ANOTHER Publick Announcemente

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Look for posting pickin’s around this hogwallow to be rather slim the next cpl-three days. As it happens, an old and dear friend of mine gave me a new-in-the-box MacBook Pro last weekend. Over an illustrious 20 year-plus career as resident setup, troubleshooting, maintenance, and repair guru in the IT shop of a certain media firm we all know and loathe, my boy pack-ratted the surplusage of miscellaneous ‘pooter detritus currently cluttering up his closet (most of it Winbloze junk, his personal preference) for reasons best left undiscussed at this juncture, to include the laptop he graciously threw my way.

So tomorrow I’m scheduled to receive from Amazon a 2.5 foot Thunderbolt cable so’s I can link up said virginal MacBook’s much snappier, fresher, just flat-out better processor and HD with my trusty iMac’s much larger, brighter, more aged eyes-friendly screen. I already networked the dynamic duo via WiFi, which enables simple file-sharing betwixt the siblings but nothing more. To use the iMac as the MacBook’s monitor demands a hard-wired connection; the felicitous conjugation just can’t be accomplished by lesser means.

Twinning the Macs for big-screen purposes also bumps me up from OS Catalina to Big Sur, a promotion that makes me one very happy camper indeed. Thing is, I am entirely unfamiliar with Big Sur, and from what I’ve seen so far there’s a lot to learn about the ways, workings, and weirdnesses of my spiffy new OS before I’ll be even halfway competent at running the thing, let alone good at it.

Understand, now: from my earliest days as a shavetail compooter wrangler, I’ve looked forward to each and every fresh Mac OS release date with a rapturous excitement akin to the way a child waits on tenterhooks through the endless, dreary weeks of December for Christmas morn to finally dawn, going back before the advent of balky, brittle old OS9 (known far and wide amongst greybeard Mac freaks as OS Crash, and rightly so). I enjoyed diving into every operating system upgrade, and jumped on board quick as a snake when each iteration dropped. It pained me no end to learn that my late-2012 iMac maxed out with Catalina, it hurt my heart beyond describing.

I mean, Catalina came out a LONG time ago, man. That sucker’s old, old as dirt.

The Mac operating system’s deserved rep for user-friendliness, reliability, and superb design notwithstanding, it takes time for even as salty an old Apple-loving dog as moi to get fully up to speed on a new OS, no way around it. It’s sorta like a brand-new pair of engineer boots: irrespective of how high-priced they were, there’ll be a lengthy break-in period before you can slip into the things and walk around comfortably. No shortcuts, no workarounds, no give anywhere to be found; it’s a slow, hard slog that nobody but NOBODY gets a pass on.

Seeing as how this project will require transferring a great big ol’ buttload of files, settings, software applications, and other such needful bric-a-brack over to the laptop—a deadly-dull evolution bound to involve unforeseen hassles of every type, description, and magnitude—I expect it to soak up the rest of my weekend at least, if past experience is any guide. Which, in turn, is sure to elbow posting-time aside until it’s done.

Then again, maybe I’ll get lucky this time around and the process will go smooth, fast, and trouble-free. Lord knows my luck is due for a change. We’ll find out soon enough, I suppose.

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Is there really no end to these assholes?

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As the proctologist once asked his assistant. A: apparently, there is not.

Mass arrests at Macy’s Thanksgiving Day Parade as anti-Israel protesters block procession
They’re parading straight into custody.

Anti-Israel protesters tried to ruin the Macy’s Thanksgiving Day Parade for the second year running Thursday, with cops quickly swarming in to gobble up roughly 25 arrests.

The firebrands entered the parade route at West 55th Street and Fifth Avenue, stopping the Ronald McDonald balloon in its tracks around 9:25 a.m., police said — and drawing loud jeers from parade-goers screaming at the killjoys to move.

Photos showed protesters sitting in the parade’s path, with some unfurling a large banner that read: “Don’t celebrate genocide!”

“Get the hell out of here,” a parade-goer yelled amid a chorus of boos from the crowd, which seemed more interested in the Bluey balloon’s arrival than the plight of Palestinians in Gaza.

Cops cuffed about 25 protesters “without incident” and hauled them away to face pending charges, police said – but the arrests appeared more violent than the NYPD’s account.

Good, damned glad to hear it. Although however roughly they may have handled these asswipes, it still wasn’t rough enough to suit me, I’ll warrant. That would be unpossible.

”This is disgusting,” said a Brooklyn cop. “There are times and places to peacefully protest, but not the Thanksgiving day parade. This a day for families to enjoy and not be interrupted by these a–holes.”

A-fargin’-MEN, Offissa Pup. Please don’t spare the Asp, pepper spray, and/or nightstick enemas on my account, sir. Normally, excessive force ain’t something I’m in favor of, but I’m entirely willing to make an exception for these cretinous cocksuckers.

Update! OMB puts the boot in. Related? Oh, you just bet your sweet bippy it’s related.


Traditional “Show more” end-run:

Happy Thanksgiving to all, including to the Radical Left Lunatics who have worked so hard to destroy our Country, but who have miserably failed, and will always fail, because their ideas and policies are so hopelessly bad that the great people of our Nation just gave a landslide victory to those who want to MAKE AMERICA GREAT AGAIN! Don’t worry, our Country will soon be respected, productive, fair, and strong, and you will be, more than ever before, proud to be an American!

Well said, Mr President sir, I hope and expect you’re right about all that.

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Publick Announcement

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Sorry ‘bout giving Memezapoppin’ a miss this week, gang, but after receiving a whole slew of truly toothsome T-day-related memes this past week via a private arch-con email list I’m a proud member of—which boasts a solid line-up of some of the most trusted names in ReichWingNaziDeathBeast© blogdom—I thought I’d use some of ‘em for my regularly-scheduled Friday Substack thang,  which will be up in a trice.

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

Update! As diligent CF watchers have no doubt gathered already from the Donnybrook update above, she’s up and running as promised.

End Times alert!

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Well whaddya know, maybe Woke really IS dead after all.


When the Superdooperdoublesecretultraüberlibs at Apple release an ad as White family-positive as this—not a jot or tittle of mockery, sarcasm, or sneering; no thinly-veiled insinuations of LiterallyHitlerGenocideNaziSupremacissism in sight—something’s going on out there.

Steve Jobs must be spinning in his grave. Which, just this once, is by no means a bad thing.

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Brine shrimp

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Anybody out there old enough to remember Sea Monkeys?

Sea-Monkeys is a marketing term for brine shrimp (Artemia) sold as novelty aquarium pets. Developed in the United States in 1957 by Harold von Braunhut, they are sold as eggs intended to be added to water, and most often come bundled in a kit of three pouches and instructions. Sometimes a small tank and additional pouches are included. The product was marketed in the 1960s and 70s, especially in comic books, and remains a presence in popular culture.

Ant farms had been popularized in 1956 by Milton Levine. Harold von Braunhut invented a brine-shrimp-based product the next year, 1957. Von Braunhut collaborated with a marine biologist, Anthony D’Agostino, to develop the proper mix of nutrients and chemicals in dry form that could be added to plain tap water to create a suitable habitat for the shrimp to thrive. Von Braunhut was granted a patent for this process on July 4, 1972.

They were initially called “Instant Life” and sold for $0.49, but von Braunhut changed the name to “Sea-Monkeys” in 1962. The new name was based on their salt-water habitat, together with the supposed resemblance of the animals’ tails to those of monkeys.

Sea-Monkeys were intensely marketed in comic books throughout the 1960s and early 1970s using illustrations by the comic-book illustrator Joe Orlando. These showed humanoid animals that bore no resemblance to the crustaceans. Many purchasers were disappointed by the dissimilarity and by the short lifespan of the animals. Von Braunhut is quoted as stating: “I think I bought something like 3.2 million pages of comic book advertising a year. It worked beautifully.”

Good old American marketing genius and ingenuity, that’s what, enhanced by a heaping helping of old school medicine-show hucksterism. What reminded me of it all was this post over at BRM. I tried leaving a comment over at Peter’s joint, but I don’t think it took.

There are several iterations of the Sea Monkeys ad findable via Luxxle search, but the one I remember best is this one:

Please note the disclaimer at bottom left—truth in advertising if ever I saw it, although as a kid I of course would pay it no heed. After refusing for a few years, my Dad finally consented to order some for me back then, and I must say the main result of the whole project was profound disappointment. Be all that as it may, one has to ask: was the world really a more fun place then, or were we all just more gullible? All things considered, this might be the perfect time to embrace the healing power of “and.”

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Wait, did somebody say something?

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Oh fer Christ’s sweet sake.

Bolton: Gabbard’s Extreme Views ‘Are on a Different Planet’ — She’s ‘Unqualified’ to Lead Intelligence
Former National Security Advisor John Bolton claimed Tuesday on CNN’s “Newsroom” that President-elect Donald Trump’s pick to lead the intelligence community former Rep. Tulsi Gabbard’s (D-HI) views were “on a different planet.”

Host Jim Acosta said, “We’ve seen Matt Gaetz withdraw his nomination for attorney general. Should Tulsi Gabbard do the same for Director of National Intelligence?”

Bolton said, “Well look, she said many things publicly that I think disqualify her. These are not just because her views are extreme. They are on a different planet. they are the views of somebody who doesn’t understand anything about American interests. And to put her in charge of the office of the Director of National Intelligence I think, is malpractice. I think the effect it will have on foreign governments saying we’re not sharing intelligence with the United States if it’s going to come into the hands of somebody like that.”

He continued, “There are a lot of claims out there that’s why the basic practice of administration after administration and Senate after Senate, for all senior appointees, but particularly people nominated to sensitive national security positions, is before the Senate votes on them. they get a full field FBI background investigation. This is not picking on Tulsi Gabbard or anybody else. This is how you find out what’s really going on with with all of them.”

Bolton added, “This is a bad nominee I think of all the nominees Trump has put forward so far she and Matt Gaetz were in a class by themselves.”

Yeh, yeh, yeh. Whyn’tcha just shut your cakehole already, be of use for once, and go take yourself a flying fuck at a plate-glass window, asshole-eyes. At least THAT would have some appreciable entertainment value, with the likely added benefit of your being sliced to ribbons when the glass shatters as your mortally wounded ass sails through it, resulting in a blood-soaked, butchered meatpile inside the chosen establishment.—ideally, a dingy dive-bar in late afternoon, not too crowded, but by no means totally deserted either. A library; a vintage clothing store; a cigar/tobacco shop; a bakery; a bodega—none of those would have quite the same ooomph as a good old-school gin joint, in my view. At least in one of those alcoholically-correct barrooms, there’ll be plenty of day-drinking Old Soaks on hand as eyewitnesses for the blessed event.

Regardless of its commercial focus, the owner of said establishment doubtless won’t be too terribly chuffed at needing to get his broken window replaced all of a sudden-like, let alone the timbers-shivering prospect of trying to wheedle one of his lowlier employees—a barback, a busboy, a dishwasher, let’s say—into rolling out the mop and bucket to swab up the nightmarish lake of congealing gore and/or gobbets of shredded flesh without him/her huffily downing tools and stalking out sans the customary two weeks’ notice at the first intimation of an assignment as onerous as that.

On further reflection, however, the proprietor will fast come to realize that the former NSA’s spectacular swan-dive swan song was well worth the attendant expense, effort, and inconvenience for himself and his luckless lower-echelon staff. Upon such improbable wings have great fortunes, reputations, even legends taken flight and soared off into American history. Ask any owner of a Midtown Manhattan eatery in which a prominent Mafioso got whacked before a roomful of diners during a busy dinner shot about how said whacking affected his bottom line ever after, he’ll tell ya all about it: reservations booked solid for a year in advance; walk-in customers standing in lines at the front entrance that extend for six or seven long Avenue blocks; three-figure cash bribes slipped to maitre d’s to purchase a shitty table by the door to the kitchen; SRO in the bar area with patrons jammed in four deep to while away the hours with a high-octane libation or three as they wait for their ticket number to be called by the hostess, etc.

What the hey: five’ll getcha ten that nasty ol’ floor was overdue for some serious scrub-uppery anyhoo, even before the self-made oaf Bolton conjured the unique notion that it’d be a swell idea to attempt conjugal relations with a plate-glass window, capping off the unforgettable extravaganza by being rendered into tender, juicy Long Pig Kibbles & Bits (just add liquid, it make its own gravy!™) on the floor—flaccid, freshly julienned micropenis out, a-dangle, and in ready view.

Come ON, man! Stop pussyfooting around and just DO it already. Your public breathlessly awaits; don’t leave ‘em twisting in the wind like this, get right on down to brass tacks and git ‘er DONE, big fella! Beats those wan, deadly dull talking-head turns as a Faux News “expert guest-analyst” all hollow, and you know it every bit as well as everybody else does.

In any event, I gotta say that I do find it simply too, too adorable that Bloviatin’ Blowhard Bolton—a pluperfect dick with ears if ever there was one; the sine qua non, the ne plus ultra, the cum-laude instantiation of this grotesque de-evolutionary sub-strain—still somehow dares to dream that anybody gives a moist fart for anything he might say, on any topic whatsoever. It’s pathetic when you think on it, to be frank. One could almost pity the poor, deluded lower-bowel obstruction.

Almost.

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Being New York

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Not a hell of a lot of fun in it these days, I’m afraid.

Straphanger slugged by irate seatmate wrestles attacker to floor — but then fellow passengers helped HIM after he ‘turned into a little b—-h’
A straphanger was slugged in the face by an irate seatmate on a Manhattan-bound subway, but he managed to wrestle the “little b–ch” to the floor — but that’s when fellow passengers jumped in to help his attacker.

Alexander Rakitin, 42, was riding the N train to his Manhattan finance job Monday morning when he sat down next to 34-year-old Timothy Barbee.

As the train took off, the car jolted, causing Rakitin’s knee to jostle Barbee’s — which set the alleged assailant off.

“Apparently my knee touched his knee. That triggered him,” Rakitin told The Post.

“He was just very aggressive. I’m like, saying, ‘Dude, just chill, it’s like 8:30 in the morning. Like, who needs this s–t? Just chill.’”

Footage taken by another straphanger captured the two staring each other down, before Barbee yelled “It’s f–king done, stop staring at me” — and proceeded to tell the protesting Rakitin to “Make me chill” and “Shut the f–k up.”

Their verbal exchange quieted for a moment while they continued to stare each other down, before Barbee said, “I ain’t got time to go to jail today.”

Then he smacked Rakitin across the face — sending his glasses flying — before the camera cut out.

“I was able to wrestle him to the ground after that, and just kind of hold him,” Rakitin said. “And the craziest part was that — and this is literally upsetting, like I’m actually emotional about it — people on the train were trying to help him. Like, that was the most insane thing.

“It was also remarkable — he went from acting like such a thug. And then he turned into a little b—h right away. He’s like, ‘I can’t breathe. Please, let me go. Please, let me go. I can’t breathe. Somebody give me some water. I can’t breathe.’ And people started giving him water. That was so insane.”

Gotta give the candy-ass nigger credit for one thing: he seems to have taken fully aboard the things he needs to say so as to get him off the hook for being an obstreperous, mouthy, violent subway-shitbird, what with all that “I cain’ breeve, I cain’ breeve ’n’ sheeit” horsepuckey.

Rakitin’s stunned assessment is mostly on target in re his fellow B&T straphangers who jumped in to render aid to his attacker, except that “insane” doesn’t even begin to meet the case here. What they of right ought to have been doing was getting in some good, stiff kicks to the ribs and head while Rakitin had the PoS pinned for ‘em. That’s a world’s-record instance of squandered opportunity, if you ask me, a true teachable moment flushed right down the toilet. You can bet your sweet bippy that it’d be a long, long while before this Barbee cunt-fart tried cutting up rough on the subway again if they had.

Hey, let’s you and him fight!

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Dump NATO NOW, please.

Military Chairman of NATO Admiral Rob Bauer: Preemptive Attack on Russia Should Be Considered
NATO Military Committee Chairman Admiral Rob Bauer from The Netherlands discussed the need for preemptive strikes on Russia in the event of armed conflict.

Joe Biden and NATO are hoping for all-out war with Russia, the world’s second largest nuclear power, before President Trump enters office in January.

Tucker Carlson calls these recent developments the most evil thing he has seen in his lifetime.

Dutch empty suit talks real tough for a guy who has no military to speak of backing up his fiery bluster, however powerful his beggar-nation might have been 400 years or so ago. Well, no military aside from OURS, that is.

Trump drew a shitstorm of outraged puffing and blowing from desk-chair warriors around the globe when he mentioned bringing the US role of propping up the rest of NATO to a past-due close early in his first term, but I thought then and think now that he couldn’t have been righter. NATO’s charter mission was rendered null and void the day the Soviet Union collapsed, and I’ve seen precious little to change my mind since then.

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“Sustainable”

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…ain’t.

Thyssenkrupp to cut 11,000 jobs at steel division in major corporate shakeup
DUESSELDORF, Nov 25 (Reuters) – Thyssenkrupp’s (TKAG.DE), opens new tab steel business plans to cut some 40% of its workforce over the coming years, it announced on Monday in the latest painful overhaul of a German industrial giant, with workers promising fierce resistance.

Germany’s largest steelmaker, a division of Thyssenkrupp AG, is under pressure from cheaper Asian competitors, high power prices and a weakening global economy, leading to operating losses in four of the past five years.

Not to be making light of German suffering or anything, but one can’t help but wonder if the following might have anything to do with those high power prices I put in bold above.

The German government knew shutting down nuclear plants during the Ukraine war energy crisis was a bad idea but did it anyway, and the Green party minister may have been been deceived by his own people to make sure the closures went ahead, a magazine that sued the government to get internal documents released claims.

Germany ordered the closure of its final three nuclear power plants in 2022, the culmination of a years-long process to transition towards ‘renewables’, which ironically left the nation scrabbling for hydrocarbons like brown coal, gas, and LNG. This confirms long-held “suspicions” of government lies, the conservative opposition says.

Bold mine again, and dispositive, it would seem. But nah, must be a coinkydink or something, I suppose.

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That which doesn’t kill me

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Makes me stronger.

I ate like Trump for a week. I don’t understand how the man is still alive
It was a picture that revealed more than just Donald Trump’s inner circle. Following the jubilation of the US election, the grinning president-elect was pictured on board Trump Force One tucking into a McDonald’s with Elon Musk and Robert F Kennedy Jr. Donald Trump Jr, seated to his right, would later joke that Mr Kennedy Jr’s mission to “make America healthy again” would have to wait until “tomorrow”. Mr Trump’s penchant for fast food was once again in the spotlight. But what does his diet consist of?

Breakfast – nothing. Lunch – nothing. Dinner – a McDonald’s, KFC, pizza or a well-done steak. Twelve Diet Cokes a day, and snacking on Doritos. The man appointed to become his own health secretary, RFK Jr, described what Trump eats as “poison”.

“His diet is exceptionally poor,” agrees Telegraph nutritionist Sam Rice. “It’s unbalanced, with far too many ultra-processed foods, too much saturated fat from red and processed meat, simple carbohydrates that can cause sugar spikes and lead to insulin resistance. It’s also low in fibre and gut-friendly plant foods. The copious amount of Diet Coke he drinks, which contains the artificial sweetener aspartame – identified as a possible carcinogen by the World Health Organisation – makes his diet a nutritional nightmare.”

The sissy-mary went on the Trump diet for a week, and says it damned near kilt him. Me, I’m with Al Bundy.

It’s always made me tired, how so many Righty bloggers want to whimper and whine about how godawful McDonalds is, as if the mere thought of eating a Big Mac suddenly transmogrifies them into the Leftards their bitching makes them sound so much like. Is McDonalds the best burger ever? Of course not. But will a Quarter Pounder or McDouble do when you’re in a rush, are hungry, and there just happens to be a Mickey Ds drive-thru on your way to wherever you have to be shortly? Of course it will.

Leave the sniffy, über-sanctimonious disdain for the corporate grab ’n’ grub fare to the shitlibs, sayeth I; they’ll always be better at it anyway, having had so much more practice. You can definitely be sure that finding common ground with you over the appalling toxicity of junk food isn’t going to make them hate you any less.

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Okay, THIS is weird as all hell…

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SO: in the course of going through my contacts for numbers to send to an old friend whose phone got busted up and thereby he lost all his contacts, his photos, music, downloaded files—basically, everydamned thing—I ran across a number for one Matt Walsh who, yes, appears to be THAT Matt Walsh. No idea when, how, or even WHY I got Matt’s digits in the first place, it just shocked the ever-loving shit outta me. So naturally I called him up and explained who I was and what the call was all about, whereupon he said he was in the middle of something just then and would call me back as quick as he possibly could.

Now, I used to know Ben Shapiro fairly well, corresponded with him on the regular before he became Ben Fucking Shapiro, even helped him get his first blog up and running back when dinosaurs ruled the Earth. There are quite a few other OG warbloggers I used to count as good friends, some of whom I’ve actually met and hung out with IRL. But for the life of me I don’t remember Walsh being among ‘em, I solemnly swear I don’t.

Ah well, just thought it was a pretty cool story to share with y’all. Hopefully this Mystery Dood will get back to me soon, and if it really is THE Matt Walsh he can set me straight on all this craziness.

Update! Yep, it’s the real Matt Walsh alright. What a crazy world, huh?

Updated update! No wait, I don’t think it is the same one after all.

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In the midst of fascist darkness, the lamp of liberty remains lit

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An enheartening FauxVid reminiscence.

In the summer of 2020, when the entire nation seemed to have gone mad with fear of the COVID virus, some Long Island retailers gave only lip service to the draconian lockdowns, masking dictates, and “social distancing” requirements. They published the “rules,” but put little or no effort into imposing them on their customers. Those were the ones I patronized. Yet it was all too obvious that most Long Islanders had been cowed by the bellowings from Fauci and the politicians who saw in his pronouncements an opportunity to increase their power over us.

Masking was ubiquitous. People avoided coming close to one another. The floors of supermarkets were festooned with markings about social distancing. Some put up signs making the aisles into “one-way streets.” It was beyond depressing.

But I do remember one bright spot. It occurred in a Walgreen’s pharmacy / general store. I was there to collect a prescription: blood pressure medications. On my way to the pharmacist’s counter I spied a young woman accompanied by three small children. The young woman was shopping as casually as anyone I’d ever seen. Her kids followed her quietly, exhibiting perfect public behavior rarely seen in toddlers today. And none of the four were masked.

The young woman smiled when she noticed me looking at her and her children, for I was unmasked as well. We greeted one another and exchanged some small talk as the children clustered around us. Her English was excellent. It developed that she was a widow, a recent immigrant from Eastern Europe who’d just been granted resident alien status.

Of course the conversation eventually came to the pandemic and the lockdowns. I complimented her on not giving in to the fear campaign. It made her eyes brighten. She smiled and nodded.

“They did this sort of thing to us in my native country,” she said. “Arbitrary rules, pulled out of the air. There wasn’t even an excuse for it, much of the time.”

“It gladdened me to see another person who won’t bend to the madness,” I said.

Her smile acquired a tinge of pride. “I didn’t come here to put up with more of that nonsense,” she said. “I came here to be an American.”

It kept a smile on my face the whole day.

As well it should’ve, Francis. These days people like her are much more truly American than all too many who were born and raised here, alas.

Here legally too, no less—a rarity indeed. Refreshing all the way around, I’d say.

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Winding the Horn of Jericho

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The shitlib retaining walls are cracking, creaking, and crumbling. It’s a joy and a wonder to behold.

This is why we’re so divided
The publishing industry isn’t exactly one that donated a lot of money to Donald Trump. They lean incredibly leftist and it colors just about everything they do. It’s part of why so much fiction today is absolute crap.

Admittedly, there’s enough blame to go around on that point, but it doesn’t help.

Yet the results of the election earlier this month make it pretty clear that most of the nation supported Donald Trump despite years of people like the publishing industry trying to shut down the man.

Hachette Book Group, though, seems to have understood what was going on. They announced a new imprint that would focus on conservative writers called Basic Liberty.

And, of course, the usual suspects are losing their minds.

But HBG has an opportunity here. If all these folks are leaving because the company is no longer kowtowing to the most obsessive and oppressive people on the planet, then they can hire people who understand that people from all walks of life actually read..or at least would if anything was appealing to them in the bookstore.

Since there are apparently openings, fill them with people who don’t see their jobs as the opportunity to advance their politics but as an opportunity to advance the joy of reading and sharing knowledge with the entire world.

In the meantime, I have no sympathy for these people.

These are the same people who have hounded literally anyone who dares disagree with them on anything for years.

They should get used to disappointment.

In the process, though, we should remember that people like this are why we’re so divided as a nation. While the right can’t help but see what the left thinks via their virtual monopoly on things like book publishing, as well as other aspects of the information and entertainment media, they haven’t a clue what anyone on this side of the fence thinks.

What’s happening at HBG is just a microcosm of what we’ve seen elsewhere. The primary difference is that these folks don’t have the power they think they do, apparently, which is just going to make them worse.

Disagree, if only slightly. Particularly when it comes to cultural institutions such as the entertainment/media/creative arts megalith, the Goosesteppin’ Left has practically ALL the power, and despite the recent spastic orgy of frothing hysteria, lip-quivering, head-shaving, juvenile hissy fit-pitching, and public dementia, they still do.

No, the primary difference is that now, for the first time in at least six (6) decades if not longer, Real Americans have at long last r’ared up on their hind legs, wheeled on their tormenters, snarling and with fangs bared, and begun to fight back against the rotten bastards—and lo, they have learned 1) that they are in fact strong, much stronger than they knew; 2) that by fighting back they can in fact prevail; 3) that, provided We The People set our hearts, our minds, our spirits, and our bodies to it, the Dismal Tide in fact CAN be turned; and 4) that making worthless, contemptible shitlib brats weep and wail like little Suzie Schoolgirl after she’s fallen into a mudhole wearing her newest, prettiest dress is in fact an extraordinarily easy thing to do. Supremely gratifying too, as an added bonus.

In defiance of all odds, appearances, and expectations, #4 very well may wind up being the most important, the most appurtenant, and the most effectual in both tactical AND strategic terms of them all. Whither, then, the visionary so gifted, so prodigiously farsighted, as to permit him to foretell such an unlikely turn of events: that, after numberless years spent placidly accepting that the metaphorical Brass Ring was and would forever remain well beyond the Real American grasp—an immutable Fact Of Life, in essence—the bleedin’ thing might in actuality turn out to be no more difficult to lay hands on than the TeeWee remote control device lying atop the cheap, ugly, bandy-legged old Rooms 2 Go coffee table a mere hand’s breadth distant from his slipper-shod feet, eh?

And so we arrive yet again at the inescapable conclusion: If you fight them, you may win. Then again, you may NOT. There is but one certainty, which affords no comfort whatever, cold or otherwise. To wit: If for whatever reason you DON’T fight them, you must surely LOSE. As has been said many times, in many places: the Goosesteppin’ Left is like the Terminator; you can’t reason with him, negotiate with him, or bargain with him. He’ll never compromise; he can’t be injured, he doesn’t bleed, bruise, or feel pain. He never tires, never sleeps, never takes a break. He is relentless, he is ruthless, he will never show mercy or regret. He just keeps right on coming at you, again and again and again, until one of you is DEAD.

OBLIGATORY MEA CULPA: No, the above passage is not an exact word-for-word excerpt of dialogue culled from the Terminator script, nor did I intend for it to be taken as such. Rather, it’s a from-memory approximation, with a few ad-lib embellishments of my own thrown in for spice.

But still. If it doesn’t sound familiar to you at this late date, then either you 1) are an imbecilic REE-tardt, B) a shitlib your own damned self (BIRM), or IV) simply haven’t been paying attention. In any event, there’s probably no hope for you; as such, all sane, aware, and even nominally-sentient beings should shun yore pig-ign’ant ass like a fucking Plague rat.

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Publick Notice

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This being not only Thanksgiving but the last week in November to boot, it’s high time for me to get cracking on the annual Yuletide visitation from dear old Scrooge Picard, methinks. If things go a bit wonky for ya here and there, Dear Readers, now you know the reason for it. No, Ye Aulde Blogge Hoste is NOT drunk, stoned, or stark raving mad, I take my oath. Not anymoreso than usual, at any rate.

Update! Well, that certainly went much quicker and easier than it usually does. The Donorbox header-bg and button color I ain’t gonna fiddle with, clash violently with our holiday color scheme though that innocuous middlin’ blue admittedly does. To be perfectly honest, I’ve been considering just dumping the DB subscription contraption altogether anyhoo; the entire time it’s been up only one (1) person has ever made use of it, and after the poor schlub’s first payment processed without incident the follow-on monthly installments all kicked back as NFS. Finally, DB sent me an email advising me that fuck it, they were giving the annoying goat-rope up as a bad job. All in all, it seems to me the big, clunky thing is basically just taking up sidebar space which I require for other purposes, as Bertie Wooster used to say.

As regards the annual CF Christmas makeover, hopefully I didn’t forget something, leave something out, overlook something, break something inadvertently, etc etc. We shall see, I suppose.

Updated update! Overbearing Donorbox doohickey now duly dumped, as threatened. Tidies all that superfluous sidebar clutter up very handsomely, if I do say so myself. Which, y’know, I do. Establishes a nice, relaxing holiday mood around this h’yar dump, too. Festive, but not raucous, rowdy. or loud; friendly, without being overly insistent or aggressive. Soothing but never dull; laid back but never complacent; casual but never sloppy or slovenly. We could all use a little more of that sort of thing, I figger.

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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

Fake Phony Fraud(s), S'faccim: two excellent descriptors coined by the late great WABC host Bob Grant which are interchangeable, both meaning as they do pretty much the same thing

Mordor On The Potomac: Washington, DC

The Enemy: shitlibs, Progtards, Leftards, Swamp critters, et al ad nauseum

Burn, Loot, Murder: what the misleading acronym BLM really stands for

pAntiFa: an alternative spelling of "fascist scum"

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