les Paul pics run way heavy on the Tobacco and Honey Burst varieties—which, I can’t stand those ugly, dull-looking turdballs—and way light on Cherry Sunburst—which are my all-time faves. Examples:

Tobacco Burst: uglier’n homemade sin


Honey Burst: slightly more bearable

Purty!
Cherry Burst: a little bit of Heaven on Earth

Of course and as always, your mileage may etc on that. There’s no real shame in disagreeing with me; it just means your taste is in your ass, that’s all. I should maybe also mention the subspecies of the parent Tobacco and Cherry Burst finishes, such as Lemon and Tangerine. In fact, the Honey Burst model depicted above is actually a sub-category of Tobacco Burst its own bad self.

One last photo from Ed’s post to take home witcha.

TeleStrat.jpg

For the uninitiated, that two-headed beastie at Foreground Left flying Distressed White colors and decked out in its Sunday-best gold hardware is something of an odd duck: a double-necked Strat-style body, with the top half being pretty much the standard three-pickup Stratocaster deal. The bottom half, though, veers off in a decidedly different direction: one single-coil pickup, slightly beefier than those found on Strats, mounted on a steel plate way back by the bridge with the familiar, jaunty Telecaster tilt. It also sports the knurled steel volume/tone knobs and long-throw three-position pickup selector switch which typically adorn the Telecaster control panel.

TeleCP.png

Ahh, the precious memories. All well beyond my reach now, alas. As my Uncle Murray always insisted, with no little heat: Gettin’ old sucks. Wise man, Uncle Murray was.

1

Tender mercies

Greatest. Auto. Review. EVAR.

‘Suffice to say the A110 absolutely crushes expectations, and your berry hanger’
The absolutely brilliant Alpine A110 is anything but sterile to drive
You’ll have heard how the Alpine A110’s combination of lightness and rightness has earned the admiration of evo’s tillermen. And that’s all well and good, but what’s it like if you’ve just had a vasectomy? To find out, I went to a central London clinic and invited a large, medically qualified man to have a good rummage amongst my underparts, then realised with dismay that I had booked to borrow a low-slung French sports coupe almost immediately afterwards.

The first thing to cross your mind upon seeing the A110 is just how little it is and also how much your balls hurt. You can immediately sense that this is a car from which all excess has been banished, and this impression is reinforced by opening the featherweight aluminium door, which is so lacking in mass that it puts no strain whatsoever on your mangled knacker sack, unlike its low-slung driving position, which is absolute agony.

Once in, you can take a moment to admire the bespoke seats with their one-piece backs and upsettingly unpillowy cushions. You might be interested to learn that these chairs weigh just 13.1kg each, despite fine detailing including quilted leather and a grippy central section that expertly rides your jeans up into the tenderest parts of your plum pouch.

The rest of the interior is, perhaps, a little less successful, featuring a smattering of Renault parts bin components, including remote audio controls seemingly taken from the Renault 19, and the flat keyless entry card from the Laguna, though wrapped in a smart leather case that makes it both more attractive to look at and better equipped to shift awkwardly across your pocket and nudge stoutly into your tenderised clacker hammock.

Okay, that there is some truly inspired stuff. Hats off to Richard Porter for his dedication to his craft, taking one for the team and putting his boy beans in harm’s way to bring us this truly stellar article. Well done, young feller, well done.

“Clacker hammock.” I swear, I just can’t stop laughing at that one.

1

2000 Cheating Husbands know the score

Wayne Root presents an intriguing thought-experiment.

How powerful is “2,000 Mules”? Why do you think the Supreme Court decision on Roe v. Wade was leaked right at this exact moment? This is the first Supreme Court decision that has ever been leaked — and it just happened to occur on the eve of the release of “2,000 Mules”?

Look who this historic criminal act targets: female voters. It’s no coincidence.

But I have a message for female voters, wives and mothers. Ladies, have you ever had a boyfriend or husband cheat on you? Did you need actual proof of your husband cheating to know the truth? Or would this be enough to know for sure?

Your husband comes home at 3 a.m., reeking of booze, lipstick on his collar, the smell of a woman’s perfume on his body, and when you ask him where he’s been, he replies, “Shut up. I did nothing wrong. You’re crazy. You’re a conspiracy theorist. No, you can’t look at my text messages. No, you can’t look at the GPS of my phone. How dare you ask? If you ever talk about this again, I’ll kick you out of this home. Good luck being homeless on the streets.”

What would any woman believe at that point? Do you need any further proof? Or is your husband’s reaction all the proof you need? Are you crazy or a conspiracy theorist for seeing the truth with your own eyes?

That’s the 2020 election to a T. We all know what happened. We don’t need what Democrats and the establishment media call “proof.” The Democrats’ angry response is the proof. The media’s cover-up is the proof.

They call us crazy. They call us conspiracy theorists. They refuse any investigation. They fight against forensic audits with armies of lawyers. They ban any discussion. They refuse any debate. Is this normal?

Well, you can bet your very last farthing that it will be from now on.

But the only proof any smart wife or mother needs is the response. Just like a cheating husband, the Democrats’ response is so rancid, so ridiculous, so over-the-top with fake outrage, we all know the truth. The proof is in the response. We know.

If you made a bet on the election (as I did), you know. Donald Trump was running away with a landslide electoral victory at midnight on election night when suddenly five key states announced at the same time, for the first time in history, that they were stopping the vote count until morning. Nothing strange there. Nothing suspicious there.

Trump had insurmountable leads in all five states. Yet when we woke up, the leads were gone. Hundreds of thousands of new votes — almost 100 percent for Biden — were found overnight. And they were found with no GOP witnesses in the counting rooms. No problem there, right?

But you don’t need “2,000 Mules” to know for sure. “2,000 Cheating Husbands” tells the real story.

Simply tell every Democrat you know that you believe the 2020 election was stolen. Then watch their reaction. They’ll act exactly like your cheating husband, at 3 a.m., with lipstick on his collar.

Not me, bub. I wouldn’t tell a Demonrat where the men’s room was—not even if his eyes were rolled back in his head, his teeth were chattering, and he had a dark, wet stain spreading across the front of his trousers, I wouldn’t. Wayne closes, correctly, with the eternal question we’re all waiting with bated breath to have answered. Whichever way it shakes out, you can be certain that Team Tyrrany will be running the exact same play against us again.

3

Diversity-Americans: not up to snuff

Forget it, Jake, it’s Coontown.

When you order ice cream, you don’t want to hear “We’re out” or “It’s broken,” yet it has been happening so often across the United States in recent years that it became somewhat of a cultural meme that spawned considerable media interest. Reports indicate that up to a quarter of McDonald’s ice cream machines are not operational at any given time.

Ice cream sales make up 3% of total McDonald’s sales (over $22 billion annually), amounting to about a quarter of a billion dollars a year. If the company is losing out on roughly 25% of that, we have a $56 million question on our hands every year.

Media outlets looking to cover the story and capitalize on the “McBroken” meme published dozens of quite lousy pieces concluding that the extensive cleaning process and heat sanitization cycle are to blame for the machine’s maladies. I never bought that story for a few reasons. One thing that doesn’t add up with the “cleaning” explanation is why any restaurant would clean a machine while it is open, and how it could be true that ten to 25% of all working hours in them are dedicated to “cleaning.” Perhaps nobody wants to clean the machines, so they merely say that it is not working.

Then, in April 2021, a YouTuber named Johnny Harris uploaded a now-viral video with over nine million views titled, “The REAL Reason McDonald’s Ice Cream Machines Are Always Broken.” In this 30-minute exposé, Harris elaborates a new theory that has gained acceptance as the actual reason for the McDonald’s ice cream downtime. Harris explains that the manufacturer of the ice cream machines, Taylor, is to blame. Taylor is the industry standard and the same company that makes ice cream machines for most quick-service restaurants, and has been supplying the equipment to McDonald’s since 1956. The next time you see an ice cream machine, look for the manufacturer’s name. It’s probably a Taylor.

Harris posits that Taylor has made the machines intentionally onerous to operate so they can generate future revenue out of repair contracts. The theory is that Taylor deliberately makes ice cream machines that are always in need of service and are generally too complicated for restaurant workers to understand. Hence, they call Taylor’s service technicians, which keeps the company flush with cash flow. It’s an interesting theory, and the video hams it up. There are plenty of suspenseful cuts, long stares into the camera, and moments when you are supposed to be in shock as facts are uncovered, such as the long working history between McDonald’s and Taylor. Harris wants you to believe that corporate greed on Taylor’s end is to blame. In a way, Harris created the perfect scapegoat: shifting the blame from restaurant workers to shadowy business practices. People loved it, too. And it is entirely wrong.

There are some holes in this story as well…

Of all the outlets to cover the story, none of them got close to what I found, including The Wall Street Journal, Business Insider, Mashed, Boston Globe, Wired, and Inc. Vice News almost got there; they had the proper dataset to solve the mystery, but they fumbled, as expected.

First, I had to dig back a couple of years to find an article I remembered seeing which confirmed something we already know: restaurants owned by blacks, in black areas, do not perform as well as those in “less diverse” communities. McDonald’s has over 200 black franchisees out of the 1,700 or so owners — enough to make the data statistically reliable. Stores that the black franchisees own an average of $68,000 net less per month than all franchise stores. That’s $816,000 per year, per store, lower than the chain’s average.

There are probably many reasons for this disparity. Some black franchise owners postulated that a lack of black leadership in the McDonald’s corporation is an issue. I’m not sure there is a connection. Another issue raised was that black owners tend to own stores in black neighborhoods, where costs are high and sales are lower. There is a notion that nebulous socioeconomic issues tied to things like “white privilege,” “white supremacy,” and “systemic racism” are to blame: i.e., blacks have less money as a whole to spend on fast food, therefore making the sales of black-owned McDonald’s restaurants lower. To the extent that socioeconomic forces are genuine and legitimate, I will say the issue is not systemic racism or white people, but sub-Saharan genetics.

One of the black franchisees was interviewed about his experience. He said “my stores are hellholes,” and lamented that they are robbed once or twice per month. His further comments revealed that his stores are often vandalized: people destroy the bathrooms and break the windows, and a murder had even taken place on the premises of one restaurant.

The murder in the McDonald’s reminded me of a grocery store in Atlanta called “Murder Kroger.” The Ponce de Leon Avenue Kroger earned that nickname by being the stage for many violent crimes. Some Kroger stores actually left black neighborhoods not far from where I live because their outlets there were the worst in the company, suffering from extreme shoplifting and security issues. After pulling out of these neighborhoods, the company was declared “racist” and blamed for contributing to “food deserts” in black communities. The stores were simply not profitable and not worth the headache to keep open. Although some argue there is a white supremacist conspiracy theory keeping blacks from having nice grocery stores in their neighborhoods, the black community itself runs them out of business through their behavior. As states and cities continue to decriminalize shoplifting, this trend will continue.

Another black McDonald’s franchisee said that his stores were among the worst in the company. They have low cash flows, serious staffing problems, and are often robbed. The black owners often blame McDonald’s corporate. Still, they did not seem to realize that their real gripe is with their own community and the behavior of their racial cohort. Part of the extra costs that the black franchises have to pay are for security, high insurance premiums, and constant repairs.

I interviewed a McDonald’s employee who works in a very “diverse” restaurant. He confirmed some of my theories and observations and added great additional insights. He mentioned that the restaurant where he works often has to repair bullet holes resulting from drive-by shootings in the street where they are located. Sure, racism could be blamed for the lack of sales in black stores in black neighborhoods, but one might also suggest that many people don’t want to put their lives at risk for a McFlurry or Big Mac.

With that information in mind, and knowing that demographics affects the rate of “broken” ice cream machines, we can draw further conclusions.

Ice cream machines do not know they are in black and Hispanic neighborhoods. Thus, we can probably rule out the existence of “racist ice cream machines” that make a conscious decision to stop working so they can deprive black and Latinx communities of ice cream.

Here is where we intersect with the meta-story about journalism. The objective of journalism is no longer to inform the public, but to weave a story of their choosing into a larger tapestry. Here, we see that the mainstream media was not willing or capable of telling the full story. Millions of people reading and watching the dozens of articles and videos on the matter have been led to believe in a conspiracy theory about ice cream machines and corporate greed, when the reality — and much more plausible tale — is one of basic biological differences between groups of people.

Further, it’s possible, and perhaps even likely, that the current mainstream journalist class is made up of people entirely incapable of uncovering deeper truths and unwilling to process any information that might contradict a larger societal theme. Much like the black franchisees, I’m sure they found a way to blame anybody but those actually responsible.

As is the case with everything else in my “social capital anthology,” this isn’t an article about broken ice cream machines. This is about what happens to a society when even the base level of social functionality — the bare minimum standard required to have something that looks like a real society — cannot be met.

At some point along this trajectory, there will no longer be any upside rationalizations to be found. There will come a time when the people who cannot run the ice cream machine are not doing you a favor by making you choose better food options. There will come a time when the people who cannot run the ice cream machine are running things of a much greater importance. What will society look like when the person who is today a McDonald’s Assistant Manager who can’t or won’t ensure that the fries are hot is tasked with staffing air control towers or repairing bridges and roads? What happens when the worker who decided it “wasn’t his job” to clean the ice cream machine feels the same way about inspecting the brakes on your car? What happens when you very much need something to be done correctly, but everybody at the department in charge of whatever you need are those people who could barely keep an ice cream machine running for a full day?

How does that society look?

A very easy question for contemporary Americans to answer, most especially those unfortunate souls trapped in our urban hellholes. All they need to do is look out their window to see it crashing and burning all around them.

A lengthy excerpt from a lengthy article, of which you simply must read the all.

(Via WRSA)

3

Fun with factz

America’s Governor responds forcefully to calumny most vile.

Florida Governor Ron DeSantis blasted the corporate media on Monday, following reports that he attended the White House Correspondents Dinner in Washington D.C., Saturday night. The event included many of the big names in politics and the media, and was hosted by the White House Correspondents’ Association (WHCA), an organization of journalists who cover the White House.

“I would never attend that. I have no interest in that,” he said when asked about the event during an unrelated news conference in Jacksonville.  “I did not watch it. I don’t care what they do. But for them to advertise me when that invitation was rejected by my office. That is a lie,” DeSantis said, adding later that the reason the corporate media is “so reviled” is because of its habit of perpetuating provable lies.

The confusion came after the host of the event, comedian Trevor Noah, falsely claimed during his routine that DeSantis was in the audience, pointing and waving at someone in the audience as if he were the governor.

“One of my favorites, Ron DeSantis is here. Oh man, I’m actually surprised that he found the time,” Noah said. “You know he has been so busy trying to outmaneuver Trump for 2024. I see you, Ron. I see you, player. I see what you been doing!” the comedian added, pointing toward someone in the audience.

The rest of the twerpy shitlib’s little skit didn’t improve from there, to no one’s surprise, being a tired regurgitation of the same old tired Lefty one-liners flogging the same old tired Lefty hobbyhorses in the same old tired way. If you’re one of those people who thinks watching a no-talent Leftard C-lister reassuring a funnybone-bereft Leftard audience that yes, we really ARE the Smart Ones, oh yes we are!! amounts to a swell way to spend your evening, well hey, have at it, and all the best to ya.

If, on the other hand, you’re the kind of guy who knows a small auditorium’s worth of tightassed, smarmy flatworms, not one of whom would recognize funny if it knocked them down, tore off their skinny jeans, raunched them up the fudge tunnel, and left them a sore-assed heap on the sidewalk tearfully pleading for you to CALL ME! when you see one…well, here, have yourself a little more really funny stuff.

“Why are people saying Governor DeSantis is at the White House Correspondents Dinner!? Because DC Democrats and media (but I repeat myself) can’t stop talking about him even during their nerd prom?” DeSantis spokeswoman Christina Pushaw tweeted on Sunday. “This is wishful thinking/obsession.”

DeSantis expressed his disgust with the media on Monday for getting yet another story wrong while pretending to be “paragons of truth.”

“And so here they are saying how important they are that they’re somehow these paragons of truth, and yet there they are lying about something that is readily verifiable,” he said. “And so the idea that I was there is false the idea that I would have ever gone is false, and why they would want to try to perpetuate a lie about that I don’t know. But I think it just shows you why that cabal of people in DC [and] New York, are so reviled by so many Americans. I think it’s a reputation that’s been well deserved.”

Deserved is right, and many times over.

It’s starting to seem kinda pitiful, don’tchathink, how Leftards carry on trying to poke and prod and irritate people who have clearly moved on, and no longer give a fiddler’s fuck about what they might think, say, or feel about anything. Yet still they persist. Now, that’s bad enough for them, absolutely. But now, with this latest feeble Hail-Mary lunge trying to trip up DeSantis—claiming he was at Nerd Prom when he provably wasn’t, ferchrissakes—all they managed in the end was to look like fools lost in Loserville, mired up to their clavicles with no chance of finding their way out again.

Meanwhile, DeSantis is floating like a butterfly and stinging like a bee, leaving droolcase Proggy canvasbacks baffled, bemused, and punchdrunk, searching frantically about for a neutral corner to go collapse in. If Reagan was the Teflon President, well, I do believe Ron DeSantis is rapidly earning himself a similar nom de guerre. The shitlibs just can’t seem to lay a glove on him no matter how hard they try, and it’s a total gas to watch, as good as 1980’s Hearns/Sugar Ray Leonard classic donnybrook.

One of the bigger reasons I’m such a big fan of Da Gov is that he’s one of a very, very few Righty public figures who are beginning to see the value in the approach I’ve been urging for so long: stop already with the expressions of stunned horror over each day’s fresh new example of hypocrisy, unfairness, double standards, and wheeled goalposts from the Left, as if their reliably bad behavior could be anything more than mere routine by now—just standard, dull fare, not really worth taking note of anymore, if it ever was.

Anyone still genuinely surprised by the Left’s endlessly obnoxious monkeyshines after all this time probably shouldn’t be allowed to leave the house without close adult supervision, lest they fall down a well or some such thing. Their guardian, keeper, or warden needs to remove all sharp objects from the vicinity posthaste, put a large cork on the tines of his fork at dinnertime, and clip a leash around his neck whose other end is attached to the clothesline in the backyard, like my Grandma used to do to my dad when he was a young ‘un so as to keep him from wandering far enough off to get himself in trouble.

Probably the most useful thing any Real American can do whilst we all wait around for the ball to drop and hostilities to commence is to separate and segregate ourselves from Leftists to the greatest extent possible. When forced into any sort of contact or congress with them, we should igjore them when we can, treat them with undisguised contempt when we can’t. Under NO circumstances should we give the least indication that we take them seriously; that their views are in any way worthy of serious consideration; that we respect or like them personally. We should instead think of them as the witless pancrustacean hexapod invertebrates they truly are, worthy only of being stomped on and crushed into noisome goo under our boots.

“What would you Democrats do if a Republican said that?” “Dems won’t like it much when the Republicans treat them the exact same way once we get back in charge again!” “We must not sink to their level! That’s not who we are!” “Oh look, the Leftard protesters trashed the park, but WE always clean up after ourselves!” And perhaps my all-time favorite: “They put 23 of us into the hospital today, but at our rally last week none of them were injured!”

Folks, if you’re talking like this, you are NOT winning, you are LOSING. It’s time and past time to retire all follow-through-free rhetoric, no matter how thunderous. All those with a fucking lick of sense know The Enemy top to bottom, stem to stern, and forwards and backwards by now. Any who DON’T know, or are pretending they don’t, should be put out to pasture and forgotten right along with the aforementioned empty rhetoric. It’s time to start waging this war as if we mean to win the goddamned thing. Note ye well: no war was ever won by talking one’s enemy to death. You have to KILL THEM. You must BREAK THEIR SHIT.

One last Sunshine State-style bitchslap for y’all to groove on. It would seem that when DeSantis The Barbarian hired the endlessly entertaining Chris Pushaw as his press secretary, he accomplished something Trump talked about throughout the 2016 election campaign but, inexplicably, never even came close to actually doing: HIRING THE BEST PEOPLE.


Ouch! That one stung all the way over here. Go get ’em, Christina. Another good ‘un, wherein Pushaw gives Minnesota dunderhead Amy Klobuchar a good pantsing.

Amy Klobuchar @amyklobuchar
Health care decisions should be between a woman and her doctor, not Ted Cruz.

Christina Pushaw @ChristinaPushaw
Replying to @amyklobuchar
So nice to see Democrats taking a stand against vaccine mandates and using the word “woman” instead of “birthing person.”

Oof. So what next, then? Pushaw and DeSantis have effectively thrown down the gauntlet, serving notice to one and all: from here on out, Our Side will be flying the Black Flag as our battlefield standard. No rules, no remorse, no mercy, no prisoners—it’s kill or be killed, and none but the victorious shall survive.


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