A noble idea

Ever since my Madeleine was born, I’ve thought a great deal about, but somehow never quite gotten around to, putting together for her a sort of quasi-biographical compilation encompassing but not necessarily limited to:

  • My stories of the rock ’n’ roll road life and the many musical icons, actors, painters, authors, and other such notables and quotables I’ve rubbed elbows with along the way
  • Other enduring interests of mine such as riding and wrenching on custom go-fast Harley Davidsons and vintage beater Fords
  • Shooting, full-auto subguns in particular
  • Aviation and aircraft, both military and civilian
  • Reading and/or writing, both fiction and non-fiction
  • Website design, construction, and management
  • US history, Civil War v1.0 in particular
  • Philosophy, logic, and Western literature
  • Rockabilly, blues, bluegrass, trad country, classical, swing, and early (ie, pre-bebop) jazz
  • Composing, recording, and performing my own original music
  • My years in NYC

It would be a fine thing, I think, to be able to pass this stuff on to my daughter for purposes of self-explanation, a way for her to know who and what her Daddy was to the fullest extent practicable. And now, thanks to AoSHQ’s scampydog, I’ve found what looks to be a handy dandy kick-in-the-butt motivator for getting started on this admittedly daunting project at last. Namely: Your Father’s Story.

About this item

✨YOUR FATHER’S STORY: Have you ever wanted a more in-depth look at your father’s life? What he valued most from his parents or maybe a funny habit that he had as a child? This journal will uncover all of the little things you might not know about your father.

✨DOCUMENT HIS LIFE: The Your Father’s Story journal is filled with prompts for your father to write his memories and knowledge to pass on to you, give you more insight into his live and experiences that have helped shape him and in turn, help shape you.

✨CHERISH THE MEMORIES: Strewn throughout the journal are inspirational quotes as a reminder to treasure the moments, to remember what was and have the courage to pass it forward.

✨LAYOUT: Prompts are divided into six chapters with one to two questions on each page. Gift our journal to your father and discover new details about his journey through life.

✨PREMIUM PAPER: Let his story unfold on premium cream-colored writing paper. We care about preserving your memories, our “Acid-free” paper resists the yellowing and crumbling that comes with age.

✨YOUR STORIES SERIES: Get to know your family history with our new guided journal series. Click the blue “Piccadilly” button under the title to find all our family journals, sketchbooks, guided journals, notebooks and more!

Pretty cool, no? Next time I get my hands on a few spare shekels, I’ma look into picking one of these things up. A bit too rich for my po-ass blood on Amazon, but they can be had on eBay at a more reasonable tariff.

Update! The above mention of full-auto subguns reminded me of my personal all-time favorite pic of Madeleine’s mama, to wit:

Snapped by Yr Humble Hoste at Shooter’s Express in Mt Holly, immediately after the ex had popped off an entire thirty-round stick magazine at full auto for the first time in her life, using the über-righteous H&K MP5 chambered in the venerable Europellet 9mm. Her beatific, rapturous smile should tell any deprived soul who hasn’t experienced the deliriously pulse-pounding thrill of full auto pretty much everything he/she will ever need to know about how much fun it really, truly is.

Man, I seriously LOVE that photo, it’s a real gem. Like I always say: you haven’t really flown until you’ve flown an open-cockpit biplane, and you haven’t really shot until you’ve shot full auto. Trust me, that’s the truth, the whole truth, and nuttin’ but the truth. Oh yes, I knew that huge grin was coming, so I stood behind her waiting for it, digital camera in hand (what was that little thing anyhow, Sony, Canon? Can’t remember now, but it’s still around here someplace), prepped, aimed, and ready to capture the moment.

A cpl of other MP5 snaps, then. First up, my dearly beloved NYC partner in crime Rachel, now tragically deceased:

God only knows how Rachel managed to find a range in NYC where she’d be allowed to shoot an MP5, much less the MP5 itself; she emailed me that pic with no further explanation, and insouciantly laughed me off every time I asked about it, which was just like her. Then again, knowing that wild, wilfull, and wanton woman as well as I did, it must be acknowledged that if anybody in the world could pull off such an extraordinary feat, it would have to be her. Could ONLY be her, actually.

6 feet nothing of mostly long, shapely legs, thick, stick-straight black hair, and big giant titties; eternally sarcastic; unfailingly cheerful, confident, and socially adroit; the snappiest dresser you ever did see, whether in a lovely vintage dress and heels or her preferred black jeans, T-shirt, and scuffed-up engineer boots—verily, Rachel was in a class of her own. They broke the mold and threw away the pieces the day that girl was made. Of all the multitudinous Pyrsynzz Of Vagina I’ve known over lo, these many years, I never met another quite like Rachel Gudera, bless her big ol’ heart.

Rachel also happens to be the naughty little girl who once sent me the best Christmas card I ever received. It’s on the hard drive somewhere, I think; I’ll see if I can dig it up and post it in an update.

Of course, I simply MUST throw in a snap of little ol’ moi firing SE’s rental MP5, right before I reloaded and passed the sweet-shooting little beastie along for the ex-wife to get her projectile-weapon rocks off on.

Good times, folks, good times indeed.

Not nice update! A-yup, found the aforementioned Xmas card. CAUTION: definitely NSFW, this one. Delicate, less-worldly sorts are hereby advised to avert their eyes. I’ll tuck it below the fold so as not to spook the horses, frighten the children, or offend the aged and infirm.

Continue reading “A noble idea”

Happy Pearl Harbor Day!

SO, here’s where we’re at 83 years on: “Great” Britain, France, and Germany have all been overrun by Mooselimbs, without ever bothering to put up a fight. The FUSA has been overrun by pretty much everybody, including the ChiComs, who already effectively owned it lock, stock, and barrel anyway. Japan, after looking for a few years there like they’d be the Far Eastern nation that was gonna end up owning everything and everybody, is now a floundering economic and military basket case whose young men have been so cowed, beaten down, and feminized they can’t even be bothered to chase pussy anymore.

The Dutch? Same-same. Spain is well on its way to becoming Andalusia v2.0, just another brick in the global-caliphate wall. The Eyeties? Who cares. Does that country still even exist?

Korea is still scarred by a fiercely-enforced DMZ separating its two (2) halves after the Chinks stepped in and dealt the Yanks a solid ass-whupping which ran them back across the Yalu and out of Korea altogether. After almost two (2) decades of pointless war Vietnam was reunified, which all involved parties seem to regret.

Russia is having tremendous difficulty kicking ass and taking names against an adjoining former-USSR shitrapy around one-sixteenth its size which has been saddled with a corrupt government led by a midget robbing both his own nation and the FUSA blind.

Meanwhile, the FUSAn central goobermint is under the iron-fisted control of a shadowy cabal of authoritarian incompetents whose identities We Duh Sheepul will never know, not that most of us seem to care all that much one way or the other as long as we still have Netflix and Super Bowl Sunday to placate us. Said cabal installed as its frontman “President” a hilariously inept, barely-ambulatory, shameless, astoundingly corrupt, unintelligent career conman so far advanced into the final stages of dementia he has repeatedly gotten confused about where he is, why he’s there, how he got there, who brought him, who he’s supposed to be talking to, why certain ex-people who died years ago aren’t there, etc etc.

Then his own criminal organization masquerading as a political party elbowed him out and anointed as his replacement a visibly drunk, embarrassingly inarticulate, cackling old whore that nobody but NOBODY liked at all. Thankfully, an irrepressible, rambunctious, fun-loving outsider promising vengeance against the Swamp critters who have tormented him and his family incessantly for nigh on a decade kicked the day-drinking whore’s ass so hard she ended up wearing it as a hat, crushing her well beyond the margin of fraud which had sufficed to install the previous two (2) “Presidents” at the very least.

Now tell me again who won WW2, please. Hell, for the matter of it, can anybody truthfully be said to have won it? From where I’m sitting, it’s beginning to look like EVERYBODY lost.

Due, and long past due

Can’t remember if I’ve ever run this wonderful Louis Prima chestnut here before, but if not, it’s high time I made amends for that nearly-unforgivable Yuletide lapse.

Couldn’t find a vid of that tune with the incomparable Keely Smith, alas. Bound to be footage of a live Prima performance of it out there someplace—probably rotting away in a dusty cardboard box in somebody’s closet, attic, or garage—that includes Louis’s winsome wife, so maybe next Christmas it’ll turn up. Meanwhile, as we wait for that frabjous day to arrive at last, enjoy another jolt of the magical Prima elixir.

I absolutely love the note-perfect combination of Louie clowning, showboating, and generally making an ass of himself with the somber-faced Keely pretending to be disinterested, bored stiff, even downright annoyed by her ol’ man’s antics. Best of all, hard as Keely tries to keep her mask of cool detachment firmly in place, now and again the ludicrous onstage carnival before, beside, and behind her simply overwhelms her disdainful facade: she loses her self-control and above-it-all poise and breaks down into giggle-fits, sometimes into helpless laughter.

It’s all in good fun, an obvious truth placed well beyond dispute by everyone in attendance. Just a quick look at the vid tells the story: singers, backing musicians, house technicians, and audience members alike, every face has an honest, happy grin plastered all over it.

Man alive, but what a fantastic show Louis Prima, his understatedly-beautiful, alluring wife Keely Smith, and Prima’s minimalist combo put on back in the day. Louie’s longtime tenor saxomophonist, the legendary Sam Butera, was one of the very best sax-men ever to put lips to mouthpiece, take a deep breath, and just wail. Watch this one, I triple-dog dare you to disagree.

See what I mean? You’ll all recognize that number, I imagine, if only in its David Lee Roth cover-version guise. I’m just about certain I HAVE posted that vid here before, but it’s so friggin’ good it merits an encore, and plenty of ‘em too. Biographical info on sax-master Sam Butera, including a Cliff Notes-style summarization of how the blessed, incredibly fruitful musical union of the Primas and Butera came to pass.

SPOILER ALERT! Said union boils down to blind luck; happenstance; felicitous timing; and a nudge in the right direction from the notoriously fickle hand of Lady Fate. In other words, just one of those things—another of the unforeseeable turns of fortune that can sometimes occur in this Earthly vida loca. It was meant to be, no more nor less.

Sam Butera (August 17, 1927 – June 3, 2009) was an American tenor saxophonist and singer best noted for his collaborations with Louis Prima and Keely Smith. Butera is frequently regarded as a crossover artist who performed with equal ease in both R&B and the post-big band pop style of jazz that permeated the early Vegas nightclub scene.

Butera was born and raised in an Italian-American family in New Orleans, where his father, Joe, ran a butcher shop and played guitar in his spare time. He heard the saxophone for the first time at a wedding when he was seven years old, and, with his father’s encouragement, he began to play.

Butera’s professional career blossomed early, beginning with a stint in big band drummer Ray McKinley’s orchestra directly after high school. Butera was named one of America’s top upcoming jazzmen by Look magazine when he was only eighteen years old, and, by his early twenties, he had landed positions in the orchestras of Tommy Dorsey, Joe Reichman, and Paul Gayten.

As the big band era wound down and heavy touring became less common among jazz musicians, Butera re-settled in New Orleans, where he played regularly at the 500 Club for four years. The 500 Club was owned by Louis Prima’s brother, Leon, and it was this connection that led him to his much-heralded Vegas-based collaborations with Prima and Smith.

Prima transitioned from big band to Vegas somewhat hastily, having signed a contract with the Sahara without having first assembled a back-up band. From his Vegas hotel room, Prima phoned Butera in New Orleans and had him assemble a band posthaste. Butera and the band drove from New Orleans to Las Vegas in such a hurry that they had not taken time to give their act a name. On opening night in 1954, Prima asked Butera before a live audience what the name of his band was. Butera responded spontaneously, “The Witnesses”, and the name stuck.

Butera remained the bandleader of The Witnesses for more than twenty years. During that time, he performed with Louis Prima and/or Keely Smith on such Prima-associated songs as “That Old Black Magic”, “Just a Gigolo/I Ain’t Got Nobody,” “Come on-a My House,” and “I Wan’na Be Like You” (from Disney’s The Jungle Book). Richard and Robert Sherman, composers of the songs for the Disney animated film, agreed to cast Prima, Butera and their band after executives from the Walt Disney Company urged them to travel to Las Vegas to witness the band’s live act in person.

Butera is noted for his raucous playing style, his off-color humor, and the innuendo in his lyrics. The arrangement he made with Prima of “Just a Gigolo/I Ain’t Got Nobody” has been covered by David Lee Roth, Los Lobos, Brian Setzer, The Village People, and Big Bad Voodoo Daddy. In addition to his accomplishments as a saxophonist and composer, Butera is widely regarded as the inspiration for the vocal style of fellow New Orleans-born jazz singer Harry Connick, Jr.

After Prima’s death in 1978, Butera renamed his band “The Wildest,” and played for another 25 years, mostly at Las Vegas lounges. As Burt Kearns recounts on PleaseKillMe, “He paid tribute to Louis Prima every night, opening each set with ‘When You’re Smiling’ and closing with ‘When the Saints Go Marching In,’ leading the horn section on a stroll through the audience, slapping palms, shaking hands, and somehow continuing to blow that saxophone, as always, with a smile on his face.”

Folks, THAT’S entertainment for sure and certain, of a stripe they just ain’t making anymore. They don’t make ‘em like Louie Prima, Keely Smith, and Sam Butera anymore either, and that’s a crying shame.

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The Donald steps up to the plate

Going to bat for his unfairly-beleaguered and -beslimed SecDef nominee, which right-on-time show of fighting spirit, will to win, and steely resolve I’m mighty damned happy to see. If it holds up, I’d consider that a highly encouraging indicator of the shape of things to come.

Trump confident Pete Hegseth will be confirmed as defense secretary: ‘Senators call me up saying he’s fantastic’
President-elect Donald Trump said Friday that he’s been hearing rave reviews from senators about Defense Secretary-designate Pete Hegseth and is confident he will be confirmed.

“It looks like Pete is doing well now,” Trump told “Meet the Press” moderator Kristen Welker, in a clip from her interview with the president-elect that will air Sunday.

“I mean, people were a little bit concerned,” Trump continued. “He’s a young guy, with a tremendous track record actually. He went to Princeton and went to Harvard. He was a good student at both. But he loves the military and I think people are starting to see it so we’ll be working on his nomination along with a lot of others.”

Yeah, well, we all know who those concerned “people” were, and fuck them right in the liver with a sparking cattle prod. May every man Jack of them die screaming, then burn in Hell for a thousand years. Such as:

Sen. Joni Ernst (R-Iowa), who on Thursday suggested that she wasn’t quite yet a “yes” on Hegseth, met with the nominee on Friday and plans to continue the conversation next week.

“I just had another substantive conversation with Senator Ernst,” Hegseth wrote on X. “I appreciate her sincere commitment to defense policy, and I look forward to meeting with her again next week.”

On the meeting, Ernst tweeted, “At a minimum, we agree that he deserves the opportunity to lay out his vision for our warfighters at a fair hearing.”

Sleazy, slimy, Swamp-stinking rat. As I already said, Punch ‘Em Out Pete knows the score.

Earlier this week, Hegseth slammed the onslaught of anonymously sourced media reports that have imperiled his confirmation.

“It’s a textbook manufactured media takedown,” he wrote in a Wall Street Journal op-ed.

Yessir, that is precisely what it is, with the usual assist from dirty Vichy GOPe RINOs like Ernst. A testimonial to Hegseth’s fitness for the position which is more than good enough for me.

Will Cain, one of Hegseth’s former co-hosts at “Fox & Friends Weekend,” came to his ex-colleague’s defense Friday after the Washington Post downplayed the significance of Hegseth’s two Bronze Stars.

“Was just hanging out in [Hegseth’s] office (with his permission) and found this. Is this cool? I don’t know can someone ask [the Washington Post]?” Cain wrote in a tweet which included a photo of an Army Commendation Medal awarded to Hegseth in 2005. 

The citation on the commendation noted that Hegseth’s “leadership and initiative directly resulted in the capture of two high value targets with ties to Al Qaeda in Iraq and effectively marked the end of an insurgent mortar cell.”

Gee, hire a warrior with battlefield skills and experience for a job best suited to a warrior with battlefield skills and experience—what could possibly be more appropriate, more sensible, more just plain old right than that, prithee tell?

Alternatively, we could just rely on the simon pure, reliably honest, fair, and trustworthy WaPo’s advice on this matter, I suppose. *spit*

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No pressure

Is the misbegotten Daniel Penny trial coming apart at the seams? Or is the biased, rabidly anti-White “judge” attempting a little kangaroo court jiggery-pokery in hopes of teasing out a guilty verdict somehow, some way, on ANY charge at ALL?

Daniel Penny trial judge agrees to drop top manslaughter count after jury deadlocks twice
A Manhattan judge on Friday agreed to drop the top charge against Daniel Penny in the subway chokehold death of Jordan Neely.

“We move to dismiss the top count of manslaughter in the second degree,” Assistant District Attorney Dafna Yoran told the court at around 3:30 p.m.

The judge then signed off on the request — which came after jurors twice said Friday they couldn’t come to a verdict on the manslaughter rap.

The 12-person panel will continue deliberating Monday on the lesser charge of criminally negligent homicide, which Penny, 26, faces in the fatal May 2023 encounter aboard an uptown F train.

He has pleaded not guilty.

Which, of course, he is. In truth, the man is a bona fide hero—and in a sane, righteous city (if any still exist in Amerika v2.0) he’d be hailed as one for such an exemplary display of selflessness, initiative, physical courage, and derring-do in defense of a subway-car load of total strangers. Instead of this revolting abomination of a politically driven witch-hunt stunt of a show-trial of a shit circus, NYC ought to’ve expressed appreciation and humble gratitude via a tickertape parade down Broadway in Penny’s honor for stepping up like he did to protect his fellow straphangers from an aggressive, proven-dangerous predator with an extensive record of mental illness, serious health issues, substance abuse, chronic hallucination, and random violence.

Poor Perry Mason must be spinning in his grave on an 800-horsepower rotisserie rack at this vile molestation of the very concept of justice.

It’s a lead-pipe cinch that every other passenger riding the train that day (hell, any day, EVERY day) would’ve sat timidly back, kept quiet, and pretended not to see a thing, hoping and praying that said maniac would just pass them by and go threaten, harass, and assault somebody else. How sad it is that, in the topsy-turvy, Bearded Spock universe NYC clearly prefers, any valiant soul who unhesitatingly puts his own safety—his very life, even—on the line for the sake of others will inevitably wind up being the victim of 1) Überstadt malifecence, and 2) the cowardice, complacency, and ignoble self-absorption of his fellow New Yorkers ere the end.

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It ain’t over till it’s over

Not that it matters one whit to the Uniparty swine intent on smearing a good and decent man, thereby forcing Trump to withdraw him from consideration for the SecDef post. Nothing personal, y’unnerstand, it’s just how the DC game is played nowadays.

Hegseth left veterans group post voluntarily, wasn’t ousted over drinking, misconduct: Trustee letter
A former trustee confirmed that Pete Hegseth “voluntarily resigned” as president of a veterans advocacy group in 2016, according to a copy of a letter exclusively obtained by The Post, denying recent allegations that the defense secretary-designee was forced out due to alcohol abuse, sexual impropriety and financial mismanagement.

Concerned Veterans for America trustee Randy Lair in a Jan. 16, 2016, missive wrote that “it was important to set the record straight given what appears to be a very personal attack against Pete and his military service.”

“The truth is Pete resigned his position as CEO of Concerned Veterans for America as a result of a difference of opinion as to the future of the organization and so that he could focus on other endeavors, including his relationship with Fox News,” Lair said.

“Pete was not terminated by the organization and, in fact, we at CVA worked with him through this difficult decision and mutually agreed the end of 2015 was the best timing for both parties,” he added.

The CVA letter was meant to address an “unsolicited email” that had been forwarded to Fox News that included “a very personal attack against Pete and his military service.”

It also appears to directly contradict a whistleblower report and other allegations from Hegseth’s tenure at CVA published Sunday by the New Yorker, in which ex-employees alleged the former vets group president had abused funds and been “totally sloshed” at several of the organization’s events.

Sean Parnell, a former senior adviser at CVA, told The Post on Tuesday that the characterizations in the email and by the whistleblower report included in the piece were totally false and “not reflective” of the Army vet who worked with.

“If you read that article, I mean, I think you come away thinking that CVA was some sort of slush fund for parties or something — and nothing could be further from the truth,” Parnell said.

The ex-CVA adviser added that Hegseth never mismanaged funding but rather disagreed with the organization’s more war hawkish donor base, as he came to embrace President-elect Donald Trump’s more isolationist foreign policy stance.

Whaaa…you mean to tell me this Hegseth affliction is NOT on board with the military/industrial/political complex’s preference for an endless succession of forever wars in which there is no discernible national interest nor even the slightest intention of just winning the damned things? Why, the very idea!

Worse yet, Hegseth’s reckless disregard for the usual order of things could seriously impede the flow of the taxpayer-money spigot; despoil the prestige of the Perfumed Princes of the Potomac Puzzle Palace; and leave the whole sorry lot of Blue Falcons, inside-the-wire FOBbits, and/or REMFs looking like the skulking, scheming, Participation Medal-bedecked pig-in-a-poke pedlars they so truly are.

Why, the dirty rotten BASTARD!

To his own enormous credit, Punch ‘Em Pete appears to know the score forwards, backwards, sideways, and down.

Trump’s pick for the top Pentagon spot is not backing down either, posting on X Wednesday morning that he’s “doing this for the warfighters, not the warmongers.”

“The Left is afraid of disrupters and change agents. They are afraid of @realDonaldTrump—and me. So they smear w/ fake, anonymous sources & BS stories. They don’t want truth,” Hegseth said. “Our warriors never back down, & neither will I.”

True dat, and good on ya for saying so, sir. Stay strong in the struggle against these yappy-ass anklebiters. Get in their faces and punch back twice as hard; keep your head up, your shoulders back, and your eyes firmly on the prize. Or, as my old-school biker chums used to put it, illegitimi non carborundum.

Update! Just can’t resist calling y’all’s attention to Hegseth’s sly, stingingly accurate allusion to the Left’s dread of “disrupters and change agents.” How very ironic that the selfsame shitlibs—“Progressives,” harrumph-harrumph—who for decades on end have delighted in sanctimoniously caw-cawing at us fusty, stiff necked old ReichWingNaziDeathBeast© sticks-in-the-mud to proclaim themselves as the disrupters, change agents, and bold, forward-thinking innovators towards whose vision the “arc of history” is forever bending should suddenly be weeping, shrieking, taking an oath of celibacy, and shaving their heads in stark terror at the mere prospect of real, meaningful change on the near horizon, innit?

Why, a Pyrsynzz of Reason might readily be forgiven if Shim/Zhrr/Thim came to the conclusion that these obnoxious dorksnorts are as full of shit as the holiday turkey they all curled their vegan lips at in performative disdain over at Mom and Dad’s unfairly-sumptuous house last week.

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The House of Grift

If you build it, they will scum.

Lame-duck pardon, broken promise: Biden leaves a legacy of corruption
The most shocking aspect of President Biden pardoning his own son, Hunter, may be that it was not in the least shocking, given the history of the Biden family. This abuse of the pardon power was widely anticipated even by his allies as the president repeatedly denied that he would ever do such a thing as he ran for reelection. Indeed, it may be the single most premeditated unethical act in political history.

That would be the Biden CRIME Family to you, pal. Onwards.

Roughly two years ago, I wrote about how Biden might suddenly withdraw from the presidential race in 2024 and pardon his son as a lame-duck president. “The pardon-and-apology approach might appeal to Biden not only as an effort to convert vice into virtue but to justify his withdrawal from the election as a selfless act,” I wrote.

I further noted: “Everyone in Washington would win — except, of course, the public: The Bidens would keep alleged millions in influence-peddling profits; Hunter would not even have to pay his full taxes; members of Congress and the media could avoid taking responsibility for burying the reports of corruption.”

I wrote about the pardon option repeatedly because none of Hunter’s bizarre (and ultimately unsuccessful) criminal defenses made sense unless he felt confident that his father would pardon him in the end. Hunter’s taunting Congress with open contempt of a subpoena and his ridiculous defenses in court were not the actions of someone who feared consequences from these investigations. They were the actions of someone with a back-pocket pardon.

The eventual pardon restored what was a sweetheart deal reached with Special Counsel David Weiss that would have given Hunter immunity to the immediate charges and any unnamed criminal charges. It collapsed in court when Judge Maryellen Noreika expressed shock at such a deal and asked the prosecutor if he had ever seen such a deal offered to any other defendant. He admitted that he had not.

Now, President Biden has recreated an even more sweeping immunity grant through his own powers by pardoning his son not only for the crimes of which he was convicted, but of any crimes committed between Jan. 1, 2014 to Dec. 1, 2024.

Think on that. It would cover anything from perjury to murder.

For many in the media who helped bury this scandal and showed no interest in pursuing the influence-peddling operation of the Biden family, the pardon was met with uncomfortable shrugs. It is a measure of what you can call “Biden ethics.” In the curious world of Joe Biden, a lie that no one believes is treated the same as the truth.

It is likely to work. There may be little interest in pursuing this corruption scandal with so much to get done in the new administration. However, it is not the absolute “get-out-of-jail-free” card that President Biden would like.

Sure it is. What the hell will ever be done about it, you think? By you, by me, by Congress, by the Vichy GOPe, by Trump, by anybody at all? Much as I’d love to see it come back to bite him in the ass, I cannot for the life of me detect the mechanism by which such a desirable denouement might actually come to pass.

Here’s how it’s all gonna go down:

  • Biden leaves office, shuffling and stumbling out to the Beast for his final seventy-car-motorcade speed-run to Andrews AFB, whence he will be flown to one (1) of his several palatial mansions
  • He keeps all the millions he conned not just this country but the entire planet out of
  • He goes right on lying and creating alternate realities for himself and his sleazy, greasy retinue to dwell in for the rest of his/their days

Yes, it’s 37 different flavors of ugly for sure, but you can take it to the bank nonetheless.

Griftin’ Jaux Bribem wrapped the rest of his criminal associates (what the rest of us call “family members,” not that those words mean to them anything like what we understand them to mean) in a suit of armor which renders them utterly impervious to prosecution or sanction of any kind, for any crime, forever and ever amen.

Undismayed by the cold, cruel facts underpinning this farcical shitshow, Turley finishes up with a flourish:

Short of such continued investigation, the Bidens will have achieved something that would have made John Gotti blush. They were able to pull in millions of alleged influence-peddling proceeds. Hunter was showered with gifts and benefits, from a diamond to a luxury sports car. Various Biden family members reportedly received money from the operation. President Biden was himself accused of knowledge and possible benefits from the influence peddling. He will also be protected by this official act.

This is why I once wrote that the Bidens are the GOATs of influence peddling. While influence peddling is the most common form of corruption in Washington, this city has never seen the likes of the Bidens. The only thing greater than their appetite was their sheer audacity. 

In this statement on the pardon before fleeing the jurisdiction for a foreign trip, President Biden notably stated that “in trying to break Hunter, they’ve tried to break me.” Indeed, this corruption scandal is as much about the president as it is about his son. And, as the president previously declared, “No one f—- with a Biden.”

Look for many more pardons to be puked forth by this contemptible wretch in the days ahead—of his “brother” and longtime co-conspirator James, probably of the execrable “Dr” Jill so as to shield her against any future repercussions from her illicit usurpation of Presidential powers as Jaux lapsed deeper and deeper into senile incapacitation, and who even knows who the hell else. Finally, in the last hours of his last day as ***”pResident,”*** he’ll grant a blanket pardon to himself—regardless of how legally murky that last cocking of the snook might be for honest people.

“Honest people”? It is to laugh, albeit ruefully. If there’s any single thing we all ought to have known about the Bidens eons ago, it’s that the words “honest” and “Biden” go together about like oil and water do. They’re as incongruous, contradictory, and disruptive as a turd in the punchbowl; a window-rattling, paint-peeling fart at a family dinner table; a wild, boisterous fuck during church services; a live tarantula dangling from the Christmas tree. As with lacquer and enamel, the words just don’t mix; never have, never will, never CAN. Anyone knuckleheaded enough to attempt such self-evident damfoolery will only beclown himself in the effort.

As somebody once said of some other fella: DE L’AUDACE, ENCORE DE L’AUDACE, ET TOUJOURS DE L’AUDACE! It’s a creed that has served the abominable Faux Jaux Biden and his rancid brood of hatchlings, rumpswabs, and partners in crime extremely well, painful though it is to have to admit it. The mediocrity to end all mediocrities, Pedo Peter will die in his soft, comfy bed with a broad grin on his face, comforted by the thought that he won in the end.

Because, y’know, he did.

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1

When men were men, and sheep were scared

Bayou Peter kicks things off thusly:

As part of my research for a forthcoming book, I’ve been reading up about the history of dueling in New Orleans during the 18th and 19th centuries. I came across this very unusual account.

“Unusual,” he says. “Unusual,” forsooth! Just get a load of this, it leaves “unusual” in the dust.

M. Augustin … who afterward became a district judge and general of the Louisiana Legion, was the victor in several … encounters in which the temper of the period caused him to be engaged. One in particular is noteworthy on account of the part it played in an extraordinary freak of fortune. Alexander Grailhe was the offending party, though the insult (or rather provocation, for gentlemen seldom insulted) would in this day be of scant concern. But some cause of action was present, and each was sure that a deadly meeting would certainly follow. They rode together in a carriage with ladies, who, after the duel, commented on their mutual affability during the entire trip, which only serves to show how delicately adjusted was the code of etiquette—especially in the presence of ladies.

They fought at The Oaks, and as soon as the weapons had been crossed and the impressive “Allez, Messieurs,” pronounced, Grailhe, who was high-strung and hot-blooded—doubly so under the stress of what he regarded as a grievous provocation—lost his temper and furiously charged his antagonist. Augustin, on the contrary, was cool, collected, and agile, parrying each savage thrust, until by a temps d’arrêt (sudden pause), judiciously interpolated into a vicious lunge of Grailhe’s, he pierced him through the chest. Grailhe, with one of his lungs perforated, remained for a long time hovering between life and death, and when at last he did come out of his room, he was bowed like an octogenarian.

It was now only a question of time for the wounded man, as an internal abscess had formed where it could not be reached, —surgery then was not what it is now,— and the doctors despaired of saving him. Some time after he had been up and about, a quarrel with Col. Mandeville de Marigny resulted in his challenging that distinguished citizen. This duel was also fought at The Oaks, but as Grailhe was too weak to do himself justice with a sword, the weapons chosen were pistols at fifteen paces, each to have two shots, advance five paces, and fire at will. At the first shot, fired simultaneously, the unfortunate man fell forward, pierced by his adversary’s bullet, which had entered the exact place of his former and yet unhealed wound. Marigny, with pistol in hand and as placid as a marble statue, advanced to the utmost limit marked out, when Grailhe, who was suffering greatly, exclaimed: “Fire again; you have another shot.”

With grave dignity Marigny raised his pistol above his head and fired into the air, saying with frigid politeness: “I never strike a fallen foe.”

More dead than alive, the stricken duelist was carried home by his friends and consigned to the care of his physician; but instead of sinking rapidly, as was expected, he really began to mend, and by the following morning was much improved. The ball had penetrated to the abscess which had threatened his life, and made an exit for its poisonous accumulations. Some time afterward he walked out of his room as erect as ever, and soon regained his health and stately bearing.

YOWZA! I don’t think even “bizarre” quite meets the case here—downright otherworldly, I’d call it.

4
1

Good enough for me

The increasingly impressive Tom Homan—who seems not to have either a jot or tittle of bullshit in his big, burly frame—sings a jubilee of righteous praise for the loverly Kristi Noem, who as y’all know I’ve always liked a lot my own self.

Trump’s border czar Tom Homan praises DHS pick Kristi Noem: ‘She understands it’
Homan told The Post he and Noem had a productive discussion at Mar-a-Lago recently to strategize about sealing the border and carrying out mass deportations, adding that their chat made him “very confident she’s going to do a great job.”

“I briefed her on many of my plans and my thoughts,” said Homan, who wouldn’t elaborate on details of what the two discussed. “She asked very, very detailed questions, so she understands it.”

Homan has previously shared some of his plans for addressing illegal immigration, saying he’d “flood” sanctuary cities with ICE agents if those areas refuse to work with the feds. He also has said the incoming administration will use the military to aid ICE in carrying out deportations.

If confirmed, Noem will oversee the operations of federal border authorities and immigration officers as the Trump administration seeks to shut down illegal crossings and carry out mass deportations.

While serving as South Dakota governor, Noem was the first to deploy state National Guard troops to the border to help Texas deter illegal crossings.

Putting her money where her mouth is, I believe that used to be called in the more homespun, down to earth circles.

1
1

There they go again

The Borking of Pete Hegseth.

PR Primer for Pete Hegseth: How to Salvage His Imperiled Nomination
It’s like being attacked by a swarm of angry bees: You try to swat them away, but there are just too many. Soon, you’re overwhelmed.

That’s what the drip-drip-drip of anonymously sourced attack stories feels like when you’re in the middle of a media maelstrom. And right now, ex-Fox News personality Pete Hegseth is being savaged in the press. His nomination for Secretary of Defense is teetering in the balance.

Hegseth’s current PR trajectory is unfavorable. Today, the Wall Street Journal claimed Florida Gov. Ron DeSantis has been tapped as his replacement.

If Hegseth is forced to withdraw (or is John Tower’d by the Senate), it will dramatically change the narrative of the incoming Trump administration, costing them significant political capital. Instead of being a larger-than-life, Churchillian leader riding into D.C. on a white horse, Trump and his nominees will be portrayed as “The Gang That Couldn’t Shoot Straight” — a hodgepodge band of rogues, deviants, and miscreants who shouldn’t be trusted.

It’ll be Omarosa, Part II.

Sooner or later, Trump will have to hoist the ol’ Hawaiian Good Luck Sign in the Left’s general direction and stick by his “embattled”—by “anonymous sources,”  note ye well; always with the “anonymous sources”—nominees, if he seriously hopes to get anything at all done in the way of draining the foetid Swamp.

It’s like a child who takes to his heels and runs away from a charging dog: you just don’t do it, not unless you want to get your ass bit but good. The one and only time shitlibs ought to see our heels is when we’re kicking their fucking teeth out—in which felicitous circs they’ll not only get to see them, but to taste them as well.

The estimable Salena Zito notes something else of critical importance.


Why, it’s almost enough to make one think that the Left might be *gasp!* lying again. But no, that can’t possibly be right. Can it…? Via Glenn, who also has a resounding testimonial to Hegseth’s all-round good character from the man’s mother, no less.

Update! How’s that “get Hegseth” campaign workin’ out for ya, Proggy? Not too good, it would seem.

‘Zero’ Senate GOPers privately oppose Pete Hegseth for defense pick as he vows to ‘never back down’ amid misconduct claims: sources
“Zero” Senate Republicans are privately opposing Pete Hegseth’s confirmation, sources told The Post on Wednesday, as the defense secretary-designee was making the rounds on Capitol Hill and defiantly proclaiming he will “never back down” in the face of widespread allegations of past misconduct.

“There are zero ‘nos’ right now,” one GOP source familiar with the matter said, ripping smears against the former Army combat infantryman in the press as “BS.”

At least six Republicans, however, have expressed some reservations about President-elect Donald Trump’s nominee, NBC News reported Tuesday, as claims of binge drinking, sexual impropriety and financial mismanagement during his tenure as leader of a veterans advocacy group pile up.

Those six wait-and-see RINO fainthearts are pretty much who you’d expect, to the surprise of precisely no one whatsoever.

Updated update! Oh HELL yeah!

THAT’s how you do it, folks.

1
1
1

Knobs

For many years now, we’ve had a category yclept “Liberals lie,” which just happens to be one of the most densely-populated categories of all. Turns out, there’s a very good reason for that.



They lie reflexively, automatically, without ever once imagining there might actually be another alternative. As my Grandma always said, they’d rather climb a tree and tell a lie than stand flatfooted on the ground and tell the truth. Or, as I always say: if they couldn’t lie, they wouldn’t be able to speak at all. I’m sure they didn’t mean to, but Blaine Cartwright of Nashville Pussy put it perfectly in the second verse of this blistering rip from their blistering first album, Let Them Eat Pussy.

“Nuttin’ you ever say is true.” A-yup. One minute twenty-nine seconds of pure hate, right there.

Update! Ace hilariously quips:

A man with the unlikely name of, get this, “Hunter deButts.”

I’m pretty sure that was my old CinemaJuggs sign-in.

Hunter deButts is a made-up name like Heywood Jablowmie. This man never existed. Apparently she used ChatGTP for her “research” for The View and ChatGTP is known to sometimes “hallucinate” fictions.

Next up…oh, God only knows what these cretinous curs are going to come up with next.

1
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Memezapoppin’!

Welcome to this week’s installment of our Wednesday meme feature, folks. Links to the “found via” sources will be attached to the specific MiQ’s (Memes in Question) whenever I can remember them, which likely won’t be very often. Only the first two memes will appear above the fold to save on bandwidth usage, since I assume not everybody who shows up at this here websty will want to see all of them. This intro will appear at the top of each week’s Memezapoppin’! post. Enjoy, funny-pitcher lovers.

Continue reading Memezapoppin’!

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Two sets of laws

Gee, how very odd. Why, one might almost think there was a two-tiered (or more) “justice” system in Amerika v2.0 or something.

96.9% of Americans Charged with Hunter Biden’s Gun Crimes Get Jail Time
The DOJ issued a press release in January of last year stating that it is “aggressively pursuing those who lie in connection with firearms transactions.” The ATF and the DOJ are taking a hard line on those who lie when purchasing a firearm. The press release included examples of Americans charged and convicted of the same crime as Hunter Biden. Many wonder if President Biden will pardon these Americans as well.

Shhyeeeaaah, keep dreamin’. Of all people, Gomer Pyle had the right of it all along.

Mordor on the Potomac’s chief orc dropping shit from a great height on Normal American heads all the livelong day, and nary a Sherriff Andy Taylor in sight to come along and put the kibosh on it.

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The Daily Donnybrook, and other fine things

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CF Glossary

ProPol: Professional Politician

Vichy GOPe: Putative "Republicans" who talk a great game but never can seem to find a hill they consider worth dying on; Quislings, Petains, Benedicts, backstabbers, fake phony frauds

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