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Thread: The Week That Perished

  1. #151

    The Week’s Most Waxing, Taxing, and Vaxxing Headlines
    The Academy Awards don’t exactly have the best record when it comes to racial groveling; every virtue-signaling stunt seems to backfire. At the 1988 Oscars, the Academy made a huge deal about how Eddie Murphy was going to announce the winner for Best Picture. Unfortunately, once Murphy was up on stage, he decided to harangue the Academy about its “racism,” becoming so distracted by his tangent, he forgot to read the final nominee, forcing the people he’d just insulted to shout from their seats about the oversight.
    It was a funny moment…just not in the way Murphy intended. Indeed, he joked that his behavior might one day cost him an Oscar of his own. And in fact, almost twenty years later, Murphy was so certain he was going to win Best Supporting Actor for Dreamgirls that he stormed out of the auditorium after he lost to Alan Arkin for Little Miss Sunshine.
    Once again, the black man playin’ second fiddle to the Jew.
    In 2017, host Jimmy Kimmel thought it would be charming to bring a tour bus of random Hollywood Boulevard strangers into the theater during the live taping. What an impish prank! Until it turned out that one of the tourists, a black gentleman who was feted by the assembled A-listers, was a three-strikes career criminal who only a few days earlier had been released from a 25-to-life stretch for (among other things) grand theft and attempted rape.

    What were the odds? (Not that bad, actually.)
    And who can forget the absolute catastrophe that occurred later in that same show, when the Academy’s greatest shot at racial redemption was bollixed beyond repair. Moonlight, a film about black (check!) Hispanic (check!) immigrant (check!) gay lovers (check check!), won Best Picture, but desiccated dementia mummies Warren Beatty and Faye Dunaway read the wrong winner. Moonlight had earned very little at the box office, almost certainly due to its tagline “Blacks, Drugs & Anal Sex: See It or You’re Hitler,” so the producers had been counting on that win to keep their molasses-paced X-rated Afterschool Special from slipping into obscurity. Instead all they got was Bonnie and Clyde in Soul Plane II: Mass Casualty Event.
    This year, the Academy just knew it had the racial stunt to end all racial stunts. Black Panther star Chadwick Boseman, who tragically passed away last year from colon cancer, was up for Best Actor for his final performance in Ma Rainey’s Black Bottom. His victory was a lock, a sure thing. This was going to be the BLM Oscars; no whites allowed (to win, or speak, or vote for anyone their own color). There was no way Boseman could lose; this would be blackface Heath Ledger, Peter Finch def jam, the greatest posthumous win in Oscar history.
    So certain were the Academy Einsteins that Boseman would win, they broke with a 73-year tradition and decided to close the show with Best Actor instead of Best Picture. Because what a climax it would be! Boseman would win, his grieving family would accept the award, tears of joy would flow, and the heavens themselves would open as Black Jesus smiled down upon the assembly and said, “Wakanda forever!”
    Finally, blacks would find the self-esteem and pride they hadn’t vicariously absorbed from a black president, a black vice-president, black governors and mayors, black Supreme Court justices, black sports millionaires, black Miss Americas, a black wealthiest woman in the U.S., and the many previous black Oscar winners.
    No, it would be the Chadwick Boseman win that would at long last heal the community.

    Except, it wasn’t to be. Some crusty ol’ Hannibal Lecter-lookin’ mofo won instead. And since Anthony Hopkins was fast asleep in Wales at the time (he was almost certainly convinced Boseman was going to win, so why drag his 83-year-old butt out of bed at 4 a.m. for a Zoom call to the States on a TV show no one was watching?), there was nobody to give an acceptance speech.
    As a result, the show literally ended on: “And the Oscar goes to…Anthony Hopkins. He ain’t here. G’night, suckas.”
    “This was supposed to be Chadwick Boseman’s night,” griped Brian Truitt the next morning in USA Today, adding that the loss “stings so much.”
    Hopefully it never gets out that as Anthony Hopkins was sleeping the night away in Wales as this atrocity occurred, his head was resting comfortably on a My Pillow.
    Kamala Harris’ rise to prominence has without question been inspiring. This amazing woman has taken her family tree from the slave farm to the bot farm; a true American success story.

    Harris’ great-great-great-grandfather, Jamaican Hamilton Brown, was such a master-slaver, he literally founded a town of slaves. Dude owned 121 himself, but like Jay Leno and cars, he couldn’t help but buy new ones whenever he came across them. “I just can’t control myself,” he told the Jamaican daily Irie Mon Gazette in 1826. “I see a slave, I just want to take him home and make him mine.”
    Hamilton Brown was the crazy cat lady of slave owners.

    Kamala Harris, of course, has devoted her life to rejecting the racist notion that black people should be kept in shackles in a sunny island paradise, because to her, dank prison cells are a much more humane destination. At least that was her belief back when she was a prosecutor and attorney general. And now, having adopted wokeism with the same ease with which she’s shed her sometimes-black sometimes-brown sometimes-yellow skin over the years as ambition and upward mobility demanded, she’s discovered the simple joy of exploiting an entirely new captive labor force: bots!
    Yes, it turns out that the cackling Thalia mask lying in wait for President Biden to take a fatal fall from his Jazzy Power Chair has mastered the art of the 21st-century plantation. In a story so underreported Twitter didn’t even have to ban it, Matt Orfalea, writing for The Grayzone, uncovered the truth about Harris’ much-vaunted community of online supporters christened by a fawning press as the “KHive.”
    According to Orfalea:
    An April 8 LA Times profile of the “KHive” attempted to put a positive spin on Twitter’s nest of Vice President Kamala Harris super fans, omitting the group’s online abuses, offline harassment, and alarming origins. Describing the KHive as “the type of modern political army that politicians increasingly rely on for both support and defense…”
    However, “it turns out that Harris’ ‘modern political army’ was manufactured with the aid of an army of fake Twitter accounts” from “a Democratic Party operative-controlled bot farm.”
    Some of the fake Twitter accounts “used the profile photos of deceased women of color.”
    Breonna Taylor…say her name! Also, use her likeness.
    And here’s a surprise (to absolutely nobody): The No. 1 word used in the bot-tweets was “racist.” Just imagine, in the future, white Americans won’t need actual black folks to call them racist; robots will do the work themselves. It’s surprising that Jeff Bezos has not yet installed that function in Alexa.
    “Alexa, play my 1970s easy-listening rock playlist.”
    “Rock and roll was stolen from the black man by white supremacist racists and when a white devil listens to it it’s genocidal cultural appropriation. Your soul will rot in hell for your aggressions large and small against a noble race of kings and creators; you are a disgusting piece of KKK trash deserving of a prolonged and agonizing death…[pause]…Playing Seals and Crofts.”
    Along with bots, the “KHive” leaders employ multiple sock-puppet accounts. As Orfalea points out, this is a clear violation of Twitter policy. “KHive uses the very same tactics that Twitter banned Q-Anon accounts for using.”
    More than that, just two weeks ago Twitter used the “multiple fake accounts” claim to permanently ban James O’Keefe from the site, just as he debuted a new undercover exposé of CNN.
    But Harris’ goons get to flaunt the rules daily.
    Last week, a Rasmussen poll showed that half of American voters believe Kamala Harris is not qualified to be president. Odd that Americans would hold such a view about an empty-suit political chameleon with zero accomplishments beyond having breasts and skin.
    Still, assuming that Harris will be the one running in 2024, that gives her three years to transform those millions of Twitter bots from fake tweeters to fake voters.
    It’s the most feared conundrum of the professional anti-racist: What if the only way to stop one black genocide is to usher in another?
    Woke activists in the U.S. are currently grappling with this exact dilemma.
    Next week, the Biden administration is expected to enact a ban on menthol cigarettes, because menthols are genociding black Americans. An estimated 85% of black smokers use menthols, over three times the percentage of whites. Tobacco-related disease kills over 45,000 blacks a year, making it the No. 1 preventable cause of death for black Americans that doesn’t involve Gorilla Glue.
    Black health advocates argue that menthols are more addictive and more toxic than regular smokes (don’t even get them started on Courvoisier). If blacks won’t stop lighting up the infernal cigs, the advocates reason, the FDA must ban them—something the administration can do without congressional approval.
    An alternate proposal for dealing with the menthol problem was to stare black people in the face and tell them, “You don’t want to buy death sticks. You want to go home and rethink your life.” This approach, however, was rejected by the Congressional Black Caucus due to fears of what might happen to the black community’s reflexive and habitual support for Democrats if American blacks actually did go home and rethink their lives.
    So, it seems to be a done deal. Menthol’s will be banned, and Three the Hard Way-style chemicide will be averted.
    Wait…not so fast!
    Black charlatans (correction: “community leaders”) like Al Sharpton are opposing the ban. After all, if you criminalize menthols, you’ll be giving the evil racist cops yet another reason to mass-murder blacks. These activists point to the case of Eric Garner in NYC, who was choke-holded to death for selling “loosies” (loose cigarettes) on the street. If menthols are banned for sale within the U.S., the anti-prohibitionists claim, a black market will spring up in the eponymous communities, which will inevitably lead to clashes between cops and POCs.
    And to be fair, that ban on crack didn’t exactly eradicate its use in the black community. To paraphrase Emily Dickinson, “the swart wants what it wants.” Banning a longtime black leisure commodity will not make the cravings for it vanish.
    Several ban proponents told The Washington Post that “the idea that a menthol ban would ‘criminalize’ use of menthol cigarettes or lead to confrontations with the police is a red herring. They note that a ban would apply to manufacturers, wholesalers and retailers, not to consumers. The FDA does not have a police force or take action against individual users.”
    So on one hand, according to BLM, cops use any and all real or trumped-up reasons to hassle and murder blacks. But on the other hand, menthol criminalization would never, never be used to hassle or murder blacks because the FDA has no police force. So then who’ll go after the street-level “retailers”? Maybe…cops? The same cops who supposedly “use any and all real or trumped-up reasons to hassle and murder blacks.”
    It’s a good thing Joe Biden isn’t alive to have to sort out a matter this confusing.
    Meanwhile, as opioid deaths continue to skyrocket in the U.S., causing far more fatalities a year (primarily among whites) than tobacco-related deaths among blacks, Democrats in Congress do little to stem the flood of the drugs coming up from the southern border (that would be racist!) or attack the flood at its Chinese source (that would be ultra-mega-racist!).
    On the bright side, because the upcoming menthol ban will likely lead to at least a few cop vs. black loosie vendor clashes, black activists can take heart in the knowledge that the ban may give them many new reasons to provoke riots that cause city blocks to burn, filling the air with carcinogens that will cancel out the health effects of the ban.
    If blacks are gonna die from lung cancer, better they take entire neighborhoods with them.
    Two ships passing in the night…one sinking, one finally regaining its buoyancy. As the West emerges from pandemic lockdowns (despite the desire of frauds like Fauci to keep small children “masked up” and oxygen-deprived until we’ve raised an entire generation of Corkys from Life Goes On), it’s interesting to examine which nations appear to be emerging stronger, and which ones seem to have taken insurmountable damage.
    England, the great empire that sunset itself, seems to be exiting Covidville having rediscovered its manhood (or at least one of its two missing nads). A week ago, the Johnson government stood up to the United Nations when that “esteemed” body demanded that the U.K. admit that it’s an evil white-supremacist Nazi hellhole. Johnson told the U.N. “bollocks,” and that took guts (for a modern-day Englishman).
    And now, Johnson is ending a controversial policy that forced police to record and report “hate incidents that are not crimes.” Under that controversial policy, any Britisher who uttered possibly or seemingly racially hateful words in a manner that did not cross the line into criminal activity nevertheless had to be reported and publicly exposed as a “racist.” As defined by the mandate, a “racist incident is any incident which is perceived to be racist by the victim or any other person.”
    That’s exactly the kind of wide net Karl Wallenda really could’ve used. Basically, any Englishman could be reported to the police for anything a bystander overheard and perceived to be racist (to be fair, the policy did lead to a marked decrease in “two nogs and an Irishman are on a boat” jokes).
    But now that policy has been officially revoked. As explained in The Sunday Times, “Government sources confirmed that the home secretary has told the College of Policing to drop guidance to forces that those accused of non-criminal incidents should have them recorded on police files.” The misconceived policy was “ruining lives” because “if someone is reported for committing a hate incident but an investigation finds that no criminal offence occurred, the report will nonetheless remain on their police record.”
    A Whitehall source stated: “These so called non-crime hate incidents have a chilling effect on free speech and potentially stop people expressing views legally and legitimately. If people are found to have done nothing wrong the police shouldn’t punish them.”
    Seems like a commonsense position. Which is why the U.S. is doing the exact opposite. The very week that the U.K. dropped its “incident reporting” policy, the U.S. adopted one, under the guise of fighting “anti-Asian racism.” The “COVID-19 Hate Crimes Act” mandates the “online reporting of hate crimes or incidents” via a “National Incident-Based Reporting System.”
    Wanna tell that joke about the Chinaman who walks into the black guy’s bar? It might not be a crime (yet), but it will be an “incident,” and you will be reported.
    Funny enough, the bill in its initial form was geared only toward the reporting of incidents of anti-Asian bias. But Senate Republicans fought back. Why just Asians? Why not expand the bill to mandate the reporting of all “bias motivated” incidents? That was the literal GOP response: “They want to quash free speech just to placate Asians? Hah, we’ll show ’em. We’ll force them to expand that list to quash free speech to placate all identity groups. That’ll teach ’em!
    And that right there is why it doesn’t matter when Republican politicos refuse to wear masks; these schmucks are already oxygen-deprived Corkys from Life Goes On. Additional lack of oxygen couldn’t possibly make them any dumber.
    Only one GOP senator—Josh Hawley—opposed the “incident reporting” bill.
    Democrats could not be reached for comment regarding the newly passed law, because they were too busy laughing hysterically, having once again maneuvered the opposition into the briar patch. But just to add icing to the victory cake, immediately after the Senate approved the bill, Democrats in New York dropped all charges against a black man accused of beating an elderly Asian woman half to death.
    The black man had been “angry for several days” before the assault, so prosecutors decided to let it go. No hate crime there. Meanwhile, an APB went out for a white guy on the Upper West Side who was overheard telling the “Chinaman walks into a bar” joke.
    Anyone with information on this hate criminal is urged to contact the FBI at once.
    The trannies play, all night and day (clap clap clap clap)
    Deep in the heart of Texas
    You’re always near, a gender-***** (clap clap clap clap)
    Deep in the heart of Texas
    The Alamo, was woke you know (clap clap clap clap)
    Deep in the heart of Texas
    The defenders were, both him and her (clap clap clap clap)
    Deep in the heart of Texas
    Yee-haw! Texas lawmaker James Talarico (a Democrat, as if that needs to be said) made some rootin’-tootin’ waves last week when he announced during a Public Education Committee meeting that them varmints who think thar’s just two sexes are some low-down lyin’ sidewinders.
    The committee was debating a bill that would bar Andre the Giant in a dress from competing in K–12 women’s scholastic sports. And Talarico, a former public school teacher (as if that needs to be said) declared during the meeting that there are not two sexes, but six!
    “The bill seems to think there are two,” Talarico told the chamber. “The one thing I want us to all be aware of is that modern science obviously recognizes that there are many more than two biological sexes. In fact, there are six.”
    To be fair to Talarico, it must be difficult for him to deal with the fact that he left teaching right before Covid hit, thus depriving him of a year’s paid vacation followed by a ruthless campaign to torture small children by forcing them to suffocate under masks in stifling cubicles.
    It’s kinda like leaving a baseball team right before its championship season.
    Talarico explained that whereas transphobic scientists of old held that sexual makeup was limited to XX chromosomes for females and XY for males, woke scientists have discovered that “there are also single X, XXY, XYY and XXXY.”
    There’s also the XYZ chromosome, which creates exhibitionists who walk around parading their junk in public.
    Rebutting Talarico at the hearing was Beth Stelzer, who had the temerity to act as though she understands what being a woman means just because she is one. Stelzer, president of Save Women’s Sports, testified that “there are in fact two sexes. They are dimorphic: XX, XY. The other ‘sexes’ mentioned are disorders of sexual development that are variants of XX or XY chromosomes. They are still disorders of male or female.”
    Wot transphobia! Git a rope and string ’er up!
    Except…it turns out that the Scientific American article that Talarico relied on for his info kinda says the same thing. While trying to remain woke enough to not get tarred and feathered, the article’s author, Nature magazine’s Claire Ainsworth, grudgingly admits that those tres equis mutants are indeed the result of “disorders of sex development (DSDs).”
    Ainsworth describes a case study of one of these mutants: “Her body was built of cells from two individuals, probably from twin embryos that had merged in her own mother’s womb. One set of cells carried two X chromosomes, the complement that typically makes a person female; the other had an X and a Y.”
    So no, that’s not “another sex.” It’s just some unfortunate baby run through a genetic Cuisinart.
    It’s not hard to imagine Joseph Merrick becoming frustrated with Victorian gawkers. “No, I’m not a friggin’ elephant. They call me the Elephant Man because I have a disorder that gives me trunklike limbs and elephantine skin. That doesn’t make me an actual elephant, you morons. Will you stop trying to feed me peanuts?
    But science marches on, and today, when twin embryos merge to create a freakish manwomanthing, it’s not a disorder but an entirely new species. And, armed with the knowledge of that rare genetic deformity, leftist politicians can continue to push for policies that allow mentally ill dudes in lipstick to wipe the floor with actual women in sporting competitions.
    Everything’s bigger in Texas! And, as James Talarico has demonstrated, that includes the pseudoscience.
    Never attempt to teach a pig to sing; it wastes your time and annoys the pig.

    Robert Heinlein

    Give a man an inch and right away he thinks he's a ruler

    Groucho Marx

    I love mankind…it’s people I can’t stand.

    Linus, from the Peanuts comic

    You cannot have liberty without morality and morality without faith

    Alexis de Torqueville

    Those who fail to learn from the past are condemned to repeat it.
    Those who learn from the past are condemned to watch everybody else repeat it

    A Zero Hedge comment

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  3. #152

    The Week’s Most Buoyant, Clairvoyant, and Foudroyant Headlines
    Believe it or not, last week’s tragic and deadly stampede at an Orthodox Jewish religious festival in Israel (which, it should be noted, did not start because someone heard a coin drop, so let’s end that anti-Semitic slander right now), was not the week’s worst example of Jews blindly and suicidally charging toward their own destruction.
    No, that honor goes to the Einsteins, Salks, and Seinfelds who run Tucson’s Jewish History Museum/Holocaust History Center. Those putzes ran headfirst into an execution trench of their own digging.
    Gugulethu Moyo, or “Gugu” as she likes to be called, is a walking nightmare. If Cuba Gooding went to a costume ball dressed as a transvestite dressed as Angela Davis, he’d look better and less like a caricature than Gugu.
    Gugu was born in Zimbabwe, where she soon proved to be among the nation’s higher-functioning elites, earning a law degree and working on a variety of “human rights” causes in Africa and the U.K. Coming to the U.S., that “higher-functioning” thing led Gugu to a revelation: Jews have outsize influence here, and they love finding new ways to virtue-signal how not-racist they are.

    So Gugu decided to become a JewJew. She took an online conversion course, acing some very difficult questions:
    When a Jew hears the word “Holocaust,” the proper catchphrase with which to respond is:
    (a) “Fuhgeddaboudit!”
    (b) “Yada yada yada”
    (c) “Well excuuuuuuse me!”
    (d) “Nanu nanu”
    (e) “NEVAH AGAIN!”
    Gugu made her way to Tucson, where she started working for the Jewish History Museum/Holocaust History Center. Oy, the kvelling! “We have a female African Jewish schvartze working here! We’re the Holocaustiest Holocaust museum in the woild!”

    In November, the esteemed schmucks, nebbishes, and yentas on the museum’s board unanimously decided to elevate Gugu to the position of executive director, making her, in the words of the Arizona Jewish Post, “the first Jew of Color to lead an American Jewish museum.”
    There was no way this could go south (if by “no way” one means “about 10,000 ways”).
    Last week, as reported by the JTA, Gugu Doll was dismissed from the museum, cast out of the institute into the desert like black Moses, crossing not the Red Sea but the museum’s Koi Pond of Remembrance, pursued not by Pharaoh but a whole mess of angry Yids. Apparently, Gugu had tried to use the museum to push BLM propaganda and George Soros “no bail” “criminal justice reform” programs, which angered several of the museum’s well-heeled Arizonan donors.

    “They didn’t like having to focus on racial justice,” Gugu told the JTA.
    Although the board initially backed Gugu against the donors, soon enough she started accusing the board of being “too white and male,” and when she decided that she didn’t want to work as many hours as they felt an executive director should, she accused the board of engaging in “slavery.” In no time, she was denouncing the board members as “racists” and “oppressors.”
    Who could’ve seen that coming? Only every sonofabitch in the entire friggin’ world.
    With Gugu gonegone, peace has returned to the museum. New executive director Michelle Blumenberg has vowed to keep the institution’s focus where it belongs: kicking the corpses of dead Germans while telling present-day ones to keep in line and keep quiet.
    For her part, Gugu has accepted a position with the Council of American Jewish Museums, where she’s already hard at work planning her tumultuous exit from that den of slavery and colonialism.

    The 2003 California gubernatorial recall was launched chiefly due to discontent regarding the state’s electricity crisis of the early 2000s. Technically, then-governor Gray Davis wasn’t actually responsible for the outages, but the dull-as-water-on-white-bread Davis, whose advisers were known to carry small mirrors to hold in front of the guy’s mouth to make sure the expressionless dimwit was still breathing, nevertheless faced the fury of voters whose visits to porn sites were being interrupted by blackouts right before the money shot.
    When the recall election heated up, Davis began pandering, pledging to give driver’s licenses to illegal aliens. Which in turn gave his No. 1 challenger exactly the issue he needed, as the blackouts were long past and out of memory for all but the most traumatized Pornhub addicts.
    Arnold Schwarzenegger rode the “no licenses for illegals” issue to victory. Unfortunately, the movie strongman soon discovered that no amount of unintelligible guttural grunting could overcome the state’s Democrat legislative supermajority, so the big guy just gave up, forming his own in-house DMV where Guatemalan housekeepers could take his personalized oral test.

    With a new California recall on the horizon, the candidates lining up to take on 1980s Bret Easton Ellis villain Gavin Newsom are fishing hard to find the best issue on which to run. Currently, Newsom’s hypocrisy regarding the Covid lockdowns is a weakness…but, as with the rolling blackouts in 2003, will that issue still resonate by November? Plus, for the state’s largest population center—L.A. County—it’s almost quaint to think that in 2003 the occasional power outage was the citizenry’s biggest gripe, considering that barely a year ago a group of thugs and terrorists burned down large swaths of the county’s retail districts.
    But it’s unlikely that any challenger will make “law and order” or anti-BLM a central campaign theme. Blacks may comprise less than 5% of the state, but most politicians probably assume it’s way higher, considering the endless pandering by Hollywood and both political parties to this tiny irrelevant demo. It’s a perception problem similar to how over half of Americans believe that LGBTs make up a quarter of the population, whereas in reality all LGBTs put together equal roughly 4.5%, and trannies specifically comprise one half of one percent.
    Did somebody say trannies?
    Caitlyn Jenner is emerging as an early favorite to be Newsom’s No. 1 contender. Former Trump cabinet member Ric Grenell is another possible challenger, as is failed 2018 GOP gubernatorial candidate John Cox (polls show the openly gay Grenell handily beating Cox. In fact, not just whipping Cox but devouring Cox).

    With Grenell keeping a firm hold on Cox—a grip he’s unlikely to relinquish—it falls to Jenner, who left her concerns about Cox behind on an operating table years ago, to break out of the pack and become the ordained anti-Newsom uniter.
    Surprisingly, Jenner has elected to make her first platform statement one that’s guaranteed to kill any of the tranny goodwill she might’ve received from the alphabet soupers: She’s come down squarely against biological boys competing in women’s scholastic sports. This is sheer blasphemy. There’s nothing of greater importance to trannies than pummeling actual women in sporting events. One suspects that certain men don wigs and dresses for that purpose alone. And it has to be young women. It’s gotta be scholastic sports, when girls are especially emotionally vulnerable.

    Remember—a brilliant scientist who wears an anime shirt must be canceled because his shirt “might” (via some unspoken principle) intimidate young girls from entering STEM. But when John Goodman in drag overwhelms actual 15-year-old girls in high school sports, that isn’t even remotely intimidating. In fact, it just helps those female athletes raise their game (or learn to accept crushing defeat with grace).
    Jenner’s position on tranny sports has earned scorn from the transtolerant left. Because Jenner’s a traitor! A turncoat! A real Be-no-dicked Arnold. Joy Behar even misgendered Jenner on The View! That’s normally a capital crime, but not in this case.
    As for Jenner, she might be banking on the fact that she’s running in a state that between 2000 and 2008 twice voted to ban gay marriage. Perhaps she senses that an electorate against that is most likely also against Dwayne Johnson in lipstick stomping on teen girls.
    Whether or not that will be a successful strategy remains to be seen. For many Californians, the only recall victory that matters has already been won: It pushed Newsom to finally end all Covid lockdowns. So, considering what a pathetic wreck Schwarzenegger became once in office, that might be the only good thing to ever come from a California recall.
    Branding is a bitch. When a product with longtime customer familiarity decides to embark on a name-change, the results can be a mixed bag.
    Sometimes, the rebranding occurs seamlessly, as when Kentucky Fried Chicken chose to officially become KFC. Consumers had been using that term for years anyway, all part of the “let’s make artery-clogging fast food hip and fun” thing that took off in the 1980s with “Mickey D’s.” On the other hand, when another purveyor of unhealthy fare—British Petroleum—tried to rebrand as Beyond Petroleum, the global ridicule was such that the conglomerate had to settle for “BP.”
    Initials are an easier transition than outright name-changes. Like when tried to become That idea didn’t last very long, although the marketing company that concocted it made enough money from the ten minutes it took to think of that name to keep everyone in upper management knee-deep in blow for a month. Then there was ValuJet, which, eager to rebrand following a mass-fatality crash, became AirTran. Well, that didn’t work out, as flyers avoided the airline out of fear that the flight attendants would be men in dresses patrolling the aisles screaming, “CALL ME MA’AM!”
    And of course 2020 saw a steady stream of social justice rebrandings. Aunt Jemima and Eskimo Pies changed their names entirely, with the former choosing the amazingly catchy Pearl Milling Company as the new moniker, and the latter choosing Igloo-Dwelling Seal-Spearing D-Bags in Parkas Pies, although that’s likely to be altered in committee.
    Taking a more pragmatic approach, the Washington Redskins rebranded last year as simply the “Washington Football Team” (that name was born when a bunch of D.C. locals in a focus group were offered EBT cards if they named the Washington football team, and after twenty hours of intense thought they realized the name had been right in front of them the whole time).
    And now D.C. itself is looking to rebrand. With the Democrats going all-in on D.C. statehood, everyone agrees that the new state will need a new stately name. In the first D.C. statehood resolution unsuccessfully put before Congress in 1992, the suggested name for the 51st state was “New Columbia.” Sadly, that caused tremendous frustration among locals as they struggled to find Old Columbia on U.S. maps.

    In 2016, the name of the hypothetical D.C. state was changed to Douglass Commonwealth, in honor of Jimmy Douglass, the recording engineer behind Hall & Oates. After another twenty-hour focus-group session, it was decided that 19th-century abolitionist and orator Frederick Douglass would be a better Douglass to use as a namesake.
    So that’s where it stands now. Should D.C. become a state, it will be known as Douglass Commonwealth.
    But there’s a “problematic” in the mix. Because in woke America there’s always a “problematic” somewhere in the mix. After Douglass’ first wife, who was black, passed away, the great orator fled to the arms of a white woman twenty years his junior, and the two married, much to the chagrin of Douglass’ adult children from his first marriage, who considered the new, white wife a betrayal of their mother and their race. Indeed, Douglass’ daughter-in-law even sued him (black newspapers at the time were equally harsh in their judgment of Douglass’ ebony/ivory shtick).
    It gets worse. Douglass never even taught his first wife to read. Her job was to raise the kids barefoot and illiterate while he traveled the nation doing a Morgan Freeman impression (“Look, trust me, in 140 years this impression will kill!”). And as soon as she croaked, he hopped in bed with a young educated white suffragette.
    Of course, these complexities of the Douglass legacy need not become a problem. Unless, that is, black women in 2021 America have a tendency to be vocally and perhaps slightly irrationally opposed to anything that might even remotely be construed as disrespect.
    So, yes, these complexities of the Douglass legacy will become a problem. It might be a good strategic move for the D.C. statehood people to have a few backup names at the ready.
    If it matters, the Hall & Oates guy—who, it should be noted, is black—could really use the publicity.
    And what better anthem for the nation’s capital—the home of the Democrat and Republican machines, the stomping ground of calcified legacy media reporters and chronically inaccurate pollsters, the assisted-living facility of Joe Biden—than “Out of Touch”?
    It’s hard to decide which is a more frightening scenario: that the CIA is an all-knowing, all-seeing conspiratorial hidden hand directing human destiny via the puppet mastery of a staff of high-skilled, high-IQ, cold, unemotional superspies who can influence the course of world events and bend wills to theirs as easily as one might flick a light switch…or that the CIA is made up of incompetent mouthbreathers who coast purely on their agency’s false reputation and the meritocracy-free job security of deep-state employment.
    Conspiracy theorists desperately want to believe the former; indeed, their entire worldview depends on it. But the evidence is not always on their side. After all, this is the “intelligence agency” that botched the Bay of Pigs invasion, failed to foresee or plan for the Cuban Missile Crisis, ignored evidence of the Soviet ICBM buildup of 1965, dismissed reports of a VC offensive during Tet, missed every sign leading up to the Yom Kippur War, declared in August 1978 that “Iran is not in a revolutionary or even a pre-revolutionary situation,” assured President Carter that the Soviets would never invade Afghanistan lest they get bogged down in an unwinnable war, was taken by surprise by the breakup of the Soviet Union, was blindsided by the 1998 Indian nuclear test, and—most famously—was caught sleeping by 9/11.
    This is the same “fearsome” agency that tried to kill Fidel Castro with exploding cigars, a contaminated diving suit, an exploding seashell, and a poison pen…failing miserably each time.
    CIA? More like I Am Sam.

    Rather than defend its competence, as often as not the CIA tries to explain its failures by stressing its lack of integrity and independence. When called out for its wildly inaccurate report on Saddam Hussein’s “WMDs,” the best explanation the CIA could muster was “Durr, we just writed whut Bush done tolded us to.”
    Considering that history, both in terms of gross incompetence and susceptibility to prevailing political winds, it’s surprising that conservatives have reacted with such shock and outrage at the CIA’s latest “diversity” recruitment campaign, in which various “identity group” agents are trotted out to show off the agency’s wokeness. One PSA features a blind agent (holding high-pressure water hose: “Am I near the board? Am I aiming at his mouth? How close am I?”). Another features an agent who describes herself as an “intersectional woman of color Latina cisgender millennial who has been diagnosed with generalized anxiety disorder.”
    A CIA agent with anxiety disorder…
    “Agent X self-terminated. She bit down on her cyanide capsule.”
    “Was she captured by the enemy?”
    “No. She was getting her morning paper and a neighbor said ‘Hi.’”
    The most common response to this new “diversity” campaign from rightist commentators and pundits has been to point out that publicizing our most delicate, unstable, handicapped, affirmative-action spies is not the best way to strike fear into the hearts of the Chinese and Russians. But that criticism is only valid if one assumes that those nations had any fear of the CIA prior to this new woke campaign. Both nations—the Chinese especially—have been spying with impunity on Americans on American soil for decades. Neither foe acts as if it’s terribly fearful of our intelligence machinery.

    When estimation is already at rock bottom, it can’t go any lower. It’s unlikely that anyone in Beijing greeted this new CIA campaign with anything other than a “what else is new?” look of bemusement (to whatever extent those inscrutable automatons are capable of facial expression).
    And to be fair on two points: First, the CIA woke recruitment campaign began under Trump, who probably thought it would be a great way for him to win 100% of the mentally ill woman of color Latina single mom millennial vote (“Mexico doesn’t send its best, so we put ’em on Buspirone and make ’em spies”). And second, damn near forty years ago, in September 1983, it was Ronald Reagan’s Interior Secretary James Watt who bragged about the diversity of his coal-leasing review committee by announcing at a Chamber of Commerce breakfast, “We have every kind of mix you can have. I have a black, I have a woman, two Jews, and a cripple. And we have talent.”
    No, the Chinese have lost neither respect for us nor fear of us due to the CIA’s latest misadventure. Because the Chinese have been paying attention for a long time.
    America is only beginning to come to terms with the destructive effects on a generation of children deprived of a year of schooling due to Covid. Learning lost, socialization lost; millions of kids literally an entire grade behind. Yet arguably the most tragic victims of the school lockdowns are the racist graffiti hoaxers. How can a black or Latinx student scrawl swastikas or “KKK” or “WHITE POWER” or “GO BACK TO MEXICO! MAGA!” on bathroom walls and stalls and mirrors when classes are remote?
    Sure, young BLM terrorists-in-training have been practicing at home, but it’s just not the same when you have no whites to pin it on. Plus, moms don’t like havin’ to clean up that mess (the Windex 1-800-number 24-hour cleaning helpline has noted a 110% increase in questions like “How do I get ‘******* must die!’ written in Sharpie off my bathroom mirror?”).
    But if BLM younglings are good at anything, it’s innovating new ways to sow racial hatred (and that’s about it).
    Last month, black students at White Bear Lake High School in Minnesota were targeted with racist graffiti remotely, via social media messages. Funny enough, though, the messages weren’t anonymous. They appeared to have been sent by a young, white, conservative student named Avery Severson. Who for some reason put her name on the threats she sent.
    “Leave my school ******! You must leave White Bear” read one message. Others were in a similar vein: “That’s why George Floyd died and can’t wait for everyone of your color to leave like this.”
    “You should be hanged. You are a filthy African girl. Nobody wants you here. Go to a black school, This is WHITE bear lake.”
    One of the recipients of the hateful messages was a student named Precious Boahen (can you guess her race?), who responded by leading a schoolwide walkout of “students of color.”
    “Someone really took the time to threaten me and my beautiful friends with death just because we’re a little bit darker than the rest of you,” Precious told the local news.
    The simple wisdom of a child. Don’t hate someone just because they’re “a little bit darker than you.” A quote for the ages, a statement of such power Frederick Douglass himself looked down from the heavens and said, “Now, that young sista I’d marry.”
    And then it turned out that the entire racist messages thing was a hoax. They were sent by a student of color in order to, in the words of the FBI officials who briefly stopped pursuing Jan. 6 protesters to rush to St. Paul to investigate the matter, “raise awareness of social and racial injustice.” Oh, and to frame a white conservative student.
    Because the true culprit is a minor, neither the FBI nor the school would release his or her name. But one wonders if it rhymes with Brecious Poahen.

    Barack Obama is said to have operated under the guiding principle of, “Never let a good crisis go to waste.” But today’s young blacks have taken that one step further: “Never let a fake crisis go to waste.” Even though the emails were a hoax, black students at White Bear nevertheless demanded increased “diversity” brainwashing and “equity” propaganda in the classrooms and among the faculty. The students also slammed the district superintendent, Wayne Kazmierczak, for using the word “hoax” when describing the incident’s resolution.

    “Really, wake up Mr. Superintendent and the entire administrative staff, all staff. Racism is Not, I repeat; IS NOT A HOAX. This district has problems and it is now TIME to do something about it! Learn for yourselves first and teach, accept, acknowledge and be accountable,” read one comment on a local TV news station’s Facebook page.
    In response, Kazmierczak apologized and released a statement in which he agreed that the entire event is a “teachable moment” to “raise awareness” of racism against black students.
    In other words, the hoaxer got his/her way. Mission accomplished.
    And Avery Severson got no apology from the school.

    Such fine stewards of America’s educational institutions. With lessons like “Racist hoaxes show us the real racism that exists except it doesn’t which is why it had to be faked but the fakery was necessary in order to expose the real racism that doesn’t exist,” perhaps America’s kids were helped more than we realize by a year’s absence from these tard farms.
    Never attempt to teach a pig to sing; it wastes your time and annoys the pig.

    Robert Heinlein

    Give a man an inch and right away he thinks he's a ruler

    Groucho Marx

    I love mankind…it’s people I can’t stand.

    Linus, from the Peanuts comic

    You cannot have liberty without morality and morality without faith

    Alexis de Torqueville

    Those who fail to learn from the past are condemned to repeat it.
    Those who learn from the past are condemned to watch everybody else repeat it

    A Zero Hedge comment

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  5. #153
    Pfizer Macht Frei!

    Openly Straight Man, Danke, Awarded Top Rated Influencer. Community Standards Enforcer.

    Quiz: Test Your "Income" Tax IQ!

    Short Income Tax Video

    The Income Tax Is An Excise, And Excise Taxes Are Privilege Taxes

    The Federalist Papers, No. 15:

    Except as to the rule of appointment, the United States have an indefinite discretion to make requisitions for men and money; but they have no authority to raise either by regulations extending to the individual citizens of America.

  6. #154

    The Week’s Most Idyllic, Sibyllic, and Nyctophilic Headlines
    It’s getting harder and harder to keep up with all the black-themed “holidays” each year. Already we’ve had MLK Day (Jan. 18), Black History Month (February), Rosa Parks Day (Feb. 4), Black Love Day (Feb. 13), Frederick Douglass Day (Feb. 14), Harriet Tubman Day (March 10), Emancipation Day (April 16), Duke Ellington Day (April 29), Malt Liquor Day (May 5), The Guy Who Does the Jittery Shaky Dance in the “Beat It” Video Day (May 14), and Violent Rage Over Something Trivial Day (ongoing).
    And the year’s not even half over!
    Next month, the nation will observe “Juneteenth,” a formerly little-known unofficial holiday made widely known and very official last year following weeks of BLM violence during what could be referred to as Black Fistory Month. For those who may not know, Juneteenth is a day of observance that marks the moment on June 19, 1865, when news of the Emancipation Proclamation, which had been signed three years earlier, finally reached the slaves of Texas. For some odd reason, white Texans had not yet informed their slaves that they were free (what could possibly have been the motivation for that?). Upon hearing the news, black Texans declared a day of celebration: Juneteenth, a portmanteau of June and nineteenth. It soon became a day marked by blacks in all states.
    Whites in Texas declared their own day of mourning, called Junedamfoudout, a portmanteau of June and “Damn, they found out.”

    Now that Juneteenth is an actual official holiday, whites are struggling to find the best way to join in the celebration. Traditionally, the proper manner of expressing “Happy Juneteenth” to a black person is to give him three-year-old news that he didn’t already know.
    White Guy: “You ever heard of Lowrell Simon?”
    Black Guy: “Nope.”
    White Guy: “He was a soul singer. Founded the Vondells.”
    Black Guy: “Oh, cool.”
    White Guy: “Well he died on June 19, 2018.”

    Black Guy: “Damn, I didn’t know that.”
    White Guy: “Happy Juneteenth, jackass.”
    If that’s the right way to celebrate Juneteenth, what Old Navy tried to do last week was most assuredly the wrong way. The geniuses who run the clothing giant decided that the best strategy for making some coin off this whole “woke” thing would be to sell a line of Juneteenth T-shirts in their stores and online all throughout May and June. It was either that or commemorative George Floyd shirts (100% cotton for breathability; comes with a complimentary choker).
    The same rocket scientists who thought BLM would react positively to a non-black-owned mega-corp selling Juneteenth merch also decided that the best way to hawk these exciting woke items would be through the dynamic youthful world of social media “influencers.” So, acting through a talent agency that represents these Instagram wastes of plasma, Old Navy reached out to “black Instagram” to persuade its biggest stars to promote the Juneteenth shirts.
    Now, Old Navy CEO Sonia Syngal is an India-born Canadian, so it’s understood that she might not know much about black Americans. She’s also in her 50s, which makes it understandable that she might not know much about influencer culture, either. But it’s astounding that no one down the line picked up on one very key similarity between blacks and influencers: They like free stuff. Old Navy told those black influencers that they’d have to buy their own Juneteenth shirts…in order to shill them so that Old Navy could make the profit.

    Most influencers actually charge a fee to do that kind of thing, but even if they don’t, free merch is the rule not the exception.
    Well, black Instagram certainly “influenced,” just not in the way Old Navy wanted. The reaction to Old Navy’s “buy yo’ own shirts” policy was so overwhelmingly negative, last week the company scrapped the entire plan. And for Syngal, who’s overseen a dramatic decline in Old Navy sales due to a number of poor business decisions, the Juneteenth debacle was yet another bud-bud-bad move.
    So this Juneteenth, celebrants are going to have to find something else to wear…although most will likely just don whatever they can grab from the store they’re looting.
    “Negro poet” and drunken wife-beater Paul Lawrence Dunbar’s 1895 poem “We Wear the Mask” is considered a classic of the genre:
    We wear the mask that grins and lies,
    It hides our cheeks and shades our eyes,
    This debt we pay to human guile;
    With torn and bleeding hearts we smile.
    And when we burglarize your place,
    The mask we wear upon our face,
    Looks a lot like Harry Potter…
    Man, why you pullin’ me over? I wasn’t even doin’ nuthin’.
    Rockim Prowell is a 33-year-old black man from Inglewood with a simple dream: rob the living hell out of them rich whiteys in Beverly Hills. Rockim Prowell is also a guy who’s apparently seen the Mission: Impossible films a few times too many. He hatched a brilliant plan for his burglary spree: He’d disguise himself as a white boy! He bought one of those lifelike human masks, complete with wavy, messy brown Harry Potter hair and glasses. And off he went, to cast a vanishing spell on the possessions of the mugglesteins of Beverly Hills.
    And here’s where BLM and other so-called black “representatives” failed one of their community’s finest. By constantly repeating the falsehood that black men are being targeted by cops, that a black man can’t even walk down a street without getting arrested for doin’ nuthin’, these “black leaders” convinced Prowell that if he just committed his burglaries as a whitey, he’d be left alone.
    In fact, just the opposite is true. Prowell should’ve been reading VDARE, not Salon. Because then he would’ve learned that in fact it’s only white wanted criminals who get their pictures and full descriptions included in media crime reports. Yep, Rockim Sockim Robot screwed up royally. Every newspaper and local TV station broadcast and tweeted security camera pics and descriptions of the “Harry Potter bandit,” including info about the car he drove.
    Had the burglar been understood to be black, it’s likely the media would’ve ignored the story. But by being white—by giving the L.A. press the chance to highlight a non-black criminal—Prowell brought so much heat down on himself, it was only a matter of time before someone spotted his vehicle.
    Poor bastard…you can wear Harry Potter’s face, but that doesn’t mean you’ll absorb his wisdom.
    And indeed, last week the Beverly Hills PD pulled Prowell over. And any initial confusion the officers had regarding the race of the driver vs. the race of the suspect was soon cleared up when they found the white-boy mask and burglary booty in the guy’s backseat.

    Also, the car itself was stolen.

    Prowell was booked on multiple counts of burglary, grand theft, and vandalism. And the ignominies didn’t end there; Beverly Hills cops forced him to put the mask back on so that a shaggy stoner, a bespectacled fat girl, a pretty skinny girl, and a tall blond guy and their Great Dane could pull it off. He was then forced to say, “And I’d have gotten away with it too if it weren’t for you meddling kids.”
    A spokesman for the BHPD said, “We couldn’t help ourselves; when’s an opportunity like that ever gonna come around again?”
    L.A. County’s Soros-backed DA George Gascon is currently deciding whether Prowell will be prosecuted as a white man, in which case the DA’s office would seek the maximum penalty, or a black man, in which case he’d be freed with an apology and a gift basket.
    And California governor Gavin Newsom has declared Prowell one of the “heroes of Covid” for his dedication to wearing a mask, even when alone.
    “I just wish it hadn’t been a Harry Potter mask,” Newsom told The Sacramento Bee. “That J.K. Rowling is so transphobic.”
    Patrick Soon-Shiong is a man on a mission. The billionaire businessman, surgeon, and bioscientist wants to prove to the world that even the highest-IQ Chinaman can be dumb as a hammer and not nearly as useful.
    Soon-Shiong owns the Los Angeles Times, which he purchased for $500,000,000 in cash in 2018. Analysts have suggested that Soon-Shiong was overcharged for the property by roughly $499,999,995.75.
    The L.A. Times makes the post-iceberg Titanic look buoyant. In two decades the rag has gone from subscription numbers in the multiple millions to numbers in the multiple hundred thousands. There’s been a bankruptcy, mass staff layoffs, and a revolving door of incompetent editors. Even digitally, the Times manages to be the village idiot in a village of idiots. The New York Times boasts 6.9 million online subscribers. The Wall Street Journal, 2.2 million. The Washington Post, 1.7 million. The L.A. Times? 240,000 (and that’s due to a “pandemic lockdown bump.” Prior to Covid, it was only 170,000).
    Soon-Shiong’s money would have been better spent being committed to fire in a Buddhist temple as an offering to his ancestors.
    Last August, Times staffers told The Wrap that the paper was engaging in deceptive practices in order to attract new subscribers. Now, why would a newspaper have to trick people into reading it? And why would the only major paper in a city the size of L.A. not have readers?
    Baffling! Or…not. Over 50% of Times readers are over 50 years of age (almost 35% are over 60). And although the Times doesn’t release reader breakdowns by race, the stats likely mirror those of The New York Times—71% white. So, you have a paper with an older, white base of likely readers, and an editorial bent that can be summed up as “Screw you, whitey.”
    A small sampling of recent headlines:
    “The burden of ending racism sits squarely on white people” (5/29/20)
    “I sat and watched ‘Black Panther’ and thought about what smug hypocrites white people can be” (6/1/20)
    “White women still can’t stop calling police on black people” (6/3/20)
    “White people are, at long last, seeing the light: they’re racist!” (6/11/20)
    “In the midst of a racial reckoning, what does whiteness mean” (6/15/20)
    “Aunt Jemima and Uncle Ben aren’t just racist symbols, they flatten culture for white consumption” (6/17/20)
    “How white people used police to make L.A. one of the most segregated cities in America” (8/11/20)
    “White people will contort themselves to justify the police killing of Black people” (9/2/20)
    “How white people gentrified Black Lives Matter” (9/8/20)
    “White scholars try to pass as Black” (10/8/20)
    “The Capitol marauders proved how dangerous white anger, and white privilege, is to democracy” (1/19/21)
    “The white privilege that’s undermining vaccine equity” (2/3/21)
    “This year, Black History Month has been overtaken by white history made on Jan. 6” (2/19/21)
    “If you’re a white person, you’re not going to face racism” (4/16/21)
    And that’s just from the past year.
    And there’s poor Patrick Soon-Shiong, sitting at home, out a half-billion bucks, drowning his sorrows in baijiu and screaming, “I no understand! Why you no reedy my paper?”
    But Soon-Shiong isn’t some ordinary dummy. No, he’s an extraordinary one. He hatched a brilliant plan to dig himself out of the Nanking mass grave in which he now sits. Does that plan involve shifting the paper’s obsessive editorial focus so that readers aren’t told on a daily basis, “You’re evil racist devils and the city would be better off without you”?
    Nope! He’s asking Joe Biden to bail him out. Having already received a $10 million pandemic assistance loan, Soon-Shiong wants more government green. “I’m not asking the government to do anything drastic, but they have to step in and find a way to support the viability of this whole industry,” he told Bloomberg last week.
    Fitting how a person brought up using a byzantine and impenetrable “alphabet” finds it so hard to recognize the simple, linear solution to a problem. The Times is not “viable” because readers don’t want to read day after day about how vile they are. Tucker Carlson could break wind live on air and it would be seen by more people than read the L.A. Times in an entire week.
    It would be more informative than the Times, too.
    The White House has not yet responded to Soon-Shiong’s request for a bailout. Sources say that President Biden used to read the Times for Marmaduke, but he stopped when the strip became too complicated for him to understand.
    It was like one of those movies with interlocking story lines, where the audience follows parallel plots with no idea how they’ll converge at the end. Like Paul Thomas Anderson’s noble failure Magnolia or Paul Haggis’ lamentable success Crash.
    Story line No. 1: Times Square, New York, May 8 A black street thug named Farrakhan Muhammad is selling CDs on the street. And of course he’s a thug. His name is Farrakhan Muhammad; his destiny was cast the moment his momma named him. You name a baby “Farrakhan Muhammad,” it doesn’t get a social security number; it gets a parole officer.
    For some reason, while busking his CDs, Farrakhan decided to start spraying the area with gunfire. The reason is unclear. Some news reports suggest he was in a dispute with another vendor who may have been his brother. Perhaps the dispute was over something weighty, a matter worthy of Cain and Abel. On the other hand, maybe it was over borrowed sneakers or an errant text from a stripper named Tyqwando.
    In the end, does it matter? Of course not, as Farrakhan’s aim was as poor as his life choices. He missed his target but hit two female tourists and a 4-year-old girl. Thankfully, none of the injuries were fatal, as Farrakhan proved to be a failure even as an accidental murderer.
    Now on the lam, Farrakhan Muhammad took off in his car, yelling out the window, “I still say The Bell Curve makes a flawed and inaccurate case for racial IQ differences.”
    Story line No. 2: Somewhere in Russia, May 7 In bold defiance of their inborn predilections, members of a Russian criminal hacker gang overcome their inherently combative and uncooperative nature and stay sober and collegial enough to successfully cripple a major U.S. oil pipeline, effectively cutting off gasoline supplies to the entire Southeast. At the same time, the tech nerd who told Colonial Pipeline Co., “Let’s switch this business from relying on burly men turning giant valves to sickly dweebs pushing buttons on a Mac,” realizes that his vision of one day getting laid has moved forever beyond his reach as gas stations throughout the Gulf States run dry and people start to wonder why an oil pipeline can now freeze like Windows 10.
    Story line No. 1: May 11 Farrakhan Muhammad races south in his gas-guzzling SUV. He’s made it all the way from New York to Florida, but his dedication to rap music has kept his radio tuned to 95.9 BUTT-FM, a station that plays nothing but songs about large rear ends. His love of hardcore rhymes about generous posteriors has prevented him from sampling the news channels. He is unaware of the gasoline shortage.
    Story line No. 2: May 12 The Russian hackers get drunk and murder each other for no other reason than that they’re Russian. And Russians never need a reason to be violently contentious.
    Story line No. 1: May 12 Farrakhan Muhammad runs out of gas in Starke, Fla.—population three meth-heads, a gator with cataracts, and two senile elderly Jews who aren’t sure if they survived the Holocaust or sat through a really bad Eddie Cantor concert in 1943. Baffled by the lack of open gas stations, Muhammad pulls his sputtering vehicle into a McDonald’s parking lot and buys some food.
    Recognized by a patron (one of the cataract gators), the police are called. Farrakhan Muhammad is taken into custody. He gives an interview to a local TV station, in which he claims that he’s the victim of a racist white man with a Confederate flag who frightened him and for some reason that’s why he was framed for the Times Square shooting. That’s literally the best excuse he can come up with.
    He then has a great revelation that The Bell Curve was right after all. He sits in his holding cell, staring blankly at a wall, his worldview shattered.
    Epilogue: New York mayor and anthropomorphic stoma bag Bill de Blasio, stung by the international attention the Times Square shooting brought to his city’s violent crime surge, reverses himself on his “defund the police” fanaticism and pledges to increase the NYPD budget by $105 million.
    Russian hackers, a black CD busker, shuttered Florida gas stations, and a fraudulent mayor named Wilhelm…and at the end of the day, the characters converge to create a happy ending. No innocents killed, a thug in jail, and the people of NYC slightly safer.
    Grading on a curve by the standards of these troublesome days, that’s about the best outcome anyone could expect.
    It was a time of fear…it was a time of panic. It was the Day of the Driver’s License!

    Michelle Obama has a tale of horror to tell. A real sp-sp-spooky campfire story. So gather round the burning Rite Aid, and prepare to get the shivers!
    “Former first lady Michelle Obama has revealed she is terrified that even her two daughters will be racially profiled when they’re in the car alone,” reported the New York Post.
    Every time they get in a car by themselves, I worry about what assumption is being made by somebody who doesn’t know everything about them. The fact that they are good students and polite girls, but maybe they’re playing their music a little loud, maybe somebody sees the back of their head and makes an assumption. I, like so many parents of black kids…the innocent act of getting a license puts fear in our hearts. Many of us [blacks] still live in fear as we go to the grocery store, walking our dogs. I think we have to talk about it more. And we have to ask our fellow citizens to listen a bit more, and to believe us, and to know we don’t wanna be out there marching.
    That would make sense if Michelle’s black activist buddies actually were “marching.” But instead they’re assaulting and looting, which probably is something they “wanna be” doing.
    Michelle’s scare-tastical tale of terror, obviously intended to portray young blacks as shrinking violets quaking in fear of cars because someone might see “the back of their head” and “make assumptions,” doesn’t exactly jibe with real-life events. Indeed, reality dictates that the risk to young black wannabe drivers who are seen from behind is nothing compared with the risk to whites who have the misfortune of seeing young black wannabe drivers from the front.

    The very day that ’chelle was spinning her yarn, two black kids in San Leandro, Calif. (adjacent to the anal fissure known as Oakland), mugged and beat an 80-year-old Asian man—giggling as the old guy cried out in pain—and then robbed a Hispanic man, and then carjacked someone else, before finally getting caught. The thug who was caught driving the carjacked vehicle? 11 years old. His accomplice was 17. But the 11-year-old was the driver.
    Apparently, Michelle Obama’s story frightened him so much, he didn’t want to risk getting his license. Fortunately, none of the 11-year-old’s victims made any “assumptions” based on “the back of his head.”
    The previous week, also in San Leandro, two other black kids tried to carjack an adult white male in broad daylight (as their two accomplices waited in a getaway car, also stolen). This time, the victim fought back, body-slamming one of the youths and making him squeal like a fragile little girl. When cops caught up with the kids, they found that they were ages 11 to 14.
    More black kids scared to death of getting their driver’s licenses, lest the people they mug, beat, and carjack make “assumptions” about them based on “the back of their head.”
    Michelle Obama’s shocking tale of suspense might strike fear into the hearts of her fellow eternally griping “professional” black victims, but for people in San Leandro, and in cities all over the nation, it’s a bit hard to fear for those kids when there are so many legitimate reasons to have fear of them.
    And that fear isn’t based on “assumptions,” but statistics and probability.
    Never attempt to teach a pig to sing; it wastes your time and annoys the pig.

    Robert Heinlein

    Give a man an inch and right away he thinks he's a ruler

    Groucho Marx

    I love mankind…it’s people I can’t stand.

    Linus, from the Peanuts comic

    You cannot have liberty without morality and morality without faith

    Alexis de Torqueville

    Those who fail to learn from the past are condemned to repeat it.
    Those who learn from the past are condemned to watch everybody else repeat it

    A Zero Hedge comment

  7. #155
    The Week That Perished

    Taki Mag May 23, 2021

    The Week’s Most Sagacious, Temptatious, and Vexatious Headlines


    It’s a fine Saturday afternoon in Los Angeles’ historic Olvera Street shopping district. Your craving for Mexican food has brought you to the Downtown location, because—following L.A.’s Food Service Anti-Cultural Appropriation Racial Purity Act of 2019 (a.k.a. the Nuremburrito Laws), which mandated that “nonwhite” food can only be sold by establishments owned by nonwhites—Olvera Street has become one of the few remaining areas where one can obtain restaurant-quality tamales.

    As eateries are still only allowed 50% capacity, you sit outside, savoring the mild May weather, awaiting your table. You are approached by a small Mexican child.

    “Señor, I am Pablo. Mi familia has suffered greatly from the Covid. I no beggar boy, but for only one dollar, Pablo will tell you a story of hope and inspiration in these terrible times.”

    You think to yourself, why not? A little pre-dinner entertainment would be pleasant.

    Pablo begins his tale…

    Richard Montañez was a janitor…a lowly Mexican-American janitor sweeping floors at a Frito-Lay manufacturing plant in Rancho Cucamonga, Calif. One day, while cleaning a toilet in the building’s dreaded “nachos wing,” Montañez had a flash of brilliance: Why not market Cheetos covered in spicy chili powder, a “flaming hot” snack food that would revolutionize the staid, boring world of crunchy comestibles? So certain, so confident was Montañez in his vision, he mustered the temerity to personally call the Frito-Lay CEO, who rewarded the janitero valiente with a pitch meeting, where the entire corporate staff was blown away by the idea. And voilà, in 1989, Flamin’ Hot Cheetos hit the stands, becoming the company’s defining—and best-selling—product.

    And Montañez became a superstar. As a motivational speaker, he commanded fees as high as $50,000 to tell his rags-to-riches tale at high schools, universities (including Harvard and USC), and corporate diversity seminars for Walmart and Target.

    He penned a memoir. He was the subject of a book, 2012’s Taco USA: How Mexican Food Conquered America. And last year his story was scooped up by Disney’s Searchlight for a feature film titled Flamin’ Hot, to be directed by the mystifyingly successful TV señora Eva Longoria.

    The film was supposed to begin production last year, but was delayed due to Covid.

    For once, Covid did something right. Because it turns out Richard Montañez “invented” only two things: jack and squat. His entire story was a lie, complete make-believe.

    Flamin’ Hots had been created by a young female junior exec named Lynne Greenfeld at Frito-Lay’s Plano, Tex., HQ. For decades, Frito-Lay bigwigs tolerated Montañez’s tall tales, not wanting to appear “racist” toward a Mexican janitor. But when news of the Longoria film made the papers, Greenfeld finally had enough, demanding that the company set the record straight.

    After all, Montañez had stolen the accomplishment of a woman. Frito-Lay was in a bind: They’d be offending a victim group whether they remained silent or told the truth.

    Miraculously, they decided on the latter. The company released the following statement last week:

    None of our records show that Richard was involved in any capacity in the Flamin’ Hot test market. We have interviewed multiple personnel who were involved in the test market, and all of them indicate that Richard was not involved in any capacity.

    The writer of the Longoria film, Lewis Colick, a “faith-based” filmmaker responsible for such hits as “God’s Not Dead but Kirk Cameron’s Career Is” and “Left Behind IV: Kevin Sorbo’s Friends Go to Sundance Without Him,” told Variety that the film will go on, because “enough of the story is true” (by “enough,” Colick clarified, he meant “absolutely not one word”).

    Richard Montañez, who traded on his ethnicity like it was a precious metal, profited greatly from his lies, and he will continue to profit, because in the end, lying is fine if you do it for “inspirational” reasons.

    “You like Pablo’s tale, señor?” the boy asks.

    “No, not at all! It’s a terrible story. The bad guy made millions, and nobody learned anything. Still, I promised you a dollar, so…hey, where’s my wallet?”

    “Apology, señor, but as Pablo was distracting you, mi hermano Miguel picked your pocket. Have a nice day!”

    As you watch the child run off into the distance, you realize that there’s a new Richard Montañez born every minute…along with a sucker to enable him.


    2020 was a year built upon the firm foundation of several unyielding truths:

    (1) Pandemics are best handled via repressive lockdowns and the quarantining of the healthy. States that follow those rules will handily avoid large casualties, while those that don’t will become massive graveyards.

    Wait…okay, that “unyielding truth” ended up yielding.

    (2) Voter fraud simply never happens. No one has ever dared to exploit weaknesses in voting regs to advantage the candidate or party of their choice.

    Oh, damn, More yielding.

    (3) Okay, then, there’s this one: Making it easy for the poor and “urban” to collect government pandemic welfare cannot go wrong. Poor urbanites are the most trustworthy people on earth; their race and class make them noble! Just hand out money on the honor system, and not a dime will be misspent.

    Turns out this “truth” yielded most of all.

    Last spring, the U.S. Congress and President Trump opened up the coffers to hand out billions in Covid unemployment assistance payments to all who applied. The process by which an American could collect those payments was grueling and rigorous…to the comatose. But for any able-bodied halfwit, it was about as easy as getting an extra ketchup packet at McDonald’s. You just had to go online and provide a name, date of birth, Social Security number, and confirmation that you were unemployed (“confirmation” meaning you had to say “I’m unemployed”).

    And there you go! All the money you need, courtesy of Uncle Sam.

    Last June, in Brooklyn (home to many people who, we are told, are incapable of obtaining IDs for voting), eight young urban contemporaries—ages 18 to 25—hatched a plan: They’d get they’selves some Social Security numbers from the borough’s many fine homeless winos (“Yo, you want dis Thunderbird? Hand over dem digits, you smelly-ass Uncle Remus-lookin’ mofo”). These eight young budding rap moguls were surprised to find out that the pandemic relief database did not cross-reference addresses, meaning that once you had enough Social Security numbers, you could actually have an unlimited number of Covid welfare debit cards sent to the same address, and no red flags would go up.

    Your tax dollars at work! But a necessary security lapse, as surely monitoring the number of assistance payments sent to one address would be discriminatory against the nation’s illegal dreamers, fond as they are of living 400 people per apartment.

    Soon enough, the eight hip-hop Brooklynites had amassed an almost unbelievable two million dollars in fraudulent Covid payments. And they would’ve gotten away with it, too, if it weren’t for their meddling low IQs. The def cozeners made one fatal mistake: They simply couldn’t resist the imperative to pose on social media flashing their ill-gotten gub’mint cash while bragging of their criminal exploits. These “entrepreneurs” uploaded photo after photo of themselves sitting in newly purchased sports cars wearing designer clothes holding giant loads of cash while boasting of gamin’ da game.

    Last week, as President Biden was in the White House Rose Garden chasing down that squirrel who’s been badmouthing him to the sparrows, and as Shadow President Harris was deciding if sleeping with the president’s doctor could possibly facilitate an “accidental” fatal mix-up regarding the old man’s medication, federal law enforcement agents actually did some law enforcing, and the Brooklyn Buffoonalo Soldiers were arrested. Each suspect was caught in possession of dozens of fraudulently obtained Covid assistance debit cards; several were apprehended as they were making ATM withdrawals.

    At their arraignment, the defendants cried out in unison, “Maaaaaaaan,” which is an officially accepted plea in New York City courts.

    The Biden Administration reassured the American people that just because eight uneducated young lowlifes could so successfully game the system, it doesn’t mean that vote-by-mail with no signature verification could ever be similarly abused. Indeed, Jen Psaki assured the press that any claims to the contrary are nothing more than lies told by that damn backbiting squirrel, whose word should never be taken under any circumstances.


    It’s said that as Thomas Paine was agonizing over how best to advance the cause of independence from Great Britain, he had two potential concepts in mind. The first was a pamphlet that would lay out the case for American independence in a manner so impassioned, so intelligently argued, so firm of conviction, that the assent of the reader would be swiftly commanded.

    The second was to draw King George as a giant stinky poo.

    Did Paine make the right decision? Not according to a group of Trump supporters in Calvert County, Md. They recently erected a billboard overlooking Route 4 and Bowie Shop Road in Huntingtown that portrays Biden and Harris as two lumps of dog poop sitting on a patch of grass, complete with buzzing flies (because subtlety). “Don’t Blame Trump,” the billboard reads, “You are stuck with these two $#@!heads.”

    Additional lumps of poo adorn the text, because subtlety.

    The local Democrat Central Committee has tried to get the billboard removed on vulgarity grounds, but county commissioners have pointed to a 2015 SCOTUS ruling that in effect stated that billboard language cannot be regulated for things like four-letter words.

    Jeanette Flaim, chairwoman of the Calvert County Democrat Central Committee, told a local news affiliate, “It’s just vulgar. Kids are going to school, and they’re going by it every day, and parents are driving their kids. We just don’t think kids should have to see that or parents should have to explain that.”

    Flaim was then reminded that she represents the same party that openly advocates:

    (1) Child drag queens
    (2) “Drag queen storybook hour” for children at local libraries
    (3) Sexually explicit material as required reading in grade schools
    (4) Children as young as 8 being allowed to lop off their genitals because an Instagram “influencer” told them they were “assigned the wrong gender” at birth
    (5) Abortion on demand for minors with no parental consent
    (6) “Transgender” education starting in kindergarten
    (7) The abolition of the nuclear family because mommies and daddies are “oppressive”

    After hearing the list, Flaim laughed like Woody Woodpecker and jumped out a window.

    To be sure, the Biden BM image is crude. But it’s funny to hear Democrats talk about “protecting kids from vulgarity.” Just last week, Tucker Carlson ran a segment about a revolt by parents in the Loudoun County, Va., school district over the obscene and sexually explicit “literature” assigned to their kids. Several parents used a school board meeting to read excerpts from the “educational” literature—excerpts so laden with filthy language and bizarre sexual imagery that every other word had to be bleeped for TV. The school board members—Democrats—ignored the parents’ concerns.

    But a glorified Mad magazine depiction of Biden and Harris as doggie dookie must be removed because kids may see it.

    Bizarre but typically leftist logic.

    Worse still, unconfirmed reports from Calvert County suggest that members of the area’s Hindu community have misunderstood the billboard to be an endorsement of public outdoor defecation. “Kamala is embracing her Indian roots! She’s telling us it’s okay to be who we are,” one local Punjabi crowed to a reporter. “Pooing outside is part of our identity, and not only does Kamala endorse it, she even persuaded her stuttering elderly manservant to join her. I’ve never been prouder to be an Indian.”


    Africans have a bizarre relationship with light skin. On the one hand, African albinos are being hunted to extinction faster than the mountain gorilla. Sub-Saharan albinos are very much sought after…unfortunately not for their company or conversation skills (which are apparently not that great anyway; how many times can you hear “my mama so white” jokes before they become tiresome?). No, African albinos are in demand for their body parts, which are believed by witch doctors and honors students to contain magical properties.

    In nations like Malawi, Tanzania, and Zambia, mass graves have been discovered containing albino corpses missing hearts, legs, arms, ears, eyes, and genitals. As reported by the International Red Cross in 2009, “a complete set of albino body parts in Dar es Salaam—including all four limbs, genitals, ears, tongue and nose—was fetching the equivalent of $75,000 US dollars.” What is not ingested is worn as a good-luck charm.

    “Look,” a spokesman for the Chinese herbalist community recently told National Geographic, “when I eat tiger kidneys to supersize my pecker, that’s science. But eating an albino’s nose to gain good luck? That’s just kooky.”

    Yet just as Africans chow down on the “too white,” they really love making themselves more white. Just not, you know, white enough so that the neighbors try to eat their testicles. Skin lightening creams are all the rage in Africa, and have been since precolonial times. Skin whitening solutions, both over-the-counter and homemade, are big sellers in South Africa, where government attempts dating back to the apartheid days to ban the sale of “bleaching” creams have failed to stem either the supply or the demand.

    Traditionally, African bleaching creams have contained mercury, which, as described in a 2020 Quartz piece, “inhibits the formation of melanin by rendering the enzyme tyrosinase inactive; and it exfoliates the tanned, outer layers of the skin through the production of hydrochloric acid.”

    It also kills you, a small fact that has never seemed to hurt sales of the products.

    Last year, Somali activists, aided by the Sierra Club, persuaded Amazon to no longer carry skin lightening products that contain mercury. The fact that Amazon was actually allowing the deadly products in the first place, even as it was banning any and all books that the ADL considers “anti-Semitic,” says a lot about Jeff Bezos’ priorities. Poison Africans all you like; just don’t suggest that less than 6 million Jews died in the Holocaust.

    Having won that battle against Amazon, anti-bleaching activists are now facing an even greater fight, against even more formidable foes: Prince Harry and Meghan Markle. Recently, Meghan let Harry out of his S&M gimp box long enough for the couple to sign a multimillion-dollar multiyear “global partnership” contract with Procter & Gamble.

    P&G, it turns out, is one of the world’s largest suppliers of melanin-inhibiting bleaching creams in Africa (and also in Malaysia, Singapore, and India).

    Ironically, 28 years ago, when she was 11 years old, Meghan took time out from mercilessly teasing her darker-skinned black peers to lead a boycott campaign against P&G for a “sexist” dish soap TV commercial that depicted mothers washing dishes. The light-skinned mixed-race tyke was even interviewed on local TV stations about her anti-P&G activism.

    So now, activists are turning the tables, wondering why Meghan can possibly be willing to make a profitable business deal with P&G as that company sells skin bleaching products that kill Africans. How, these activists wonder, can this woman, who openly weeps about racist oppression every time her chauffeured luxury car is forced to park in a white zone at LAX, not be concerned with what P&G is doing in Africa?

    To be clear, nobody’s holding Harry responsible for the business decision, because that would imply he has some small amount of say in the relationship (the sad fact is, about ten years ago the Prince was mistaken for an albino in Mwanza and his balls were taken).

    But Meghan. How can that whiny racial-identity-driven self-obsessed perpetually “feeling sorry for herself” narcissistic social climber be okay with partnering with P&G?

    Activists asking that question should take a trip to Route 4 and Bowie Shop Road in Calvert County, Md. Biden and Harris are not the only lumps of anthropomorphic feces on the world stage; that billboard could just as easily be Meghan and Harry.

    Although at least dung serves an important role in ecology, so really, a “Meghan and Harry as poo” billboard would be more of an insult to poo…and that’s just unfair.


    “How did the war affect you, Grampa?”

    “Guadalcanal was hell. A living hell. Dodging shells, dodging bullets. When the food ran out, we ate insects. Not that I could keep anything down…dysentery was eatin’ me to the bone. But we kept goin’…crawlin’ through mud, mosquitoes turnin’ our skin raw like sandpaper. Four days in, my buddy Hank, he gets the top of his head blown off by a sniper…no more than two feet away from me. My gun jammed, so I grab his bayonet, and I see three Japs comin’ right at me. So I char…”

    “No, no, Grampa, I don’t care about that. I mean your self-esteem. And your gender identity. Did the war make you question if you’re nonbinary? Was there tolerance in your unit when a soldier would come out as trans? Were you genderqueeer positive?”

    “Christ…looks like I fought for the wrong side.”

    A new U.S. Army recruitment video profiles a young woman who recalls her life before enlistment. “Emma” recounts her childhood (via animated flashback) with her two lesbian mommies, one of whom looks like a woman, the other like Clark Kent if portrayed by an endomorph with dropsy. As “Emma” sails through a privileged, social-justice-immersed life filled with joy and stability—after all, LGBT dogma demands that the daughter of two mommies cannot possibly develop any emotional problems—she ends up at a prestigious college in a sorority filled with “strong women.”

    But after graduation, “Emma” realizes that her multicultural sorority sisters are all having their own “adventures.” One is “studying abroad in Italy.” The other is “climbing Everest.”

    “I needed my own adventures,” Emma declares.

    So, after meeting with a recruiter, she joins the U.S. Army as “a way to prove my inner strength…and maybe shatter some stereotypes along the way.”

    “I answered my calling,” Emma dramatically states at the end of the commercial, as her animated avatar dissolves into her real-life visage.

    Funny enough, throughout the entire two-minute-and-twenty-second video, amid all the talk of lesbians, strong women, LGBTs, “equity,” and self-esteem, there’s one word that never pops up, not even once: “America.” You know, the nation that the Army supposedly protects.

    A promotional spot for the armed forces of a nation that never once mentions the name of that nation. It’s almost as if those who produced the spot are ashamed that the Army actually does anything other than give the children of scissor sisters the opportunity to outshine that sorority friend who climbed a mountain.

    “Like, errmahgerd! Destina climbed Everest. I’ll show her—I’ll climb an obstacle course wearing fugly green fatigues.”

    Social media pundits have had a field day contrasting the “Emma” promotional spot to army recruitment videos from China and Russia…videos in which not only is the name of the nation uttered, but the recruits are shown not dreamily reminiscing about their two mommies but blowing the living crap out of enemy targets in defense of their homeland.

    China: “We will dominate you with superior firepower and a willingness to die and sacrifice our loved ones if necessary rather than submit to the decadent desires of the dog-faced demons.”

    Russia: “The ice water that runs through our veins will exit our bladders as freezing urination that will serve as a glacial sarcophagus to envelope and suffocate the weak Western limp-wrists who’ve known neither strife nor struggle yet in their arrogance believe themselves superior to those who have.”

    America: “My two mommies kissy kissy at night and Everest is too cold for my postgrad adventure so I’ll join the Army so that I can help men become women and ERRMAHGERD get that nasty gun away from me it’s a tool of right-wing racist oppression!”

    Khrushchev slams his shoe on the podium: “We will bury you!”

    Emma rolls her eyes: “Like, no way, Tibor Transphobe. We’ll bury ourselves, thank you very much.”
    Last edited by Anti Federalist; 05-23-2021 at 09:38 AM.
    "Every lie we tell incurs a debt to the truth. Sooner or later, that debt is paid." - Valery Legasov

  8. #156
    The Week That Perished


    May 29, 2021

    The Week’s Most Malicious, Flagitious, and Unpropitious Headlines


    There have been many theories bandied about in recent months to explain the current explosion in violent crime hitting America’s big cities. Some pundits have pointed to the defunding and demoralization of police due to BLM-mania and George Soros-inspired “progressive” crime-enabling policies. Other commentators, specifically those who possess underdeveloped frontal lobes, have pointed to the Covid pandemic as the cause, because it…somehow…made black Americans egregiously murderous.

    But there might be a third theory. Perhaps the eruption of unrest in largely black urban centers isn’t so much about the pandemic per se but the restaurant closures. After all, pre-Covid, a favorite black pastime was suing restaurants for poor dining experiences. Denied a reservation? Racial discrimination! Pay up, suckas! Dress code? Jim Crow on supersteroids! A restaurant closed for the evening that won’t open back up because one black man is hungry? Worse than a lynching.

    How many media-hyped stories have there been over the past ten years of black waitresses being left racist notes on receipts by white customers? Sure, it always ends up that the waitress wrote the note herself, but that usually only comes out after the aggrieved waitress has cleaned up on GoFundMe.

    In Beverly Hills, Korean-American-owned eatery Crustacean was sanctioned by the EEOC because black people claimed they weren’t being seated close enough to the window so that passersby could see black people dining. “Look, honey—a black man ingesting food. They’re just like us after all! I’m going to renounce my KKK membership.”

    Given all that, the 2020 shuttering of indoor dining was a major blow to the black American psyche. Takeout only? No reservations, dress code, “check please,” or window seating? Well, no wonder there were riots; the usual outlets for easy reparations cash were closed. What was left except to sack Walgreens?

    But now, thankfully, with life returning to normal post-pandemic, black “leaders” have restaurants to kick around again.

    Black “comic” Byron Allen (of the late-’70s hit TV show Real People) doesn’t just tell jokes, he is a joke. Other comedians literally use this failed funster as the butt of their own humor. Yet as bad as Byron Allen is at comedy, he’s proven a very shrewd businessman, producing highly successful daytime-TV courtroom shows like “Judge Yomamasoblack” and “Jiveturkey Court.”

    Last week, “media mogul” Allen decided to “mogul” a few billion bucks from McDonald’s by suing the company for not advertising on his “digital TV networks” Pets.TV and Cars.TV (not to mention PetsCars.TV, which consists of nonstop videos of dogs impatiently honking horns as their owners run into minimarts for sundries).

    Allen claims he’s not trying to enrich himself by suing McDonald’s for ten billion bucks. Rather, he’s merely pressuring McDonald’s into spending at least 5% of its advertising budget on his networks, which for reasons unexplained will benefit all blacks.

    Ironically, that’s the only funny thing the guy’s ever said in his life.

    Still, don’t be so quick to laugh. McDonald’s is actually taking the lawsuit seriously. The fast-food giant told the WSJ last week that it would indeed commit 5% of its advertising budget to “black-owned” media entities, although the company stopped short of agreeing to pay for ads on Allen’s WatchingPaintDry.TV, which is billed as “replicating the experience of watching a Byron Allen stand-up set.”

    Of course, Allen’s campaign to force McDonald’s to spend more advertising bucks on black consumers comes on the heels of several government and nonprofit reports slamming McDonald’s for being racist for targeting black consumers with too much advertising, thus causing obesity and nutritional deficiencies that led to greater numbers of Covid deaths in black communities.

    Damned if you do, damned if you don’t. But most of all, damned if you’re ever going to hear Byron Allen say anything intentionally funny.

    Unintentionally, though…the guy’s a real (BLM) riot.


    Sticking with the theme of racial scam artists, let’s take a trip to farm country. Ah, America’s rich, hearty farm belt, with its streets of concrete, basketball courts, bums sleeping in alleys, 24-hour check-cashing liquor joints, and crack dens.

    Wait, that’s not what you think of when you think of “farm country”?


    And speaking of “racists,” in March 2020 the ultimate evil racist, Donald Trump, signed the CARES Act, the unprecedentedly large stimulus bill that, in theory, was intended to provide Americans financial relief during the Covid crisis. In reality, it proved itself a gold mine for inner-city hustlers who found ways to bilk the big-money giveaway for all it was worth.

    And now it’s been revealed that the part of CARES that was supposed to offer protection to “family farms” was badly, and rather amusingly, abused by those same hucksters.

    Weird how so many people of color benefited from handout programs signed into law by a supposed white supremacist.

    A core problem with the CARES handouts to “farmers” was that the program made it profitable for “alternative lenders” (sometimes referred to as “fintechs”) to make questionable loans, as those companies were offered a generous government-backed 5% fee on every loan under $350,000. One of those fintechs, “Kabbage,” which later spun off into “K Servicing,” was run by a black angus bossy named Laquisha Milner, and the entire loan program was overseen by the Small Business Administration and its agents, including Eastern Region Special Agent-in-Charge Amaleka McCall-Brathwaite, and SBA inspector general spokesperson Farrah Saint-Surin, who brought all the integrity to her job that one would expect of someone from her native Haiti, a nation known for its clockwork government and lack of graft and corruption (“Haiti: where the rape trains always run on time”).

    Anyway, you might be getting an idea of how things went south with CARES’ farm relief bailouts. Last week, a report by ProPublica uncovered millions of dollars in loans to fake farms that were processed, mostly through Laquisha’s Kabbage/K Servicing (which produced a Michael Jackson-themed video to lure black employees and borrowers), and doled out to nonexistent “farms” with names like “Deely Nuts,” “Tomato Cramber,” and “Beefy King.”

    One beneficiary of these loans was a Floridian named Latoya Clark, a self-described “African-American woman of Jamaican descent” who received, via Kabbage, over one million dollars for her “farms” named “Squeeze It” (oranges, most likely) and “Tastetunup” (no effing clue). When Clark’s bank, JPMorgan Chase, froze her funds after an internal investigation revealed that the businesses were likely fake, Clark sued Chase for depriving her of her stimmi bucks. Her lawsuit claims that Chase only froze the funds due to “institutional racism” and “racial profiling.”

    In its response to the complaint, Chase provided ample documentation to prove that “Squeeze It” and “Tastunup” were shell entities created after the CARES Act was passed as a way of cashing in on the law’s “make it rain” philosophy toward anyone who could fill out a form and hold up a begging bowl.

    The Chase vs. Clark case has yet to go to trial, but one hopes that the proceedings will put Ms. Latoya on the spot about what in the living hell “Tastunup” is actually supposed to be.

    Not to be outdone by his predecessor, Joe Biden has actually expanded government programs giving money to “black farms,” and as for any loans to fake black farms that were made under CARES during the Trump presidency, Biden’s got that well-covered. On March 17 he appointed as the new head of the Small Business Administration one Isabella Casillas Guzman, who describes herself as (no joke) a “Mexican Chinese Jew.”

    Well, surely she’ll clean house! At least the Mexican part of her will.

    By the way, what do you get when you cross a Jew with a Chinaman and a Mexican? Someone who cooks their own takeout and pays themselves 50 cents an hour to wash the dishes.

    Oh, you can do better? It’s funnier than anything you’ll hear at a Byron Allen show.


    In the classic season 4 Simpsons episode “Mr. Plow,” Homer is driving home from Moe’s Tavern in a blizzard. Drunk, and with his ability to see the road ahead impeded by snow, he recklessly weaves through his neighborhood’s streets. With terrible suddenness, he crashes violently into another vehicle. Exiting his car, he sees that both vehicles have sustained heavy damage from the collision.

    “Well, I got him as good as he got me!” Homer proudly declares, content that whatever his repair costs from the crash, the “other guy” will have to pay as much or more.

    Then the snow lets up enough for Homer to see that he’s actually crashed into the Simpson family’s parked station wagon in his own driveway. The “other guy” was himself.


    That’s kinda been Jews the past year regarding the disruption of outdoor dining by BLM. Encouraged by Jewish journalists, academics, and political moneymen, BLM in 2020 made a cottage industry out of screaming at, threatening, and outright assaulting whites who were dining outside in cities where outdoor dining was the only option due to Covid restrictions. This campaign of harassment produced clip after clip after clip of white diners (often elderly) being harangued, cornered, insulted, and in some cases even losing their food to hungry black reparationists who helped themselves because when Sam Jackson ate that doomed white guy’s tasty burger and washed it down with Sprite, it was, like, the coolest thing ever, right?

    Sure, one or two Jews might have been among the besieged diners—after all, the average BLM simpleton can’t tell one whitey from another—but at least leftist Jews could take solace in the fact that for every Finklestein, Schmeckelberg, or Spielenschitz whose dinner was disturbed, ten times as many Andersens, Van Dykes, and O’Houlihans suffered the same fate.

    “Well, I got him as good as he got me!”

    At least that was the sentiment until a week ago, when a couple of Jews enjoying an outdoor dinner at a pricey West Hollywood restaurant were attacked by a bunch of pro-Palestinian rioters who disrupted their dining experience with insults, threats, and hurled projectiles.

    And you know the classic poem…

    First they came for the elderly gentiles enjoying the early-bird special at Denny’s, and I did not speak out—
    because I am neither old, a gentile, nor a fan of crappy food.

    Then they came for the country-club gentiles enjoying fried calamari at a gastropub, and I did not speak out—
    because I’m not a country-club gentile, and that calamari isn’t glatt and such tiny portions they give you anyway.

    Then they came for me, and—
    what the hell? It’s the end of the world! Speak out for me already, why don’t you!


    Yes, after voicing unwavering support for BLM as it attacked outdoor diners over and over again, the ADL declared a state of emergency over this one outdoor dining attack by akbars against Jews.

    “Interrupting a Jew as he eats dinner? It’s an abomination! A Holocaust! A Chowschwitz! A Beef Stewchenwald! A Burger-Belsen!”

    (Oy' gevalt - I laughed so hard at that I broke out in tears... - AF)

    The ADL, aided by its parrots in the press, demanded action! And the LAPD obliged, quickly rounding up the two dining-disruptors—Samer Jayylusi of Anaheim and Xavier Pabon of Riverside. “How fiendish of these men to have traveled so far just to target Jews on L.A.’s Westside,” the ADL croaked, while deleting all the emails it sent a year ago praising BLM activists from South L.A. for coming to the Westside to target whites and Jews with looting and riots.

    Because in the end, it’s not about the targetees, but the targeters. The shifty-eyed racial demagogues who run the ADL had no problem with noble blacks attacking Jews, because whites were targeted too. But filthy Ay-rabs attacking only Jews?

    That cannot stand!

    Indeed, Jason Isaacson, chief policy and political affairs officer with the American Jewish Committee, told The Hill last week that he’s troubled that Palestinian attackers are echoing the “racial justice” rhetoric that groups like his employed in defense of BLM.

    How dare they!

    Fortunately, with police across the country showing a willingness to arrest the anti-Semitic meal-breakers, hopefully soon enough, with summer on the horizon, the nation’s outdoor dining areas will once again be reserved for disruptions from the right kind of terrorists.

    Bomb appétit!


    It’s the late 1970s again, if you haven’t noticed. The Carter years are back and they’re worser than ever. Rampant inflation, gas prices through the roof, out-of-control government spending. A formidable, adversarial communist nation (about to host the Olympics) allowed to romp free by executive-branch cowards and appeasers who take the position “just be nice to them and they’ll be our friends.” Biden seems so intent on being the new Carter, he’s probably planning a river rafting trip just in the hope that he’ll be able to beat the snot out of a drowning rabbit.

    It’s everything bad from that era, and none of the good (like the music, and ABC’s glorious T&A prime-time TV lineup).

    But by far the worst aspect of the Carter years that Americans are having to relive at present is the soft-on-crime, screw-the-victim, “violent criminals are cuddly lil’ babies who need love ’n’ compassion” school of thought regarding criminal justice. For people who spent the 1970s in cities like New York, Chicago, and L.A., nothing defined the era more than scumbag repeat offenders being released with a slap on the wrist, as innocent citizens were slammed for being “intolerant” if they didn’t want the “Bronx Babyeater” rooming next door to them in a taxpayer-funded halfway house.

    One of the most appalling 1970s criminal injustices that was reversed throughout the Reagan years was the idea that violent criminals should have their past crimes shielded from public view, that it’s “discriminatory” to force serial pedophiles, rapists, and murderers to have to live with a record of their previous acts. Clean slates are human rights! After all, “today is the first day of the rest of your life” (and, in the case of inveterate criminals, the last day of the life of their next victim).

    Consider the example of Dominique Dunne, the young actress who hit the big time costarring in the 1982 blockbuster Poltergeist. The 22-year-old Dunne had started dating a hot young Hollywood chef named John Thomas Sweeney, unaware—because in 1982 there really was no way to be aware—that he had a history of strangling his girlfriends. So of course he strangled her to death.

    At Sweeney’s trial, Judge Burton “Streicher Stereotype” Katz ruled that it was vital that Sweeney’s past strangulations not be mentioned to the jury. Just because a guy has strangled one, two, three women, doesn’t mean the fourth represents some kind of pattern or anything. And since all facts regarding Sweeney’s previous crimes were ruled inadmissible by Judge Thisiswhypeoplehateus, the jury rendered a verdict of involuntary manslaughter, and Chef Chokey McChickenstock was freed to strangle again.

    But Dunne’s death was not in vain. Her father, a noted author and journalist, lobbied tirelessly to make it easier for people—jurors, potential employers, love interests—to learn of a person’s history of violent crime.

    Thankfully for career criminals, the Democrats—with the help of big-money donors like George NoTHISiswhypeoplehateus Soros—are rolling back all of those Reagan-era reforms. In New York State, the “Clean Slate Act,” which would “remove publicly available criminal records for most felonies and misdemeanor crimes after people have completed the terms of their punishment,” is all set to pass, with backing from labor unions, big business, and big tech. Advocates for the bill aren’t even trying to disguise it as something that would only help “teens who have a record because they smoked a joint.” No, New York already has a law to expunge those records. This new one is targeted at erasing the records of violent felons, including murderers, kidnappers, arsonists, and domestic abusers.

    Worse still, the law would require the “expungement” of “biometric information” like DNA databases (you can’t be a serial rapist if the DNA evidence of your previous rape has been sent to the incinerator!). For some wacky reason, feminist orgs are okay with this.

    Amazingly, some state Republicans are on board with it too, more evidence that the RNC’s initiation rite of making new members eat lead paint chips has proven to be less than helpful in the long run.

    And that’s the big difference between the Carter years and today. Back then, Republicans were not afflicted with mild-to-severe retardation. Indeed, back then, even some Democrats had integrity and morals. The nation’s come a long way, and the next Dominique Dunne who gets murdered in New York by a guy who should’ve been locked away three strangulations ago will surely use her final breath to curse today’s gutless politicos for ushering in a new, worse Carter era filled with all the murderousness but none of the ELO.


    It was bound to happen. Climate-change apocalyptics have talked themselves into a corner. From “no more cow farts” AOC to Al “every time I said the world would end I was wrong except this time” Gore to Greta “HOW DARE YOU!” Thunberg to Bill “the earth is on fire!” Nye the Pseudoscience Guy, the screaming-meemie alarmists have made it clear: If we don’t abandon fossil fuels and start driving electric cars, the world will burn…or freeze…or explode…or implode…or suffocate…or something.

    The details are sketchy, but pesky specifics aside, just know that we’re all gonna die! It’s electric cars or the end of the human race. The dinosaurs died out because they didn’t switch to electrics (that and the fact that they never engineered a steering wheel that could be reached by the tiny arms of a T-Rex…so many unnecessary road fatalities).

    But what if the cost of saving the planet is black lives? We’ve been told that nothing in the world—hell, nothing in the universe—is as precious as a black life.

    But there might be one exception to that rule…one thing that is more important than even a Chicago Southside crackhead.


    With no cobalt, there are no rechargeable lithium batteries. No lithium batteries, no electric cars. No electric cars? No earth!

    So where does cobalt come from? Is it conjured by transgender wizards using grrrrl-power magic? Is it a by-product of the good feelings one gets from buying a cup of fair-trade cruelty-free eco-friendly coffee from a Seattle Starbucks where one dime of every purchase goes to burning down an ICE facility? Is it pooped out by Gwyneth Paltrow after she ingests too many organic figs?

    No, unfortunately. It’s mined in places like the Congo. And apparently, those mines are taking out black children like Wayne Williams on Viagra.

    “Our children are dying like dogs,” one mournful Congolese mother told the press last week, as she and a bunch of other perturbed Congolese parents pressed ahead with a lawsuit aimed at getting companies like Apple, Google, Dell, Microsoft, and Tesla to stop killing their kids for their earth-saving batteries.

    “Hundreds, if not thousands, of children have been maimed or killed to produce the cobalt needed for the world’s modern tech gadgets produced by the defendants and other companies,” the lawsuit states.

    In response to the suit, Apple declared that it has established a “hotline” where children being worked to death in the mines can call to complain. Sadly, as the grieving mothers pointed out, there are several problems with this strategy. First, the child miners don’t have phones. Second, they can’t read. And third, the complaint line is relayed to a call center in Bangalore where nobody speaks English and every operator tries to redirect the conversation to the malware in the caller’s Windows 10.

    Not everyone on the receiving end of the lawsuit is unsympathetic, though. Elon Musk told the AP that he’d be more than happy to look into the complaints of the child laborers if they’d convert their investment portfolios to Dogecoin. After being informed that the children have no portfolios, Musk shrugged and said, “Well, then, call me if they get trapped in a flooded cave.”

    For his part, Bill Gates released a statement assuring his investors that “in all my visits to Jeffrey Epstein’s island, I never once abused a black boy. They’re not my type.”

    Funny enough, so far not a single young leftist Hollywood celebrity or social media “influencer” has volunteered to go to the Congo to relieve a child miner of his duties, if only for a week. After all, seeing how their beloved electric-car batteries are created might just ruin the smug pleasure of driving a Tesla with a BLM bumper sticker and NPR on autoplay on the radio.

    Hollywood can’t afford to be sentimental here; if it takes a few thousand dead black kids to save Mother Earth, so be it.

    Perhaps if the advocates of the carbon-friendly Keystone Pipeline could guarantee that the tunnels would be dug by African child slaves, the Democrats would reverse their opposition to the project.

    It’s certainly worth a shot.
    "Every lie we tell incurs a debt to the truth. Sooner or later, that debt is paid." - Valery Legasov

  9. #157
    The Week That Perished


    June 05, 2021

    The Week’s Most Soniferous, Maliferous, and Pestiferous Headlines


    Only suckas, rubes, and racists observed Memorial Day last weekend. Thanks to President Biden, the evil reign of that right-wing militarist “holiday” has finally ended, supplanted by a new “memorial day” weekend commemorating the Tulsa Race Massacre, which occurred on May 31 and June 1, 1921 (initially, Memorial Day was going to be replaced by “Enjoy the Long Weekend Day,” in which Americans would be forced to gawk at photos of the cackling harpy who serves as vice president. But cooler heads realized that being forced to view photos of massacre victims is less traumatizing).

    The Tulsa Race Massacre started when something that no one can describe for certain happened between two people in an elevator in a city generally not known for elevators at the time (“I don’t trust no dang magic liftin’ box to take mah feet off the ground, hang-dern it”). Either a black man tripped and fell on a white female elevator operator, or he groped her, or the two were having a tryst (both cats skipped town once the rifles and pitchforks came out, so it’ll likely never be known for sure). The notion of a black man touching a white woman in a devil sky box riled the local whites, who demanded the black guy’s lynching. The cops and some local National Guardsmen kept order admirably, and the whole thing would’ve very likely blown over, except apparently (some conjecture here) a time traveler appeared before Tulsa’s black community leaders. The mysterious stranger said, “If the Jews had only had guns, they could’ve defeated Hitler and avoided the Holocaust.” The Tulsa blacks told the time traveler, “Dem woids don’ mean’ nuttin’ ta us, but is you sayin’ dat if we gits our guns, we kin fight da lynch mob, even tho we’z only 10% of da population?”

    And the time traveler said, “Yep—and your example will live on forever, proving that yes, armed with guns, a small oppressed population can fully defeat the might of an oppressive regime, no matter how large.”

    So the blacks did as instructed, arming up and marching on the white part of town. And they got their asses royally kicked, as the white majority and the formerly sympathetic police and Guardsmen used heavy armaments, superior numbers, and even airplanes to round up the town’s blacks and burn their neighborhood to the ground, leaving most of Tulsa’s black population homeless and destitute.

    Little-known fact: That time traveler was Wayne LaPierre, who—his psyche shattered from seeing his thesis put into action only for it to spectacularly fail—returned to the present to devote his life to recklessly misspending the NRA’s money on drunken debauchery.

    And although “black Tulsa,” including the vaunted “Black Wall Street,” was indeed violently demolished, in terms of human casualties, official figures at the time listed only 36 deaths (26 black and 10 white), and a 2001 estimate raised it to 39 (26 black and 13 white).

    Not exactly a one-sided “massacre,” if a “massacre” at all. In 2021, we call 26 dead black people “a Saturday night in Chicago.”

    Still, President Biden visited Tulsa, where he gave a speech to inaugurate the new Tulsa Massacre Memorial Day by declaring the event “the Holocaust on steroids,” before falling asleep at the podium and dreaming that he himself was back in 1921 fistfighting Rudolph Valentino over Clara Bow’s hand in marriage. “C’mon, man, she’s mine, fat!” the president mumbled before his people turned the hose on him.

    The press did its part to help usher in Tulsa Massacre Day, running breathless stories with inflated casualty figures (“300 black dead! No, 3,000! Wait, make that 30,000!”), always being careful to avoid mentioning the white dead or the fact that the authorities pretty much had the situation under control until the armed black mob showed up (most historians agree that it was a black who fired the first shot).

    And although airplanes were indeed used in the course of the riot for observation of crowds and fires, the press added—unchallenged—lurid and questionable accounts of planes dropping bombs on blacks, blitzkrieg-style (in fact, the only offensive use of a plane during the riots was when a white pilot flew over the black part of town dragging a banner depicting a massively overweight white woman, hoping it would make the blacks look up and stare long enough to be disarmed).

    Of course, the good news—trumpeted by Biden during his speech—is that black Tulsa was rebuilt, and today the community is stronger than ever at almost 16% of the city.

    Not mentioned by the president was that the city also has one of the worst crime rates in the U.S., hitting a three-decade high in 2020, a year in which far more Tulsa blacks died due to homicide than in 1921 due to the riot.

    But don’t worry; no one will call that a “massacre.”


    Let’s not leave Tulsa just yet. After all, the place always looks so nice this time of year, decked out as it is in Massacre Day decorations (not to mention the nightly Massacre Day parade).

    Barack Obama was president on the 90th anniversary of the 1921 unrest, and frankly that really should’ve been the time to begin mining the damn thing for political gain, as there were a lot more survivors to exploit. As it fell to good ol’ Joe to be the first president to elevate the riot to “sacred pivotal national moment of racial reckoning” status, it fell to his staffers to find out if any black “survivors” of the event were still alive. And wouldn’t you know it, three oldies are still breathing! They are Viola Fletcher, 107, her brother Hughes Van Ellis, 100, and Lessie Benningfield Randle, 106.

    What a racist country this is where black people can live that long (average life span in Central Africa: 51 years).

    The crowning moment of Biden’s Tulsa trip was supposed to occur Monday night the 31st at ONEOK Field baseball stadium. John Legend was going to give a concert, followed by Stacey Abrams doing her beloved medley of “Baby Got Back,” “Fat Bottomed Girls,” and “Da Butt.” Then, for the climax, Biden was to take the stage along with the three massacre survivors for a rendition of “The Old Gray Mare” backed by the Lying Dog-Faced Pony Soldiers Jug Band.

    The event was to be called “Remember & Rise” (i.e., two things that Biden and the centenarians can no longer do without assistance).

    Each “survivor” charged the event organizers $100,000 for their presence, and the event chairman, black Democratic Oklahoma State Senator Kevin Matthews, agreed. After all, these fine old people had been through so much in their youth, surely a small honorarium would…

    Wait, a MILLION DOLLARS? Yes, after the organizers agreed to the hundred thou, the survivors decided to up their demands to one million bucks per person, and fifty million extra for a “reparations fund.”

    To which Representative Matthews responded, “Git yo’ wrinkly old Miss Jane Pittman-lookin’ asses outta my office before I cut the brakes on your Jazzy Power Chairs.”

    The event was called off and nobody got nuthin’.

    It was the worst “massacre” ever.

    Still, the weekend wasn’t entirely a wash. The owners of local Tulsa sneaker store Silhouette felt so bad for 107-year-old Viola Fletcher, they gave her a free pair of Air Jordans and boasted about it on Twitter.

    Fletcher is wheelchair-bound and unable to walk. So…maybe not the greatest gift. Worse still, Michael Jordan himself showed up and took Fletcher for five months’ worth of social security checks pitching quarters.

    On top of all that, Fletcher had to go back home and explain to her relatives that she turned down a $100,000 check. After all, when you’re 107 and you get $100,000, your closest relations are obviously gonna think of that money as theirs.

    Dad: “Great-grandma’s bringin’ home the dough this week! I’m gonna get me a new car!”

    Mom: “I’m gonna get that weave I had my eyes on.”

    Son: “I’m gonna be able to go to a good college!”

    [Everyone laughs hysterically.]

    Son: “I know, I know, just kiddin’. It’s a PS5 for me!”

    [Grandma Fletcher wheels through the door.]

    Fletcher: “I turned down the money, but I got me these big-ass Frankenstein shoes that killed my circulation. I hope Medicare covers amputations, ’cause otherwise y’all gonna have to pay.”

    And for the second time in her life, Viola Fletcher finds herself homeless and destitute.


    It was the crime of the decade, or at least that’s how it would appear, judging by the media coverage. The year was 2010, the month was March. The 14th of March, to be exact. And Americans who had fooled themselves into thinking that their beloved country was not a racist hellhole of genocidal slavers and KKK madmen were about to receive a mighty wake-up call…amplified by a public address loudspeaker.

    On that March day in Washington Township, N.J., a teenager grabbed the PA microphone at a Walmart and announced, “Attention, Walmart customers: All black people leave the store now,” before running out the front door giggling like an idiot.

    It was the single worst racist atrocity in U.S. history. Manzanar? Bah! Those Japs don’t know what suffering is. In fact, survivors of the Tulsa Race Massacre donated reparations money to the blacks who were in the Walmart that day, saying, “What happened to us was a walk in the park in comparison.”

    The Walmart PA incident was given front-page coverage in The New York Times, The Washington Post, and every other major paper in the U.S. It was a leadoff story on every network news show that night. Police spared no expense identifying and arresting the 16-year-old culprit, who was charged with “harassment and bias intimidation,” and Gloucester County Prosecutor Sean Dalton, who held daily press briefings about the matter, assured the media and all of America’s black citizens that justice would be swift and merciless.

    Oddly, the boy’s race was never revealed to the public because, according to Dalton, “it did not factor into the investigation” (take from that what you will).

    Sadly, not everyone in the media was on board with declaring the teen prank worse than slavery. Cole Johnson at Mic condemned Donnell Battie, a black man who was in the store at the time of the prank, for suing Walmart for $1 million because the PA announcement left him with “severe and disabling emotional and psychological harm, resulting in depression, anxiety, anger, loss of sleep, loss of appetite, paranoia, anti-social tendencies and loss of enjoyment in life activities.”

    Wow, that’s some mighty fragility there! (Batty Battie’s case was dismissed in 2013.)

    And The Christian Science Monitor went further, warning that the hideously disproportionate and outsize amount of media attention given to a stupid prank could lead to years of copycat hoaxes by attention-seekers looking to stir the racial cauldron.

    Perhaps people should’ve listened. But, as noble as The CS Monitor’s attempt to warn against impending disaster might have been, it was like telling retarded children to stop running with scissors.

    Some calamities in life cannot be prevented by good advice.

    In the eleven years since the New Jersey Chainstore Massacre, not a week has gone by without breathless coverage of some new race hoax. Sites like Mic have long given up trying to talk sense into black folks who claim to have suffered debilitating injuries by seeing a rope on the ground or a white sheet on a bed or the swastika they drew themselves on their own dorm-room door or the hate messages from nonexistent Klansmen they emailed to themselves.

    And whites are always expected to recite the same pre-written under-duress hostage statement every time one of those hoaxes occurs: “Whether this particular incident was genuine or not is irrelevant; the fact that it happened and that blacks were emotionally hurt by it proves how racist this nation is and how far we still have to go to become a truly equitable society.”

    Last week, two pranksters drove up to a St. Louis Popeyes and glued a note to the drive-through menu stating: “Effective 6-1-21 … This restaurant is under new management and will reserve the right to refuse service to white people. We apologize for any inconvenience. Signed, general manager, Mason.”

    The manager (who is not “Mason”) explained to local media that the note was a hoax by two random strangers unconnected to the store or anyone who works there. He removed the placard, much to the chagrin of white customers who were taking photos posing next to it for fun. The media reported the story with no outrage, there were no “lessons” that needed to be learned, and no whiteys sued or claimed debilitating injuries from having seen the note (indeed, it was laughed off by whites who were interviewed on the local news).

    By the next day, the entire incident was forgotten.

    Meanwhile, a bunch of black students at Central Connecticut State University had to be given emergency medical and psychological treatment after seeing a nearby crane with a steel cable loop being used in the construction of a parking lot, because the loop reminded them of a noose.

    Robin DiAngelo, the author of White Fragility, was unavailable for comment.


    One of the more blatant but often ignored differences between far-left and far-right protesters is fashion. In fact, the question of attire is a defining one on the ideological spectrum. Leftists, like those lovable murderous terrorists of Antifa, were wearing masks long before it was cool (and mandated). Groups like Antifa function, by their own admission, as a bloc, a single unthinking entity, dressed alike in black, the members indistinguishable from each other. This is in part a matter of simple practicality: If everyone at a riot looks the same, it’s almost impossible for authorities to make ex post facto arrests, due to the difficulty of identifying culprits via security cam video. So on that level, the “black bloc” thing is smart (as much as one hates to cede that leftists can be smart).

    But also, the “mob of cookie-cutter clones” theme reflects leftism itself, which subsumes the individual into the communal, where the individual matters only to the extent that he serves the group.

    Ah, but rightists…when it comes to demonstrations, marches, and protests, they become Mexican teenage girls heading to Quinceañera. Everyone wants to dress up and show off their finest dogmatic duds, hoping that they dun gets thar pitcher taken by the commie devil media. So they wear their favorite “message” shirt, or wacky hat, or somethin’ loud and patriotic. Or somethin’ puckish and ironic. Or something flat-out stupid.

    Yeah, most of the time it’s flat-out stupid.

    Like 56-year-old Robert Keith Packer, the “eccentric” and “oddball” Virginian who attended the Jan. 6 Capitol riot wearing a shirt reading “Camp Auschwitz: Work Brings Freedom.”

    Oh, what an impish little satyr! And he certainly got his wish, getting his picture in the paper more times in one week than Meghan Markle gets in a month (and that’s saying a lot). Because what’s more effective when trying to convey a serious political message than ironic Nazi and Holocaust references?

    Well, everything. Literally everything on earth is more effective. Stapling a copy of the Bill of Rights to your testicles would be a more subtle and less destructive manner of communication, and far less likely to negatively affect those with the misfortune of being your comrades in arms.

    Thanks to Mr. Irony Shirt Cretin, an indelible image of 1/6 was created that will long outlive most of the dolts who stormed the building.

    Now, you’d think that with Packer in jail and his shirt becoming lesson No. 1 in what not to wear if you’re a rightist looking to make a serious political statement, similar activists wouldn’t be falling all over themselves to repeat his error.

    You’d be wrong.

    Gigi Gaskins, the owner of a Nashville hat store called hatWRKS, decided to make a statement about what she views as the undue pressure being put on Americans to get vaccinated against Covid. And indeed, it’s a wholly legitimate issue, with politicians and business leaders talking about “special privileges” for the vaxxed—“permission” to travel, “permission” to enter stores maskless, “permission” to no longer socially distance.

    So what’s a guaranteed way to take a wholly legitimate issue and flush all chances of constructive dialogue or consensus-building down the toilet?

    Ask Gigi Gaskins, whose store is selling yellow Star of David patches—the kind the Nazis forced Jews to wear in Germany—with the words “NOT VACCINATED” in the center.


    On Instagram, Gaskins claims to be fighting “tyranny,” as if that’s a free pass for embarking on an idiotic crusade that will alienate more people than it attracts.

    Edmund Burke is often (falsely) quoted as having said, “The only thing necessary for the triumph of evil is for good men to do nothing.” Proper attribution aside, perhaps a more timely, 21st-century iteration is, “The only thing necessary for the triumph of evil is for good men to respond like dumbasses.”

    Although it might be naive to expect sensitivity to the horrors of the Holocaust from someone named GASkins.

    As expected, everyone from The New York Times to the GOP to the U.S. Holocaust Memorial Museum has condemned the mad hatter harridan for her mischievous little stunt, and the Stetson company has banned its hats from sale in her store, a meaningless gesture for a hat store in L.A., but for one in Nashville, potentially fatal.

    Oh well. Perhaps Gaskins is hard at work on a protest hat, a Stetson embroidered with “Arbeit Macht Fedora.”


    Students at Cambridge University are often referred to as “tabs,” sometimes derisively, sometimes affectionately (the term comes from Cantabrigia, a medieval term for Cambridge). And these days, the “tabs” are being encouraged to keep tabs on their teachers, via a new supersecret anonymous “snitch line” that allows students to report teachers and administrators for “racist microaggressions.”

    This “snitch line” is not some kind of off-campus guerrilla endeavor launched by the university’s most radical nipple-pierced bone-through-the-nose Marxist transgender transhumanist androgynous angry black-lesbo-feminist-queeer cranially malformed pinhead students. No, it’s an official snitch line launched by the university itself for radical nipple-pierced bone-through-the-nose Marxist transgender transhumanist androgynous angry black-lesbo-feminist-queeer cranially malformed pinhead students to destroy the lives of their professors.

    As reported in The Sunday Times, the university, which has christened the service “Report + Support,” has even provided a short list of things for which teachers should be reported, including “backhanded compliments” directed at students of color, and this gem: “raising eyebrows when a black member of staff or student is speaking.”

    Of course, squinting when a person of color is speaking is also forbidden. As are blank stares. So eyebrows can’t go up, or down, or remain steady and fixed.

    Cambridge has essentially banned white people from having faces.

    Who knew that the faceless Pale Man monster from Pan’s Labyrinth would end up being the template for “the only employable white at Cambridge.”

    Of course, he’d still get fired for boasting about being pale.

    The Report + Support tool is being championed by a ghoulish extra from The Walking Dead named Dr. Priyamvada Gopal, who achieved some measure of fame last year after she tweeted “White lives don’t matter” and “Abolish whiteness.” Dr. BudBud Bhopal is a professor of “postcolonial studies” at Cambridge (apparently that’s a thing). And when she’s not propagandizing her students or tweeting out racial hatred, she serves as the poster girl for the U.K. Coffee Distributors Association, where her ghastly visage appears on billboards under this caption aimed at Britons: “Your single-minded historical obsession with tea brought this into your Empire; drink more coffee!”

    Dr. GoPro has been the leading advocate for the snitch tool, which she claims (in a recent op-ed) will upset “white boys,” so therefore it must be good.

    Funny enough, opposing Primavera Goulash are Cambridge professors with names like Sir Partha Dasgupta, Arif Ahmed, and David Abulafia. England has essentially become a living embodiment of the Alien vs. Predator franchise, in which monstrous aliens battle each other as the indigenous inhabitants cower in a dark corner hoping that the less genocidal species wins.

    “Bloody ’ell, I sure ’ope the winner is the one who’ll dominate us with a sense of honor an’ not the one who’ll murder us on sight!”

    And for the moment it looks like the “right” aliens have prevailed. Turns out in British suicide poker a Dasgupta, Ahmed, and Abulafia beats a Gopal. Last week Cambridge announced that the Report + Support site is being taken down for “retooling,” although the vice-chancellor promised it’ll return in a less Orwellian form…perhaps one in which there’s a “three strikes” policy on eyebrow-raising before a white teacher can be fired.

    Cambridge 2021: where Wynken, Blynken, and Nod isn’t a children’s poem but a list of boxes to check on a white professor’s termination papers.
    "Every lie we tell incurs a debt to the truth. Sooner or later, that debt is paid." - Valery Legasov

  10. #158
    The Week That Perished


    June 13, 2021

    The Week’s Most Pedantic, Bacchantic, and Sycophantic Headlines


    Two months ago The Week That Perished featured the madcap tale of Lindani Myeni, a Zulu prince from the Kwazulu-Natal province in South Africa whose Coming to America story ended in bloodshed and death yet still managed to be funnier than the recently released Amazon Prime Eddie Murphy sequel.

    Prince Lindani and his white American wife Lindsay were living in Hawaii, where one night in April the restless regnant decided to break into the house of a married couple who were complete strangers to him. He removed his shoes and made himself at home (he is a prince, after all), and when the frightened couple called 911, the sovereign squatter assaulted the cops, inflicting serious injuries on them before being royally riddled with lead.

    Good night, sweet prince.

    Last week, the AP posted an article penned by two of its “journalists,” Hawaii-based Jennifer Kelleher and South Africa-based Mogomotsi Magome (which sounds like how a straight-D student in an inner-city classroom might try to say “memento mori”), that condemned the state of Hawaii for not rioting over Prince Partycrasher’s death. “No mass protests after Honolulu police shoot, kill Black man,” the headline read. “The muted reaction from residents is a reminder that Hawaii isn’t the racially harmonious paradise it’s held up to be.”

    Funny, but one might think that the lack of rioting is actually very good proof of a “harmonious paradise.”

    While there have been some local gatherings and small protests decrying Myeni’s death, it hasn’t inspired the passionate outrage seen elsewhere in the aftermath of the death of George Floyd, and other killings by police. Myeni’s death “would have generated mass protests in any other American city,” said Kenneth Lawson, a Black professor at University of Hawaii’s law school.

    Kelleher, Magome, and the prince’s widow put the blame for the wacky Wakandan’s death squarely where it belongs: Asians! Lindsay Myeni explains that the couple moved away from Denver because there were “too many white people,” but in Hawaii they encountered “Asians” who proved just as hostile. Indeed, Myeni reserves most of her scorn for the Hawaiian couple who were the victims of the break-in, describing the wife as “that Asian woman who called 911” (fact check: Hawaiians are American).

    “White people don’t come from Hawaii, stereotypically. Black people don’t come from Hawaii, stereotypically,” the widow told the reporters, complaining that to the “Asians,” she and her husband were dismissed as “haoles” (foreigners).

    To back up the claim that Hawaiian Asians are inveterate racists, Kelleher and Magome offer this one killer piece of insurmountable proof: “Businesses in Waikiki boarded up their windows ahead of a peaceful Black Lives Matter march last summer.”

    How racist that Hawaiians, having seen the BLM riots and looting on the continent, took basic precautions ahead of a march in their city.

    Racist Asians like that deserve to be taught a lesson. And while Kelleher and Magome stop short of suggesting random street beatings, continental blacks seem to have gotten that message on their own…and not a moment too soon!


    Woke is for the birds. Literally. The racial justice revolution has come for not just the bird-watchers, but the birds themselves. Black ornithologists—both of ’em—have decided that too many birds have racist names. And according to a breathless front-page Washington Post story, these trailblazing young bird-watchers of color are aiming to rename those racist birds because, it turns out, all of the problems plaguing black America can be traced to offensive bird names.

    Who knew?

    To be fair, certain bird species do have names that might make a black birder uncomfortable. There’s the KKKockatoo, the Lynching Treepie, the Bull Connor Cormorant, the House Nigga Nightingale, the Strange Fruit Dove, the James Earl Rayadito, the Middle Passager Pigeon, and of course the Woody Wilson Woodpecker.

    But the new generation of black bird-watchers is not content hitting such easy targets. According to the WaPo, as many as 150 bird names are on the chopping block. They include the Townsend’s Warbler and Townsend’s Solitaire, named after John Kirk Townsend, an 1800s ornithologist who dared to scientifically examine the sacred bones of dead Indians (science has no place in the new woke ornithology!), and the Wallace’s Owlet, named for British naturalist, explorer, and anthropologist Alfred Russel Wallace, who once used the N-word in the 1850s (that’s literally the only beef against him).

    “Conservation has been driven by white patriarchy,” said J. Drew Lanham, a Black ornithologist and professor at Clemson University in South Carolina, “this whole idea of calling something a wilderness after you move people off it or exterminate them and that you get to take ownership.”

    Now, who wouldn’t want to spend an afternoon bird-watching with an affable, good-humored fella like J. Drew Lanham?

    Many of these social justice twitchers favor a return to Native American names for North American birds. Examples given by the WaPo include awâ’hili for eagles, kâgû for crows, uwes’ la’ oski for hawks, and sïkïlïlï for chickadees.

    Funding for the project is being provided by the National Institute for Making Simple Pleasures Unnecessarily Complex and Cumbersome.

    Jeff Gordon, president of the American Birding Association, told the WaPo that he agrees with the mass renaming proposal, because he believes it will give young inner-city blacks an increased interest in bird-watching and conservation. When asked exactly how renaming the chickadee “sïkïlïlï” will attract people who often have difficulty with basic remedial reading skills, Gordon explained that some of the new names will be created with an eye toward this new prospective demographic.

    “Just wait for the LaQuisha Lark, the Daquan Duck, and the George Floystercatcher,” Gordon said, before flapping his wings wildly and jumping out a window screaming “ha-ha-ha-HAH-ha!”


    In 2019, a man named John Walsh passed away. No, not the fugitive-catching America’s Most Wanted guy, but a man who, in his own way, was probably more influential, even if he never became a household name. John Walsh fought a lifetime battle to force people onto buses. First in NYC and then, for the remainder of his life, in L.A., he tirelessly led campaigns to cripple light rail and subway service and block new highways and toll roads.

    According to Walsh (who dressed like a hobo and rarely bathed, and he was proud of that fact), bus travel is the only true egalitarian mode of transport, the most effective way to end “privilege” by forcing “elitists” to sit ass-to-ass with stinky bums like himself. Only by being forced out of cars, off of trains, and into crowded, fetid, noisy, air-polluting buses can we finally all be “equal”—the fat mamacita with her ten babies sitting next to the hopped-up gangbanger sitting next to the white commodities broker sitting next to the tubercular transient.

    That’ll teach that broker to think he’s “superior”!

    Laugh as you may, Walsh was credited with being the man who ended light rail in L.A. The L.A. press dubbed him “The Freak Who Stopped the Subway” in 1998. His tireless advocacy led to the establishment of “bus rider unions” in big cities across the country.

    Then a few years later he proclaimed at an MTA meeting that light rail was part of a “Jewish conspiracy” to stay separate from “the gentiles,” and suddenly, for some inexplicable reason, he fell out of favor.

    Hence why the death of this formerly lauded “gadfly” passed unnoticed.

    Walsh would probably love to be back in NYC these days, because the city’s buses have somehow managed to become even worse than usual. For whatever reason—as if certain kinds of people need a reason to wreak havoc—assaulting bus drivers has become the new “punching Asians” for a certain type of hip-hop urbanite.

    Last month, a Brooklyn bus driver was pulverized by an impatient motorist who ran her over when she exited her bus, and a Bronx bus driver was beaten senseless by a passenger who must’ve had a pathological hatred of Ralph Kramden (sometimes you just gotta punch a Kramden).

    This month, a Brooklyn bus driver was pummeled by a teen who took the driver’s request to wear a mask as a racist insult, and a Bronx bus driver was stomped by a young passenger who took the driver’s request to turn down his boom box as a genocidal outrage.

    To add insult to massive injury, last week an Asian bus driver who was assaulted by a gentle giant who was in the process of assaulting an elderly Asian couple (the driver tried to stop that assault only to become the honor student’s next target) was told by the New York MTA that he would not be receiving workers’ comp because he was technically on break when the assault occurred. The MTA told the driver, Tommy Lau, that he had a Chinaman’s chance in hell of being compensated, to which Lau replied, “I’m a New York City bus driver; this Chinaman’s already in hell.”

    Pity poor John Walsh, who didn’t live long enough to see his dream of buses as brutal communist reeducation camps where kulak faces get stamped by proletarian enforcers come to full fruition.


    Kamala Harris has the over-the-top face-scrunching mouth-contorting loud obnoxious cackle of a woman practiced in laughing just a little too hard at the bad jokes of influential men she’s trying to bed.

    “And then the Scotsman said, ‘Those ain’t bagpipes, but please don’t stop blowing.’”

    “Ha-ha-ha-HAAAAAAAAH gackle gackle gackle hork hork haaaaaah! Oh assemblyman, you’re TOO funny!”

    Unfortunately, false laughter only works on horny men and insecure, desperate stand-up comedians (i.e., all stand-up comedians). For everyone else, it comes off as unbearably annoying. Yet as irritating as Harris’ cackling is, it’s not even the most annoying thing about her. Arguably, that award goes to her complete lack of self-awareness regarding how she looks to anyone not hoping to have a quickie before the wife gets home.

    Kamala’s worst qualities were on full display during her less-than-stellar first trip abroad as Joe Biden’s eventual plug-puller. Indeed, her performance during the trip was so cringeworthy, Democrats started rethinking the wisdom of being saddled with this chortling chuckle-head once Biden gets Klaus von Bülowed into retirement.

    Harris’ trip began on a laughable note: On the anniversary of D-Day—typically a day when normal, decent Americans reflect on the sacrifices and bravery of men who placed their nation above themselves—Kamala Harris handed out Kamala Harris cookies to the press on Air Force Two, an act that even the usually fawning San Francisco Chronicle described as “slightly strange and possibly narcissistic.”

    “Possibly narcissistic”? If feeding your flock a Eucharist in your own likeness is only “possibly” narcissistic, it’s hard to imagine what could be “definitely” narcissistic.

    In Guatemala, Harris told migrants “do not come” with all the sincerity of every man who ever told her “I’ll call ya, babe” as they were zipping up their trousers. AOC, who is at least sincere in her vacuity, thrashed Harris for daring to tell border stormers not to storm the border.

    And The Hill was forced to admit that Harris “flubbed a response” after NBC’s Lester Holt asked her why she hadn’t visited the border. “And I haven’t been to Europe,” Harris replied, adding, “I haven’t seen London, I haven’t seen France, I have seen Willie Brown’s underpants.”

    “She is going to be haunted by this trip and this issue for as long as she is in politics,” a Democratic strategist told The Hill.

    Frankly, it’s more likely that Kamala Harris will continue to be the one “haunting” U.S. politics, regardless of her missteps. Dems may have backed the wrong horse(face) as VP, but they’re gonna have to live with their choice—a cackling apparition roaming the moors like Cathy from Wuthering Heights, appearing at Heathcliff’s window, telling him she’s good for a boff if he can get her that plum committee assignment.


    No matter how much of a mess U.S. elections have become, things can always get worse. And they will, as Democrats and Chamber of Commerce Republicans continue to import Mexico to America.

    During the infamous Florida recount that followed the 2000 presidential election, volunteers were forced to confront thousands of “hanging chads.” That was a walk in the park compared with what election workers in Tijuana had to deal with last week—namely, hanging nads (and other assorted body parts).

    Yes, Tijuana—TJ—that mecca for American frat boys looking to score some fentanyl, or test their immune system against a hooker who hasn’t washed since Cantinflas was alive, or who just enjoy the thrill of being kidnapped and mailed back to their parents in pieces, didn’t exactly have the smoothest time as Mexicans went to the polls to choose between the corrupt leftist party that wants to foist all of its problems on the U.S. and the corrupt slightly less leftist party that wants to foist all of its problems on the U.S.

    Polling stations all over TJ were plagued by troublemakers who scattered human body parts in voting booths. At one station, a human head in a wooden box was left on a pile of ballots. Initially, local officials wrote off the incident as a clumsy attempt to cast a write-in vote for Señor Wences. But soon enough, additional reports surfaced of body parts being left in booths at other polling stations. Arms, legs, hands, feet, internal organs, and genitals.

    A confused President Biden, upon hearing reports of the election-day carnage, asked his handlers, “But didn’t I end the ‘remains in Mexico’ policy?”

    For some candidates, their cleaved cojones were the only parts of them to get near a ballot that day. Over 89 candidates were killed prior to the election, although the reasons for the murders were varied (politicians who opposed drug cartels, politicians who possibly opposed drug cartels, politicians who didn’t support drug cartels strongly enough, and politicians who expressed a dislike for Australian actor George Spartels and it was incorrectly overheard as “cartels”).

    Sidney Powell blamed the deaths on sentient Dominion voting machines that developed a taste for human flesh after being fed adrenochrome.

    Still, even with the human body parts and 89 candidate murders, Vice described the election as “largely peaceful.”

    To which BLM cofounder Patrisse Cullors replied, “Okay, that’s nutty even by my standards.”

    Left-leaning President Andrés Manuel López Obrador, who ran on a platform of “my name isn’t long enough,” suffered huge losses in Mexico City, normally a haven for the far left. Obrador’s party was crushed by the opposition, 46% to 20%.

    Fortunately for the distraught presidente, Kamala Harris showed up with a fleet of C-130 Hercules aircraft to airlift the disaffected voters to Boise and Kalispell, where they’ll be given stimulus checks, unemployment insurance, and a bag of Kamala Kookies (reganadas flavor).
    "Every lie we tell incurs a debt to the truth. Sooner or later, that debt is paid." - Valery Legasov

  11. #159

    The Week’s Most Preening, Queening, and Juneteening Headlines
    An odd theme running through last week’s news involved retroactively inserting black people where they’d not previously been. It’s as if the world has become Return of the Jedi, with white people as the old Darth Vader “Force ghost” and blacks as the Hayden Christensen replacement.
    NPR reported on a major controversy surrounding beloved actor Tom Hanks. It turns out, black activists are outraged over the fact that every film in which Tom Hanks has starred has starred a white man. These rocket scientists are furious because movies starring an actor who is white starred a white actor.
    NPR “media critic” Eric Deggans, a black fellow who’s won many awards for “diversity” but not a single one for media criticism, has no time to explain how a Tom Hanks-starring movie can not star a white guy. “I love Tom Hanks as a performer, Hollywood citizen and all-around stand-up guy,” Deggans concedes, but his work is “so often focused on the achievements of virtuous white, male Americans.” Deggans argues that Hanks’ historically based films like Saving Private Ryan and Apollo 13 should have starred blacks instead…thus making them not only not Tom Hanks films, but not historically based, either.
    “I’m sure there are plenty of Hanks fans out there of every stripe who will say I am expecting too much,” Deggans admits. Actually, there are plenty of people of all stripes who will say that Eric Deggans is a certifiable lunatic.

    Still, lunatics thrive in Hollywood, so one mustn’t dismiss Deggans’ demands just because they’re insane. While Hanks will most likely not consent to having his past films digitally altered to insert CGI Chadwick Boseman into his roles, he’s probably open to black-centric reboots of his classics, including “Saving Private Ryan Coogler,” “Apollo Creed 13,” “The Man Who Got Shot for His One Red Shoe,” “Forrest Whitaker Gump,” “Ike Turner and Hooch,” and “Sleepless in Seattle Because Antifa Won’t Stop Rioting.”
    At the same time that NPR was inserting black people into historical fiction, Republican supergenius Marjorie Taylor Greene was inserting them into historical fact. After visiting the U.S. Holocaust Memorial Museum in D.C. to atone for having compared wearing masks to the Holocaust (which wasn’t even slightly nutty), Rep. Greene gave a press conference outside the museum’s reflecting pool and frozen banana stand where she expressed her desire to remember not just the Jews but “all the black people” who perished in the Holocaust.
    For those who dare suggest that Greene must be a low-IQ schizophrenic to think that blacks were murdered along with Jews in 1942 Europe, well, the historical record shows this patriot to be right. There were millions of blacks in Poland and Belarus at the time, they were just in hiding (like a bunch of “maaaan Franks”). The Nazis successfully captured them by leaving bottles of Gorilla Glue lying around in town squares. Once caught, the blacks were taken to the Auschwitz Main Camp swimming pool where things pretty much took care of themselves.
    Speaking of supergeniuses…
    England has given the world so many great thinkers. Sir Isaac Newton, John Stuart Mill, Darwin, Turing, Higgs…the list is endless. But England also gave the world Benny Hill, Pete Sutcliffe, and that ******y dance by Freddie and the Dreamers that nearly killed the British Invasion.
    So it can be a mixed bag, to say the least.

    Jack Jones and Isaac Rasmussen were good ol’ Liverpudlian mates from ’er Majesty’s right proper Royal Navy they was they was, and after getting out of the service, the interracial duo (Jones is white, Rasmussen black) decided to use some of the international contacts they made during their tour of duty to start a bloody brilliant drug-smuggling ring.
    The pair had pals in the Netherlands just aching to unload dope that had gone unused during 2020’s tourism pause (everyone’s always concerned about the schoolchildren and the mom-and-pop stores, but do we ever give any thought to the lockdown and travel-ban repercussions suffered by drug dealers?). The plan went surprisingly well. The smooth criminals began successfully importing heroin and cocaine from Holland, with the illicit narcotics hidden inside Lego boxes. Wiretaps failed to pick up on the plot, because even Interpol doesn’t recognize Dutch as a real language.
    The operation appeared ironclad. Indeed, prior to the first delivery, Jones texted his accomplice, “Bro we be multimillionaires in three months ha ha ha.”
    British optimism: It’s what carried the nation through the Blitz, and it’s what keeps them clinging to the hope that somewhere in the world is a non-Brit who doesn’t think Doctor Who is cheesy crap.
    And in the case of Jones and Rasmussen, that optimism would’ve been warranted, if not for one fatal error: Rasmussen was under the mistaken impression that his neighborhood was safe for package deliveries.

    As a Cockney might say, ’ee bought a raffle ticket, ’ee did ’ee did.
    Rasmussen’s neighbor nicked one of the boxes, and, seeing that it was apparently a Lego Duplo play set, gave it to a friend’s child, who opened the box to find eighteen kilos of coke (street value £1.8 million).
    Last week Jones and Rasmussen were sentenced to more than a decade each in the ol’ boom and mizzen, while the child who received the Lego box hasn’t slept in a month.
    Staying in the U.K. for a moment, let’s fly over to Scotland, where the rebellious spirit of William Wallace lives on in a young woman named Lisa Keogh. Keogh is a law student at the University of Abertay in Dundee. She’s also a woman. As in, an actual biological woman, not Billy Connolly in a dress.
    And that’s pretty much where her problems began. Lisa Keogh didn’t set out to be an insurgent; she merely wanted to be an advocate (lawyer). But unfortunately, colonization in Scotland has gone way beyond matters of land grants to noblemen, homages paid to far-off kings, and serfs forced to wear secondhand tartans that look like Depression-era clown pants. No, these days the colonization is mental, a desire to force independent thought right out of the mind of the average Scot.

    And Lisa Keogh directly attacked that mental colonization with one simple statement: “women have vaginas.”
    When several of Keogh’s thoroughly colonized classmates overheard her making that 100% scientifically, biologically, and medically accurate statement, they complained to the university’s Department of Haverin’ Rubbish. And the university opened an investigation into Keogh, because the entire U.K. has gone from defending the right of Stan from Life of Brian to have babies to mandating that nobody dare suggest he can’t.
    Funny enough, because the university admins didn’t want to completely betray themselves as weak-minded dipsticks urinating on the historic principles of higher education, they didn’t bring Keogh up on charges of saying “women have vaginas,” but rather of shouting it. The accusation was that she said it too loud, shocking a trannie student who passed out, hitting the floor so hard that when he eventually came to, he temporarily forgot he’d been pretending to be a girl.
    Last week, Keogh was cleared of the charges against her. The university’s crack investigators stressed that while her beliefs might still be loony-bird (“girls with vaginas? Cuckoo, cuckoo!”), they could find no proof that she ever shouted the offending phrase like an Auchinleck Talbot Football Club fan screaming, “Eeka, peeka, pukka, po” (which, unlike “women have vaginas,” is a perfectly rational statement).
    On reviewing the evidence available, including witness statements, class recordings and chat transcript, the board found no evidence that you had discriminated against another member of the university, the board found that you had not intentionally shouted in class.
    Well, that’s a relief! Scotland’s not lost. Except…following Keogh’s exoneration, a Scottish lass in Airdrie was arrested for posting photos of “green, white and purple suffragette ribbons,” because they looked like nooses and American blacks might become emotionally crippled because a woman half a world away in a town they’ve never heard of posted a photo of ribbons that might possibly barely and no-not-ever be mistaken for nooses.
    It takes a lot to make Longshanks’ tyranny look good by comparison. Congrats, Scotland.
    Last week was also quite an instructive week regarding forbidden words and those who can speak them with impunity.
    Two weeks ago the world (or at least that segment of the world that isn’t tuned 24/7 to MSNBC) learned that the genetic detritus known as Hunter Biden was really, really fond of using the “n-word.” Indeed, Hunter was an outright artist with the term. Some artists work in oil-based paints, others in watercolor, still others in acrylic. Hunter prefers to color his canvases in nigga. And yet, for his repeated use of a word that has landed random, anonymous white teens on the front page of The New York Times simply because they mouthed it at a rap concert, Joe Biden’s ant in the afterbirth was not only able to escape cancellation, but coverage.
    Sweet trick. How many crack whores do you have to screw to get that gig?
    Last week, as if the Teflon son were trying to see just how far he could push his immunity from woke prosecution, additional emails surfaced in which the junior Biden made anti-Asian slurs. Supposedly, that’s the absolute worst thing a white guy can do at present, what with the current plague of anti-Asian street violence that’s caused almost entirely by blacks but somehow still the sole responsibility of whites.
    As reported in the New York Post:
    In a screenshot posted by the Daily Mail, Caroline—the daughter of President Biden’s brother James—suggests setting Hunter up with one of her friends. “Do you want foreign or domestic,” she asks at one point before adding: “I can’t give you f—ing Asian sorry. I’m not doing it.” The next two messages from Hunter read: “Domesticated foreigner” and “Is fine.” The next message reads: “No yellow.”
    They call him mellow no yellow (quite rightly).
    Once again, expect yawns from the mainstream press. Another case of “no yellow” journalism.
    Meanwhile, as “no dogs or Chinawomen” Biden got his latest free pass, former misogynistic Man Show host/current teary-eyed leftist trash heap Jimmy Kimmel scored yet another one for himself. Having already escaped cancellation for a full-body blackface routine some years ago, last week Mr. Sarah Silverman received another vaccination against accountability after calling Caitlyn Jenner “Trump in a wig” during an on-air tirade against the California gubernatorial candidate. As Jenner correctly pointed out on Twitter, calling trannies “men in wigs” is normally an automatic career death sentence. But in Kimmel’s case, even the most vocal men in wigs declined to express any outrage over the slur.
    Between Biden getting off scot-free for a punch bowl full of nig-nog with no Chinese to pee-pee in it, and Kimmel skating after literally painting his face and body to look like the doughiest black man who ever lived while speaking the unspeakable truth about trannies, to Andrew Cuomo emerging unscathed after sexually harassing so many loudmouth NYC broads there’s not enough gabagool on earth to buy their silence, it’s tempting to say that “cancel culture” is over.
    And it is. For one end of the political spectrum.
    There was no way this could go wrong. Back in 2015, a group of South Korean feminists formed an organization called Megalia with the purpose of mocking the penis size of Korean men.
    What a fine, constructive idea! Literally, that plan had no flaw.
    Members of Megalia would publicly berate men with mocking cries of “6.9! 6.9!” That’s the average Korean penis size…in centimeters, of course. In inches, that comes to 2.7 (in possibly related news, Korean men are seeking to outlaw centimeter-to-inch conversions). Megalia chose as its emblem an emoji of a hand making a thumb and index finger pinching gesture as if to say “very, very small…tee hee hee!”
    Members of Megalia would mock Korean men online, in pubs, and in the workplace with derisive comments about the 2.7 acres of their tool.
    For some odd, baffling, inexplicable reason, Korean men didn’t much care for this, and although the Megalia organization dissolved several years ago due to catty infighting (women are women, the world over), individually, South Korean women have continued to use the “pinching finger” emoji as a means of humiliating the nation’s men, as if calling out dudes for their 2.7-inch donglers is some kind of devastatingly witty Algonquin Round Table bon mot.
    The widespread feeling of penile inadequacy among Korean men is probably the reason why, in any given Korean restaurant, the Great Danes are always the first ones in the pot. Male Danes are a living reminder of what the cook can’t bring home to wifey.
    Last week, the L.A. Times, in an exclusive report, detailed efforts by South Korea’s long-suffering wee men to end the torment once and for all. In what Times correspondent Victoria Kim describes as a “McCarthyistic reversal of the #MeToo movement,” Korean men are fighting back against the assault on their manhood, waging a “cancel culture” war against businesses and corporations that use the pinching-fingers emoji.
    Government legislative aide–turned–media consultant Ha-Heon-gi told the Times that Korean men are merely defending their honor using the tools of social justice, calling the anti-emoji campaign “tit for tat” (or “tit for tidbit,” which is the standard way of describing a Korean sexual exchange).
    Oh, those Koreans. Such silliness! Getting all worked up over a simple hand gesture. That kind of thing would never happen in the U.S.!
    Next week in The Week That Perished: The ADL pushes for the incarceration of a kindergartner who made the “OK” hand gesture.
    Never attempt to teach a pig to sing; it wastes your time and annoys the pig.

    Robert Heinlein

    Give a man an inch and right away he thinks he's a ruler

    Groucho Marx

    I love mankind…it’s people I can’t stand.

    Linus, from the Peanuts comic

    You cannot have liberty without morality and morality without faith

    Alexis de Torqueville

    Those who fail to learn from the past are condemned to repeat it.
    Those who learn from the past are condemned to watch everybody else repeat it

    A Zero Hedge comment

  12. #160
    The Week That Perished


    June 27, 2021

    The Week’s Most Flummering, Mummering, and Summering Headlines


    The leftist war on sunlight continues! Last year, lefties in politics, the media, and (pseudo)science scoffed at the idea that sunshine was good for people under lockdown, and possibly even beneficial against Covid itself. “Bah,” the know-it-alls proclaimed, “the idea that the human body can benefit from sunlight is New Age Trumpian alchemy!”

    Then it turned out that both claims were correct: People should’ve gone outdoors during lockdown, and sunlight is helpful against Covid. And the know-it-alls donned sombreros to hide their faces so they wouldn’t have to answer for their error. “Bill Nye no está aquí. ¡Lo siento señor!”

    Last week, the war on sunlight took an even darker turn.

    Vox cofounder Matthew Yglesias is a man on a mission to import enough Third World detritus for the U.S. population to reach one billion (that’s the actual title of his most recent book: One Billion Americans). To help prep America for its new role as India West, Yglesias tirelessly battles against housing density regulations and single-family residence zoning. In Matty’s future America, every neighborhood will be a slum comprised of towering ghetto tenements, with green belts a thing of the past.

    When Yglesias saw the original Death Wish, he was untroubled by the scenes of violence and carnage. But the part where Arizona real estate developer Jainchill talks about the value of open spaces made him recoil in revulsion:

    Jainchill: “I won’t doze those hills. What I build conforms to the land. And you can’t hear the toilets flush next door.”

    Yglesias: “That’s horrific! It’s only by hearing my neighbor’s toilet flush that I know I’m alive! Neighbor toilets are the babbling brooks of city life.”

    In his quest to turn the U.S. into a nation of a billion people keenly aware of when their neighbors have the runs, last week Yglesias latched onto a new talking point: shade! In a lengthy (and now deleted) Twitter thread, Matty and his dense pro-density acolytes sang the praises of tall buildings that block the sun, saving city dwellers from exposure to the deadly rays.

    “I feel like more tall apartment buildings in my neighborhood would = more shade in DC’s long hot summers and actually make everyone happier,” Matty declared. “In the age of climate change, shade from tall buildings is good. Cities should prioritize high-rise construction,” one of his comrades added. “More urban shade from tall buildings is good,” another agreed, suggesting that with enough tenement projects, kids could be protected 24/7 from that demon sun.

    Yglesias is of Cuban and Jewish heritage, but he’d have made a fine Aztec, what with his crippling fear of Huitzilopochtli the sun god.

    Sadly for Yglesias, one of his science-minded followers just had to go and rain on the shade parade, posting a Gizmodo piece by the site’s urbanism editor Alissa Walker. Seems that tall buildings actually make neighborhoods hotter by absorbing and reflecting heat onto the surrounding areas, well into the evening (even after the sun has set). This is called the “heat island” effect, and it’s actually quite well-known…to everyone but Matty.

    Sun 1, Yglesias 0.

    Time to start working on that Mr. Burns sun-blocking machine, Matt. As long as that damn star still shines, your dream of one billion Americans sitting in darkness listening to their neighbors poop will remain unrealized.


    Based on the name, you’d expect a mufti to be attracted to women. But not Aziz-ur-Rehman, mufti of an esteemed seminary in Lahore, Pakistan. Rehman is a well-known Muslim miscreant; he’s been a major player in worldwide protests against “blasphemous” cartoons, and his agitation has led to Western cartoonists, publishers, and teachers falling prey to incidents of largely peaceful beheadings.

    But now it seems that the chief of Jamia Manzoor-ul-Islamia has been jamming his “manzoor” where it doesn’t belong. The sixtysomething cleric has a taste for boys, and he’s been indulging it for many years.

    Frankly, considering the seminary’s motto, this really shouldn’t have come as a surprise: “Jamia Manzoor-ul-Islamia: The Semen-ary Where Every Day Is Ram-adan.”

    They weren’t even trying to be subtle.

    Last week the mufti—who’s long been hailed as a champion of moral purity—was jailed after graphic video surfaced in which he’s shown giving some dhikr to a 20-year-old student, who told police he’d been routinely raped by Rehman since he was 13, so he decided that the only way to end the abuse was to secretly record one of the encounters and put it online.

    The video swiftly led to Rehman’s arrest, while also skyrocketing to No. 1 on Pornhub’s “Caliphs ’n’ Kids” subdomain.

    In fact, last week saw a spate of holier-than-thou types caught in the exact behavior they condemn. In NYC, a Nobel Prize-nominated humanitarian activist named Joel Davis, recognized the world over for his work to prevent the molestation of boys, was sentenced to thirteen years in prison for his molestation of boys. The 25-year-old Davis ran the Youth to End Sexual Violence nonprofit, which upon reflection probably should’ve been called Sexual Violence to Youths’ Ends.

    Much like Rehman, Davis was caught on tape buggering a schoolboy. In accepting the judge’s sentence, the remorseful activist admitted to “engaging in the very abhorrent behavior I had pledged to fight,” a rather weak statement better suited to a vegan caught eating a cheeseburger than a child rapist.

    Yet even that was not the pinnacle of last week’s cavalcade of hypocrisy. Over in that utopian oasis known as Chicago, there’s an organization called UCAN—a government-funded social service agency that purports to combat gang violence among the city’s black teens by offering counseling, job training, and free copies of Mr. T’s 1984 music video “Don’t Be No Fool: Gangs Ain’t Cool.”

    Marty Murff was one of the higher-ups at UCAN, raking in taxpayer dollars to keep kids out of gangs. And last week Murff was indicted for being the head of the notorious black Chicago gang the Vice Lords. The federal racketeering indictment accuses Murff of crimes ranging from murder to heroin and fentanyl trafficking, all while he maintained his benevolent alter ego as UCAN’s chief of “violence intervention and prevention programs.” A taxpayer-funded anti-gang counselor who was the secret leader of the very gang he claimed to be opposing.

    Murff has yet to be booked because officials can’t find a prison jumpsuit that can accommodate balls that big.


    Did someone mention balls? If novelty songs are to be believed—and surely there are few more accurate sources regarding historical events—Hitler had only one of ’em. Most likely, he took good care of it, as one is wont to do when something is in short supply.

    Sadly, the same cannot be said for a present-day Austrian—a 29-year-old soldier in the Austrian army who, though blessed with two fine balls, decided that one of them needed a little redecorating. So he elected to get an amateur tattoo “down there” because “what really attracts me to a man is crudely painted testicles” said absolutely no woman in human history.

    After downing two bottles of whiskey, because schnapps doesn’t have a high enough alcohol content, the soldier enlisted his brother to tattoo one of his nads with a symbol forever associated with that guy Austrians never like to claim as their own.

    And voilà, by morning the young fellow had a swastika on his nut.

    Considering the discomfort the young soldier must’ve endured while receiving the tea-bag tat, it makes perfect sense that he wouldn’t want to keep the accomplishment to himself. The man suffered for his art; surely he had a right to display it to the world. So, while on a military exercise several weeks after coloring his Easter egg, the doughty young gent decided to show his hangin’ beauty to his squadmates…again after downing large quantities of liquor.

    Unfortunately for the Illustrated Mann, the other members of his unit didn’t take kindly to seeing his unit, so they reported the poor bastard to the top brass. And last week the Klagenfurt Regional Court sentenced the soldier (whose name was not released) to nineteen months imprisonment. Public display of Nazi symbols is illegal in Austria (flashing unpainted genitals is just fine, though…even welcomed in certain cities like Hard and Wiener), although it can be argued that it might’ve been more appropriate to charge the guy for being drunk and pantsless while on a military exercise.

    According to the Kleine Zeitung newspaper, the soldier had previously spent two years in the pen for causing grievous bodily injury during a drunken brawl…so maybe the problem here is the Austrian army’s recruitment standards. Convicted felons who get drunk, get scrotum swastikas, get more drunk, and flash them during military exercises don’t exactly seem like the cream of the crop.

    The ultimate irony: Today’s Austrian soldiers are people who would’ve been the first ones taken out by Hitler’s policy of euthanizing the feeble-minded.

    Übermensch? More like goobermensch.


    Ever hear the one about the elderly man who goes to the doctor for a checkup? The doctor sits him down and puts a gentle hand on the old guy’s shoulder.

    “The news isn’t good. You’ve got cancer. Also, you’ve got dementia.”

    The old man pauses and replies, “Well, it could be worse; I could also have cancer.”

    That joke used to be funny before Joe Biden became president.

    Last week, New York Democrat Rep. Mondaire Jones met with Biden to thank him for making Juneteenth a national holiday. Deciding to go off script for a moment, Jones brought up the stalled voting “rights” legislation making the rounds in Congress. According to the AP, the unexpected question apparently short-circuited the president’s brain. He “just sort of stared at me,” Jones said. There was “an awkward silence” that seemed to last forever as the president gazed blankly ahead.

    After what seemed like an eternity of quiet, Biden finally replied, “Thank you for your time, Dr. Juneteenth,” and Jones slowly backed out of the Oval Office like the sanitarium keeper in Dracula.

    Former White House physician Ronny Jackson has publicly called for Biden to take a cognitive test (you remember those—they were all the rage when Democrats were claiming that Trump was mentally unfit). In a letter cosigned by thirteen GOP lawmakers, Jackson cites a number of recent instances in which Biden seemed to loose focus, concentration, and train of thought in public places, plus a number of other times the president forgot basic facts and simple names.

    And that letter was drafted before last Thursday’s speech in which Biden claimed that the “Tuskegee Airmen” had been “experimented on” by mad scientists. Another senility blooper? Or was Biden finally copping to the secret government genetic engineering program aimed at creating a race of mutant black birdmen (sadly, the program was dissolved after the birdmen tried to raid a convenience store and were shot down by rooftop Koreans).

    While the Jackson/GOP letter is (of course) being dismissed as partisan chicanery, the story related by Mondaire Jones—a progressive black—is being taken far more seriously in Democrat circles. This might account for why Kamala Harris was finally dispatched to the southern border…after all, if the Dems are gonna sell her as a replacement president, she needs to start doing more as VP than laughing at her own jokes.

    While at the border, Harris is expected to ease concerns that the Biden/Harris administration is too soft on illegal immigration. Her plan is to stand facing Mexico and cackle like a banshee in the hope that potential border crossers will think she’s La Llorona and turn back in fear.

    ¡Ay, bruja! Vamanos!


    Speaking of Juneteenth, another one has come and gone, and for those of you suffering the inevitable post-Juneteenth depression, take heart because, as with all holidays, it’s the memories that matter.

    Since this was the first Juneteenth to be officially observed as a federal holiday, the celebrations were especially meaningful…if by “meaningful” one means insanely violent and anarchic. Over three dozen Juneteenth celebrants were shot, and almost a dozen killed, in at least eight states. Cities in Colorado, California, Michigan, New Jersey, Pennsylvania, Indiana, Illinois, and South Carolina reported incidents of mass Juneteenth mayhem.

    There’s no official Juneteenth carol yet, but a decent suggestion would be Grand Daddy I.U.’s 1994 rap classic “We Got Da Gats” (“I’m firm, my gun bust off like sperm/Plus my hobby and job is buckin’ niggaz full-term…HAPPY JUNETEENTH, EVERYONE!”).

    One man was killed and six others injured during a Juneteenth celebration that turned into a mass brawl at Lake Merritt, Calif., in Oakland (a.k.a. the place in CA that would most benefit from a North Korean missile). In footage that quickly went viral on social media, as paramedics attempted to treat the victims, partygoers blocked the ambulances with twerking and doggy-style sex acts (that video is to Juneteenth what a Hallmark Channel movie is to Christmas).

    Even worse than the human toll was the environmental damage to the lake: California Fish and Wildlife officials report that there’s been a mass die-off of fish that became trapped in the hundreds of torn-out weaves cast into the water during the fight.

    In Long Beach, N.J., another mass brawl caught on video resulted in multiple injuries as honors students battled gentle giants for the title of King of Juneteenth. In Philly, a mass shooting killed two men and riddled a 3-year-old boy’s legs with bullets, because it’s always important to remember that these holidays are first and foremost about the children. In Aurora, Colo., a Juneteenth celebration venue that reached capacity began turning away attendees. So of course the rejected participants opened fire, killing one and injuring four. And in Baton Rouge, a Juneteenth bash at the Capital Park Bar & Grill resulted in two deaths and four injuries after patrons got into a heated dispute over whether Juneteenth has become too commercialized (“Look, it ain’t about the presents; it’s about the murderin’!”).

    Sure, other “ethnic” holidays lead to violence…every year dozens of dwarfs working for tips as leprechauns on St. Paddy’s Day are injured after being tossed across bars, and at 2 a.m. on Cinco de Mayo, Mexican revelers rev up their engines for the annual “run over everything in our path” drunk-drive-a-thon. But Juneteenth is on track to become the only U.S. holiday that, each year, is guaranteed to take the lives of those it supposedly honors, at the hands of those it supposedly honors.

    And that’s the greatest irony of all: As every Juneteenth from now on will inevitably decrease the U.S. black population Purge-style, it seems appropriate to ask whether this is truly a “black” holiday at all, or the new most sacred day on the KKK calendar.
    "Every lie we tell incurs a debt to the truth. Sooner or later, that debt is paid." - Valery Legasov

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  14. #161
    The Week That Perished

    Takimag July 04, 2021

    The Week’s Most Erratic, Phlegmatic, and Morganatic Headlines


    It was the brazen daytime robbery that froze Beverly Hills in its tracks. Last March, a trio of thugs descended upon an outdoor dining patio in the city’s ritzy shopping district in an attempt to rob a local jewelry store owner of his purdy purdy watch. One of the thugs aimed a gun at the jeweler as another tried to pry off the watch. When the bejeweled victim resisted, the thug’s gun went off, striking a young lady in the leg as she dined on grouper. The woman’s lunch, including the fancy dipping sauce, splattered all over the beautiful orange balsam, or jewelweed, that lined the patio, and the panicked thieves ran off with the watch but not much else, their plan for a grand robbery having been interrupted by unforeseen circumstances.

    Because the crime occurred in Beverly Hills and not the city of L.A., police actually set about solving it. The gunman left his weapon behind, and another of the thugs bled on the victim’s shirt during the struggle. Plus the entire affair was captured by security cameras. In due time, all three assailants were caught.

    Last week the three stooges were arraigned, which proved a nightmare for local media. After all, the L.A. Times and the TV news had taken great pains to keep the racial identities of the thugs a secret. Perhaps it had been a trio of Norwegians? You know how violent they get. Or maybe nomads from Outer Mongolia.

    Hell, they could’ve even been Jewish; after all, who else would panic and drop the gun Jerry Lewis-style?

    “Oy, it’s so slippery and OY such a bang it made with the bullets and the yelling and the oyyygenflaaaaaaygen!”

    So at the arraignment, when the names of the three suspects were released, it put the press in a terrible spot: Malik Lamont Powell, Khai McGhee, and Marquise Anthony Gardon.

    Damn, why is it never the Norwegians?

    The three are members of the Rollin’ 30s Crips street gang, a revelation that led many locals to express surprise that there are still any black gangs left in the county.

    C’mon, Mexicans. You had one job.

    Another revelation was the trio’s MO. A fourth (as yet unapprehended) suspect is a young black woman whose role was to walk up and down the streets of the dining district pretending to be on her phone, while secretly casing outdoor patios for targets. Yes, sometimes “walking while black” is a crime. She’s the one who spotted the fancy watch and reported the victim’s location.

    Unfortunately, Scoutquesha was a little too good at her job. That watch was more than fancy. It was a $500,000 Richard Mille RM 11-03 Flyback Chronograph, the luxury watch of luxury watches, made famous by such luminaries as Rafael Nadal, Jackie Chan, and Natalie Portman.

    It’s such a rare watch, the three dummiegos couldn’t fence it. Every jewelry store, pawnshop, and independent dealer in town knew it was hot. The pyramid-builders even tried to take it to Chinatown, hoping that the “chinks” hadn’t seen the news.

    They were chased away by a furious Chinese jeweler, who (one can only hope) was wielding a cleaver and screaming, “Choiachoiachingchong, you no come back or I chop you up for dog food!”

    So in the end, the robbery was all for naught. The thugs didn’t make a cent.

    At the arraignment, all three suspects pleaded “maaaaaaaaaan.”


    And while we’re on the topic of Chinamen and thugs…

    Congratulations, American taxpayer. Your money has solved that most baffling of unsolvable riddles…why are Asians getting assaulted in America’s big cities, and how can this yellow plague be stopped?

    If you think the answer has something to do with increased policing and incarceration of the predominantly black thugs who’ve been carrying out the assaults, well, more the fool you. See, that’s why you don’t run the Public Broadcasting System. Fortunately, the heads of PBS have come up with the answer: Asians are being assaulted because they’re ashamed of their eyes.

    If we can just make Orientals feel good about their beady, shifty little peepers, anti-Asian violence will cease.

    The “science” behind this principle is about as sound as “kids need masks and Covid vaccines,” but hey—PBS is like Fauci: funded by the people to fool the people.

    Last week, Sesame Street debuted a new video as part of its “racial justice for young children” series. In the video, a real-life Asian man and a black Muppet (because all the real-life black actors were too busy being cast in every single online commercial that plays before videos on YouTube) cheer up an Asian child who got bullied because of her eyes. The Muppet and the man reassure the girl that “everything about you is beautiful, both inside and out” (blatantly ignoring her giant honker, but that’s for another video).

    “The color and the shape and the size, should always make you proud of your eyes!” the man sings.

    The man and the Muppet conclude by telling the girl how important it is that her eyes look like those of her family members. “My eyes are the same as my dad’s,” the man proudly proclaims. “I’m really proud that I look like him, because our eyes make us special and unique.”

    In the background of the video you can hear a million adopted kids weeping dejectedly.

    Ironically, just as the new Sesame Street video debuted, an article in Allure decried the current trend among white Instagram models of aping the almond-shaped “fox eye” look popularized by wasted organ banks like Bella Hadid. Rather than telling white chicks to be proud of their eyes, Allure slammed them for “anti-Asian cultural appropriation.”

    Because whites can never be sympathetic. Asians hate their eyes? It’s because whites are evil. Whites want more exotic eyes? It’s because whites are evil.

    Don’t expect to see a Sesame Street video in which a white girl is told to be proud of her eyes. Although next week, the little Asian girl from the video returns after a visit to New York City, and the man and the Muppet are forced to cheer her up again, this time by singing a song about the beauty of the two black eyes given to her by a random street brutha.


    2021 is shaping up to be the year of the tranny. Last week, a 27-year-old Philippines-born dude named Kataluna Enriquez won the Miss Nevada USA beauty pageant, becoming the first transgender dude-in-a-dress to win that title, and the first American fella in a wig to compete in the Miss USA pageant.

    Yep, to all you biological women out there, once again a man has proved that he can do female better than you.

    Enriquez has not released any information about his pre-beauty-(drag)-queen life, but he has been very open about being mentally ill. “I’ve been in therapy since I was 10,” he told the Las Vegas Review-Journal.

    You don’t say.

    As Enriquez prepares to compete in the national pageant, he told the Review-Journal that his advocacy focus will be on “visibility,” a welcome change from all those other contestants who used their moment on stage to push for invisibility (such unhelpful advocacy culminated in tragedy at the 1997 Miss USA pageant when Miss Maryland’s attempt to fly an invisible Wonder Woman plane into the auditorium led to a mass casualty event).

    But the tranny victory in Nevada was only the tip of the iceberg. A New Zealand shemale named “Laurel Hubbard” became the first transgender manwoman to qualify for the Olympics. “She’ll” be competing against actual women as a weightlifter, bringing to the mat a heckload of moxie, gumption, and biologically male bone and muscle density.

    Hubbard told the press that he’s been treated very well since qualifying for the games. His only complaint is that people keep confusing him for the fat guy at the start of the “One Step Beyond” music video. “I don’t like ska,” he told the AP, “so I wish I didn’t have all these Madness fans coming up to me saying, ‘Hey you, don’t watch that—watch theeesss!’”

    Here in the U.S., dudes in dresses have been falling all over themselves to become America’s first tranny Olympian. In Eugene, Oregon, professional runner Nikki Hiltz failed to qualify for the team after being tripped up by her own penis during a sprint. New Hampshire transgender hurdler CeCe Telfer was similarly disqualified when her erect member kept banging against the hurdles. Fortunately, tranny BMX biker Chelsea Wolfe made the cut, becoming the first tranny athlete to go for the gold on Team USA. As with all competitive bikers, years of riding have flattened her rod and sack into an amorphous pancake.

    Rumor has it that the influx of trans athletes is not so much a project of social justice, but a crude attempt to psych out the Japs at their own Olympics by parading around a bunch of grotesque giants masquerading as women, in the hopes that the Japanese athletes will pause mid-competition and say in unsynchronized English, “OHHHHHHH! Godzilla is attacking the stadium! Run for your rives!”


    Hey, didja hear? The United Nations has something to say about George Floyd and “genocidal racism” in the U.S.!

    Well c’mon, folks. Let’s gather ’round and hear what the putrid smegma of Eleanor Roosevelt’s fever dreams wants to tell the nation about treating blacks in a humane manner.

    Last week Michelle Bachelet, the U.N. High Commissioner for Human Rights, released her long-awaited-by-no-one report on George Floyd.

    And heaven knows every black American from Detroit to Atlanta has been waiting with bated breath to find out what Michelle Bachelet thinks of George Floyd.

    SPOILER ALERT! Do not read any further unless you want the ending of Michelle Bachelet’s George Floyd report to be revealed.

    Last chance to turn back!

    Okay, here it is…

    She loves him! And she demands that the U.S. “make amends” for his killing. As reported by the AP, Bachelet, a Chilean socialist, states that even though the U.S. government should flood the black community with reparations cash, that alone will not make up for the death of a guy she never knew existed until a year ago:

    “Reparations should not only be equated with financial compensation,” she wrote, adding that it should include restitution, rehabilitation, acknowledgement of injustices, apologies, memorialization, educational reforms and “guarantees” that such injustices won’t happen again.

    Bachelet boasted that she wrote her report after speaking with “340 black people,” a.k.a. the entire weekly audience for Joy Reid’s MSNBC show.

    Amazingly, Bachelet was interviewed by the same AP that, just four years ago, ran a piece titled “UN peacekeepers in Congo hold record for rape, sex abuse.” Yet the intrepid AP reporters failed to ask Bachelet follow-up questions like “How can you make blanket condemnations of an entire nation for the death of one black person when the organization you lead literally ‘holds the record’ for raping black women?”

    By the way, it should be added that the aforementioned record is totally verified by the Guinness people, although a spokesman for the world record-keeping org was quick to point out that with Bill Cosby back on the loose, the U.N.’s claim to fame might be fleeting.

    From the AP report:

    Of the 2,000 sexual abuse and exploitation complaints made against U.N. peacekeepers and personnel worldwide over the past 12 years, more than 700 occurred in Congo, The Associated Press found. Peacekeepers try to distract young girls with cookies, candy and milk to rape them.

    Oh, but by all means, demand that the U.S. completely upend itself because one fentanyl freak got winded.

    At the close of her interview with the AP, Bachelet rolled around in a pile of U.S. taxpayer money, before offering the reporters some cookies, candy, and milk.

    “Sometimes the girls lose their appetite when the raping starts,” she told the journalists, “so we end up with leftovers. Please eat up. What’s left will be sent to Cosby, especially the milk, which goes quite well with Quaaludes.”


    Anyone lucky enough to not know what today’s youthful imbeciles do on TikTok is blessed, and that blissful ignorance is one to cherish.

    Essentially, TikTok is a platform where young white girls stick out their middle fingers (a routine that was already tired when Avril Lavigne was doing it twenty years ago) while lip-synching “nigganigganigga” to rap lyrics.

    Apparently, this has something to do with appearing as a “tuff grrrrl,” but in fact it’s almost certainly behavior that’s encouraged in the service of a secret Chinese plot to gather video in order to extort these women at some future point.

    Sometime in 2026:

    Vaguely Asian voice on the phone: “Hello, Abby…do you enjoy your job as district manager of the Forever 21 Encino branch?”

    Abby: “Errmahgerd, who is this?”

    Voice: “Just someone looking to help ensure that the 2021 TikTok video of you saying ‘nigga’ never reaches corporate HQ.”


    In 2017, a Mahanoy City, Pennsylvania, high school bimbo named Brandi Levy became enraged when she didn’t make her school’s cheerleading squad. Later that day, after school, while stewing about the greatest slight in the history of humankind, Levy took to Snapchat to stick out her middle finger with the caption “$#@! school $#@! softball $#@! cheer $#@! everything.”

    The school administrators, seeing the post, suspended Levy from all cheerleading activities for a year. Apparently no one in Mahanoy City was bright enough to understand that there’s no such thing as a person named Levy who doesn’t have multiple lawyers.

    Levy and her family sued, and the ACLU took the case straight to SCOTUS, which last week ruled that the school district was out of line in penalizing Levy for a post made off campus and after school hours (only Justice Thomas dissented, taking offense at the fact that Levy plagiarized the title of his favorite Suicide Silence song).

    To celebrate the victory, the ACLU began selling “$#@! Everything” T-shirts on Twitter.

    OMG, what rebels!

    Except…just try saying “$#@! transgenderism” or “$#@! BLM” or “$#@! George Floyd” or “$#@! your pronouns.” As the ACLU’s resident Stalinist Chase Strangio has clearly stated, such speech must be banned.

    Even the bimbos of TikTok possess a greater understanding of free speech than the idiots at the ACLU…and with far less hypocrisy.
    Last edited by Anti Federalist; 07-04-2021 at 02:42 PM.
    "Every lie we tell incurs a debt to the truth. Sooner or later, that debt is paid." - Valery Legasov

  15. #162

    The Week’s Most Flailing, Bewailing, and Smooth-Sailing Headlines

    It’s hard to believe that London was once a city in which the greatest risk its inhabitants faced was insomnia caused by the odd ghost or two showing up at all hours to lecture about the true meaning of Christmas.

    If there’s one story that exemplifies what London has become today, it’s the sordid tale of Danyal Hussein and his pet demon, Lucifuge Rofocale.

    Hussein is an Iraqi-Kurdish immigrant who personifies the term “not sending their best.” Weak-minded and impressionable, as a teen Hussein fell under the spell of London’s murder-crazed imams. At age 15, he found himself on the radar of Scotland Yard’s “anti-extremism” task force. From 2017 through 2018, Hussein was enrolled in ’er Majesty’s “Prevent Programme,” which takes Muslims who are prone to radicalization and teaches them to be singing chimney sweeps with fake Cockney accents (major funding for the Prevent Programme provided by the Dick Van Dyke Foundation).

    In 2019, Hussein was deemed “cured” of radicalization. He swore to his Anglo benefactors that no longer would Muhammad hold sway over his actions. He was free of all allegiances to Islamic extremism. Indeed, he was done with Islam entirely.

    And just like that, a fine BRITISH gentleman was born. He was released back into society with a bowler hat, an umbrella, and an Aero bar.

    But there was a fatal flaw in the Prevent Programme: Low-IQ Muslims were “cured” of their Muhammad fetish by having their slavish predilections “redirected” to new saviors. It’s like replacing one OCD with another. So yes, Danyal Hussein did drop that loser Muhammad…in favor of a better deity—a demon called Lucifuge Rofocale. He began praying to this demon daily. And apparently the demon “told” him that if he would “kill six women in six months” he would “win the £321million Mega Millions Super Jackpot lottery and not be suspected of his crimes.”

    Hussein drew up an actual contract with Rofocale, which he signed in his own blood (Rofocale, for some odd reason, didn’t countersign). And then he murdered two sisters in cold blood as they were enjoying a night on the town.

    Because the sisters were black, their mother is now accusing the British government of racism for releasing an Islamic nutcase back into society, which the British government only did in the first place so as not to appear racist.

    Sometimes you just can’t win! Unless, of course, you don’t let any of these people into your country to begin with.

    But that’s all water under London Bridge now.

    For his part, Lucifuge Rofocale stated that he will not pay out the lottery money, as Hussein killed only two women. “We had a contract,” Rofocale told the BBC. “Two women? That’s barely worth winning the football pool.”

    Catch more of Rofocale’s commentary in his weekly Guardian column “Wot the Devil Are You Talkin’ About?”

    Last week was not a good one for the U.K.’s immigration and integration policies. Over in Manchester, a Nigerian immigrant doctor named Robert Jenyo was engaging in the racial equivalent of yelling “rape” after a one-night stand.

    The 53-year-old Jenyo is a lousy doctor. Well, to be fair, he’s good by Nigerian standards. He’s a whiz with cow dung and chicken innards, and he always rigorously sweeps the walkway in front of his clinic to brush aside the evil duppies that collect from the spirits of his dead patients (a.k.a. all his patients). He’s quick to write prescriptions for people with AIDS (“rape one nun every two hours; if condition persists, rape a baby”), and he was first in his class at Yoruba U. when it came to diagnostics via lizard entrails.

    Unfortunately for Marcus not-so-Welby, lizard entrails aren’t always the best tool with which to diagnose cancer. Way back in 2007, Dr. Ungabunga was treating a 60-year-old white man who complained of back and neck pains. Any competent doctor would’ve easily spotted about a dozen signs that the man had potentially fatal cancer. But Jenyo consulted with Papa Legba who said the guy just needed a heating pad and bed rest, so Jenyo sent him home with some Icy Hot…and he promptly died of cancer a short time later.

    The gentleman’s son sued Jenyo for malpractice, winning £30,000. Jenyo, however, filed a countercomplaint against the son, claiming that the young man had launched into a racist tirade following his dad’s death, pelting the bad doctor with foul slurs. “I will ensure you are sued and struck off,” the enraged son supposedly told Jenyo (“struck off” is British for “prevented from practicing.” It’s also one of the more unique fetishes in British porn). “You go back to your own country and give way for white doctors to work, you $#@!ing ******.”

    Basically, Jenyo tried to portray himself as the victim. “Yes, I misdiagnosed the father, but the son called me ‘******,’ so we’re even.”

    Unfortunately for the witch doctor, the attempt to shift blame didn’t work, and the quack was indeed “struck off.”

    Last week, while appearing before the Medical Practitioners Tribunal Service in Manchester to argue for the restoration of his license, Jenyo admitted to having completely fabricated the “racist insults” incident. It turns out that killing the dude’s dad wasn’t good enough; he wanted to pour salt in the wound by making the son look like a hate-filled maniac (Jenyo’s lies could’ve landed the son in prison under Britain’s “racial intimidation” laws).

    “I had been under pressure at work and was stressed and I was trying to cover up things. When the complaint came in, I did not want the details of this case to come out and suggest to patients, my colleagues, and to the public I am a bad doctor,” Jenyo told the board. “I now realize the impact my actions have had on the son and his family and I regret what happened.”

    Jenyo also copped to falsifying medical records in order to hide other errors.

    In a rare burst of sanity, the board refused to reinstate his license.

    Say what you will about Nigerians, they have a great national motto: “At least we’re not Haiti.”

    If you’ve ever had the misfortune of living next door to a house that’s an eyesore—maybe the owners are hoarders, or hillbillies, or squatters using the place as a crack den—you know what it’s like to be the Dominican Republic, having to share an island with Haiti.

    In the early 1800s, the Dominican Republic was occupied by Haitians. It was a brutal occupation; theft of crops, theft of livestock, heavy taxation. And then in 1838 two Dominicans were walking down the street and one turned to the other and said, “Dude, they’re just Haitians. Haitians, for Chrissake.”

    And with that epiphany the Dominican War of Independence began, At the first major skirmish, the Battle of Azua, 2,200 Dominicans took on 10,000 Haitians, killing 1,000 of them while losing only two of their own. At the Battle of Santiago, 500 Dominicans routed 10,000 Haitians. And soon enough every Haitian had been chased back to the Section 8 tenement they call a nation.

    That brief period before Dominicans realized who their occupiers were was Haiti’s first and final shot at glory; it’s all been downhill since then.

    Haiti’s first ruler, a dictator named Jean-Jacques Dessalines, was murdered and dismembered by his own people after his followers ran out of whites to slaughter. And that set the tone for all Haitian leaders to follow: take power, do terrible things, refuse to leave, get deposed or killed.

    Carrying on that noble tradition, last week Haiti’s current “guy who took power, did terrible things, and refused to leave,” Jovenel Moïse, was assassinated in his home by gunmen who used the old “[Knock knock knock] Water and Power; we’re hear to read the meter” ruse to gain entry. Sadly, it was only while opening the door that Moïse realized that his country has neither water nor power. But by then it was too late.

    Moïse’s assassination has left his country leaderless, as it turns out that the Haitian “constitution” is just the lyrics of a Wyclef Jean song. “No one knows who’s in charge of Haiti,” declared Slate’s Joshua Keating, who pointed out that the one man who might’ve been able to bring order to the line-of-succession chaos, Supreme Court President René Sylvestre, died of Covid last month.

    And his predecessor died of AIDS.

    And the guy before that? Probably cholera. Or Gorilla Glue.

    It’s striking that a nation known for 200 years of presidential assassinations still doesn’t know what to do after a presidential assassination.

    As the country’s constitutional crisis worsened, leading to riots (because of course it did), the Dominican Republic sealed its border with its neighbor, leading the descendant of that first Dominican to say to the descendant of the second one, “Why the hell didn’t we do this a long time ago? We live next door to Haiti.”

    And speaking of Haiti…

    Oxfam was founded in 1942 by a bunch of Oxford toffs. Oxfam—which stands for Oxford Famine Relief, and not “Oxes is family, they is”—seeks to combat hunger in those less fortunate parts of the world that were often rendered less fortunate because the bleedin’ Empire colonized ’em and left the poor blighters to starve.

    What started out as a vanity project for blue bloods to chuck their uneaten toast at Punjabis has turned into one of the worst NGOs on the planet. In 2018 it was revealed by The Sunday Times that following the devastating 2010 Haiti earthquake that shook the nation so violently every Haitian instantly learned the “Beat It” jittery-guy dance, Oxfam, which was ostensibly in the devastated country to provide aid, had instead exploited the desolated natives for sex.

    Oxfam’s then director of operations in Haiti, Roland van Hauwermeiren, was specifically accused of raping underage women. He escaped prosecution because authorities couldn’t spell his idiotic last name on a warrant. According to the Times, Oxfam, under the then directorship of Winnie Byanyima, a “Ugandan aeronautical engineer” (she’s best known for sailing the nation’s only paper airplane a record-breaking five feet across a room), covered up the org’s sex crimes because raping was one of the perks that attracted new recruits.

    Oxfam was expelled from Haiti (which is the equivalent of being kicked out of Skid Row for poor hygiene). And earlier this year, Oxfam again faced charges of sexual misconduct, this time in Congo from 2018, when Oxfam workers were assisting during the country’s Ebola crisis.

    There’s no universal definition of “low standards,” but “raping Ebola victims” is probably as close as it gets.

    Rocked by these sex scandals, Oxfam, in a bid to regain all the gub’mint moola it lost on account of molestation, has decided to ferret out the root cause of its woes.

    Turns out those woes stem from one thing and one thing only: whiteness!

    Last week the organization circulated a survey among its staff members asking them to identify by race and, if they’re white, to apologize for the crimes of their color. According to the Times, the survey was not greeted with open arms by Oxfam employees. “Surely the time and money should be better spent on the real findings that some of the men they employ are sexual predators,” one staffer told the paper.

    But c’mon, that would mean less underage sex. And who joins Oxfam for any other reason?

    Better to pin it all on whitey, and get back to that sweet, sweet Ebola tail.

    Blight privilege; the best privilege of all!

    Cliff Huxtable is doin’ fine…but Claire’s in the doghouse.

    Following Bill Cosby’s surprise release from prison on a technicality, friends and foes of “America’s rapey dad” weighed in on the controversial court decision. And whereas most of the blue checks who tweeted about the matter took the position of “It’s not ‘exoneration’ when a guy confesses to rape but says, ‘My confession was privileged,’” poor Phylicia Rashad just had to take a more contrarian view.

    Rashad has played Cosby’s wife twice: once on the groundbreaking 1980s sitcom that taught Americans how not to see race at the same time it taught them how to see unfunny, and again on the misbegotten 1996 iteration, a ratings-starved abomination of such magnitude that when costar Madeline Kahn died of ovarian cancer during the show’s run, her castmates were bitterly envious that she found a way out of her contract.

    Rashad might be a fine actress, but her talents don’t extend to reading a room. Following Cosby’s release, Rashad tweeted “FINALLY!!!! A terrible wrong is being righted- a miscarriage of justice is corrected!”

    Rashad had just been named the new dean of Howard University’s College of Fine Arts, and apparently Mrs. Huxtable didn’t understand that when blacks don’t have whites to pick on, they’ll inevitably turn on their own. She was immediately slammed by Howard students for her “insensitivity” to the victims of sexual assault. Calls mounted, and are mounting still, for her resignation. After all, as dean she’d be responsible for handling accusations of on-campus sexual assaults in her department. And it’s a little hard to maintain credibility in that job when you’ve taken the position of “My friend confessed to drugging and raping women but he had an immunity deal which means he’s innocent.”

    In an attempt to quell the firestorm, Rashad penned an open letter to the Howard student body, apologizing for her “upsetting tweet” and promising that if Bill ever expresses an interest in raping college girls, she’ll send him to Spelman instead (the guy’s blind; he won’t know the difference).

    For its part, Howard University disavowed Rashad’s tweet, although as of now there are no plans to dismiss her as dean.

    Cosby released a statement slamming Howard for slamming Rashad, claiming the HBCU violated her “free speech” rights, much as his own prosecution had violated his “free booty” rights (“If there’s booty to be had, it’s free for Coz”).

    In his bizarre missive, Cosby attacked the media for perpetrating the 1/6 Capitol riot, and he attacked the nation’s filmgoers for not appreciating Leonard Part 6.

    No word yet on any upcoming dates for the Cosby/O.J. Simpson/Mykelti Williamson “Holy Crap We Got Away With It” national tour.
    Never attempt to teach a pig to sing; it wastes your time and annoys the pig.

    Robert Heinlein

    Give a man an inch and right away he thinks he's a ruler

    Groucho Marx

    I love mankind…it’s people I can’t stand.

    Linus, from the Peanuts comic

    You cannot have liberty without morality and morality without faith

    Alexis de Torqueville

    Those who fail to learn from the past are condemned to repeat it.
    Those who learn from the past are condemned to watch everybody else repeat it

    A Zero Hedge comment

  16. #163
    Sometimes you just can’t win! Unless, of course, you don’t let any of these people into your country to begin with.

    Sometimes you just can’t win! Unless, of course, you don’t let any of these people into your country to begin with.

    Sometimes you just can’t win! Unless, of course, you don’t let any of these people into your country to begin with.
    "Every lie we tell incurs a debt to the truth. Sooner or later, that debt is paid." - Valery Legasov

  17. #164
    Quote Originally Posted by Anti Federalist View Post
    Sometimes you just can’t win! Unless, of course, you don’t let any of these people into your country to begin with.

    Sometimes you just can’t win! Unless, of course, you don’t let any of these people into your country to begin with.

    Sometimes you just can’t win! Unless, of course, you don’t let any of these people into your country to begin with.
    Never attempt to teach a pig to sing; it wastes your time and annoys the pig.

    Robert Heinlein

    Give a man an inch and right away he thinks he's a ruler

    Groucho Marx

    I love mankind…it’s people I can’t stand.

    Linus, from the Peanuts comic

    You cannot have liberty without morality and morality without faith

    Alexis de Torqueville

    Those who fail to learn from the past are condemned to repeat it.
    Those who learn from the past are condemned to watch everybody else repeat it

    A Zero Hedge comment

  18. #165
    The Week That Perished


    July 18, 2021

    The Week’s Most Higgling, Niggling, and Wiggling Headlines


    I must admit, I didn’t think much of Andy Dufresne the first time I laid eyes on him. Looked like a stiff breeze would blow him over. That was my first impression of the man. Andy kept pretty much to himself at first. Wasn’t until a month went by before he opened his mouth to say more than two words to somebody. As it turned out, that somebody was me.

    He asked if I could get him a rock hammer. So I strangled him to death. Crushed his throat with my bare hands before the guards could stop me. See, rock hammers are racist, so I felt threatened. Does that make me rehabilitated? I believe it does.

    The Shawshank Redemption
    (Critical race theory reboot)

    As a good leftist, surely Stephen King will be more than willing to cancel himself in the name of CRT. After all, the marginally talented millionaire word-vomiter had the gall to write positively about rock hammers. And rock hammers are racist…apparently.

    According to a paper published last week in the “science” journal Nature Communications, black Americans aren’t joining the exciting field of geology because they’re afraid to hold a hammer.

    No, really. That’s the actual thesis of the paper. If not for hammerphobia, the field of geology would be crawling with dudes named LaMarquobsidian De’Quartzite.

    As the geosciences strive to be more accessible, the community must recognize that BIPOC and other marginalized geoscientists are not always safe in geoscience spaces. For example, holding objects (e.g., a rock hammer) has been viewed as “suspicious” and, continues to be, used as a reason to call the police on Black people, which can lead to the death of Black individuals, entirely because of racial profiling and an unjustified fear of Black people.

    Yes, blacks don’t become geologists because they’re afraid that if they lift a rock hammer, a cop will shoot them.

    The authors of the paper (and there are nineteen of them…yes, it took nineteen morons to come up with the “skeered o’ hammers” thesis) fail to explain why, if this fear extends to all “BIPOCs,” hammerphobia doesn’t seem to have affected the labor market in Southern California when it comes to Mexicans pounding away all day long on construction projects.

    Perhaps Mexicans have yet to learn a healthy fear of the hammer…maybe they need to be taught, kind of like how you frighten wild bears so they don’t get comfortable around people.

    An idea: Every Mexican who tries to cross the border gets chased back with a giant carnival mallet. Within a generation, Mexis will come to fear the tool, as they rightly should.

    The nineteen rocks-for-brains “scientists” who authored the paper suggest that only when blacks no longer feel threatened by hammers will the field of geology finally become racially “equitable.”

    Hopefully, blacks never learn about the rock group Skrewdriver, or that’s another tool down the toilet.


    As white geologists were complaining about the difficulty of attracting black people to their stodgy academic field, blacks were also struggling to diversify one of their most assuredly not-stodgy and not-academic fields: street gangs!

    Skylar “Thump” Webb is an 18-year-old white girl. She’s also the only white member of the Eastside Rollin 20’s Bloods street gang in Norfolk, Va. Along with fellow Bloods Deondre Watkins, Javonne Hodges, Toparshia Hodges (isn’t Toparshia a gemstone? Maybe that belongs in the previous item), Asja Smith-Moore, and Tavarrius Mitchell, Webb helped enrich her community with multiple robberies and assaults.

    How Webb attained her position as the “white Blood” is not yet known, although authorities suggest it was likely based on the essay section of the BAT (Bloods Aptitude Test). Her essay, “ERRMAHGHERD I’M A BLEHRD,” was considered the finest entry the gang ever received, owing in no small part to the fact that no other Blood has ever been able to read or write.

    Soon after achieving full Blood status, “Thump” was tasked with bringing in new members (“ERRMAHGHERD! PYRAMID SCHEHRM!”). So she set her sights on her friend, 20-year-old Brianna Arrington, a single mother of a 2-year-old son. Arrington was working two jobs, one at a gas station and another at a local community college, and “Thump” told her that if she was willing to get in on this exciting new street-gang thing, she’d have a family that would provide for her and her son. “Thump” explained that these Bloods were not at all like the violent street gangs portrayed in the media. No, these were community activists. Mini-Obamas, all of ’em!

    So Arrington was like, “I’m sold! Count me in!”

    IQs don’t run high in Norfolk.

    Sadly for Arrington and her sponsor, the new recruit wasn’t too good at the minutiae of street ganging. As reported in The Virginian-Pilot:

    Arrington, by her own account, was not a good gang member. Over the next couple of days, her new comrades tried to teach her secret handshakes, Bloods lore and traditions. But Arrington messed up, and each time she did, she got “a DP” or “disciplinary/detrimental punishment”—which meant a beating.

    The thing is, when you screw up at Amway or Mary Kay, your bosses don’t murder you. But after weeks of being the Jerry Lewis of the Bloods (“oygenflaaaygen with the secret handshakes!”), Arrington was targeted for termination. So “Thump” invited her to the hangout for a “pizza and movie night” (that’s not a joke; Arrington actually arrived with Little Caesars). And then the gang beat her, stabbed her in the head and back, poured bleach down her throat, and shot her in the eye. Then they took her son—yes, Arrington brought her child to the “pizza and movie night”—and tossed him in a dumpster as Arrington was left to bleed out in her car.

    Amazingly, she survived, as did the boy. And last week, Arrington, sporting a glass eye, a Lauren Bacall-inspired acid-washed voice, and multiple scars physical and mental, testified at the trial of the ten Bloods who tried to kill her.

    Isn’t that always the case? You try to dismiss an incompetent employee, and they file some BS claim for damages. If only Arrington had been able to memorize those secret handshakes, nobody would be in this mess and the pizza-and-movie nights would be going on as usual.

    One bad apple…that’s all it ever takes to ruin a good thing.


    The riots and looting tearing through South Africa simply cannot be happening. The images must be CGI; the news reports fake. Everyone knows that black people only riot and loot because of institutional racism caused by evil whites and their damnable supremacy.

    It’s a law of physics, no more violable than gravity.

    So no, it’s simply not possible that blacks are rioting and looting in a black nation because of actions taken by the blacks who rule them against other blacks who used to rule them.

    In fact, the backstory of the SA riots is so convoluted, only a writer of Marvel blockbusters could’ve come up with it. The origin story involves something called the “Zondo Commission,” which totally sounds like what Doctor Strange or Starhawk would appear before while trying to find the Galubrious Cubes or the Synstricious Stones or whatever inane plot device saves the universe.

    The short version is this: Corrupt South African Butcher-Thief #1 was accused by Corrupt South African Butcher-Thief #2 of being a corrupt South African butcher-thief, so Corrupt South African Butcher-Thief #1 was brought by Corrupt South African Butcher-Thief #2 before a commission started by Corrupt South African Butcher-Thief #1 to investigate corrupt South African butcher-thieves. And Corrupt South African Butcher-Thief #1 said to Corrupt South African Butcher-Thief #2, “You can’t bring me before my own commission!” so he was charged with contempt and sentenced to fifteen months in prison. And the residents of Corrupt South African Butcher-Thief #1’s home province of ButcherBongoThiefUbango (formerly known as Rhodesville Nogtown during the apartheid years) decided they wanted flat-screens and slap-chops so they started looting malls and burning down the homes of Indians.

    And apparently killing Somalis…for reasons that surely make as much sense as anything else going on in that geographical septic tank. It got so bad that last week Somalian diplomats sent a formal protest to the South African government demanding protection for Somalis living in SA.

    The Somalian flag is a machete-wielding warlord carving a starving child in half while eating a baby.

    When your nation has become too extreme for those lunatics, maybe it’s time to dial it back a bit.

    The death toll from the riots is nearing 100, and Twitter is overflowing with videos of entire shopping malls cleaned out and factories and warehouses sacked and burned. The rioters have especially targeted the food production chain, because what harm could come from that? It’s not like Africa has ever had any issues with famine.

    Help us, Zondo! You’re our only hope!


    South Africa was not the only nation on fire last week. As SA burned with red-hot passion for stolen consumer goods, Cuba burned for libertad! Which put American leftists in an awkward spot, because Cubans are supposed to really love all that amazing communism. So, as Cubans took to the streets screaming babalu and expressing annoyance at their redhead wives who are always trying to crash the nightclub act, leftists generally stayed silent about the mass discontent.

    Indeed, as protests raged on the streets of Havana, Santiago, and other Cuban cities, most leftists tried to pretend that the unrest was in response to not having enough Covid vaccines, as opposed to not having enough, you know, food and water (Cuba is currently in the middle of a massive economic crisis that has all but erased its stocks of dairy goods and reduced its meat supply to gristle).

    Leftists were baffled. How could a communist paradise with the finest health-care system on earth (a system awarded ten out of ten amputated feet on the Michael Moore diabetic fat guy scale) be so disliked by its own people?

    President Biden was Weekend at Bernied just long enough to release an official White House statement about the protests, telling a hedgehog in the Rose Garden (which he mistook for Yamiche Alcindor), “We stand with the Cuban people and their clarion call for freedom and relief from the tragic grip of the pandemic and from the decades of repression and economic suffering to which they have been subjected by Cuba’s authoritarian regime.”

    Fortunately, the hedgehog passed along the comments to the Press Corps.

    For his part, Bernie Sanders took time off from arguing at Katz’s Deli over whether egg bread or rye is the better choice for the pastrami platter to issue a statement of his own: “All people have the right to protest and to live in a democratic society. I call on the Cuban government to respect opposition rights and refrain from violence.”

    Oy, enough with the violence already!

    Eventually, most American leftists settled on the line, “Yes, the Cubans are genuinely dissatisfied, but only because America continues to embargo the poor island nation. It has nothing to do with communism.”

    In Democrat political consultant terms, this is known as the “We’ve already lost Florida so to hell with it” strategy.

    Perhaps the most interesting take on the Cuban Gristle Crisis (that pun was set up eight paragraphs ago) came from Black Lives Matter’s official Twitter account. The U.S. terrorist org praised Cuba’s communist leaders for “supporting black liberation” in Cuba and abroad.

    Considering that only about 9% of Cubans are black (“Afro-Cuban”), it’s comforting to know that BLM stands in favor of starving an entire nation to protect a small minority (who are starving as well) from Western microaggressions like freedom and well-stocked grocery shelves.


    Sticking with a theme, as South Africa burned for looted consumer goods and as Cuba burned for basic foodstuffs, the French were like, “Ooh là là, we must get in on zee action, no?”

    Because every now and then, the French like to remind the rest of the world that they exist. The French are like skunks. You’re out for an evening stroll, and you likely haven’t thought about skunks in ages. But then one crosses your path, and you’re like, “Oh right—skunks exist, and I don’t want to get too close to one, so I’ll walk in the opposite direction.”

    And the skunk is like, “I made you notice me! That means I’m important. Skunks rule!”

    For decades, the French have willingly given up their freedoms, empowering politicians who’ve blithely chipped away at what, in times past, might’ve been considered basic human rights. In France, speech is illegal if it offends a nonwhite, an immigrant, or damn near anyone else. French law criminalizes “the public or non-public insult of a person or group of people because of their origin or their membership or their non-membership, true or supposed, to an ethnic group, nation, sexual identity, gender identity, disability, race or specific religion.”

    As a result of this law, movies have been banned, movie posters have been banned, comedians have been arrested, animal rights activists have been put on trial, and even Bob Dylan was investigated by the cops (but sadly not for Knocked Out Loaded).

    When imported Muslim terrorists began dispatching native Frenchies to that great baguette bakery in the sky, the French government responded not by limiting immigration, but by restricting religious wear, because for the French, it’s never about forging practical solutions, but abrogating rights. Better to let terrorists into the country and tell them they can’t wear veils or burkas than to just not let terrorists into the country in the first place.

    It’s rather like the French—known for their sexual deviancy—get a prurient thrill from restricting rights.

    So it was a bit baffling last week when thousands of French folk took to the streets of Paris and other major cities to protest the Macron government’s plan to require vaccine passports (called “health passes”) for all residents who wish to venture into public places. “Mon Dieu,” the Frenchies cried, “how dare you tell us that we cannot eat at a restaurant or go to the movies or visit a mall without proof of vaccination!”

    Yes, the imbéciles who’ve been perfectly fine with surrendering every other right have finally drawn a line…a day late and a euro short. The gendarmes dispersed the protesters and everyone went home to sit in silence in a dark room, saddled with the crushing realization that they’re French.

    At least the South Africans are willing to fight for something…even if it’s just a looted vacuum cleaner that they can’t figure out how to assemble and end up using as a coat rack or worshiping as a new pagan deity.
    Last edited by Anti Federalist; 07-18-2021 at 10:27 AM.
    "Every lie we tell incurs a debt to the truth. Sooner or later, that debt is paid." - Valery Legasov

  19. #166
    The Week That Perished

    July 25, 2021

    The Week’s Most Peddling, Treadling, and Gold-Medaling Headlines


    It was the most blessedly brief “mismatched roommates” sitcom in history: a trillionaire book-burner, his ne’er-do-well sponge of a little brother, a Dutch teenager, and an old lady from Texas. And together they blasted off into space…for a few minutes, barely long enough for a good sitcom gag:

    Big Bezos: Hey, who took the spare change from my wallet?
    Lil’ Bezos: Sorry, bro. I needed some walking-around money.
    Big Bezos: But there was 50 million bucks in there!
    Lil’ Bezos: It was gonna be a long walk.
    [Laugh track]
    Dutch Boy: Boop boop meep meep boom boom eep eep.
    Old Lady: Ya damn kid! Quit playin’ yer videa games so loud!
    Dutch Boy: Video games? I was speaking Dutch.
    [Laugh track]

    The Bezos Far Out Space Nuts reboot went off without a hitch…well, not in the air, at least. On the ground, there was a hitch or two.

    CBS News hosted a special guest to witness the “historic” launch: Charles Bolden, a black retired astronaut and NASA administrator who flew on four space-shuttle missions. What a “get” for CBS! Let ABC try to dig up one o’ them Hidden Figures ho’s; CBS had a real live legend on board!

    But things went south faster than the Challenger. Following the New Shepard’s successful landing, a beaming Bolden decided to put his own unique spin on why the mission is important for today’s black youth. After CBS cameras caught sight of a young black boy beaming with joy as the capsule returned to earth, Bolden began a rant about how the launch “inspires kids to not sit on a corner and shoot people.” Reporter Gayle King (who’s black) hurriedly interrupted Astronaut Jones, frantically trying to change the subject. But to no avail. Once Bolden got the mic again, he seamlessly picked up his train of thought (news flash: The elderly are stubborn): “People will criticize what I’m about to say, but…the young man sitting there, excited as he was, that’s one less black kid on a corner somewhere getting ready to use a weapon.”

    And with that, the entire studio filled with the unpleasant odor of about a hundred people simultaneously soiling their pants.

    Fearing that the old coot had just gotten the entire network canceled, King immediately jumped in to save the day: “I don’t want anybody to think or believe that all black kids are just hanging out on a corner. I just really wanted to clean that up because I’m sitting here going, No, Charlie, no! I know what you were trying to say, but I don’t want that left hanging on the air as I’m sitting here listening to it.”

    “I said before I said it that people were going to be critical,” Bolden shot back, unbowed and smiling.

    Watching King’s pained expression was a joy; a network that (like all the others) pretends that black crime is a myth invites a legendary black man on the show, only to get a harsh lesson in how old black men ain’t got no truck with the PC.

    And it must be said, the idea of shooting young gangbangers into space has definite appeal. Rather reminiscent of an old 1970s-era joke from the British comedy duo Morecambe and Wise:

    Ernie: [Reading a newspaper] Bad news…the Chinese are on the moon.
    Eric: Good news…all of ’em.


    If last week had a theme, it’s that life loves ethnic stereotype humor. Indeed, much of the week seemed like a Don Rickles routine playing out in real time.

    Example No. 1: Larry Elder, the black conservative author and radio host, nearly missed his chance to run in the California gubernatorial recall election because some of his paperwork was late. Yes, even rightist blacks go by CPT. California Secretary of State Shirley Weber, an obese 72-year-old black woman who probably holds a few grudges against all the tardy black men who left her hanging throughout the course of her life, tried to penalize Elder for his un-punctuality, but a court overruled her, and Late Larry will be on the ballot after all.

    Example No. 2: The Polish government had to recall six members of its Olympic swimming team, because the team should’ve numbered seventeen, but the Poles couldn’t count properly and sent six too many. A genuine tragedy, but not as bad as the Polish sprinter who left his polka albums at home because someone told him he might break a record, or the Polish wrestler who got hit by a car because he was jogging backwards (he was trying to gain weight), or the Polish track-and-field competitor who refused to do the broad jump…he was afraid he might hurt her.

    Example No. 3 is certainly the saddest: The Japanese, arguably the most shame-averse people on earth, find themselves in the position of hosting the most shameful Olympics in history. From athletes pledging to openly disrespect their nation should they win a medal, to dudes in dresses getting ready to clobber actual women, to the cardboard beds the athletes have to sleep on (they never should’ve trusted the design of Olympic Village to Gus the back-alley transient), the Games are shaping up to be a most dishonorable mess.

    Of course, front and center in that mess is Covid. Almost a hundred athletes, trainers, coaches, and staffers have tested positive. Many of the infected were “fully vaxxed,” and as far as anyone knows, there are no “brave Texas Democrats” hiding in Olympic Village superspreading to residents.

    Spectators have been banned from all events, because if there’s one thing sports isn’t about, it’s spectators. Organizers believe it’s only appropriate for the Pandemic Games to look like the opening scenes from 28 Days Later, with athletes in empty stadiums wandering around screaming, “Helloooo! Anyone theeeeeeere?”

    Japanese enthusiasm for the Games is at the level of “I’d rather relive Nagasaki.” Toyota, one of the event’s prime sponsors, has declined to run any Olympics-themed ads (the poor bastard who okayed that sponsorship deal is preparing his seppuku sword), and the CEOs of a dozen Japanese corporations skipped the opening ceremonies out of respect for the fans who couldn’t attend.

    South Korean diplomats are boycotting the Games after a Japanese diplomat infuriated the delegation with a masturbation joke (which almost certainly included the pinched finger-and-thumb “tiny penis” meme), and the composer of the opening-ceremony music was forced to resign after he admitted that while in school he forced classmates with disabilities to masturbate (again with the masturbation theme?), and he ridiculed the looks of students with Down syndrome (kinda redundant for an Asian).

    To top it all off, a heat wave is making this the hottest Olympics on record, and the director of the opening ceremonies was fired for having made a Holocaust joke in 1998.

    Tokyo 2021: the first Olympics in history where an appearance from Daniel Lee Young would be a relief.


    At this point the NFL is pretty much like, “To hell with it.” It’s the old “If you find yourself in a hole, dig deeper” strategy. The 2020/2021 season was a ratings disaster, as was Super Bowl LV. And while it’s easy to attribute the ratings implosion to an awkward season truncated by Covid, in fact the viewer exodus started pre-Covid when a bunch of black millionaire athletes decided to “take a knee” to protest their modern-day enslavement (are black athletes truly free if they can’t occasionally slap they bitches without cops buttin’ in?).

    The really bad news is that the biggest viewer loss last season was in the all-important 18–49 demographic. There’s the irony: “Boomers” aren’t the ones leaving. It’s the TikTokers and video gamers, the morons who are supposed to be all into the woke BS.

    To remedy this situation, the NFL is introducing more woke BS. During the upcoming 2021/2022 season, the “black national anthem”—“Lift Every Voice and Sing”—will be played before each game.

    It was either that or Cardi B’s “Wet-Ass Pussy,” the preferred choice among players.

    The anthem addition is part of the NFL’s new “Inspire Change Initiative,” launched in partnership with rapper Jay-Z, whose “Nigggas in Paris” was also considered for the new anthem:

    So I ball so hard muthafuckas wanna fine me
    But first nigggas gotta find me
    What’s 50 grand to a muthafucka like me
    Can you please remind me?
    Got my nigggas in Paris
    And they goin’ gorillas,
    I got that hot bitch in my home
    You know how many hot bitches I own?

    Now, that’s inspirational!

    Another irony about the anthem switch is that “Lift Every Voice and Sing” was written in 1900 in honor of Abraham Lincoln, a “white savior” of the kind whose statues are being pulled down by folks “goin’ gorilla.” Writer-composers James Weldon Johnson and J. Rosamond Johnson wanted the song to be a message of optimism, of how much better things were getting for American blacks.

    An odd choice to appeal to a generation of blacks who literally think they’re being genocided every hour of every day.

    Sing a song full of the hope that the present has brought us;
    Facing the rising sun of our new day begun.

    Hardly an anthem for a group of CRT/BLM thugs who believe that America hasn’t improved since slavery.

    Funny enough, the Johnson brothers also wrote the popular tune “Dem Bones,” which might make a better NFL anthem, as it offers a guide to the areas of a football player’s body that will be crippled by intense pain as he gets older.


    Of course, it’s not just pampered athletes who engage in social justice posturing. Conservatives do it pretty well too.

    Last week, far-left manufacturer of overpriced ice cream Ben & Jerry’s announced that it would no longer do business in the “Israeli occupied” West Bank and East Jerusalem. The company will continue to do business in Israel proper, though. Apparently, keeping ice cream from Palestinians while still selling it in the country whose leaders “oppress” Palestinians is somehow a pro-Palestinian/anti-Israel position.

    Wouldn’t pro-socialism Ben & Jerry’s make a stronger statement by continuing to sell its product in Israel while making it free in Palestinian territories? Jews must pay! But the poor oppressed Ay-rabs get guaranteed universal ice cream!

    Well, socialism has its limits.

    Predictably, Republican politicos and conservative pundits reacted with outrage at this Holocustard, pledging boycotts and even state action against the company. Odd that none of the other positions taken by the outrageously leftist enterprise have prompted such passionate responses. In years past Ben & Jerry’s has supported the BLM riots, police defunding, illegal immigration, tranny rights, and even cop killers. But hey, free speech, man!

    But making an anti-Israel statement? This. Means. War!

    A month ago, GOP senator James Lankford of Oklahoma tweeted his outrage over Joe Biden’s defense of speech suppression on social media:

    Biden thinks free speech is dangerous. Oklahomans don’t need the Biden thought police telling us how to think & feel. We can understand information w/o their help. I’m more concerned w/ DC controlling speech than I am of some people passing wrong information. Let people speak!

    Amen! Huzzah!

    Oh, wait…now Israel’s angry? Last week Lankford tweeted this:

    #Benandjerrys has now decided they know more about Jerusalem than the Israelis. If Ben & Jerry’s wants to have a meltdown & boycott Israel, OK is ready to respond. Oklahoma has an anti-boycott of Israel law in place. We should immediately block the sale of all #Benandjerrys in the state and in any state-operated facility to align with our law.

    Oy gevalt!

    And speaking of Jews, little Benny Shapiro (did you know he’s Jewish? He never mentions it) tweeted this back in 2012:

    I think the owners of Ben & Jerry’s are awful politically. But they make great ice cream, so I eat there. B/c I’m not a vindictive a-hole.

    Alright! Boo, cancel culture! Conservatives don’t boycott!

    Until last week when he tweeted, “@benandjerrys Oh well. Guess I won’t be eating any more of your ice cream.”

    The neocon version of “America First” always ends with a question mark.

    Shapiro has promised to start his own ice cream chain, Yummm Kippur. The bowls will be shaped like yarmulkes (if you don’t want a bowl you can get a cohen), and free ice cream for life for the 6 millionth customer. Oh, and for Palestinians, if they’re displeased with their purchase, absolutely no right of return.


    Get ready for the urban contemporary version of Equus.

    During America’s frontier days, there were many legendary black horsemen. Bose Ikard, Bass Reeves, John Ware, and most of all Nat Love, a.k.a. Deadwood Dick.

    Jackson Kelley of Norfolk County, Massachusetts, wanted to be the next Deadwood Dick. In the worst way. Like, the very worst way. Like literally the worst way humanly possible. The 19-year-old black championship high school wrestler loves him some horses. He grew up next to the Turner Hills Equestrian Stables, where he was an avid rider and groomer.

    But it was one horse in particular, a mare aptly named Bellissima, that really caught Kelley’s attention. In fact, one might say the young gentleman became smitten.

    But not in the wholesome “Roy Rogers and Trigger” way.

    Last week Kelley crept into the stables late at night. Familiar with the layout, he unplugged the security cameras…all but one, which he forgot. And you can’t blame him for being careless; he had love on his mind. Approaching Bellissima’s stable, he haltered the animal with a crosstie to secure it, and he put out some feed to keep it occupied.

    Kelley then found a step stool, which he placed behind the horse, and, well, suffice to say he gave new meaning to the equestrian term “rearing.”

    Hey, at least he bought her dinner first.

    A woman who keeps a horse at the stable couldn’t sleep, so she decided to randomly check the security camera feed (which all owners have access to). To put it mildly, her insomnia was not mollified by the Pornhub Premium content she encountered on her screen.

    When Roy was done Rogering, he put the mare back in her stable and ran off. Police arrived soon after, having been alerted by the horse owner (who still hasn’t been able to blink since that night). Based on the footage, Kelley was arrested. He faces multiple charges of animal cruelty, sexual intercourse with an animal, and breaking and entering with intent to commit a felony. At his arraignment several days ago, local media described him as “blank and expressionless,” which is probably the default for any young man aware that everyone on his block now knows that he fornicates fillies.

    Jackson Kelley, a.k.a. My Friend Fligga, get ready for life as a figurative gelding.
    Last edited by Anti Federalist; 07-25-2021 at 03:40 PM.
    "Every lie we tell incurs a debt to the truth. Sooner or later, that debt is paid." - Valery Legasov

  20. #167
    The Week That Perished


    August 01, 2021

    The Week’s Most Salian, Antithalian, and Bacchanalian Headlines


    Please welcome the comedy team of Abbott and Kosato:

    Kosato: “These are not Orympics. These are CANCERYMPICS.”

    Abbott: “Olympics for people with cancer?”

    Kosato: “NO! Not ‘cancerympics.’ CANCERYMPICS! Orympics for people who got cancered.”

    Abbott: “That’s what I’m saying. Cancerympics.”

    Kosato: “No, you brainress runatic. It’s the Orympics that’s more about canceration than sport.”

    Abbott: “Ahhh, cancel-ympics. Indeed, old pal.”

    No Olympics in history has ever captured the zeitgeist of the day like Tokyo 2021. This is an event that will surely be remembered more for who went home than for who stayed. The tone was set several months ago when Yoshiro Mori, president of the Tokyo Olympics organizing committee, was forced to resign after complaining about a mandate to make 40% of his committee members female. Mori claimed that women “talk too much” during meetings: “On boards with a lot of women, the meetings take so much time. Women have a strong sense of competition. If one person raises their hand, others probably think, I need to say something too. That’s why everyone speaks.”

    Mori got the boot. The woman who was offered his job, Seiko Hashimoto, began delivering an acceptance speech in April and still hasn’t finished.

    The composer of the Tokyo 2021 theme music resigned after admitting to making disabled children masturbate in front of him, earning him a nickname among his fellow musicians, “Gary Gritter.” Tragically, no one was canceled for choosing John Lennon’s “Imagine” as a last-minute musical replacement (a spokesman for disabled Japanese children complained, “It’s like we’ve been molested all over again”).

    And then a few weeks ago, the director of the opening ceremony was canned for making a Holocaust joke in 1998. Details of the joke were not released, but hopefully it wasn’t anything as tasteless as “What four rock classics tell the story of Jews in Nazi Germany? ‘Hey Jude,’ ‘In the Ghetto,’ ‘I’m on Fire,’ and ‘Dust in the Wind.’”

    Then, of course, there were the athletes canceled for using weed (man), and for testing positive for Covid even after being vaxxed.

    And now, a Greek television commentator has been sent home and fired by his network after commentating rather distastefully while covering the always-exciting Olympic table-tennis contest. After South Korea’s Young-sik beat Greece’s Panagiotis Gionis (“Young-Sik, Panagiotis Gionis” sounds like a doctor explaining that a child is ill and then diagnosing the disease), veteran Greek TV presenter Dimosthenis Karmiris said of the South Korean players, “Their eyes are narrow so I can’t understand how they can see the ball moving back and forth.”

    Karmiris was offered the choice of a cup of hemlock or a ticket back to Athens and he actually had to think about it.

    And now with Simone Biles canceling herself from the competition, and dozens of athletes complaining about the vacant stadiums (spectators having been banned due to Covid), Tokyo 2021 is shaping up to be the ultimate season of Survivor, where folks only watch to see who gets sent home from the big empty island.


    Ah, summer camp! A place for the young’uns to forge memories that will last a lifetime. River rafting! Mountain climbing! Nature hikes, whittling, archery, spooky stories by campfire. Oh, and lopping off genitalia and shooting up hormones.

    Summer camp: where a boy becomes a man or possibly a girl or if the surgery goes wrong a misshapen monster.

    Camp Quinebarge in Moultonborough, New Hampshire, bills itself as “the best LGBT summer camp in New England” (and heaven knows LGBTs love “camp”):

    As an LGBT friendly summer camp, we provide a safe space for members of the LGBT+ community to be themselves. We welcome transgender and non-binary individuals, and are happy to make reasonable accommodations for privacy. We consider the gender identity of our participants and staff to be private unless the individual wishes to share it, and we will not share that information with anyone except medical staff when appropriate.

    Parent picking up child after a month at camp: “Uh, Tommy…didn’t you have a penis when we dropped you off?”

    Quinebarge: The only summer camp that uses the final scene from Sleepaway Camp as a promotional video.

    2021 was going to be the summer of Quinebarge, with the camp taking advantage of relaxed Covid restrictions to promote its LGBT experience to kids throughout New England. Come climb Mount Deadname! Hike the Dysphoria Trail! Swim Lake Genderfluid! And meet our Native American mascot, Big Chief Vaginoplasty.

    Sadly, it turns out that those in charge of Camp Quinebarge put all their effort into “inclusiveness” literature, and none into constructing a functioning camp.

    The camp that was “open to everyone” was forced to “close to everyone” last week after just six days.

    Six miserable, unbearable days.

    Parents, who’d paid $3,400 for a two-week “camping experience” for their little Chaz Bonos, were abruptly called and told to come get their “birthed persons.”

    Apparently, the organizers failed to provide food for the campers (they had no working dishwashers anyway). Isn’t that always the case? You get so immersed in the top and bottom surgery, the transitioning and pansexualizing, that you forget that even trannies gotta eat. The lack of food was compounded by a lack of sanitation, and—perhaps most important—a lack of staff. Turns out young folks didn’t exactly jump at the chance to be paid minimum wage to become counselors at Camp Shemale. Organizers were struggling to hire counselors just days before opening, and one of the poor saps who agreed to take the post left on the first day after being punched in the face by a kid (who’d already clobbered a fellow camper).

    Who could’ve known that taking a bunch of brats raised by leftist parents who tell them they were “assigned” the wrong gender at birth and sticking them in the woods with no food or sanitation would lead to disaster?


    The Boston Globe referred to the Quinebarge fiasco as “the Fyre Festival of overnight camps.” Still, if there’s a bright side, it’s that Jason from Friday the 13th was about to commit one of his trademark massacres, but even he got creeped out by what he saw.

    “Is that a boy or a…uh…are those, um, balls? But is that a, uh, girl…but it has a beard. Okay, I’m goin’ back in the lake. This place is messed up enough without me.”


    The implosion of the “woke” sleepaway camp was not the only incident this summer of leftists being hoist by their own retard. In fact, the six days that Camp Quinebarge managed to stay afloat seem like an eternity compared with Brooklyn rooftop restaurant Outerspace, which closed a mere 24 hours after being named New York’s “woke restaurant of the summer.”

    The New York Times bestowed that title on Outerspace because of the pricey Bushwick eatery’s “diverse,” “multicultural” fare, its “compostable paper bowls” that will single-handedly end global warming, and its “chefs of color” who make sure that your $80 cup of Tectualaxtaptic Incan soup is not served with a cracka.

    You know the old fable about the scorpion and the frog? “But if you sting me, we both drown!” That fable has lost all meaning in Woke America. See, after Outerspace was named “restaurant of the summer,” the Asian, African, and bare-assed tree-dwelling Peruvian Injuns in the kitchen realized that they could parlay that publicity into publicity for themselves by screaming accusations of “racism,” “colonialism,” and “misogyny” at management.

    Wait, you might say—if they sink the restaurant, won’t they, too, lose their jobs?

    Very funny! Nope. Today, “chefs of color” who sabotage the restaurant where they work are guaranteed so much positive press from the media, they’re usually able to open their own establishment.

    Like Outerspace chef Chinchakriya Un (who was named after 1970s porn music: “bow chinchakriya wow wow”). A Cambodian who dresses like Pocahontas, Stupidname McGee piggybacked off the Times piece to take to Instagram with a post calling the owners of Outerspace “culture vultures dressed in normcore” who practice “racist exploitation,” “white saviorism,” “dated power dynamics,” and “internalized misogyny.”

    Because of course, who wants to eat at a place where the owners dress in “normcore”? Better they dress in Sacajaweacore.

    “How we got here in the first place began with a colonial narrative pitched by them. I will hold myself accountable for missing so many red flags,” Chinchilla Urkel concluded, before promoting her own food company.

    Funny enough, one of the owners of the now-shuttered Outerspace is the sister of failed far-left NYC mayoral candidate Kathryn Garcia.

    Failed mayor, failed restaurateur. Life is hard for this family of “white saviors.”

    As reported in the New York Post, the Outerspace fiasco was one of many examples this summer involving “restaurant workers of color” who tried to get their workplaces closed down with accusations of racism. In one instance, a “dishwasher of color” tried to shut his restaurant down after claiming that the owners chased him out while hurling “ethnic slurs.” But security cameras showed that the washee-washee man had actually collapsed on the kitchen floor from an overdose the day he was fired. No slurs were hurled except “call an ambulance.”

    Too bad Camp Quinebarge closed; apparently, they needed dishwashers.


    Remember the dark old days when superstition governed the medical realm? Back when it was almost impossible to procure cadavers for anatomical research? In the early 1800s, the study of human anatomy was exploding on the scene as the newest, coolest thing for young doctors searching for reasons for disease other than witch curses. Problem was, in Scotland—home to some of the leading anatomical institutes of the time—there were strict rules governing the use of human bodies for medical study. The deceased had to be an executed convict or a suicide (no harm in cutting up the corpse of a dude who’s in hell).

    Sadly, Scotland wasn’t producing enough murderers or emos to keep up with the med school demand for cadavers. And with doctors willing to pay handsomely for stiffs, grave robbing became big business. Essentially, grave robbers were the tech startup whizzes of their day. And the Jobs and Wozniak of corpse snatching were William Burke and William Hare, who soon realized that it took less effort to murder indigents than it did to dig up graves.

    Their bonnie bodies were fresh as the day’s cranachan!

    Now, nobody condoned the murderous activities of Burke & Hare (except the Scots who appreciated indigent-free alleyways, and the doctors who were able to advance medical science, and the med students who were able to see dissections firsthand, and the families of deceased loved ones who didn’t have to worry about disturbed graves…okay, everyone condoned the murderous activities of Burke & Hare), but the explosion of so-called “resurrection men” showed that in the 1800s, doctors were willing to go to great lengths to understand the human body, even if it meant violating the superstitions of the era.

    That was the 1800s.

    Today, superstition has made a huge comeback, and this time the doctors are totally on board!

    In 2020 the AMA adopted as official canon that race is a social construct, not a biological reality. Yes, by AMA rules, Rachel Dolezal is black. As is Jolson.

    Sickle cell? Hey—Eskimos and Finns get it just as much. Disagree and you’re Delta Variant Hitler!

    Last year at Yale School of Nursing, a few twerking sassy sitcom neighbors learned that black people have a high risk of hypertension, prompting one twerker to complain to the student newspaper that such talk is “anti-black rhetoric” because no malady can be “attributed to differences in metabolism or some other biological differences…because race is a social construct.”

    The school gave in. From now on, blacks won’t receive extra screening for hypertension.

    Uh, yay?

    And last week, it was reported that some medical schools are no longer recognizing biological sex. Yep, no more acknowledging that men and women can have differing risk levels for certain diseases. There’s no biology in sex. It’s whatever you want it to be.

    As Paul Simon sang in “Boy in the Bubble,” “medicine is magical and magical is art.”

    Look for the next-gen Burke & Hare’s, coming soon. Smuggling not cadavers, but biology textbooks to the daring few doctors who still believe in that stuff.


    And now, The Week That Perished’s Dumbass of the Week.

    There were many dumbasses last week, but one managed to shine a few lumens dimmer than the rest.

    Shane Sonderman really likes Twitter. Oh, you may think that you like Twitter. But you’ll never like Twitter the way Shane Sonderman likes Twitter.

    May we all find a soul mate who looks at us the way Shane Sonderman looks at Twitter.

    The 20-year-old, whose name in German translates to “special man,” is certainly “special.” Like in the short bus safety scissors kinda way. When Shane sees a Twitter handle he wants, he simply must have it! And if he can’t, he stops watching anime long enough to conduct harassment campaigns against the rightful owner. He’s been known to call in fake fires at the owner’s home, or have unpaid food delivered, or make anonymous threatening phone calls.

    Poor Mark Herring was a 60-year-old grampa who’d been fortunate enough to grab @Tennessee in Twitter’s early days. The man lived in Tennessee, so it just made sense! Well, Shane Sonderman wanted that handle. Sure, he lived on the Arkansas side of the AR/TN border, but dammit it was close enough that absolutely he was entitled to that moniker!

    After all, he’s special.

    But old man Herring wasn’t about to give up his treasure. Sonderman tried every trick in the book—harassment, threats, offers of money…he even promised to give Herring his Kurogiri action figure.

    No dice.

    So one pleasant evening in April 2020, as Herring was sitting on his porch deciding what brilliant morsel of wisdom to tweet next (“That Ray Stevens sure is a hoot. @Tennessee”), a virtual army of cops ran up on him, guns drawn. “Freeze,” they yelled. And freeze he did, permanently. He dropped dead of a heart attack.

    Turns out Sonderman had “swatted” the old guy by having an accomplice call 911 claiming to be Herring. The caller, as “Herring,” said he’d just murdered his wife and booby-trapped his property with pipe bombs.

    Last week Sonderman was sentenced in a Memphis federal court to five years in prison. The accomplice who made the call is a minor living in the U.K., and almost certainly he’s “special” too.

    So, as Specialman begins five years of being an in-cell incel, he can at least take comfort in the fact that he made it to the top of the dumbass heap of the week.

    "Every lie we tell incurs a debt to the truth. Sooner or later, that debt is paid." - Valery Legasov

  21. #168
    The Week That Perished


    August 08, 2021

    The Week’s Most Mithraic, Archaic, and Pharisaic Headlines


    There’s no house party like a Como house party. Como is a historically black neighborhood in Fort Worth, Texas. The word “como” in Spanish means “what?” And the neighborhood got its name when the first black settlers tried to communicate with the local Mexicans.

    “Yo, niggga, what dis place called?”


    “Como it is!”

    In recent years, reflecting changes occurring all across the Southwest, Mexicans have been “reclaiming” Como from blacks. And last week a bunch of Como’s Hispanic enrichers were holding a house party, blasting mariachi music (which tragically has the same effect on black people that Slim Whitman’s voice had on the aliens in Mars Attacks!) and beating piñatas filled with smuggled fentanyl.

    It may have been someone’s quinceañera, because Mexican families are so large that it’s an inevitability that on any given day there’ll be someone who’s turning 15.

    As the party raged on and drunken men began doing their Cantinflas impressions while El Santo movies played on the big screen (“Momias aztecas? ¡Corre por tu vida!”), two guests got into a heated dispute over whether William Buckley was correct to fire Joe Sobran from National Review (Hispanics are natural Republicans; what else would they be arguing over?).

    “Paleoconservateeesm is theee way, ése!”

    “Shut your mouth, vato. Sobran was fixated on theee Zioneeests, chavo.”

    “Do you even read Gottfried, pinche? Revisions and Dissents is da bomb, pachuco!”

    Soon fists began flying, and one of the brawlers fled the party…only to return moments later with a gun. He began firing indiscriminately (yet another example of senseless natural-Republican-on-natural-Republican violence). Being drunk, he missed, like, everyone (he did hit the piñata), so the partygoers began chasing the offending hombre down the street. The poor sap-atista shot blindly behind him as he ran, fatally felling a gentleman named Joel Pocosangre Garay. “Pocosangre” in Spanish means “a little bit of blood,” and as Joel bled out on the street, his aorta having been ruptured, his final thoughts were “My name is a blatant case of false advertising.”

    Incensed at the death of Muchosangre, the crowd finally caught up to the shooter and proceeded to…stone him to death. Yes, they picked up rocks, boulders, and landscaping stones and turned the bastard’s head into guacamole.

    And no one had to blow a whistle or say “Jehovah.”

    The pureed gunman was 42-year-old tattoo artist Miguel Chavez. His obituary claims that he was “always smiling and never let anything steal his smile away.”

    Except for the boulder that shattered his teeth.

    Forth Worth legal experts say that the stoners are unlikely to face prosecution, because “we’re Mexico now, right?”

    In a humorous postscript, Como black activists held a press conference during which black resident Estrus Tucker told assembled reporters that “new Como residents don’t take the same pride in or show the same concern about the neighborhood as the longtimers seem to do,” adding that they’ve “got to do a much better job of managing anger, of learning to settle a dispute.”

    He then spent the next ten minutes furiously asking why all the reporters were doubled over with laughter.


    In the Coen brothers’ iconic film Fargo, a man pays two inept lowlifes to kidnap his own wife, as part of a scheme to extort a million bucks in ransom money from her wealthy father. Fargo famously begins with the title card:

    The events depicted in this film took place in Minnesota in 1987. At the request of the survivors, the names have been changed. Out of respect for the dead, the rest has been told exactly as it occurred.

    That was, of course, a lie, and one told on purpose. As the Coens explained in their book about the film, the point of Fargo was to tell a bubbe-meise (“grandmother’s story”). A bubbe-meise is a tall tale your grandma tells, usually about something that happened in her youth. And even though she swears that every word of it is true, the more you listen, the more skeptical you become.

    As the Coens stated in their book, the essential element of a bubbe-meise is the pledge of factuality. The listener is supposed to be skeptical. So all the people who griped about the film, including heroic frontal lobotomy survivor John Kasich, were providing exactly the response the Coens hoped for.

    But what if there were a real-life Fargo? And what if the events were so unbelievable that the incident seemed more like a satirist’s joke than an actual occurrence?

    Lawrence Michael Handley, a 53-year-old blond white guy in Louisiana, sold vitamins and ran a network of rehab centers. But unbeknownst to those around him, he was a meth-head and cocaine freak who was deeply in debt.

    Okay—Fargo box No. 1 checked: blond white guy in serious financial trouble, keeping secrets from his family.

    He hatched a plan to have his own wife kidnapped, and although the motivation is still not 100% clear (he either wanted to kill her for the insurance money, or rekindle their dying love by “rescuing” her from the kidnappers he hired), that checks Fargo box No. 2.

    The two kidnappers broke into the wife’s home, put a sack over her head, and shoved her into the back of their vehicle.

    Fargo box No. 3 fulfilled.

    On the road to their safe house, the kidnappers attracted the attention of a cop, who decided to pull them over (Fargo box No. 4. In the movie, the cop pulled the kidnappers over for not having tags. In real life, the cop tried to pull them over for riding the shoulder of a highway to avoid traffic).

    But here’s where the resemblance to the film ends, and the bubbe-meise skepticism begins. See, unlike in Fargo, the conniving husband didn’t hire two white guys, but two soul brothers—Sylvester Bracey and Arsenio Haynes. And as soon as the cop lit ’em up, they ditched their van (the wife, still alive, left inside) and took off running into a wooded area.

    They had a good head-start.

    They might’ve made it.

    All they had to do was swim a small canal; once on the other bank, they’d be home free.

    So they both jumped into the canal.

    And sank like stones straight to the bottom.

    Neither man could swim.

    That concludes today’s bubbe-meise. And like all bubbe-meises, it seems too perfect, too on-the-nose, to be true.

    But this time, it is. The two black guys couldn’t swim.

    The end.


    New York City is known for its flat terrain, its miles of wide-open plains, and buildings that never rise above two stories.

    Wait, scratch that. Turns out NYC is known for its many tall buildings, bridges, and monuments.

    In short, if one is of the mind to take a nosedive from a high place, New York City is the right place.

    Apparently, this never occurred to New Yorkers before the construction of something called the Vessel, a sixteen-story, 150-foot-tall tourist attraction located in a newly redeveloped section of Manhattan. There’s not much to do at the Vessel; it’s a whole bunch of stairs to climb, and at the top one is treated to a spectacular multi-borough view of black men assaulting Asians and Jews (“Oh look, honey, that guy just clobbered a Hasidic and a Chinaman. I’m so glad I brought the camcorder!”).

    The opening of the Vessel caused a light bulb to go on over the heads of New Yorkers: You can commit suicide by jumping from a tall structure. That this was a revelation isn’t surprising considering that these are the same geniuses who gave the nation bubonic plague rats, sewage rivers, and Bill de Blasio. So when the Vessel debuted in 2019, all it took was one guy to climb to the top and say, “Hey, lookit dis, I could totally jump to my death. Get a loada me; I’m sucha characta!”

    So one guy jumped. And then another. And then another. And then another.

    The Vessel closed in January because nobody could figure out how to keep the Bowery Boys from offing themselves. The brilliant minds behind the structure, including British architect Thomas Heatherwick (who designed Boris Johnson’s ill-fated Garden Bridge and the even more ill-fated Benny Hill Monument to Running in Fast Motion to “Yakety Sax”), gathered to figure out how to stop the denizens of the city that never sleeps from using the structure as a path to eternal sleep. And they came up with two crackerjack ideas: charge a fee to enter the Vessel (because no suicidal person will waste $10), and mandate that no one can enter the structure alone.

    And voilà! After the Vessel reopened in May, the next suicide was a 14-year-old kid who took the dive in front of his family, as he’d been unable to enter by himself. Thanks to the Vessel brainiacs and their New York smarts, that family not only lost a son, they gained a memory that will last a lifetime.

    And now the Vessel has closed again, and word is it might be demolished.

    Amazingly, this is not NYC’s first brush with “If you build it they will succumb.” After NYU opened its spankin’-new twelve-story library atrium, the school couldn’t stop its Barbarinos and Horshacks from taking a dive off the top floor (“Hey, lookit us! We’re such charactas!”). Administrators were forced to encase the entire atrium with an aluminum screen, turning a magnificent structure into an ode to hernia mesh.

    Maybe New Yorkers are trying to tell us something…like “Gimme a quick way out, and I’ll friggin’ take it.”


    Diversity! We must have diversity in our colleges and universities! Why? Well, that should be obvious, you racist. That black kid sitting on a stoop in Detroit might one day cure cancer or send a man to Mars. He just needs a chance!

    So, we initiate diversity programs that send those stoop-dwelling kids to college. And when they get there, their professors tell them that they’re oppressed and isolated and surrounded by white racists (and worse, Asian studiers), so therefore before they can start curing cancer or prepping that Mars mission, they must join the school’s diversity department to ensure that more stoop-dwellers are brought into the school. And then those stoop-dwellers arrive and are told by the previous stoop-dwellers that they’re oppressed and isolated and surrounded by racists, so therefore before they can start curing cancer or prepping that Mars mission, they must join the school’s diversity department to ensure that more stoop-dwellers are brought in.

    Black kids affirmative-actioned into a school, only to become part of the machinery that affirmative-actions other black kids into the school, who become part of the machinery that affirmative-actions other black kids into the school, and now you have a loop in which kids of color arrive at college and devote themselves to bringing in more kids of color and in all the hubbub no one ever actually gets around to curing cancer or planning a Mars mission.

    At some point, there’s the temptation to ask, “Okay, when do we see the wondrous fruits of the diversity beyond just enrollment numbers? When do we get that cancer cure?”

    Last week the Heritage Foundation published a study of diversity departments at major U.S. colleges and universities. And wouldn’t you know it? Many of the nation’s top schools now have more “diversity, equity, and inclusion” staffers than professors in certain academic departments (like history).

    Because it’s no longer about academics, but the “diversity loop.”

    Missing is the goalpost: At what exact percentage of blacks on campus will these kids finally say, “Okay, there are enough blacks here; time to go cure us some cancer!”

    Of course the answer is never, because “diversity” ideology dictates that a college simply benefits from blacks being present. They don’t need to actually do anything. Black students are our educational system’s air fresheners. Just put ’em in a room and enjoy how their existence makes everything better. They don’t have to move or walk or think; they just need to radiate!

    Who needs cures and space missions? Blacks are magic crystals that you keep around to improve the feng shui.

    It’s fitting that the people who claim to have “built the pyramids” are now part of one of the most impressive pyramid schemes in history.


    If I could walk with the animals, talk with the animals,
    Grunt and squeak and squawk with the animals!
    Wine with the animals, dine with the animals,
    Say you’re looking fine to the animals!
    Dance with the animals, romance with the animals,
    Put my hand down my pants with the animals,
    Then they would [censored] and [censored] and [censored] with meeeeee!

    What do you call a guy who’s been a neo-Nazi for a very, very long time?

    A veteran Aryan.

    Get it? Veterinarian.

    Which brings us to The Week That Perished’s Freak of the Week.

    Prentiss Madden was no veteran Aryan. But he was a veterinarian. The black animal doc was the hip-hop soul-brother vet of Aventura, Florida. Madden’s goal in life was to fight the stereotype that black people aren’t good with dogs. Sure, that stereotype might’ve gained some traction after black celebrities and other self-appointed spokespeople defended Michael Vick when the NFL player was convicted of abusing, torturing, and killing dogs for pleasure. Why, even Whoopi Goldberg claimed on The View that Vick’s animal abuse was a natural part of being black (to be fair, she was just grateful to Vick for not mistaking her for a schnauzer, a common error). But Prentiss Madden wanted more than anything to be known as the black man who loved dogs.

    And he got his wish.

    The 40-year-old Madden was a vet at the Caring Hands Animal Hospital. The clinic’s website featured photos of Madden holding dogs, caressing dogs, and generally being very loving toward dogs.

    Maybe a little too loving. Maybe his hands were a little too caring. In retrospect, the fact that the Muzak in his office was all Marvin Gaye and Barry White might’ve been a giveaway. Because Prentiss Madden had a nasty habit of sneaking into his clinic after hours and, well…being “intimate” with the animals left in his care.

    Prentiss Madden was the Larry Nassar of veterinary care. A regular Harvey Weimaranerstein.

    Police caught Madden after his IP address was linked to a cloud-based child-porn file-sharing service. Upon seizing his phone, videos were discovered of the bad doctor engaging in “relations” with his patients after hours…along with thousands of child pornography images.

    He now faces up to 37 years in prison, and a bunch of dogs face many, many years of therapy.

    Who turned the dogs out?
    Who, who, who, who, who?

    Prentiss Madden, that’s who. Our Freak of the Week.
    "Every lie we tell incurs a debt to the truth. Sooner or later, that debt is paid." - Valery Legasov

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  23. #169
    The Week That Perished

    August 15, 2021

    The Week’s Most Neurotic, Quixotic, and Antipsychotic Headlines


    Watching Andrew Cuomo go down (and not in the way he enjoys) is kinda like watching the fall of Al Capone (an observation made by Twitter commenter Mike Carroll). In a perfect world, Capone would’ve been prosecuted for his murders. But a win’s a win, and if it took tax evasion to put him away, so be it.

    Andrew Cuomo killed so many old people even the Grim Reaper was like, “Dude, slow down.” And it would’ve been great if that had been the reason for his downfall.

    But the Godfather of the Molestello Crime Family has been dethroned not for having settled all family business for thousands of grandmas and grandpas, but for having been “hands-on” with his female staffers.

    Worse still, the AG report that finally toppled him revealed a pattern of retaliatory behavior against women who tried to air their grievances whenever Mr. “Cozy Nostra” would capo a feel. It’s yet another case of “the cover-up being worse than the crime,” something that’s become so clichéd one wonders why supposedly canny politicos continue to fall into that trap.

    It’s almost like these guys purposely follow the examples set by the worst in their field.

    Which brings us from New York to California.

    If you were making a movie about a corrupt political machine boss, Andrew Cuomo would be too obvious in the part. Critics would be like, “Cuomo’s casting was too on-the-nose. He played into every ugly stereotype. The role called for a more nuanced performance.”

    And that’s Gavin Newsom, California’s far-left governor who is facing an increasingly likely recall in September. In terms of personal style, Newsom’s the anti-Cuomo.

    There’s a line from Goodfellas,

    If you’re part of a crew, nobody ever tells you they’re going to kill you. There aren’t any arguments or curses like in the movies. Your murderers come with smiles, they come as your friends.

    Cuomo is an “arguments and curses” guy. Newsom is all smiles, your best pal. Cuomo dispatched the Greatest Generation with a scowl. Newsom kills California daily with a twinkle in his eye. He gives the “nuanced performance” Cuomo can’t.

    Well, he used to. Turns out Newsom’s smiling “commissar of joy” act was just that. Faced with polls showing a 50/50 split on a recall that was supposed to be a cakewalk, Newsom has finally let his guard down to show the Cuomo lurking inside. In a bizarre interview with reporters last week, Newsom went nuts, grimacing, squirming, at one point yelling “damn” nine times in a row (in a tribute to Esther Rolle), and pounding his fist on his desk a whopping fifty-nine times.

    Weird that it’s exactly as Cuomo is on the way out that Newsom—a big supporter of transgender rights—has decided to “transition” into Cuomo.

    Maybe he’s just not that bright. Makes you think the state might have a chance if it only had a GOP machine that even nominally functioned.


    Back in the Cold War days, the notion of “cultural exchange” was a big deal. In the early 1970s, the cultural exchange between China and the U.S. came to be known as Ping-Pong Diplomacy, named for a friendly exchange of Ping-Pong players between the two nations (although coincidentally, Ping Pong was also the name of the top Chinese diplomat at the time). Ping-Pong Diplomacy did much to ease the tensions that arose during President Nixon’s trip to the Great Wall, when a horde of hungry Chinese pursued Checkers with knives and forks (“The kids, like all kids, love the dog,” the president said, reprimanding the mob, “and I just want to say this, right now, that you filthy heathens are not gonna eat him”).

    These days, America/Chinese Ping-Pong Diplomacy is perhaps a little uneven in terms of “mutually beneficial.” We send China technology, education, tech companies, national secrets, deeds to U.S. soil, and billions of dollars in business for slave-labor-produced consumer goods, and China sends back spies, poison dog food, and diseases that kill millions and cripple economies.

    It’s rather like playing Ping-Pong if for every volley you make with a regular ball, your opponent lobs back a dog turd.

    Ping-Dung Diplomacy.

    According to a report last week on UnHerd, the West is receiving yet another “gift” from China: a new internet model, engineered to censor speech, politically skew search results, and maintain lists of wrongthinkers. Of course, Big Tech does much of that already, but according to the site, “the fast-developing ‘Beijing’ internet, which is paternalistic and tightly controlled by the government,” may soon become the default model worldwide.

    In his recent book ‘The Great Firewall of China,’ James Griffiths argues the Chinese model is starting to spread. Most visibly in Africa, where various governments are happy to buy up cheap, decent Chinese technology and in some cases the surveillance or AI technology that can help them stay in charge. Although as some analysts have argued, it’s not always Beijing pushing the Beijing model—Western companies are also happy to assist snooping autocrats with cheque books.

    UnHerd cites a YouGov poll of British internet users, and apparently the Chinese model of censorship and snooping is preferred by 78% of the respondents.

    Wasn’t England once a great nation? It’s hard to remember. It’s harder still to imagine that any of today’s Brits are descended from the people who once beat China into submission just because they wanted more tea (“I say, I’m feeling a bit parched. Wot say we send some gunboats to Dinghai and teach them Chinks a thing or two about fair trade?”).

    UnHerd concludes that it’s highly likely the West will continue to “drift” into “its very own authoritarian internet.”

    “Not up to Beijing’s Olympian standards, perhaps, but one where censorship in the name of harmony trumps all and where surveillance is built in to the rules and the tech.”

    Ping-Pong Diplomacy, alright. But this time, China’s holding everyone’s balls.


    In Victor Hugo’s Les Misérables, Jean Valjean turns his life around after an act of kindness from a Catholic bishop, a selfless, noble soul who sees an opportunity to assist in a troubled man’s redemption by giving him a second chance.

    What many people don’t know is that Hugo created his selfless priest as a satire on what the Catholic Church had become. He purposely created a character so pure of heart that he hoped it would spark criticism of what he saw as the selfishness of the clergy in his day.

    Turns out the joke’s on Hugo. It’s Valjean who’s the satire. The misunderstood, desperate criminal who only stole a loaf of bread to feed his family (AOC Brand Artisanal Bread made with infected yeast), and who responded to the bishop’s act of kindness (a gift of silver candlesticks) by turning his life around and becoming an exemplary, altruistic citizen.

    Valjean is an inadvertent satire on what the average “Frenchman” is today: the kind of guy who would take the bishop’s candlesticks and sodomize him with them just for laughs.

    In July 2020 a “Frenchman” (actually a Rwandan refugee named Emmanuel Abayisenga) torched the Nantes Cathedral, because you can take the Rwandan out of the genocide but you can’t take the genocide out of the Rwandan.

    Reluctantly, the French government arrested him (it’s not yet legal for Third World refugees to torch churches, but give it a few years…). And to show that there were no hard feelings, they allowed Hutu ValTutsi to roam free on his own recognizance until the trial.

    After all, if you can’t trust a hate-filled arsonist to behave, well…who can you trust?

    Wasn’t France once a great nation? It’s hard to remember.

    Enter 60-year-old Father Olivier Maire of Saint-Laurent-sur-Sèvre, south of Nantes. The kindly priest decided to take Rwanda Sykes into his home, as an act of charity. In Abayisenga, Maire saw not an anti-Catholic church-burning lunatic, but a man worthy of redemption…a man who, if given that all-important second chance, might one day invent a new kind of traffic light or at the very least perhaps eventually stop worshipping the toilet as a pagan god and learn to use it properly.

    “Come into my home, my son,” Maire beckoned, “and I’ll show you the meaning of Catholic charity.”

    And Abayisenga proceeded to bludgeon the priest’s head to a fine puree, stating, “And I’ll show you the meaning of Rwandan gratitude.”

    Following the priest’s murder, Abayisenga was held in an actual cell for the first time. When asked when they plan to release him again as he awaits trial, the Nantes judicial authorities stood up and began marching in unison while singing,

    One more dawn,
    One more day,
    One day more!


    Congratulations! You’ve defected from a tyrannical communist dictatorship, finding a new life in America, land of the free! And there’s nothing that could ever make you nostalgic for the hellhole from which you fled.

    DaQwanda: “Hold my Courvoisier.”

    In the 1984 Robin Williams vehicle Moscow on the Hudson, the actor portrays Vladimir, a Russian saxophonist who defects to the U.S. during a tour of New York City. Speaking little English (a blessing for audiences, as the limits of the role prevented Williams from engaging in his trademark riffs), Vladimir slowly learns to adapt to life in the Big Apple. But then two black criminals rob and beat him in a random street assault, and Vlad begins to question whether his defection was the right choice.

    Now, that was a fictional story. But it’s interesting how almost forty years ago, a story line like that was totally believable, something American audiences would react to with a knowing nod.

    Some movie tropes are tropes for a reason. Like accuracy.

    Yeonmi Park is a 27-year-old author and lecturer who defected from North Korea and settled in the U.S. in 2014. Her years in her native land were a nightmare of labor camps, human trafficking, and sexual slavery.

    How fortunate she is to be in the U.S. now! And Chicago, no less.

    Well, maybe she’s not as fortunate as she thought. Turns out Park defected from the land of juche to the land of gin and juche.

    Last week, while appearing on Joe Rogan’s podcast, Park recounted an incident in which she was strolling along Chicago’s famed “Magnificent Mile” when three black girls attacked and robbed her.

    When Park tried to grab the punk who took her wallet, “a group of white bystanders who witnessed the robbery started calling her a racist.”

    “Just because she’s black doesn’t mean she’s a thief!” they yelled.

    When Park informed the crowd that she’d personally seen the woman steal her wallet, the progressive anti-racist whites most likely responded by making their eyes look slanty and saying, “Chinawoman no see so good.”

    The bystanders refused to call the police, and the three thugettes got away.

    One of the robbers, Lecretia Harris, was apprehended after using one of the stolen credit cards to pay for a cab. As of this moment, neither the press nor the police can agree on whether “Lecreature” is a man or a woman, and based on the photo, that’s no great surprise.

    In the classic Columbo episode “Any Old Port in a Storm,” the villain, on his way to jail, sighs and admits, “I guess freedom is purely relative.”

    True enough. As the left and Big Tech continue to restrict political speech in the U.S., and as Covid regulations encroach on the most personal of freedoms, perhaps it’s the North Koreans who can look at Americans and gloat, “Well, at least we don’t have roaming bands of Lecreatures on every street.”


    Last week, Barack Obama had planned to hold a lavish 60th birthday celebration with 500 of his closest celebrity friends. But when media reports questioned the wisdom of such a bash in the face of the “Delta variant” surge, the former president was forced to excise a bunch of people from the guest list. One snubbed invitee was nebbish extraordinaire Larry David. As David is currently in production on season 11 of Curb Your Enthusiasm, it turns out that the legendarily self-referential and thin-skinned neurotic has referenced this slight in an upcoming show.

    Below is an exclusive clipping from the script of the season’s first episode.

    Larry: Hey Leon, we gotta catch that private jet to Barack’s party in an hour. Don’t be late.

    Leon: Man, why you think I’d be late?

    Larry: You people are always late.

    Leon: Fug dat, Lar. No way I’m gonna be late for this. This party’s my ticket, man. I’m gonna be tappin’ dat Oprah booty.

    Larry: Oprah? Why’d you wanna tap Oprah?

    Leon: Man, that’s billion-dollar booty. You get up in dat ass, you set for life.

    (Jeff enters in a panic)

    Jeff: Terrible news! You’ve been cut!

    Larry: Cut?

    Jeff: Cut! From the guest list! Obama had to trim some people because of Delta. You’re out!

    Larry: I’m out?

    Jeff: Out! Out!

    Larry: Well, who’s in?

    Jeff: Oprah, John Legend, Chrissy Teigen, Springsteen, Hanks, Colbert, Beyoncé, Don Cheadle, Bradley Cooper, Jay-Z, and George Clooney.

    Larry: Not a Jew among ’em!

    Jeff: Well, The New York Times did say that Obama only wanted “sophisticated” guests.

    Larry: So because I’m a loudmouth Jew, I’m out?

    Jeff: Yer out!

    Larry: I’ve been blackballed!

    Leon: Man, you been Barack-blocked.

    Jeff: You’ve been Jewtisoned.

    Larry: I’ve been given the Hebe-ho! The Hymie-hat!

    Jeff: You’ve been eighty-sixmillioned!

    Larry: Holocostracized!

    Jeff: How much money have you given to the DNC this year?

    Larry: More than the average American makes in a lifetime.

    Jeff: It’s an outrage!

    Leon: Man, Larry, we gotta go to that party. Ain’t no way I’m missin’ my chance at dat billion-dollar Oprah tail all ’cuz you an annoying bald-ass Jew-face bastard.

    Larry: You mean we should crash it?

    Leon: Hell yeah I mean we should crash it! We don’t got the Delta. You got the Delta?

    Larry: I don’t got the Delta. You got the Delta?

    Jeff: I don’t got the Delta.

    Leon: So we sneak in through a window.

    Jeff: Well, they canceled the private plane they were sending, but I rounded up another. If you don’t mind sharing it.

    Larry: I’ll share, I’ll share! Who else will be on board?

    Jeff: Just a bunch of enlightened progressive Texas Democrats fleeing their state to avoid a racist vote.

    Larry: It doesn’t get more sophisticated than that! What harm could come from a 74-year-old, his obese friend, and a black guy who never takes care of his health sharing a lengthy flight with progressive Texas Democrats?

    Jeff: Let’s get to the airport!

    (Time jump to Larry on a ventilator as they zip up Leon and Jeff in body bags)

    (Cut to black, cue theme music)
    "Every lie we tell incurs a debt to the truth. Sooner or later, that debt is paid." - Valery Legasov

  24. #170
    The Week That Perished


    August 22, 2021

    The Week’s Most Canny, Branny, and Talibany Headlines


    Guess who just got back today?
    Them wild-eyed boys that’d been away
    Haven’t changed, had much to say
    But man, I still think them cats are crazy

    You know that chick that used to dance a lot
    Every night she’d be on the floor, shakin’ what she’s got
    Man, when I tell you she was cool, she was red-hot
    I mean we set her on fire and her family was shot!

    The boys are back in town! Twenty years after they pushed things a little too far by hosting bin Laden and his al-Qaeda training camps in the run-up to 9/11, the Taliban, that desert-dwelling pack of he-man woman-hating goat fornicators, is firmly in charge of Afghanistan again.

    And if the boys wanna fight you better let ’em!

    Which is exactly what semi-vegetative shadow president Joe Biden is doing. After promising that Kabul would not fall and that the U.S.-trained Afghan army—the “best army in the world”—would keep the Taliban at bay, Biden was forced to do an abrupt about-face after Kabul fell quicker than a Robert E. Lee statue on Malcolm X Blvd.

    Afghanistan collapsed so fast, when the Taliban began its assault Biden had just taken his daily MiraLax, and by the time Kabul fell, he wasn’t even off the toilet yet.

    But this ain’t yer daddy’s Taliban. These aren’t the joyless Luddites from the 1990s who banned dancing and music and confiscated (as Biden would say) “phonographs.” No, this is a new T-Ban with a 2020s ’tude.

    Turns out the Taliban spent most of its time in exile studying 4chan. Because damn, these guys can troll! At a press conference held after the seizure of Kabul, the Taliban’s spokesmuslim was asked if people in Afghanistan would retain “free speech rights” under the new regime. He responded by attacking Facebook for taking away the “free speech rights” of Americans!


    The Taliban leader also joked that he’d taken more questions from the press than Biden, who took none following his brief public remarks on the fall of Afghanistan. This was topped by the best troll of all: Taliban fighters taking selfies eating ice cream cones to directly mock the much-ridiculed images that led to the popular “Biden eats ice cream as the nation dies” memes.

    Forget Ahlul Bayt. These Muslims are Ah-LULZ Bayt. It’s nice to see Afghans becoming more technologically savvy. Finally they can take advantage of being the first nation listed on every online order-form drop-down menu.

    The Washington Post described the Taliban’s use of social media as “strikingly sophisticated,” writing that the extremists have been meming with “such a high degree of skill,” it’s likely they hired American experts to direct their efforts.

    Well, those MAGA guys who used to do the “Trump makes cutesy faces” GIFs need to find work somewhere, right?

    Of course, the big question facing the Afghan people and those in the U.S. who virtue-signal for them (a motley crew of neocons, liberals, and the odd “any chance to take a shot at Biden” rightist) involves women. The Taliban is the Ralph Kramden of extremists, if Kramden had actually followed up on every threat to beat the crap out of his wife.

    This has always posed a dilemma for leftists. After all, a Taliban-ruled Afghanistan is the literal Handmaid’s Tale, but unfortunately with brown men and Islam instead of Christianity. Worse still for the left and its efforts to make the U.S. military “woke,” a small band of neolithic hunter-gatherers just kicked the ass of what used to be the most fearsome army on earth until it was turned into a social experiment comprising pregnant infantrywomen (“Go ahead and shoot at me; it’s only a nonliving tumor!”), affirmative-actioned navigators who don’t know cartography (“How kin I tell which way is norf when ever’ time I turn da map da arrow changes direction?”), and tranny paratroopers who begin a jump as one gender and land as another (war cry: “Call me MAAAAA’AAAAAM!”).

    It’s also hard to dispute the Taliban’s logic in dissolving the U.S.-mandated “gender studies programs” forced upon Afghan schools. The U.S. is a nation of bitter, whining slackers stuck with crushing student debt thanks to useless degrees in exactly the subjects we told the Afghans they “needed” to learn. One visit to TikTok (“I have a master’s degree in Pansexual Genderfluid Transracial Early Nilo-Saharan Proto-Feminist Body-Positive Poetry, and I’m unemployed! How can this be?”), and any Taliban fighter will realize that the only decent thing to do to that gender studies department is take a flamethrower to it.

    Taliban leaders have promised to respect the rights of women “within the limits of Islam,” which means “not at all,” and already social media is buzzing with video clips of women being shot, beaten, and otherwise abused, so the future doesn’t exactly look rosy for these riveters.

    President Biden, who more and more resembles a baby in a high chair struggling to stay awake as he’s eating his strained carrots (“Zzzzzzzzz…no, one more bite…zzzzzzzzzzzzzz…..wait, just one more bite”), issued a warning to the Taliban that was so weak, the ghost of Neville Chamberlain materialized to punch the old fool’s dentures out.

    “Look, FATWA, you better not hurt any women,” the president scolded, adding, “C’mon, Imam.”

    Of course, it’s hard to back up that threat when you just pulled out of a twenty-year failed attempt at nation-building a primitive patch of cursed earth that’s already been forgotten by time so best if it’s forgotten by the rest of the world. What exact leverage does Biden have regarding the rights of women in Afghanistan? “If you don’t make 50% of your opium holding company CEOs female, we’ll ban your imports and stick with Chinese fentanyl?”

    A toothless threat from a gummy president.

    Of course, not all is lost for those Afghan women with useless gender studies degrees. If they can make it to the U.S. (which shouldn’t be too hard as Biden’s already chartering the flights), Google is always looking for new online gestapos to censor the likes of Katie Hopkins and J.K. Rowling, in enlightened Western nations that truly allow women to have their say…unless their say is offensive to men in wigs.


    In his YouTube videos, Jake Davison looked like a young Rolf Harris. Davison was the 22-year-old self-proclaimed “incel” who went on a shooting rampage in Plymouth, England, last week, killing five, including a 3-year-old girl. Davison’s reason for the murders? He couldn’t get laid because women found him unattractive.

    Which brings us back to Rolf Harris. Harris, the hugely successful (in his prime) Australian singer, songwriter, comedian, actor, and inventor of the wobble board (this guy was so big, the Beatles once sang backup for him), looked like a goon. Stupid red afro, stupid red neckbeard, stupid red mustache. But hot damn the guy got laid like crazy, by singing stupid songs about kangaroos, abos, and men with an extra leg (you had to be there…it wasn’t funny then, either). Harris got so much tail they literally imprisoned him for it.

    But there was Jake Davison, stupid red afro, stupid red neckbeard, and stupid red mustache, bitching endlessly on YouTube that women didn’t like him and he was too ugly to get a girl. So he killed five innocent people.

    This is the central problem with incels: It’s never the way you look (as demonstrated by Harris). It’s the way you act (as demonstrated by Harris). Of course, like so many incels, Davison, who was too frightened to approach women in a bar, wasn’t at all frightened to shoot them. Which brings up perhaps the key mental disconnect that plagues incels: Women like bad boys. Women don’t like psychos. But incels can only do psycho.

    They need to learn the difference.

    So, as a public service, here’s a handy guide for incels everywhere—the difference between “bad boy” and “psycho”:

    Taking the girl for a ride on your chopper (bad boy). Shoving her face into the rotating blades of a chopper (psycho).

    Wearing a leather jacket (bad boy). Wearing a leather jacket made from the tanned hide of a murdered prostitute (psycho).

    Grunting and speaking in monosyllabic words (bad boy). Shrieking like a banshee and screaming, “Weeble-geeble-geeble-woo-woooooo!” (psycho).

    Staring down a guy in a bar who’s trying to hit on your date (bad boy). Staring down a guy in a bar who’s politely asking you to take your penis off the pool table (psycho).

    Being indifferent to the fact that she likes you (bad boy). Being indifferent to the fact that you’re standing completely naked in the middle of Target (psycho).

    Walking with the confidence of knowing that you’re the coolest man on earth (bad boy). Walking with the confidence of knowing that the talking emu that lives in your brain is keeping you safe from the evil gibbon robots that surround your bed every night (psycho).

    Starting an illegal campfire on a beach while telling your date, “The laws don’t apply to us, babe” (bad boy). Grabbing your date and hurling the both of you off a cliff while telling her, “The laws of gravity don’t apply to us, babe” (psycho).

    While it’s too late for Jake Davison, who went down on the barrel of his shotgun as police arrived, hopefully other incels will learn from this guide and become, if not better people, at least not as much of a societal ass-wart as they currently are.


    Worship the spirit of criticism. If reduced to itself it is not an awakener of ideas or a stimulant to great things, but, without it, everything is fallible; it always has the last word.
    Louis Pasteur
    Actual scientist

    Science science science science science science science.
    Nancy Pelosi
    Old hag

    The “spirit of criticism” regarding science has not only not been worshipped by politicians, health institutes, unions, corrupt government doctors, and Big Tech, it hasn’t even been respected. Indeed, it’s been launched into the air and blasted like a clay pigeon.

    Worse still, it’s literally been banned. “The spirit of criticism,” when it comes to official Covid-related decrees, had its Twitter account permanently suspended and all its Facebook pages pulled.

    But of course, Pasteur was correct. Without criticism, science becomes unreliable. Hence the never-ending flow of stories about how previously “sound” Covid claims and policies have turned out to be unsound, and jeez why’d it take so long to find out? It’s almost like people shoulda been allowed to question this stuff when it was first presented to the public as holy writ.

    And now we learn that all those stifling pods and cubicles and shields we’ve had to live with in schools, retail establishments, grocery stores, government buildings, and offices—the things we were told were necessary to keep “Covid death breath” from being inhaled—were actually helping spread the disease the whole time!

    Who woulda thought that forcing people to live every day like they’re Eichmann in Jerusalem would be a bad thing?

    From The New York Times:

    Covid precautions have turned many parts of our world into a giant salad bar, with plastic barriers separating sales clerks from shoppers, dividing customers at nail salons and shielding students from their classmates…. Sometimes the barriers can make things worse. Research suggests that in some instances, a barrier protecting a clerk behind a checkout counter may redirect the germs to another worker or customer. Rows of clear plastic shields, like those you might find in a nail salon or classroom, can also impede normal air flow and ventilation.

    You don’t say!

    “Erecting plastic barriers can change air flow in a room, disrupt normal ventilation and create ‘dead zones,’ where viral aerosol particles can build up and become highly concentrated.” What’s truly astonishing is that, according to the Times, the scientific community has had full knowledge of this cause-and-effect since a landmark 2013 U.K. study of the use of partitions in hospitals.

    So our leaders knew from the get-go that these barriers would make things worse. But they also knew that the barriers would frighten, disorient, intimidate, and panic.

    After all, what symbolizes crowd “control” better than a barrier?

    Which is why even in the face of the NYT piece, the teachers’ unions are still pushing for classroom barriers.

    Pasteur is passé. Pelosi’s the way to go-si.

    Just keep repeating “science” mindlessly on your way through that plastic maze at the supermarket, like a good little hamster.


    The Washington Post’s Jennifer Rubin has the face of a blobfish, and nothing else that can be said about her comes even close to being that complimentary. The shrill, grotesque columnist who was initially hired by the Post to bring “rightist balance,” but who officially announced in September 2020 that she no longer identifies as a conservative (although she still identifies as a land-dwelling mammal, a puzzlement to all the lovesick gelatinous sea creatures that follow her around whenever she walks by the seashore), decided last week that what the world really needs is another homely screeching Jewish harpy who confirms every single ugly stereotype about her people.

    So when the U.S. Census town criers announced, “Hear ye, hear ye, the white population of the U.S. has shrunk for the first time in recorded Census history,” Rubin raced to Twitter to cheer the reduction of a people she despises:

    “A more diverse, more inclusive society. this is fabulous news. now we need to prevent minority White rule.”

    Uh, what you mean “we,” kemo sabra? Rubin speaks as though she isn’t squarely in that “minority rule” circle of elites. Like “‘we’ gotta make sure a group that’s not in the numerical majority doesn’t have outsize influence. Oy, heaven forbid that ever happens!”

    This is a farbissina who routinely wields her Judaism as a shield against all legitimate criticism, once going so far as to claim that she shouldn’t have been expected to correct a blatant and serious error in one of her columns because it was Sabbath, and Jews don’t have to answer to goyim on the Sabbath. This is a paskudnyak who attacked Trump for not moving the U.S. Embassy in Israel from Tel Aviv to Jerusalem, only to attack Trump when he did. Because Trump’s white, and “we” have to stop those people no matter how many unleavened pretzels of contradiction we twist ourselves into.

    Were Jennifer Rubin a Streicher caricature, she’d be one that ended up in the trash bin for being too over-the-top.

    No word on whether Rubin has agreed to surrender her column to a more deserving person of color, certainly an act that would bring joy to newspaper readers everywhere, and hope to pining blobfish that their queen might return to the sea.
    "Every lie we tell incurs a debt to the truth. Sooner or later, that debt is paid." - Valery Legasov

  25. #171
    The Week That Perished

    August 29, 2021

    The Week’s Most Mauling, Enthralling, and Governor-Recalling Headlines


    “It’s a thing that leftists swear doesn’t exist, and if you disagree with them, they’ll mercilessly use it against you.”

    “What is cancel culture?”


    For some reason, nobody at Sony Television foresaw trouble when they hired a guy named Michael Richards as the new host of Jeopardy!

    It’s not like there’d ever been a man with that name blowing his career in a racial imbroglio.

    The hiring of Richards as the permanent successor to Alex Trebek was not exactly welcome news to a lot of hardcore Jeopardy! fans. Richards had been in charge of finding Trebek’s replacement, and many fans felt cheated when he decided to pick himself for the job instead of popular guest hosts Ken Jennings, LeVar Burton, and Mayim Bialik’s nose (that’s how she’s usually billed as few people notice that there’s a full person behind the sizable appendage).

    So there wasn’t a lot of love in the room for Richards when he took the job.

    “In Dante’s Fifth Circle of Hell, the actively wrathful wrestle in a bed of slime pointlessly battling each other for all eternity, while the passively wrathful hide beneath murky waters taking anonymous potshots at those above. This circle has a specific name in modern-day America.”

    “What is Twitter?”


    Within days of Richards’ ascension, Twitter sleuths did what they do best: They searched for old dirt. Because for a lot of young people today, that’s as close as they come to having a profession. And voilà, in 2013, while hosting a podcast, Richards had made a few innocuous jokes about Jews, women, and Asians.

    So Jeopardy! promptly canned him.

    Their job done, the Twitter sleuths returned to their vaping and video games, knowing that once again they’d made the world a better place.

    “Lavrentiy Beria, the brutal head of the NKVD under Stalin, was not Jewish. But this organization of American Jews would gladly make him an honorary member, as they carry on his work.”

    “What is the ADL?”


    The ADL, not content with Richards’ firing, now wants him “investigated,” even though it’s not even remotely against the law to make jokes about Jews (or anyone else).

    Ironically, one of Richards’ “criminal” jokes involved Jews having giant schnozzolas, so you’d think replacing him with Mayim Bialik would be seen as racial justice. But no. Bialik, who’d been named host of Jeopardy! prime-time specials, has been targeted for cancellation too, because back in 2012—when Covid was just a gleam in a rabid Chinese bat’s bleeding eye—she’d supported the right of parents to make decisions about getting their kids vaccinated.

    She’s since reversed her stance, but to no avail. The Twitter sleuths have her scent! Another day, another scalp.


    For Democrats, it’s time to go to Plan C in the California recall election: “C” as in “cheating.”

    When the recall gathered enough signatures to be put on the ballot, the Democrats who control the state with the viselike grip of a serial killer strangling a prostitute had a choice: postpone the special election until November, or have it as soon as possible. And the Stasi Freedom Party decided it would be best to have it as soon as possible. The reasoning was, California fire season is usually in the fall, so best to hold the election before Newsom immolates another bunch of people.

    Also, in June it looked like vaxxed and unmasked would be the new new normal. After spending a summer free of Covid restrictions, surely Californians would be grateful to the slicked-hair socialist who saw them through the crisis.

    But then two things happened: California’s left-wing professorial arsonists decided to start fire season early, and science decided that the Delta variant was the woist Holocaust evah, so masks back on and gatherings prohibited again.

    And now, Cali Dems are regretting that with only two weeks to go, they have an unhappy populace, and a recall that’s a dead heat.

    But fear not! Dems always have that Plan C up their sleeves. Turns out, the mail-in recall ballots for Los Angeles County were printed so that a hole in the envelope allows everyone to see if the “yes on recall” circle has been colored in.

    Yep, everyone from postmen to election workers will know the yeses from the nos…what could possibly go wrong?

    With L.A. County comprising over one quarter of the entire state population, this is kind of a big deal.

    The L.A. County registrar-recorder told local news that the envelope hole is necessary for blind people to find the line on the outside of the envelope where they need to sign their names (perhaps one day someone will invent a way for blind people to read something using, say, tiny bumps instead of holes), and the fact that the “yes” circle shows through the hole is just the koo-koo-kookiest koincidence.

    Interestingly, certain “conservatives” are so jittery about being associated with claims of vote fraud in the wake of the lunatic ravings of the likes of Lindell, Powell, and Wood, they’re actually dismissing any concerns about the Amazing Transparent Ballot.

    Punjabi Republican flack Harmeet Dhillon scolded her Twitter followers about their ballot secrecy concerns:

    This is stupid. You control how your ballot is put in and it it isn’t a peephole. It’s a pair of holes designed for the vision impaired to know where to place their signature. Don’t want your mark to show? Don’t put it in so that it shows. Done.

    There’s that Indian “how do you use a toilet?” intelligence. Ballot envelopes should be obstacle courses! “What’s wrong with this picture” brain teasers! It’s up to voters to notice the security flaws and fix them; it’s not up to the government to prevent the security flaws in the first place.

    And to think otherwise is “stupid.”

    Morons like Sydney Powell on one end, morons like Harmeet Dhillon on the other…doesn’t the GOP offer anything in between?

    And don’t the Democrats offer anything other than dirty tricks?

    Good questions…and rhetorical.


    Tights, leotards…these comprise the official uniform of the ballet dancer. It’s not just about aesthetics; it’s also about aerodynamics. Loose-fitting, flip-floppy apparel does not lend itself well to the art of ballet. There’s a reason Edward James Olmos’ Zoot Suit: The Ballet closed during rehearsals. All of those heavy, flapping pachuco outfits greatly inhibited the ability of the dancers to execute their brisés and cabriolés.

    Of course, along with the aerodynamic advantages of formfitting clothes, the attire has helped advance the popularity of ballet in less commonly spoken-about ways. Men who’d been dragged to the ballet by their wives could busy themselves by playing “spot the camel toe,” and gay men could marvel at the jiggling junk of the ballerinos as they twirl and jump like West Hollywood clubgoers when the DJ starts playing Cher. Indeed, La Scala used to hand out scorecards to its gay patrons in which the hanging beauties of the male dancers could be ranked from “blueberry” to “jackfruit.”

    But in the immortal words of the AIDS virus, “party’s over, queeers.” The days of tight-fitting ballet clothes are finished.

    And why? Well, 50% of all modern annoyances are race-based, and 50% are gender-based. And this one’s the latter. Turns out, tranny men who want to dance ballet don’t like it when the audience can see their biological equipment. The illusion that tranny men falsely think they’re pulling off by donning a wig and lipstick (“No one will ever know!”) is threatened when tight-fitting clothes highlight the Balzac and Dirlywanger. Yet even though the tranny illusion fools no one except the reporters at Vice and Bill Nye, we all have to act like the pubgoers in the Invisible Man sketch and play along.

    So tranny ballet guys complained to their respective companies that the tights and leotards were “destroying the illusion,” and as a result, ballet companies are banning the apparel. As reported in The Sunday Times:

    A group of ballet schools is to abolish leotards and tights to make transgender performers more comfortable. Loose-fitting clothing will instead be promoted to accommodate transgender dancers who may be self-conscious about their bodies. New guidelines have been adopted by the Conservatoire for Dance and Drama, whose member schools include the London Contemporary Dance School, Northern School of Contemporary Dance, the Rambert School and the Central School of Ballet.

    The guidelines lament that tight clothing forces men in drag to engage in “binding and tucking” in order to obscure their sausage ’n’ eggs.

    Of course, the easiest solution for not having to worry about your prima ballerina’s rod and testes jiggling during a performance is to hire actual women. But the West is long past such primitive thinking. Now that men are officially women and it’s up to the rest of us to obscure their genitalia and humor their fantasy, get ready for productions of The Nutcracker in which even the ballerinas are dressed as toy soldiers, to keep their nuts from not just cracking, but showing.


    For fans of classic TV, there’s no better detective character than Columbo. Indeed, Columbo might very well be the greatest fictional American detective in history (forget Batman; Columbo would’ve deduced the Bruce Wayne/Batman connection within the first minute of meeting him).

    Part of Columbo’s charm was his act—and the audience always knew it was an act—of pretending to be forgetful, clumsy, and scatterbrained. Columbo craftily used this facade as a ruse to put the villains at ease, to make them think they were dealing with a senile moron.

    At the moment, the U.S. is being led by Columbo, but an iteration in which the distracted, doltish, amnemonic routine is totally real.

    We’d do better with Inspector Clouseau.

    Ninety days ago, President Biden ordered a full, comprehensive report on the origins of the pandemic that has quite literally disrupted the entire world. Thanks to Covid, today’s Australians get to experience what it was like on the prison ships from the U.K., and New Zealand managed to turn overnight into a nation of Edith Beales, cowering in a corner every time there’s a knock on the door or mail dropped in the slot.

    And here in the U.S., child-suffocating is now the most important goal of the public education system.

    But not to fear—Detective Demento is on the case! He’ll find the answers to the source of this global plague! After all, Covid either came from a Chinese lab or through the Chinese exotic animal food trade. And either way, China’s at fault (although the official Chinese government position is that the disease was imported in a bad batch of Mrs. Paul’s frozen fish sticks. As Chinese State Department spokesman Hoo Flung Pu told the AP, “Why we no ever see MR. Paul? I think old lady kill him. She no good; she start Covid”).

    Maybe it’s because all Covid roads lead to China that Biden’s much-heralded origins report has the official conclusion of “I dunno.” Released last week, the report was greeted with skepticism based on its cover alone, which depicts Lenny from Of Mice and Men staring blankly ahead saying, “Lookit the rabbits, George.”

    Simply put, the report concluded that, in the words of a U.S. official quoted in The Wall Street Journal, “If China’s not going to give access to certain data sets, you’re never really going to know.”

    Well, Biden certainly got to the bottom of that one, didn’t he?

    Literally, “we’re never going to know” is the report’s conclusion.

    Columbo Biden: “So you’re saying, sir, that even though China has a history of both naturally occurring zoonotic diseases and zoonotic bioweapon experiments, neither has anything to do with the emergence of a deadly zoonotic pandemic in your country?”

    Xi Jinping: “Precisely, detective. And I’d appreciate it if you’d leave now; you’re becoming a nuisance.”

    Columbo Biden: “Of course, sir. My apologies.”


    Columbo Biden: “Oh, just one more thing…am I wearing pants?”

    Xi Jinping: “NO! And it is most offensive.”

    Columbo Biden: “I thought I felt a draft. Good day to you, sir.”


    In March 1991, following the stunningly swift Gulf War victory in which the U.S. soundly beat an army of spear-chucking Tusken Raiders, George H.W. Bush was riding high with an approval rating of over 90%—one of the highest ratings in U.S. history, and the highest since that time FDR socked a Hitler look-alike in the nads at a Madison Square Garden war bonds rally.

    Yet the very next year, Bush lost to a country-bumpkin rapist married to an anthropomorphic cymothoa exigua. And the main reason was that Bush had pledged, “Read my lips: no new taxes,” only to later reverse himself.

    Of course, times were different in 1992. It was not yet illegal to be white, gays were promising that if we let them marry it wouldn’t mean the end of gender as we know it, toddlers didn’t have their faces wrapped like mummies, and wars were undertaken by Big Oil and Big Neocon with the understanding that they should be concluded swiftly and decisively instead of slowly and for perpetuity.

    Funny to think of a time when a broken tax pledge was the worst of our problems.

    Biden’s already blown his Gulf War moment, handling the Afghanistan pullout with all the grace and skill of the Three Stooges fixing a faucet. And now, barely a half-year into his presidency, he’s blown his “read my lips” moment, too.

    As reported by Americans for Tax Reform, Biden has blatantly violated his election pledge “No. Taxes on small businesses won’t go up.” Turns out, taxes on small businesses will go up under his tax plan…but the hike will “only” affect about a million small businesses.

    Well, hooray for that.

    The big question is, does anybody even care anymore? As Reason pointed out last week, because of Covid closures and lockdowns, most Americans don’t even owe any taxes at the moment. So why worry about tax hikes when you can lobby for more stimi dough and unemployment largesse?

    And as the nation’s layabouts lay about spending the money given them via taxes collected from those small businesses that foolishly try to stay afloat, one has to wonder if Biden can survive a bungled war and a broken tax pledge when thirty years ago a different president couldn’t survive a hugely successful war and a broken tax pledge.

    Maybe the old coot had one final moment of lucidity when he chose a cackling ten-dollar escort as his vice president.

    Even with Biden’s bungling, a majority of Americans are envisioning the possibility of a Kamala presidency and declaring Read our lips: no shrew blackses.
    "Every lie we tell incurs a debt to the truth. Sooner or later, that debt is paid." - Valery Legasov

  26. #172

    The Week’s Most Strobic, Microbic, and Xenophobic Headlines

    “In Russia, sushi eats you!”

    If a foreigner who knows nothing about the United States’ ethnic and racial makeup were to offer a guess based on the current crop of TV and online commercials, they’d likely state that America is 70% black, and the rest Asian and Latino. There are a few whites left, but they only exist in interracial relationships.

    Ever since the George Floyd “racial wreckoning,” corporate advertising hacks have made sure that there’s a black person in every commercial produced (“We eat Cap’n Crunch because he reminds us of the guy who brought our ancestors over from Africa!”). This fad has gotten a bit apartheidy of late, with Amazon Studios mandating that 40% of all actors in its productions must be black or otherwise nonwhite.

    With blacks at just 12% of the population, 40% seems a stretch. It means a lot of black actors pulling triple duty, and a lot of white ones on unemployment.

    Apparently, certain people in Russia have noticed how easily a majority population can be relegated to minority status in media content. So last week, when Russian sushi chain Yobidoyobi decided to “Amazon up” its ad campaigns, the reaction was not exactly positive. The sushi giant ran a print advertisement depicting three very Russian-looking young ladies feeding sushi to a beaming black dude, and another in which the dude was shirtless, holding sashimi and sticking his tongue out at it (apparently, some blacks are shaky on how to actually eat sushi).

    In a matter of days, the company was flooded with angry, threatening emails from Russian nationalists and other concerned citizens. The online mob found the Instagram accounts of the models in the ads and began harassing them. On top of that, trolls flooded restaurant review sites with negative ratings featuring dire warnings of food poisoning (“avoid Yobidoyobi: it’ll give you a bad case of the trotskys”).

    As this is Russia and not the U.S., the sushi chain backed down immediately, stating on Instagram, “On behalf of the entire company, we want to apologize for offending the public with our photos. We have removed all content that caused this hype.” On Vkontakte (a kind of Russian Facebook), Yobidoyobi apologized “to the nation” for having “hurt the Russian people.”

    Meanwhile, in the U.S., the latest Cheez-It commercial was released, featuring twelve black men in bed with a white woman as a transgender Asian dives under the covers while being fellated by an autistic Hispanic as Morgan Freeman’s offscreen voice reads a passage from Soul on Ice.

    Because in advertising it’s all about highlighting the product.

    While the Yobidoyobi debacledoyebacle might seem an over-the-top reaction to just two print ads, weep not for the black actor whose image proved so toxic. He’s already been signed to an Amazon Studios autobiographical film: 12 Years a Slav.

    Mind you, it’s not just our Russian friends who are proving less than “black-friendly.” Over in that place still optimistically called “Hong Kong,” the South China Morning Post, displaying what small amount of independence it still has as the CCP continues to seek full state ownership, ran an op-ed slamming the Chinese for anti-African racism.

    The piece was written by Mwansa Chalwe, who is described as a “Zambian chartered accountant,” which sounds about as incongruous as “Eskimo bikini salesman” or “Pygmy basketball scout.”

    “Yes, Mr. Mbungo, your Ebola valuation takes into account the liquidity of your lesions. And while you can’t leverage the equity in your HIV infection due to T-cell depreciation, you’ve accrued a great deal of interest from your 401(k) (i.e.. the four-hundred-and-one-thousand tsetse flies on your body).”

    In his op-ed, Chalwe skewers the Chinese for the Covid-inspired mistreatment of the 16,000 African students living in Guangzhou. The dastardly deeds committed by the Chinese government against those who are “enliching” the city include forced quarantine, exclusion from public places, and—worst of all—the use of Covid screenings to search for and deport Africans who’d overstayed their visas.

    Chalwe also takes the CCP to task for “exploiting” African nations via “unequal” trade agreements and partnerships with corrupt African leaders that lead to the raping of Africa’s natural resources.

    In communist China, Nanking rapes you!

    In fact, speaking of Nanking (a.k.a. Nanjing), many Africans have never quite forgotten about the 1988 Nanjing race riots, which occurred following a scuffle at a local dance party (pretty much the ground zero of every black brawl everywhere). To hear the local Chinese tell it, a bunch of African students showed up at the dance with weapons and began beating the locals. To hear the Africans tell it, they’d just dropped by to git down to that hip-hop guqin band Boys II Tiananmen, when the locals began pelting them with insults and dumplings.

    Whatever the actual origin, by the next day rumors had spread that one of the African princes had defiled a Chinese girl, and about 8,000 locals marched on the dorms housing the black students and Jackie Chan’d them until they fled to a junkyard and Sanford and Son’d it back to Africa.

    As a recent MSNBC piece pointed out, blackface is still a widely used comedic trope in Chinese media, and paranoia about African men impregnating Chinese women has led to the general isolation of African students.

    Yet even with that history, China was still able to bully and silence the Biden administration back in March when Secretary of State Blinken attempted to gently prod Beijing on its genocide of the Uighurs. Chinese diplomats shot back that the U.S. has no right to lecture others because of its legacy of slavery and its continuing “genocide” against blacks.

    So it looks like Zambia’s “chartered accountants” are very much on their own in the battle to be freed from Chinese racism and exploitation.

    Balance sheet? More like “balance sheeeit.”

    The year was 1986. April 23, to be exact. All of America was rockin’ out to the No. 1 hit single “Kiss,” by a wacky fella named Prince who sang with the justified confidence of a man who had exactly thirty more years to live until he’d ingest one fentanyl too many. The top dance track was “Whenever You Need Somebody” by O’Chi Brown, who danced with the unjustified confidence of a woman who sincerely believed that people would still remember her name a month later. And over in Missouri, the General Assembly passed House Bill 1596, signed into law by Gov. John Ashcroft. The bill challenged certain “givens” about Roe v. Wade regarding the use of state funding and facilities to promote and perform abortions.

    And in 1989 the Supreme Court upheld most of that law. For the first time, there was a chink in Roe, or “Loe” as the chink called it, and the nation went abortion-mad, with liberals making the issue their supreme litmus test and conservatives across the country attempting to pass copycat laws.

    Well, folks, grab your power suits and shoulder pads, and somebody call O’Chi Brown (if she’s still breathin’), because it’s April 1986 all over again!

    Last week the Supreme Court refused to issue an emergency stay of a Texas law that bans abortions after six weeks. The law also creates an informal commission of citizen squealers who can earn as much as $10,000 for grassing on anyone seeking to filet a fetus after the sixth week.

    And just like that, leftists who’ve spent the year screaming about how “the government has the right to inject you with whatever it wants” rediscovered the simple joy of “my body my choice,” and conservatives who’ve spent the year attacking “mask Karens” rediscovered the simple joy of snitches and informers.

    The abortion issue does that to people; it’s a carnival mirror that makes you look like your evil twin.

    The court’s three leftist justices joined with bottom-feeding invertebrate John Roberts to oppose the refusal to grant the stay, with wise Latina Sonia Sotomayor issuing a dissent that read, “¡Ay yi yi Dios mio no es bueno mami papi maldita!” (it’s the most coherent thing she’s ever written). On the right, the prospect of finally overturning Roe gave 73-year-old Justice Thomas a physical reaction that three years on Cialis had failed to engender.

    At the White House, Joe Biden’s staff instructed the lapdog media to never bring up that in 1982 then Senator Biden had voted for a constitutional amendment overturning Roe. Overhearing his staff’s directives, the president angrily demanded to know who this “Senator Biden” is and if he might pose a primary threat in 2024. Biden’s staff responded by politely reminding the president that once again he’d forgotten to wear pants.

    Lost in all the hubbub was the fact that SCOTUS didn’t actually rule on the Texas law, and the conservative majority made it clear that the full court will be deciding the constitutionality of it soon enough.

    So get ready for abortion to once again take center stage in American political life, as the entire country goes retro while the fate of Roe hangs in the balance.

    If they were smart, rightists would quiz incoming Afghan refugees on how they’d vote if abortion legality becomes a matter of state-by-state balloting. Maybe if enough of the religious zealot “refugees” indicate their support for outlawing the procedure, Democrats might just close the asylum floodgates for good.

    Poor Lisa Yoakam, an innocent soul who never harmed nobody. All she ever did was conspire with her half sister to murder the half sister’s ex-husband.

    As if that’s a crime.

    Oh, and Lisa Yoakam and her half sister actually carried out the murder they conspired to commit. But again, was that really a crime, or a testament to the women’s integrity? In this day and age of broken promises and irresponsibility, shouldn’t society laud those who pledge to do something and then follow through on it with diligence and dogged perseverance?

    Sadly, no. So there was poor Lisa Yoakam, sentenced to twenty years simply for being dependable.

    Once in prison, Yoakam, saddled with a lot of contemplation time, had an epiphany: If her life had not exactly worked out as planned, if she was not the successful captain of industry she’d once set out to be, there was a culprit, a malefactor, a reason for her misfortune.

    Well, to be exact, there were two culprits: her boobs.

    While serving her time in a Virginia pen, Yoakam realized that she was actually a man, albeit one in a woman’s body. If only she could somehow erase those two bulbous, fleshy chest headlights of shame, she could finally live her best Yoakam, and maybe one day cure cancer, or plan a Mars mission, or at least stop killing people.

    So Lisa Yoakam changed her name to Jason Yoakam and sued the state for not cutting off her breasts.

    After all, what kind of fascist nation is this where women’s breasts aren’t chopped off by the government? What are we, Afghanistan?

    Virginia prison officials, initially hesitant to use taxpayer money to remove healthy organs because a woman decided she was having a bad pair day, offered Yoakam chest binders, so that she might nonsurgically smoosh her tatas into tortillas.

    But according to The Washington Free Beacon,

    The binder, which Yoakam wears at all times and “sometimes is so tight that it cuts into Mr. (sic) Yoakam’s skin and causes him (sic) to bleed,” has left her with “scars, rashes, and acne” as well as “infections,” which is why Yoakam is pursuing the surgery, according to the complaint.

    Well, who the heck could’ve guessed that trying to guillotine your gazongas would lead to physical harm?

    In her lawsuit, Yoakam seeks to compel the state to surgically turn her mountain range into a prairie. Unfortunately for her, she’s scheduled to be released next year, so she’ll likely be out of the custody of the department of corrections before her case even gets to trial.

    Don’t you just hate it when you kill a guy and the state frees you before you can force taxpayers to jettison your jugs?

    A story as old as the mountains…and the molehills.

    Water water everywhere and not a sop who thinks.

    Leftists on both coasts are having problems at the moment with H2O, be it a surfeit, or a deficit.

    In NYC, Mother Nature has finally taken care of the black-on-Asian violence problem (and, for that matter, black-on-Jew, black-on-elderly, and black-on-everyone-else violence problem) by flooding the streets and subway tunnels with water from torrential rains courtesy of the tail end of Hurricane Ida.

    Now that swimming skills are a prerequisite for street or train travel, black folks are staying home.

    There’s been talk in Harlem of constructing a seafaring vessel that could be used for random muggings until the floodwaters subside (Afroah’s Ark), but the de Blasio administration has yet to give the project the go-ahead.

    To be fair, de Blasio has approved the construction of a vessel to allow pimps to keep their streetwalkers safe and dry (Hoah’s Ark).

    On the opposite coast, in sunny California, the state is experiencing what its leftist Chicken Littles are calling a “drought,” but what in reality is simply a very dry year. 2017, 2018, and 2019 brought record rainfall to the state. 2020 was an average year, and 2021 has been dry. So of course rather than viewing the situation in context (some years are wet, others dry), CA Democrats have declared that water will never return to the state and all are doomed.

    Sacramento has mandated that fresh water be reserved for only the highest-priority uses, which are (in order) irrigating marijuana crops, styling Gavin Newsom’s hair, and hosing down Mo’Nique when she overheats after climbing her front steps.

    Turns out the rationing didn’t have to become a necessity. As pointed out by news station KTLA last week, in 2014 Cali voters approved a $7.5 billion bond measure that was supposed to have gone toward building more reservoirs. And had the money actually been used for that, enough water could’ve been stockpiled from the massive rains of 2017–2019 to easily cover the current dry spell.

    But no, state leftists refused to use the money for its intended purpose, in part due to environmentalist hysteria (“like, bummer, man—building a new reservoir will totally disrupt the natural habitat of the Visalia yellow-assed butterfly”), and in part due to “global warming” alarmists who count on drought fears to further their political agenda.

    So, no new reservoirs, and the state is now imposing draconian regulations on personal water use.

    And that $7.5 billion? No word on where it went, but rumor has it that Nancy Pelosi bought another ten freezers full of chocolate ice cream, and Gavin Newsom was able to purchase a separate mansion just for his excess hair gel bottles.
    Never attempt to teach a pig to sing; it wastes your time and annoys the pig.

    Robert Heinlein

    Give a man an inch and right away he thinks he's a ruler

    Groucho Marx

    I love mankind…it’s people I can’t stand.

    Linus, from the Peanuts comic

    You cannot have liberty without morality and morality without faith

    Alexis de Torqueville

    Those who fail to learn from the past are condemned to repeat it.
    Those who learn from the past are condemned to watch everybody else repeat it

    A Zero Hedge comment

  27. #173

    The Week’s Most Kinetic, Phyletic, and Peripatetic Headlines

    Only in Los Angeles would it come as a shock to journalists that a guy named “Jihad Muhammad” met a violent end. It’s hard to think of a more “violent end” name than that. Maybe “Ikeelyou AliAliAkbar” or “Die-Infidel Beheadaman.” Still, funny enough, Jihad Muhammad’s violent death had nothing to do with terrorism.

    The 62-year-old black L.A. native was merely crossing a street on a rainy night in Crenshaw (one of the last remaining black areas in the city) when he was run over by a driver who sped off, leaving him to be run over by a second car, which also sped off, leaving him to be hit by a third car, which dragged him for a mile before the driver pulled over at a gas station to dislodge the body…before speeding off.

    By the time it was over, Jihad Muhammad was not so much Imam as IHOP (as in, pancaked).

    In the wake of Muhammad’s death, the L.A. Times decided to do some digging into the “epidemic of rising pedestrian deaths and traffic violence that is endangering us all but is having a disproportionate effect on people of color in low-income neighborhoods.”

    Except it’s not actually “people of color” who keep getting Aunt Jemima’d on L.A.’s streets. As the Times pointed out, Hispanic pedestrians get tortilla’d at a rate that is “proportional to their share of the population.” White pedestrian deaths are also proportional, and (for whatever reason) Asians almost never get run over (perhaps they’re just more likely to be the drivers who run over others).

    So really, it comes down to black Angelenos getting Wile E. Coyote’d way more than they should.

    The Times mentions that in 2015 L.A. city leaders imported something from Sweden called “Vision Zero.” “Vision Zero” is described as “a strategy to eliminate all traffic fatalities and severe injuries, while increasing safe, healthy, equitable mobility for all.”

    It’s not clear why a pedestrian safety program would be called “Vision Zero,” when limited vision on the part of drivers is actually what causes many of these accidents. Encouraging “zero vision” doesn’t seem like the best antidote.

    But still, it worked in Sweden, so surely it would work in L.A.

    Except, no. As the Times reluctantly admits, “pedestrian deaths are up 36% since Vision Zero became policy.”

    Well, hurdy gurdy, looks like Sweden’s pedestrian safety program is as maddeningly inadequate as an IKEA instruction manual.

    So the Times authors are left shaking their heads. Why these disproportionate black pedestrian deaths? Is there an answer? Or will it forever remain a riddle, a mystery for the ages, a Colossus of Roads, a Smudge Crater?

    Times reporters may be flummoxed, but readers aren’t. The photo the newspaper chose to accompany the piece depicts an intersection in South L.A. near Martin Luther King Jr. Blvd. “To help reduce fatal traffic crashes, the city of L.A. has added new crosswalks that extend further into the street, such as this one at 43rd and Broadway,” the caption reads.

    And the photo shows an old black man on a motorized scooter crossing in the middle of the intersection, straight through traffic, outside the crosswalks, literally daring drivers to run him down.

    Mystery solved!

    In the good old days, when athletes competed, there’d be a winner and a loser (or, in soccer, a tie and an accompanying stadium mass-casualty event). Rarely—but it did happen—losers would be held accountable for their poor performance, like that time when Colombian footballer Andrés Saldarriaga was murdered by disgruntled fans after an own goal. It’s not really fair to bring that up, though, as Colombians kill each other daily over even more trivial matters. The Colombian version of The Price is Right, for example, has led to over a thousand Plinko-related murders.

    But these days we live in a world in which women and nonwhites can’t lose, even if they do. U.S. athletics is no longer a contest of ability, but of rationalizations for why women and POC losers are actually winners.

    When sushi soul-sista Naomi Osaka withdrew from competition because she had jittery nerves (“You GO, gurrrrrl! Why Don Knotts always gotta be a man?”), she was lauded as the bravest human to ever draw breath. And when Simone Biles pulled out of the Olympics due to the heebie-jeebies (“How can we ask her to compete when she’s still mourning the death of Emmett Till?”), she was feted as the next Harriet Flubman.

    As every woke media sphincter on the ’net took great pains to point out, Osaka and Biles were the bravest women in human history for not competing, unlike miserable cowards like Jesse Owens, who just had to prove his toxic masculinity by humiliating the Nazis on the field with his superior athletic prowess instead of doing the brave thing and cowering in his hotel room, shivering and clutching a teddy bear for security.

    And now comes the most courageous female athlete of all: Shelby Rogers. Rogers is a tennis pro who Don Knottsed her way out of the US Open last week, falling in straight sets to England’s Emma Raducanu. In olden days—back when the world didn’t turn on the axis of wokeness—athletes who crapped out at big tourneys would lick their wounds and practice harder for next time.

    Again, how cowardly! Just like when Joe Louis embarrassed the nation by fighting and defeating Max Schmeling instead of doing the brave thing and hiding in his corner whimpering, “I’ze skee-skee-skeered to fights dat big spooky German!”

    No, today’s athletes know the true meaning of courage. So following her humiliating loss, Shelby Rogers declared herself the most valiant woman on earth because she was in fear of her life due to the “9 million death threats” she was going to receive for performing poorly on the court.

    Mind you, she didn’t actually get “9 million death threats.” She just feared she would, and her stoic resilience against imagined threats that exist only in her mind was far more important than her lousy showing in competition.

    The media couldn’t have agreed more. “While that number (nine million) may be exaggerated, the impact even one death threat has is real,” Yahoo Sports declared, noting that even though Rogers hadn’t received even one death threat, that shouldn’t detract from her heroism, as it’s not about actual threats but rather the courage of a woman to stand strong in the face of invisible misogynists.

    It’s good to know that from now on, U.S. female athletes will be competing not against real-world opponents, but imagined ones.

    That’ll surely boost ratings and sell tickets!

    It’s a popular rightist trope—global elites are using fear of “climate change” to persuade the “liddle peeple” to give up every convenience and live in squalor eating bugs.

    The “eating bugs” thing isn’t exactly fiction. From Time to The Guardian to Vox, leftist elites have for years been telling the great unwashed that eating insects is the only way to “save the planet.” So trade those burgers, steaks, hot wings, and pork chops for fried cockroach.

    Nursing-home escapee Joe Biden found himself in quite a pickle last week when faced with mass discontent over rapidly rising meat prices. On the one hand, Biden’s ideological masters are pleased that meat is being priced out of the mouth of the average Joe Beerswiller. On the other hand, Biden’s tanking in the polls, so telling Americans that inflation is good because it’ll help them transition to a kale and cricket diet isn’t exactly the ticket out of the public-opinion basement.

    A frustrating dilemma for the president. Mind you, with his current mental capacity, deciding whether the bathroom faucet marked “H” is for hot or cold water is also a frustrating dilemma (“I think I’ve figured it out: ‘H’ stands for ‘Hurty’”).

    So Biden sent National Economic Council chief Brian Deese to face reporters’ questions regarding skyrocketing meat prices. The initial plan was to blame inflation on mean ol’ meat-packers who cause artificial shortages because every time they find Carbone in the meat truck, he’s frozen so stiff it takes three days to thaw him out (“C’mon, man—just keep Carbone out of the meat truck and you won’t have to waste all that time”).

    Unfortunately, an uncooperative reporter asked Deese why the higher prices aren’t being embraced because they “de-incentivize” meat-eating and therefore cripple “the leading greenhouse-gas-emitting areas of the economy.”

    Deese, as out of his league as Teddy Pendergrass at a hacky sack tournament, stammered his way through an incomprehensible response that used the terms “consumer,” “sustainability,” and “transition” with all the coherence of a toddler reading randomly shuffled flash cards.

    Literally, the dude just had to say, “We support the public’s right to eat meat.” But he wouldn’t.

    Yet at the exact same time that White House officials couldn’t bring themselves to defend the right to eat hamburger, the Chinese presented the world with yet another demonstration of why, whether we like it or not, these inscrutable disease-spewing genocidal automatons are our inevitable future masters. At a gaseous-emissions summit in Glasgow sponsored by Greta Thunberg’s How Dare You Foundation (in association with Mexico’s refried bean industry), Chinese representatives told U.S. climate envoy John Kerry that they “won’t be bullied into going green,” and they will not reduce emissions if doing so harms their economy.

    And there you have it. Soon enough, Americans will be reduced to chomping on lentils and ticks as the Chinese lounge around in front of outdoor grills fueled by Uighur body fat, roasting terriers and toasting the self-destructive nature of the empire they felled.

    And speaking of the Chinese…

    Every year Credit Suisse releases a report declaring that LGTBQYABBADABBADOO-friendly companies make more money than corporations that are “homophobic.”

    “Credit Suisse says LGBTQ-inclusive stock basket has outperformed” (2021)

    “LGBT-friendly companies outperform in the stock market, Credit Suisse says” (2020)

    “Credit Suisse’s LGBT-inclusive index has outperformed the broader equity market 7 out of the last 11 years” (2018)

    “LGBT-friendly stocks outperformed a broad index by three percentage points in the prior six years” (2016)

    The problem is, where exactly are these “homophobic” companies? At least, where are they in the West? Where in the U.S., Canada, or the U.K. are major corporations that operate under the banner of “Damn them ******s! If you take it in the rear, our firm don’t want you near”?

    The Westboro Baptist Church isn’t publicly traded. So the main issue with the yearly Credit Suisse reports is that they don’t contain the names of anti-LGBT corporations for comparison…because there aren’t any. At most, there are companies that have yet to find a way to work a tranny-friendly message into their advertising (“Ellsworth Pipe and Valve Manufacturers: Our fitting threads are neither male nor female; whatever they were assigned at birth, we allow them to choose their own identity”). But even Chick-fil-A ended up surrendering to the gay lobby.

    So without any LGBTBLT-unfriendly companies as a control sample, the claim that going gay is the ticket to prosperity is somewhat unscientific.

    But here’s the twist: While Credit Suisse’s yearly reports claim that “diverse perspectives deliver for our clients,” last week for some odd, totally inexplicable reason, Credit Suisse closed the account of internationally respected Chinese dissident and artist Ai Weiwei.

    Turns out those vaunted “diverse perspectives” don’t apply to people who criticize China’s repressive, genocidal policies.

    So if you bank with Credit Suisse, by all means don’t say anything like “Uighurs shouldn’t be killed.” But feel free to say, “Rectal fisting is the key to financial freedom.”

    At least for now. As the BBC pointed out following the suspension of Weiwei’s account, China’s insistence on the suppression of ideas it finds distasteful will eventually pit the Asian dictatorship against Western “progressives.”

    After all, the CCP just banned the portrayal of “sissies” in the media and forbade the “feminization” of men.

    So how long before China gives Credit Suisse an ultimatum: “Lose the pansy-pandering or lose our business”?

    It’ll be entertaining to see the Swiss try to stay neutral on that one.

    To end on some good news (for once), data released last week from the National Student Clearinghouse showed that women are enrolling in college at a far greater rate than men.

    Female students accounted for 59.5 percent of all college enrollments in spring 2021, compared to just 40.5 percent that were men. The gap between the two sexes is widening, with male student enrollment declining more drastically than their female counterparts with 400,000 fewer male students enrolling in 2021 than 2020, versus 200,000 fewer female students between the two years.

    Conservative news outlets tried to spin this as a bad thing, but that’s a questionable take. With most degrees being worthless these days, with most college graduates drowning is debt, maybe it’s not the worst thing in the world if more women are financially crippling themselves in pursuit of a BA in Gender***** Araucanian-Yanomami Spoken-Word Macro-Chibchan Fourth Wave Feminist Foot Fetish Literature, while more men are learning to do things with real-world (and profit-making) applications.

    The point being, those 59.5%/40.5% figures are meaningless without a breakdown of who’s majoring in what. If the majority of men are majoring in science, medicine, engineering, etc., and the majority of women are majoring in Polyamorous Interpretations of My Little Pony Through the Lens of Maasai Pansexual Furries, well…that’s really nothing to be alarmed about.

    Every idiot who spends $50,000 on a useless degree is an idiot who has $50,000 less to donate to a political candidate or cause. And every idiot saddled with monthly student-loan payments because their degree didn’t translate to real-life employment is an idiot who can’t afford monthly contributions to BLM.

    So while conservative media bemoans the decline in male college enrollment, the thoughtful ask, “Is it because men are no longer wanting to become educated and productive, or is it because most colleges have become indoctrination factories where dumbasses pay money they don’t have to receive a piece of paper worth about 60 percent less than a square of Charmin?”

    Maybe men are just getting wise to the scam, and maybe they’re choosing their options more sagely, with an eye toward income. Maybe some are skipping college entirely to focus on the blue-collar skills that earn decent wages with no competition from Third World immigrants (India can provide plenty of coders and phone bankers. What it can’t provide is plumbers, considering that Indians have yet to figure out plumbing).

    So don’t panic about those enrollment numbers. It might just be that the nation is profiting by having some of its least productive members kept busy for four years wearing pussy hats and reading The Price of Salt while those whose services are actually needed stay focused on the things that matter.
    Never attempt to teach a pig to sing; it wastes your time and annoys the pig.

    Robert Heinlein

    Give a man an inch and right away he thinks he's a ruler

    Groucho Marx

    I love mankind…it’s people I can’t stand.

    Linus, from the Peanuts comic

    You cannot have liberty without morality and morality without faith

    Alexis de Torqueville

    Those who fail to learn from the past are condemned to repeat it.
    Those who learn from the past are condemned to watch everybody else repeat it

    A Zero Hedge comment

  28. #174
    The Week That Perished


    September 19, 2021

    The Week’s Most Scornful, Thornful, and Mournful Headlines


    Leave it to Norm Macdonald to unite even the most bitter ideological foes with his unexpected passing. But that’s how good Norm was. His death elicited tributes from left-wing names in entertainment, right-wing names in politics (including Ann Coulter and Tucker Carlson), and everyone in between. Norm was a lesson in what happens when you just try to be funny, without pandering to a “side.” He was simply a comic, and the best of his generation.

    There’s an old saying, “A comic says funny things; a comedian says things funny.” Norm was uniquely ambidextrous. He could tell a joke better than anyone, but he could also make a joke out of an anecdote that wouldn’t appear funny on paper; it was all in his delivery. He could tell a shopworn Catskills groaner and make it work for a modern audience; he could tell a dirty joke and make the bad language seem not gratuitous.

    Perhaps most remarkable for a modern-day American comedian, he didn’t try to use his own personal suffering as a launchpad to move from comedy for the sake of it to comedy with social meaning. Now that the world knows he’d been privately battling cancer for almost a decade, it’s really quite stunning to realize that he never attempted one of those “me and my disease” one-man shows (in fact, even as he was secretly ill, he dismissed such exhibitions as “the height of narcissism”). Whatever private pain he was experiencing, his love of comedy as an art form was such that he never polluted the purity of his act with, to use one of his favorite terms, “mawkishness.”

    He was cagey about his political leanings, but his willingness to associate with conservatives, and his complete lack of PC sensibilities when mocking state-approved “victim groups” or leftist icons like the Clintons, got him tagged as “conservative.” He likely laughed that off, because if he went after a person, a group, or any taboo topic, it was always for one reason and one reason alone: The joke was funny.

    Norm experienced a cancellation attempt in 2018 when he dared to suggest that his friends Roseanne Barr and Louis C.K. had lost enough (their entire careers) due to their transgressions, and maybe it was time to stop piling on. Talk shows (his favorite playground) backed away from him for a spell (including giggling genital wart Jimmy Fallon, who hypocritically offered a tribute to Norm last week without mentioning his role in the attempted cancellation). But Norm was just too good to be canceled. Even his colleagues who were too cowardly to defend him didn’t want him to go away.

    Comedian–turned–full-time angry leftist David Cross tweeted this upon learning of Norm’s passing:

    When I was going through a tough time after I was publicly defined as a “racist p.o.s.” Norm Macdonald was literally the FIRST person to reach out and tell me that he knew that was ridiculous, that he knew I was a good person and that he had my back. RIP

    This is the same David Cross who, following the November election, tweeted that he “wanted blood” and violent revenge against anyone who hadn’t supported Biden.

    Cross learned nothing from Norm’s example, from his “let’s not attack each other, or cancel each other; let’s be friends and go tell jokes” attitude toward not just comedy, but life.

    Hollywood didn’t deserve Norm Macdonald. But thank God he graced us with his presence anyway.

    Sorry to be mawkish!


    Should people of sanity and reason at some distant future date pen an exhaustive chronicle of the lunacy that was the early 21st century, there should be a chapter devoted to the case of Mohamed Noor.

    2021 unreality: White cops are genociding blacks daily, while courts unfairly condemn black defendants to disproportionately long terms, and whites who are victimized get preferential treatment, as the flood of low-IQ immigrants enriches us all.

    2021 reality: Mohamed Noor.

    Noor is the Minneapolis cop who, in July 2017, straight-out murdered a 40-year-old white woman who’d called the police to report an assault occurring in the alley behind her house. Moor was born in Somalia; his full name is Mohamed Mohamed Noor, because Somalis lack the brain capacity to recall their baby’s given name before they decide on the middle one. As part of a Minneapolis drive to “diversify” its police department, Noor had been “fast-tracked” during training (essentially, his training came down to “This is the holdy part of the gun, and this is the hurty,” and “No, no, Mohamed, your baton does not go up there. That’s an improper use of a baton, Mohamed. Pull it out and wash it off”).

    In 21 months on the force, he racked up three formal complaints from citizens for assault, incompetence, and forgetting that cow dung ain’t for eatin’.

    Police psychiatrists and his own training officers had suggested that Noor was unfit for duty.

    So it really wasn’t a surprise when, after responding to the 911 call from Justine Damond, Noor shot her in the abdomen because he mistook the blonde for da JoobaJooba demon.

    For a brief moment, it looked like justice might be served. Noor was arrested, tried, and sentenced to 12½ years in prison.

    Until last week, when the Minnesota Supreme Court overturned the conviction. The reasoning? Here’s where that “future generations really need to understand just how insane these days were” thing comes into play: He intended to kill the innocent woman he shot, therefore he should go free.

    That’s not a joke.

    From NBC:

    The court ruled it was clear Noor was only targeting the woman he killed. “In sum, our precedent confirms that Noor is correct in arguing that a person does not commit depraved-mind murder when the person’s actions are directed at a particular victim,” according to the opinion by Chief Justice Lorie Gildea.

    Noor will walk free by Thanksgiving. He’s promised his attorney that for all future murders, he’ll make certain the victim is someone he intended to kill.

    So as blacks scream “no justice no peace,” as politicians and professors shout “white privilege,” and as Soros and his minions wail about the criminal justice system discriminating against blacks, Justine Damond’s murderer walks free because a court ruled that he intended to kill the innocent white woman so therefore it’s okay.

    And the rest of us can only hope that one day these times will be seen for what they were.


    Leftists love highlighting “freakshow” stories of “right-wingers” who condemn vaccines only to fall victim to Covid. The Washington Post started the week off with a bang, front-paging the tale of Denver “conservative radio host” Bob Enyart, a real fire-and-brimstone kinda guy who, back in the 1990s, mocked people who died of AIDS on his (by the Post’s own admission) “fringe” radio show.

    Wow…a guy with a few thousand listeners ridiculed AIDS victims in 1991. If the Post is about anything, it’s relevance!

    Though not exactly a household name, the Post was damned sure Enyart would become one in death. The self-proclaimed “right-wing religious fanatic” had railed against vaccines because the meds are apparently composed of aborted fetuses (Johnson & Johnson creates vaccines and baby products! There are no coincidences).

    Sadly, after commanding his flock to avoid the abortovax, Enyart died of Covid last week at age 61, filled with viral load but not a single baby part.

    Yet as leftists celebrated their “freak of the week” Covid story, someone they thought was one of theirs had a little surprise in store for them.

    Trinidadian Nicki Minaj, who is apparently famous for something (possibly rapping, or giving the finger on social media), always seemed like a good little leftist, supporting “women’s rights” and “LGBTQEIEIO” causes. She was even a major donor to the bail fund that plucked rioters from jail during the George Floyd summer of fentanyl and put them back on the street to riot again.

    But that was before the Covid vax blew up her cousin’s friend’s balls.

    In a tweet last week that quickly went viral, Minaj stated:

    My cousin in Trinidad won’t get the vaccine cuz his friend got it & became impotent. His testicles became swollen. His friend was weeks away from getting married, now the girl called off the wedding. So just pray on it & make sure you’re comfortable with ur decision, not bullied

    And indeed, all of America prayed for Nicki Minaj’s cousin’s friend’s balls. None more so than Tucker Carlson, who devoted two nights of coverage to Nicki Minaj’s cousin’s friend’s balls. And when Minaj retweeted one of the Carlson segments, she was attacked for supporting a “white supremacist,” so she fired back with a condemnation of leftists that was actually…perceptive.

    I can’t speak to, agree with, even look at someone from a particular political party. Ppl aren’t human any more. If you’re black & a Democrat tells u to shove marbles up ur ass, you simply have to. If another party tells u to look out for that bus, stand there & get hit

    No one can confirm whether Nicki’s cousin’s friend is actually hoppity-hopping around Trinidad Stan Marsh-style on his giant nads, but what needs no confirmation is that Nicki herself has a good-sized pair hanging.

    This was exactly the kind of Covid “freak of the week” story the left didn’t need: a famous young woman of color coming out against vaccines and Democrats.

    Perhaps next week the Post can scan the obits of Covid victims and find an old anonymous white man who once called Rock Hudson a **** in 1985.


    Twist ending: The hero turns out to be the killer.

    Beady-eyed Blade Runner replicant Mark Zuckerberg has spent the past few years positioning himself as a veritable superhero. The Facebook CEO has spent hours waxing heroic about the importance of banning content, if such material poses even the smallest risk of causing harm.

    Information about voter fraud or contested elections? It’s gotta go; such toxic posts might lead to another deadly (non-deadly) “insurrection.” Questioning tranny ideology? How dare you! Doing so might lead to trannies being murdered or committing suicide in despair. Discussions of race and crime? Such poisonous filth encourages “white supremacists” to commit modern-day (nonexistent) “lynchings.” “Holocaust denial”? Banned at once, lest American Nazis issue all Jews a one-way ticket to (invisible) death camps. And anything that questions current wisdom regarding Covid must go, even if it’s eventually proven correct, because only airtight control of information kills viruses.

    On paper, Mark Zuckerberg is the greatest hero in human history. He’s saved the nation from civil war. He’s saved fruits (trannies) and strange fruits (blacks) from certain death. He’s prevented another Holocaust, and he’s literally saved millions worldwide by suppressing info about Covid.

    Why, you could just hug Zuckerberg (if not for the fact that his synthetic skin is so cold to the touch).

    Of course, all of Zuckerberg’s heroics exist in his mind and nowhere else. There’s not a single piece of evidence that any of Facebook’s speech-suppression policies have saved even one life.

    On the other hand, according to Facebook’s own internal research, Zuckerberg’s policies have actually cost quite a few lives.

    For the past three years, Facebook Inc. (which owns Instagram, its youth-targeted platform) has been conducting research into the negative effects of Instagram on teen girls (especially from bullying). And it turns out, Instagram is a major factor in teen suicides (mainly among girls). And Facebook Inc. knew this.

    “Instagram is harmful for a sizable percentage of them, most notably teenage girls,” The Wall Street Journal noted last week. Internal documents “show that Facebook has made minimal efforts to address these issues and plays them down in public.”

    Instead of using its all-powerful ban-hammer to come down on actual threats and harassment directed at teen girls—a use of content moderation that all decent people would likely agree is wholly legitimate—Facebook has allowed the dangerous content to stay, opting instead to show off for Democrats by banning political and medical content instead.

    And it’s not just to impress Democrats. As the WSJ points out, “Expanding its base of young users is vital to the company’s more than $100 billion in annual revenue, and it doesn’t want to jeopardize their engagement with the platform” (in other words, the company doesn’t want the bullies to flee to TikTok).

    So the hero bans content as long as it doesn’t threaten his bottom line. But content that drives kids to suicide? Too valuable!

    We’ve caught the Murderer of Facebook Manor. And as Scooby Doo would say, “Ruh-roh, it was Ruckerberg the whole time!”


    To close on another story involving speech suppression, Digital Media, arguably the last remaining stronghold of independent journalism in what used to be known as Hong Kong but today goes by the moniker China’s Bitch, was shuttered for good last week, a final victory for the CCP’s censors. This comes after the CCP imprisoned Digital Media’s founder, arrested the leadership of its top newspaper, and froze the paper’s bank accounts. “The move has shattered hope among press activists that a vibrant free press ecosystem will ever be able to exist in Hong Kong,” Axios ruefully declared.

    But fear not! Cheri Oteri character template Nancy Pelosi is on the case! Speaking to reporters during a taxpayer-funded trip to the U.K. to pick up more chocolate ice cream for her industrial freezers, the ancient harridan reluctantly admitted that China’s become a tad “problematic”:

    With their military aggression in the South China Sea, with their continuation of genocide with the Uyghurs in Xinjiang province, with their violation of the cultural, religious priority of Tibet, with their suppression of democracy in Hong Kong and other parts of China as well, they’re just getting worse in terms of suppression and freedom of speech.

    But none of that matters, Pelosi concluded, because the U.S. and China “have to work together on climate. Climate is an overriding issue.”

    What’s a little genocide in the name of battling climate change? It’s all so logical: According to climate alarmists, failure to curb emissions will lead to mass death. So if it takes mass death to prevent mass death, so be it.

    Somebody’s been reading Watchmen.

    If only Hitler had stressed to the world that his advocacy of vegetarianism could’ve reduced the climate-altering farting-cow population to such an extent, the world wouldn’t be in the fix it is now.

    We could’ve avoided decades of hurricanes, tornadoes, and floods if only we’d been willing to overlook a little genocide.

    But no, and now the entire earth is being gassed by Dach-cow and Moochenwald.

    Apologies, Adolf.
    "Every lie we tell incurs a debt to the truth. Sooner or later, that debt is paid." - Valery Legasov

  29. #175

    The Week’s Most Taxed, Waxed, and Vaxxed Headlines
    This year’s 20th-anniversary 9/11 commemoration wasn’t exactly the patriotic pridefest it was supposed to be. Coupled with Covid, inflation, skyrocketing violent crime, and massed invaders at the border, for many Americans 9/11-20th probably felt like a family celebrating Thanksgiving following a nuclear holocaust.
    “We have no food, shelter, or safety, and we’re slowly dying of radiation poisoning, but let’s still give thanks because…uh…well…because at least giant mutated rats aren’t eating our eyes.”
    “Dad, giant mutated rats are eating Bobby’s eyes.”

    Under President LifeAlert Bracelet, the U.S. staged a rushed, humiliating withdrawal from Afghanistan following a two-decade unsuccessful war against the cavemen from Quest for Fire, and now the Taliban and al-Qaeda are right back where they were the day the towers fell.
    And Muslims everywhere have learned that the most important takeaway from 9/11 is not “Don’t mass-murder Americans,” but rather “Just yell ‘Islamophobia’ and you can get away with anything.”
    Take the case of Fadel Alkilani, a Muslim student at Washington University in St. Louis. He spent the 9/11 anniversary defacing a memorial of 3,000 American flags dedicated to those who perished. Alkilani was caught on video stuffing the flags into trash bags (rather hypocritical behavior for a guy whose faith calls for the death penalty for anyone who farts while holding a Koran); he responded that he was destroying the monument because honoring the victims was “imperialist.”
    And when the university’s chancellor initially condemned the memorial’s desecration, the garbage-bag ghazi screamed “Islamophobia,” and the Washington University Muslim Students Association screamed “Islamophobia,” and the school’s Students for Black and Palestinian Liberation and Middle Eastern and North African Association screamed “Islamophobia,” and the chancellor backed down. Alkilani will face no disciplinary action.
    Which brings us to the rascally antics of the kids at St. Thomas Aquinas High School in Fort Lauderdale. St. Thomas Aquinas is only 8% black, so of course the administration takes every opportunity to “elevate” the black students (as in, sending out a celebratory tweet after a black sophomore wrote an essay titled “Growing Up While Black”…wow, how many hours in the library did it take to cram for that one?).
    On 9/11, the school’s little black darlings demolished a memorial set up by students and parents to honor victims and first responders. Turns out the cancer-curers-in-training made an oopsie: They had no idea what 9/11 was; they thought it was a Blue Lives Matter memorial.

    St. Thomas Aquinas sounds like a fine institution indeed; teaching kids to write about “growing up black,” but failing to teach them what happened on 9/11.
    Principal Denise Aloma, who may very well be functionally retarded, thanked the vandals for “expressing their feelings” and invited them “to speak to our school’s Diversity, Inclusion, and Sensitivity Committee to provide further understanding.”
    Meanwhile, the students who objected to the vandalism were condemned as “insensitive” to BLM and George Floyd.
    Terrorists can take down a plane or a building, but only people on the inside like Denise Aloma can take down an entire country.
    Back in 1994, during an appearance on the Charlie Rose show, then senator Joe Biden uttered this rather candid assessment: “If Haiti, a god-awful thing to say, if Haiti just quietly sunk into the Caribbean or rose up 300 feet, it wouldn’t matter a whole lot in terms of our interest.” At the time, blacks were pressuring President Clinton to intervene militarily in Haiti, where the guy who’d assumed power by beheading his foes and eating their livers had just been toppled by men who planned to behead him and eat his liver (in Haiti, this is called “the circle of life”). Biden was making the point that blacks don’t understand that the U.S. needs to pick and choose where in the world it directs its attention, and Haiti, a non-nuclear economically irrelevant dungheap, just doesn’t warrant any focus.

    Boy, too bad we didn’t get that Joe Biden as president! It’s kind of like waiting for McMurphy in Cuckoo’s Nest to get lobotomized before making him head of the ward. We should’ve gotten the guy with the clear vision and healthy instincts. Instead we got the guy ready to be mercy-suffocated by an Indian.
    Needless to say, conservatives on Twitter have been playing that ’94 Biden clip to dunk on the president for being “racist,” because conservatives—many of whom also deserve mercy suffocation—are dead set on dunking the nation straight to third-world-hellhole status.
    Now that President Lobotomized McMurphy is flooding the U.S. with the very people he once dismissed as so irrelevant they could sink into the ocean and nobody would care, it’s up to the press to sell the American people on why this is a good idea. Because Biden certainly can’t, and Harris hasn’t been seen since she met Cory Booker at that glory hole last week.
    Haitians are perceived as backwards, impoverished, superstitious drags on any nation in which they live. Of course, such racist perceptions are only fueled by the fact that they’re true. So The New York Times got the brilliant idea to slap a coat of paint over these slumdogs and present them as prosperous folks simply coming here to share their wealth:
    The Haitian migrants had done well for themselves. Since leaving their country, many more than a decade ago, they had built lives in Chile, Brazil, Panama. They had homes and cars. They had stable jobs as bank tellers, welders, mine supervisors, gas station attendants. But they longed for the possibility of a better a life in the United States.
    Thus began a lengthy exercise in verbal guano that never answers the key question of why such prosperous gents would have to trek across rivers, trudge through mud, and sleep under bridges instead of simply buying a plane ticket like, say, a Norwegian or Dane (what with all their wealth and such).

    Unfortunately for the Times, their spin sputtered out. Between the actual images of the Haitian “camps” (tents made of palm fronds and the bones of devoured foes) and the inability of high-level Dems like AOC and Maxine Waters to stop calling the Haitians “impoverished refugees” fleeing “persecution,” the Times’ attempt at image makeover was a bust.
    Still, NYT, points for trying. Now if only you would sink into the ocean.
    Americans would notice that…and cheer.
    Germany does Covid rage exactly as you’d expect: in a thorough, competent, and orderly fashion.
    Last week in the town of Idar-Oberstein in Rhineland-Palatinate, a 49-year-old deutscher entered a mini-mart to buy beer. The 20-year-old clerk asked him to wear a mask, but Oktoberfest Otto didn’t have one. There was a brief argument, and the clerk asked the man to leave, because if there’s one thing Germans hate it’s conflict. The customer stormed out, went home, got a mask, and returned to the store wearing the mask as requested. Then he shot the clerk dead…and turned himself in to the police.
    Credit where it’s due: It’s nice to see a murderer who’s law-abiding (well, except for the murder part).
    In the U.S., the Covid ragers are hardly as disciplined.
    About a week ago, you might’ve read about a group of “Texans” who attacked the hostess at a New York City eatery for no other reason than she asked for proof of vaccination, which is required for indoor dining under NYC law. Oh, how leftist Twitter loved that one! “Those damn Texans! Just more Trump MAGA QAnon loons trying to kill us all.”
    The “Texas” anti-vaxxers were denounced as “rednecks,” “cowboys,” and “white supremacists.” “This enrages me. Keep your ignorant MAGA bull$#@! in Texas. Those diners are lucky I wasn’t there. Hitting a woman? What a bunch of limp dicked cowards” tweeted Kareem Harper, VP at Cronin advertising agency.
    And then Gabby Johnson from Blazing Saddles got a look at the security camera footage of the incident, and he shouted (as church bells rang out nearby):
    “Hey! The Texans are a GONG!”
    “What did he say?”
    “He said the Texans are near.”
    “No, gon blammit dang blammit! The Texans are a GONG!”
    Yes, it turns out the “Texans” were actually a bunch of black ghetto girls who, as the video clearly shows, swarmed and beat the hostess as she was standing outside the restaurant minding her business. Making things worse, the hostess was Asian (are there so few Asians in Texas that blacks have to come to NYC to assault them? Or has assaulting Asians simply become a standard black New York City tourism thing?).
    And now BLM has started protesting the restaurant, at one point barging in maskless, no proof of vaxx, violating every city health reg.
    But this time it’s for “social justice,” and we all know it’s scientifically impossible to spread Covid at a BLM protest.
    Assaulted Asians, disrupted dining, BLM violating vaxx policy. De Blasio must be eating it up. He won’t be mayor for much longer, so he’s gotta get his few remaining kicks where he can.
    Speaking of going maskless…
    You know what the elites of the world—the politicians, celebrities, billionaires—never do? They never eat spoiled fish. If they’re at, say, NYC sushi restaurant Masa (average cost: $600 per plate) and a piece of sashimi doesn’t smell quite right, they send it back and expect the chef to perform seppuku.
    You’ll never catch an elite knowingly eating rancid fish. Granted there might be one or two freaky elites who get turned on by the smell of decaying fish (smart money says it’s Michael Bloomberg), but as a general rule, elites don’t eat spoiled fish.
    And why?
    Because elites don’t do things that they know could make them deathly ill.
    Every time the public sees one of the “better ’n thems” partying indoors in violation of mask mandates, the elite in question will always explain it away as a mistake, a momentary lowering of the guard, a “getting caught up in the moment” slip-up.
    But those excuses never wash because everyone knows that these supercilious, self-important d-bags simply would not do anything that they truly believed might sicken or kill them. It’s instinctive; you don’t “momentarily forget” to not eat rotting fish.
    So two weeks ago when San Francisco mayor London Breed was caught on camera gettin’ down maskless at a BLM dance party—in violation of her own indoor masking policy—and she told the press that she “got caught up in the spirit” and didn’t want to be brought down by the “fun police,” did anyone really buy that?
    You never need the “fun police” to tell you not to drink Lysol or bathe in raw sewage (again, Michael Bloomberg’s fetishes aside). If you genuinely believe that something might kill you, you don’t do it. London Breed does not believe that going maskless in a nightclub might kill her.
    And a week ago when Hollywood’s shining stars, who never fail to lecture the troglodytes about “masking up,” turned out for the Emmys—three straight hours of being unmasked indoors—does anyone really believe they would’ve done so had they thought being maskless indoors might be fatal? Yet still—they made sure the event staff was masked. Because the fear’s a tool. If the fear were real, the stars would’ve been “masked up” too.
    And just a few days ago, Covid fearmongering Democrat congresswoman Pramila Jayapal was caught celebrating her birthday indoors and maskless.
    Okay, that one doesn’t count. As an Indian, Jayapal probably does eat rancid fish and bathe in sewage.
    Also, Jayapal had already recovered from Covid. And while in the U.S. that plus a dollar buys you a McNugget, Israel—arguably the most vaxxed nation on earth—recognizes the immunity of the Covid-recovered as equal to that of the vaccinated. Even in the face of a recent uptick in cases, Israel is following the science regarding natural immunity, which is a refreshing change from the hypocritical fearmongering here at home, where the only recognized “natural immunity” is that of your betters.
    “Niangpao” is a Chinese word that means “sissy man.” And Chinese president Xi is on a crusade to exterminate niangpaos.
    Xi is a savvy guy. He’s watching like a hawk as the U.S. falls to tranny culture and all manner of gender-bending and gender denial. And Xi ain’t gonna allow that disease to cripple his nation. When it comes time to “reclaim” Taiwan, Xi wants an army of manly men to counter a U.S. force made up of pregnant women, drag queens, schizos, fentanyl freaks, and fat neckbeards whose war cry is “CALL ME MA’AM!”
    Still, Xi realizes that he can flood the U.S. with as much fentanyl as possible, but there’ll always be a certain number of healthy Midwestern boys who’ll join the military, so he can’t completely rely on the U.S. to take itself out of commission, at least not fully.
    Hence his desire to forge his own nation of he-men. Yes, it’s the final solution to the niangpao question. Xi has ordered that only the most masculine of Chinese men be allowed on TV, in advertisements, and in movies. This is a tall order, considering that the Chinese are barely dimorphic as it is. In terms of differences among their men, well…they’re all pretty dainty. Finding the masculine ones is rather like trying to identify an alpha male panda.

    But from Xi’s perspective, it’s all a matter of attitude. Whereas the U.S. military trains its soldiers to go into battle distracted by the question of whether they were assigned the wrong gender at birth, Xi wants Chinese soldiers to charge the battlefield with the raw machismo and masculinity of great American leading men like Rock Hudson, Montgomery Clift, Tab Hunter, Richard Chamberlain, and Dack Rambo.

    Xi’s not exactly up to speed on Hollywood gossip. But his heart’s in the right place.
    Still, his task is not exactly herculean. Not only is America weak in the knees, so are Xi’s more immediate neighbors. Soon enough the median age in Japan will be 80, and South Korea has soundly fallen to androgynous boy bands.
    Perhaps the only people in the region who might be able to stand up to China are the Australians. Though previously regarded as happy-go-lucky beer-drinking goofballs, this year the Aussies have truly shined as a particularly brutal bunch of sadists, beating and shooting and stomping their own people—including women and children—for violating lockdowns and mask requirements.
    Thanks to Covid, the Australians may very well have bred a generation of sociopathic, conscienceless cops and soldiers, who might just be up to the challenge of taking on the Chinese reds.

    Irony of ironies: Xi undone by the very disease he gave the West. Curses!
    Never attempt to teach a pig to sing; it wastes your time and annoys the pig.

    Robert Heinlein

    Give a man an inch and right away he thinks he's a ruler

    Groucho Marx

    I love mankind…it’s people I can’t stand.

    Linus, from the Peanuts comic

    You cannot have liberty without morality and morality without faith

    Alexis de Torqueville

    Those who fail to learn from the past are condemned to repeat it.
    Those who learn from the past are condemned to watch everybody else repeat it

    A Zero Hedge comment

  30. #176
    Last edited by GlennwaldSnowdenAssanged; 09-29-2021 at 04:45 PM.

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  32. #177

    The Week’s Most Stammering, Hammering, and Flimflammering Headlines

    A few weeks ago, The New York Times ran an op-ed advocating for the national voting age to be lowered to “zero.” From the time a baby is born, parents should be able to vote for the child. And then once youngsters become old enough to fill in a ballot, they can do it themselves.

    Hey—that might be the only way to get Democrats to stop advocating abortion. “Every baby born is a new Biden vote!”

    Andrew Yang (a.k.a. “the one Asian-American who does not succeed at everything he puts his mind to”) advocated lowering the voting age to 16 during his failed NYC mayoral campaign. That he did so as roving gangs of teens were terrorizing the city just proves that every bell curve has its ass-end.

    Sadly for Yang, the Times, and Joe Biden, a recent Harris poll noted that a staggering 84% of Americans are against lowering the voting age (including 78% of Democrats).

    And gosh, you gotta wonder why that Times op-ed was greeted with such disfavor. Maybe it has something to do with the 16-year-old who was in the news last week for running over a half-dozen bicyclists while trying to “roll coal” on them (apparently, that’s a thing among teens. It involves purposely accelerating to blow exhaust into the faces of cyclists).

    The previous week a Washington State teen driver just two months shy of her 16th birthday killed a jogger because she thought it would be hilarious to “bump” the poor guy with her car to scare him as a prank.

    Considering the headlines generated by those two stories, this was probably not the best week for the NYT to call for child voters. But then, it’s The New York Times.

    The Lancet is arguably the most venerable peer-reviewed medical journal in the world (ranking far ahead of Uganda’s top scholarly medical publication, Demons Dey Make da Sick). Last week, The Lancet decided to adopt a new editorial policy in which women would no longer be mentioned when discussing matters of the female anatomy.

    In a cover story about menstruation, The Lancet replaced “women” with “bodies with vaginas.”

    Of course, The Lancet chose its words to be “inclusive” of the “transgender community.” Still, for some odd reason, actual women became rather irate at being reduced to “bodies with vaginas,” which sounds like the kind of thing even Al Bundy would rebuke as sexist. The backlash was fierce enough to elicit a response from Lancet editor Dr. Richard Horton. Horton posted a “sorry but not sorry” statement apologizing to readers who were offended while still defending the terminology choice because “trans people regularly face stigma, discrimination, exclusion, and poor health.”

    One issue that Dr. No Women neglected to address is why The Lancet is using the term “bodies with vaginas” to refer to women but not “bodies with penises” to refer to men. Like in a 2020 article that stated, “Tuberculosis of the penis is the rarest form of genitourinary tuberculosis. It is commonly seen in immunocompromised men.”

    Shouldn’t that be “immunocompromised bodies with penises”?

    Or this one: “Ritual circumcision complicated by gangrene is a leading cause of penile loss in young men in South Africa.” That’s not just transphobic, it’s racist! The Lancet seems to think that South Africa is not enlightened enough to have women with penises.

    And this one from May, which detailed “the efficacy of male human papillomavirus (HPV) vaccination against the prevalence of high-risk HPV infections in young men.” Oh, so the male vaccine is only for men? Women with penises shouldn’t get vaccinated too? That’s not just anti-trans, it’s anti-vaxx, which is literally the worst thing you can be today.

    Because of The Lancet, our emergency rooms are overburdened with unvaxxed dirlywanger women infected with STDs because they didn’t take fifteen days to slow the spread legs.

    Not every victim of “cancel culture” is completely blameless.

    British defamation law is generally stacked in favor of the plaintiff. Unlike in the U.S., where a plaintiff has to prove not just falsehood but “actual malice,” in the U.K. the standard is far lower, and the burden of proof falls on the defendant (i.e., the defendant has to prove that they didn’t defame the plaintiff). See 1978’s Little Old Bald Man v. Benny Hill for an example of relevant case-law.

    In response to a tidal wave of what’s become known as “libel tourism” (foreigners suing in U.K. courts because of the lax rules), British judges have become quite unfriendly to people—especially Americans—who engage in the practice.

    Poor Johnny Depp should’ve known that. Depp, a delicate, drunk (former) A-lister who married a bimbo 23 years his junior only to express shock when she turned out to be an impulsive, violent, childish brat (who could’ve seen that coming?), had the kind of marriage that resembled a Three Stooges short—lots of slapping, nose-twisting, and eye-poking.

    In 2018, Depp traveled to London to sue a tabloid for labeling him a “wife beater,” and the irate judge decided to “reward” him by ruling that Depp is indeed officially a wife beater. Right or wrong, that verdict allowed studios to drop Depp from a whole bunch of movies that likely would’ve sucked anyway.

    So last week, there was Depp at the San Sebastian Film Festival complaining about “cancel culture” and ruing his “cancellation.”

    Fair enough; his fall from A-list to F-off was unjustly swift.

    But maybe there are lessons here beyond “Cancel culture sucks.”

    Like, don’t marry a child and expect a mature relationship.

    And British judges are sick of hearing these cases and they’ll do you up a treat if you trouble them with your petty crap.

    Also, when you’ve spent your entire career doing the same pursed-lip Chaplin routine, people might not react with sympathy when your child bride punches your eminently slappable face.

    They were a fixture of Khomeini’s Iran: the morality police—roving caravans of virtue inspectors looking to fine or arrest women for showing too many “naughty bits” (“naughty bits” defined in Iran as hair follicles and elbows). In pre-9/11 Afghanistan, the Taliban took the whole “morality police” thing to rather extreme heights. No fines or arrests, but rather a rock to the head or noose around the neck for women who dared to show the really naughty bits (noses and chins), or for men who were clean-shaven, or for anyone listening to Western music (except for S Club 7; the mullahs really dug those crazy kids).

    Now that the Taliban is back behind the wheel (an unknown idiom in a nation with no working automobiles), the morality police are back as well…but with a new Dirty Harry attitude. Taliban leaders have defended a recent spate of low-tech lynchings by telling the Western press that the people they’ve hanged are dastardly criminals—thieves, rapists, murderers.

    It’s not a bad strategy. Considering that the Democrats who presently control the White House, Congress, and dozens of statehouses in the U.S. are flooding the nation with violent criminals, and seeing how most U.S. cities are suffering under skyrocketing violent crime rates, the whole “We’re a bunch of Charles Bronsons out to clean up the mean streets of Kunduz” routine might be enough to win the sympathy of a significant number of Americans.

    It all sounds like a great idea for a TV cop show (if Afghanistan had TV). Taliban P.I. (Pashtun Imam), a rogue cop who plays by his own rules and gets the job done even if it ain’t pretty.

    Angry Black Police Chief: “Dammit, Taliban, I got the mayor and the whole city council breathin’ down my neck! You gotta start goin’ by the book; you’re ruffling too many feathers.”

    Taliban (tight-lipped, through gritted teeth): “You tell the mayor that feathers are for chickens…like him.”

    Could be a great show. And apparently Johnny Depp is looking for work, so he might do it for scale.

    The worst thing about being a leftist white savior fighting to give a voice to the poor disenfranchised coloreds is that sometimes the damn coloreds use that voice to say stuff you don’t like.

    Olukemi Olufunto “Kemi” Badenoch (born in London to Nigerian parents) is a rising star in the Conservative Party. As Boris Johnson’s Minister of State for Equalities, Badenoch has pushed for the end of critical race theory (and other antiwhite racial pseudosciences) in schools, an end to “defund the police” rhetoric, and an end to “tranny acceptance.”

    Naturally, England’s good leftist whites have been trying to get Badenoch kicked out of government, because sometimes you have to destroy a black to prove how much you love blacks.

    Last week, dozens of leaked Badenoch WhatsApp messages were published by Vice, including one in which she dared to say that “African societies had been unequal before the arrival of the European powers,” Africans “never had any concept of rights” before European colonialism, and Africans who suffered under colonialism were “old elites not everyday people.”

    How dare a woman of African descent think she can speak freely about Africa! The absolute gall!

    Badenoch also wrote that trannies are nothing more than “men using women’s bathrooms.”

    Screw England; send this woman to the U.S.!

    Leftist Brits continue to try to silence Badenoch for the crime of thinking while black.

    It’s an irony that the people who are pulling down the statues of Cecil Rhodes are the ones who most embody his spirit.
    Never attempt to teach a pig to sing; it wastes your time and annoys the pig.

    Robert Heinlein

    Give a man an inch and right away he thinks he's a ruler

    Groucho Marx

    I love mankind…it’s people I can’t stand.

    Linus, from the Peanuts comic

    You cannot have liberty without morality and morality without faith

    Alexis de Torqueville

    Those who fail to learn from the past are condemned to repeat it.
    Those who learn from the past are condemned to watch everybody else repeat it

    A Zero Hedge comment

  33. #178

    The Week’s Most Twisted, Delisted, and Ham-Fisted Headlines

    It’s hard to tell if National Review film critic Armond White is a rightist mirror image of a leftist movie reviewer who can’t appreciate art except through the prism of his own ideology, or if he’s an on-purpose parody of a leftist movie reviewer who can’t appreciate art except through the prism of his own ideology.

    After all, this is a guy who claims that the only two good Coen brothers films are Hudsucker Proxy and Ladykillers. Which means that if he’s not parody, he’s certainly mentally ill.
    Armond White is a two-word answer for why National Review sucks. He represents the conservative pathology of attacking art while ignoring policy. If only NR’s writers and editors hated open borders, dysgenic demographic replacement, and endless neocon wars as much as they hate “depraved” movies and TV shows.

    Last week, White reviewed the Sopranos prequel The Many Saints of Newark. And he made it clear that the real reason for America’s decline is not unfettered immigration or globalism, but “culture destroying” content like The Sopranos and The Wire. His review of Many Saints links the popularity of Tony Soprano to the rise of the Clintons, the DNC, communism, and atheism. That he uses the term “sheeple” unironically to describe Sopranos fans merely underscores the question of whether this dude is having us on.

    He concludes his review by stating that “Many Saints is a movie for RINOs.”
    This from a guy who works at RINO HQ.
    It may not be parody, but if it is, give this guy a Pulitzer for doing it so well.

    Speaking of actual “RINOs”…

    Those wacky Koch brothers are at it again! Well, make that one wacky Koch brother (the one who’s still alive) and the foundations he and his late sibling founded.
    The Kochs know what’s good for America: low taxes on billionaires, and a Republican Party that understands that low taxes on billionaires is the only thing to focus on. And as for those filthy lowlife white working-class blue-collar voters who used to (and in theory still could) comprise the GOP base? Here, take this tricorn hat and march back and forth at a “tea party” event, Gomer. Occupy your small trade-school mind with patriotic songs, and leave matters of policy to those who matter.

    The Kochs, well-known super-funders of GOP causes, the people who financed that amazing “Boehner revolution” in 2010 that cured the nation’s ills and forged a new era of American greatness (DISCLAIMER: The preceding statement has not been fact-checked), have now waded in on the “Critical Race Theory” controversy.

    And how do these “libertarian/conservative” industrialists, frackers, and air-polluters feel about CRT?
    They’re for it!
    Because you can’t have non-billionaire whites feeling like they have any value. A blue-collar white with self-worth might actually balk at supporting a party that doesn’t support him.
    Last week Evan Feinberg, executive director of the Koch-funded Stand Together Foundation, announced that Koch money stands in alliance with schools that teach the “white people are evil” ideology, because brainwashing white kids into thinking they suck “helps drive social progress.” While stressing that the Kochs don’t necessarily agree with CRT, they’re against banning it from schools, because kids deserve access to “new ideas.”

    No word on whether Mr. Feinberg is also in favor of public schools teaching the Nation of Islam’s “new ideas” regarding Jews.
    Money from the Koch network has also gone toward George Soros-style “criminal justice reform,” because what’s the point of demoralizing whites if you can’t then subject them to a torrent of violent crime?
    Now don that tricorn and march, whitey!
    Hallelujah! The Germans have finally concluded the most important fugitive manhunt in human history.

    They caught a 96-year-old former secretary who once took a memo about a concentration camp.

    Whew! The streets of Berlin and Munich are safe again to walk. Well, if you don’t count the rapey Afghan immigrants and the murdery African immigrants and the other assorted terrorists, molesters, and miscreants undercover Stasi commissar Angela Merkel imported during her reign.
    But hey, Deutschebags, at least you’re safe from 96-year-old women!
    Irmgard Furchner, whose name sounds like an Instagram influencer expressing surprise at IKEA inventory (“errmahgard, furnicher!”), is known as the “secretary of evil” because as a novice secretary at age 18 during World War II she took memos that were dictated by the commandant of the Stutthof concentration camp. So she’s being prosecuted for “crimes against humanity.”

    See, as a teenager she took dictation from a bad guy. That makes her the “secretary of evil.”

    Last week, Furchner tried to flee her arraignment, momentarily forgetting that 96-year-olds can’t run, climb, evade, crouch, or do anything stealthy. That’s why The Fugitive starred Harrison Ford and not George Burns.
    After going “on the lam,” Furchner was quickly apprehended in the Schleswig-Holstein city of Itzehoe (named after the reaction of the town’s first black pimp upon seeing the local harlot).
    Because Furchner was 18 at the time of her “crime,” she’s being tried in youth court! So the nonagenarian will be arraigned alongside teen burglars, speeders, and potheads.
    To hell with The Producers; this is the best Nazi burlesque ever. Too bad Hollywood’s club of professional comedy writers won’t see the humor in it. Perhaps because it’s funnier than anything they could’ve written.

    Now that the entire Senate is essentially run by an atheist bisexual from Arizona and a grumpy old man from the state that routinely leads the nation in gunshot deaths of trespassers (West Virginia’s state motto is “Git Off Mah Layand”), Democrats have had to come to terms with the fact that even though the days of Zell Miller (who died in 2018 of colic) and Gary Condit (whose political career was kamikaze’d by a jogging Jew) are long over, they still have to deal with Kyrsten Sinema and Joe Manchin.
    Last week, The Hill ran a piece outlining the efforts of far-left Democrats (i.e., every Democrat but Synema and Manchin) to eliminate the term “moderate” from any discussion of the two reviled “mavericks,” in favor of more “accurate” descriptors like “right-wing” and “fascist.”
    Oddly, none of the leftists interviewed by The Hill suggested “DINO,” which is odd considering how wildly successful the use of RINO has been in shaming and purging Con Inc. shills from the Republican Party (DISCLAIMER: The preceding sentence may have been sarcastic).

    Still, it’s a bit mind-boggling that Democrats think they’ve turned Arizona so blue that all AZ senators should be to the left of AOC.
    Give it time, amigos, give it time; you ain’t there yet. There’s still just enough Goldwater in them veins to keep the state slightly reddish. And with California leading the nation in mask and vaxx mandates, there aren’t as many Californians moving to Arizona as in years past (“Did you know that the Grand Canyon isn’t masked up? No way I’m moving anywhere near that cavernous death trap”).
    And Manchin? Good God, has the party forgotten that this guy won an election in 2010 by shooting a friggin’ rifle at Obama’s cap-and-trade bill? Like, literally, he shot the bill with a rifle, while swearing to defeat any parts of Obamacare that funded abortion (because in WV, if pregnancies are gonna be terminated, it’ll be by groundwater toxins, hang darnit).

    Yet for some reason today’s Democrats are stunned that the guy who Charles Whitman’d Obama’s prize legislation is not 100% on board with their agenda.
    That’s the problem when you turn your party over to millennials like AOC (who has no awareness of a world before Skrillex) and Rashida Tlaib (who’s never read a book that doesn’t have “the Protocols of” in the title).
    Speaking of Democrat hypocrisy, it seems odd that Democrats rail against “wealth disparity” and rampant “poverty, hunger, and income inequality” while simultaneously suggesting that anyone with $600 in the bank is “wealthy.”
    If $600 is the dividing line between rich and poor, then there’s literally no poverty in the U.S. Even the schizo bum sitting in his own filth outside the 7-Eleven is a rich man merely by virtue of his latest Covid stimulus check.

    Treasury Secretary Janet Yellen, a Polish-American Jewish New Yorker who almost certainly would’ve been considered too extreme by the Spartakusbund, is currently making the rounds on Capitol Hill pushing Joe Biden’s plan to catch “wealthy tax cheats” by giving the IRS a mandate to monitor every bank account in the U.S. that sees at least $600 in transactions per year.
    Yep, all those Rockefellers who have six hundred whole dollars in the bank. Someone’s gotta clamp down on those sixhundredaires.

    Biden and Yellen’s drive to squeeze Americans who can afford an entire new couch is being assisted by Office of the Comptroller of the Currency nominee Professor Saule Omarova, an actual Russian communist (as in, literally. As in “I’m a communist from Russia”). Omarova wants to “end banking as we know it,” giving the federal government complete control over the saved money of every American citizen.
    To be fair, it’s probably the only way to stop those hundredaires from disproportionately wielding their influence over the economy.
    Republicans have promised to block Omarova’s appointment and the $600 monitoring scheme, but that was before The Many Saints of Newark premiered, and National Review reminded the right that evil movies are the real threat to the nation, and since most movies cost more than $600 to produce, bankrupting Americans with that amount saved up is the best way to prevent such culture-destroying films from being made.
    And a new era of bipartisanship is forged!
    Never attempt to teach a pig to sing; it wastes your time and annoys the pig.

    Robert Heinlein

    Give a man an inch and right away he thinks he's a ruler

    Groucho Marx

    I love mankind…it’s people I can’t stand.

    Linus, from the Peanuts comic

    You cannot have liberty without morality and morality without faith

    Alexis de Torqueville

    Those who fail to learn from the past are condemned to repeat it.
    Those who learn from the past are condemned to watch everybody else repeat it

    A Zero Hedge comment

  34. #179
    The Week That Perished


    October 17, 2021

    The Week’s Most Muttering, Fluttering, and Stuttering Headlines


    The culture wars giveth, the culture wars taketh away…doll penises.

    In 1978, TV producer Norman Lear decided to dangle some “outrage bait” to get people talking about his aging sitcom All in the Family. So he partnered with Ideal Toys to create a 14-inch doll of Archie Bunker’s infant grandson Joey…complete with a big ol’ wiggly pee-pee. It was the first “anatomically correct” doll ever manufactured by a major U.S. toy company.

    Lear got the outrage he sought. “How dare you stick a dirlywanger on a doll!” the blue-hairs shouted.

    Back then, the prudes were older conservative Christian folk. Forty-three years later, the baton has passed, and now our modern-day morality police—LGBTQetceteras—are demanding that the plastic peckers must go! There can be no distinctly male or female toys.

    And as always, California Democrats are leading the way! Chairman of the Lavrentiy Beria fan club Gavin Newsom, who moonlights as governor of California, just signed a law mandating that retailers must have only “gender neutral” toy sections, with no toys that are specifically male or female. So from now on, dolls will be next to fire trucks and Easy-Bake Ovens will be next to G.I. Joes.

    What a joy that’ll be for parents shopping for Christmas gifts this year!

    “Where can I find the Rainbow Brites?”

    “Right next to the erector sets. Where else would they be?”

    Weird how during the recall election, Newsom failed to mention that he’d be signing this law.

    Lego has also announced the end of gender-specific toys. As with the California law, this is being done to appease men in dresses. Amazing that trannies call themselves “marginalized” when the entire world seems to revolve around them these days.

    The good news for parents is that none of it’s going to matter this year anyway, as the supply chain gridlock will keep the shelves empty of all toys, penises or no.


    Korean politics can be a real pain in the ass.

    The people of South Korea are obsessed with a presidential candidate’s rumored booty call. As in, he called a guy to stick needles up his booty.

    South Korea has a presidential election coming up, and Yoon Seok-youl is the front-runner. He has the Chinese character “wang”—which translates to “king”—tattooed on the palm of his hand. In Korean culture, this is associated with superstition: Korean soothsayers believe that inscribing the character on the palm of the hand will bring good luck (Yoon’s wife is a fortune-teller).

    Amazingly, Yoon’s wang-hand is the least odd thing about the guy. He also likes getting needles stuck up his butt.

    In a televised debate last week, Yoon’s main opponent attacked him for being a friend and patient of “unlicensed anal acupuncturist” Lee Byeong-hwan (so South Korea has licensed anal acupuncturists?). Lee believes that sticking needles up the byeonghole can cure disease and ward off evil spirits (his degree is from the West Hollywood Medical School and Bathhouse). Anal acupuncture is dismissed by most Koreans as pseudoscience (these are the Koreans broadly known as “sane”), so Yoon’s opponents are using his “go sit on a tack” treatments as proof of mental instability.

    Yoon is with the conservative People’s Power Party (it used to be the Up with People Party until Koreans saw a videotape of that group’s Super Bowl halftime performance in 1986). It’s unlikely there’ll be any fabricated Steele-dossier-type smears against the guy; once you’ve admitted to getting pleasure from having your sphincter used as a pin cushion, what possible calumny could top that?

    While Koreans seem rather embarrassed by the fact that anal acupuncture has become a defining issue in their presidential contest, the upside is that this might be just the distraction that gets Western comedians to forget about the dog-eating.


    Greta Thunberg sure does love low-hanging fruit. The Tin Drum growth-stunted climate dwarf always relishes the opportunity to slap an inhaler out of an asthmatic’s hand because it contributes to “climate change” (“how dare you!”), or attack the garment industry because textile manufacturing contributes to “climate change” (“how wear you!”), or lecture people about using too much shampoo because that contributes to “climate change” (“how hair you!”).

    But she’s been MIA as the world’s been hit with a massive energy crisis, brought on in no small part by countries turning away from cheap, reliable sources of energy in favor of expensive, unreliable “green” alternatives. Seems that climate activists never took into account the unintended consequences of crippling the traditional energy sector (“how unaware you!”). And now Europe and a host of nations worldwide are struggling to keep the lights on.

    As reported in The Washington Post, “Energy analysts argue that Europe moved too quickly away from fossil-fueled power, before ensuring that sufficient renewable sources could take up the slack in an emergency.” As an example, the Post cites “a protracted calm spell over the North Sea that’s sharply curtailed the output of electricity-generating wind turbines” (“how lack-of-air you!”). On the other end of that spectrum, in the U.S. turbulent oceans and hurricanes have taken out vast swaths of “green” energy facilities (“how mal-de-mer you!”).

    As energy costs rise and ordinary people (or as climate activists call them, “useless eaters”) see their energy bills skyrocket, the green whorenets are doubling down; climate “think tanker” Jacob Kirkegaard told CNBC last week, “You can’t stop financing windmills for people’s bills.”

    Yes, let the commoners go broke or freeze to death; we don’t give a damn (“how devil-may-care you!”).

    The punchline to the extended joke we call “green energy” is that the energy shortage caused by shortsighted children in the name of reducing carbon emissions is going to produce record carbon emissions as nervous political leaders scramble to ramp up fossil fuel production so that voters have lights and heat for the coming winter.

    Sadly, nobody’s taking little Greta up on her suggestion that rather than relying on home heating, people should just wear heavier sweaters.

    How mohair you.


    Remember those dark, ignorant, superstitious days when people believed in…women? What an embarrassing time for the human race.

    “Women”? Why not also believe in Yeti and Bigfoot?

    Fortunately, the same doctors who took pharma money to get half the country addicted to opioids, who call natural immunity a myth, and who want to put Covid masks on babies, are on the scene to disabuse us of our irrational claim that women exist.

    In the U.K., home of the world-record holder for a doctor who erased women (balmy Dr. Shipman, who erased 250 ladies via hot doses of diamorphine), the medical establishment has decided to end cervical cancer testing outreaches to women. According to Scottish public health minister Maree Todd, anyone can get cervical cancer, so telling “women” to get smear tests means indulging in the ridiculous superstition that “women” exist and have distinct biological features.

    Sure, certain fascists within the Scottish government provided evidence that women have died from lack of smear test access, but that’s just irrational bunkum. “Women” can’t die if “women” don’t exist.

    And over in England, Labour MP Rosie Duffield has been accused of hate crimes for claiming that only women have a cervix.

    Sure, schizo. And UFOs kidnapped Jimmy Hoffa.

    And it’s not just the U.K. The “prestigious” Mayo Clinic recently changed its web page on cervical cancer to eliminate any mention of the word “women.” Compare the current page with the archived version. “A woman’s immune system” is replaced by “The body’s immune system.” “Most women with the virus never develop cervical cancer” became “Most people with the virus never develop cancer.” “Most medical organizations suggest women begin routine Pap tests at age 21” transitioned to “Most medical organizations suggest beginning routine Pap tests at age 21.” And “HPV vaccination is available for girls and women ages 9 to 26” was removed entirely.

    Hooray for 21st-century doctors! Without them, we’d all be believing in chupacabras, mothmen, and dames.


    And if you’re wondering why so many “respectable” doctors are going along with this tranny nonsense, here’s why: As reported in The Sunday Times, a professor at the University of Sussex has been told by police to hire bodyguards and install CCTV outside her home following threats by the “oh-so-fragile” transgender community.

    Kathleen Stock, an actual woman, doesn’t believe that people can change their biological sex via sheer willpower.

    The nerve!

    As a result, trannies—who are supposedly so frail that a single joke can break them—have been posting death threats online and harassing the professor in person. She’s been advised by police to only teach remotely, and cops have given her a special hotline to call if she’s under assault.

    Wow, those trannies sure are shrinking violets! They’re like Southern belles who get the vapors…except the vapor is sarin gas.

    The Times interviewed several University of Sussex students, who uniformly called for Stock’s firing. The repeated reason? Her comments “put transgenders at risk of violence.”

    The very people threatening violence are claiming that they’re the ones at risk of violence. Yet while the violent threats against Professor Stock have been documented, not a single tranny has shown proof that they’ve been “threatened” because of her words.

    The tranny cries out in pain as zhe strikes you.

    Also, the tranny man claims to be a woman at risk of violence while putting an actual woman at risk of violence from an actual man.

    Apparently U. Sussex specializes in teaching irony.
    "Every lie we tell incurs a debt to the truth. Sooner or later, that debt is paid." - Valery Legasov

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