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“One very notable pathology is a form of argument that, reduced to essence, runs like this: “Your refusal to acknowledge that you are guilty of {sin,racism,sexism, homophobia,oppression…} confirms that you are guilty of {sin,racism,sexism, homophobia,oppression…}.” I’ve been presented with enough instances of this recently that I’ve decided that it needs a name. I call this general style of argument “kafkatrapping”, and the above the Model A kafkatrap. In this essay, I will show that the kafkatrap is a form of argument that is so fallacious and manipulative that those subjected to it are entitled to reject it based entirely on the form of the argument, without reference to whatever particular sin or thoughtcrime is being alleged. I will also attempt to show that kafkatrapping is so self-destructive to the causes that employ it that change activists should root it out of their own speech and thoughts.

“My reference, of course, is to Franz Kafka’s “The Trial”, in which the protagonist Josef K. is accused of crimes the nature of which are never actually specified, and enmeshed in a process designed to degrade, humiliate, and destroy him whether or not he has in fact committed any crime at all. The only way out of the trap is for him to acquiesce in his own destruction; indeed, forcing him to that point of acquiescence and the collapse of his will to live as a free human being seems to be the only point of the process, if it has one at all.

“This is almost exactly the way the kafkatrap operates in religious and political argument. Real crimes – actual transgressions against flesh-and-blood individuals – are generally not specified. The aim of the kafkatrap is to produce a kind of free-floating guilt in the subject, a conviction of sinfulness that can be manipulated by the operator to make the subject say and do things that are convenient to the operator’s personal, political, or religious goals. Ideally, the subject will then internalize these demands, and then become complicit in the kafkatrapping of others.”

There’s more at Eric Raymond’s <strong>Kafkatrapping | Armed and Dangerous


Riding Out Hurricane Charley, 2004 by Ghostsniper

We went through hurricane Charley back in 2004 and food wasn’t on my agenda for the 9 days we did without power. Ice + water. That was my only concern.

Our house was only 2 years old. It was designed and built by me (Yes with my own hands – and about 100 other people’s hands. ), and sustained zero damage even though Charley’s eye passed within just a couple miles. But our 6′ high estate fence and most of the pool enclosure were completely gone as they are designed to be torn loose in small sections that FEMA describes as being “non-threatening to adjacent structures,” of which there were none.

All our freezer food was grilled in 24 hours then stored in coolers that were rapidly loosing their cool in the 100 degree, 90% humidity. After 3 days our water was getting low and there was no ice anywhere. I jury-rigged a cord to charge up our well equipment (220v) off my generator (110v), which I did every 12 hours. But it was ice I craved and there was no way to get any. There was an ice maker in the fridge but I wasn’t going to run the generator for hours to make that paltry amount of ice because fuel was also at a premium.

Hurricane Charley was the first hurricane to make landfall in our area in the 40 years I had lived there. It sort of caught us off guard. The numerous false alarms over the decades by the media had jaded us and we believed Charlie would pass us by. But in the last 2 hours it did a 180 in the gulf and came straight toward us.

Charley came NE from the gulf up Pine Island Sound and stormed across the land mass of Bokeelia Island then diagonally up Charlotte Harbor toward Punta Gorda, passing only a few miles NW of our home in the NW Cape Coral. Many roofs and large sections of walls were detached and deposited into Pine Island Sound.

I criss-crossed that Sound almost daily as most of my work then and still was the design of large scale custom homes on the islands of Useppa, Cayo Costa, Captiva, and Sanibel. Once, after Charley, while crossing the sound in a 32′ Donzi with twin 454 chevy V-8’s at about 50 mph, the boat hit a submerged roof breaking one of the lower units completely off and bringing the boat to a dead stop. I was standing and wrenched both shoulders out of the sockets – very painful. The driver slammed his face into the dash knocking out all his front teeth and another guy did a 50 mph somersault off the front of the boat and skidded 100 feet across a shell shoal and was bleeding from square yards of shaved flesh. We got back to the dock on a trolling motor as the computer wouldn’t let 1 engine fire up.

Charley caused the largest single residential claim in State Farm Insurance’s history in Florida. I did the restoration work on that home. It was on Upper Captiva and faced directly on the gulf, less than 200 unprotected feet from the home to the waterline. A massive custom 3 story on top of driven wooden pilings.

A 16′ wide sliding glass door on the 3rd floor failed and acted like an air scoop to Charley’s 300mph core velocities. Inside, the air pressure equalized and then over inflated the entire structure – it literally exploded. From the top down. The structural framework for the 3rd floor collapsed into the 2nd floor. Amazingly enough a large structural corner beam configuration that supported the 3rd floor dropped and landed on a Corian countered kitchen island that took and sustained the full weight. Kitchen island intact, the weight and wind force caused the 2nd floor to collapse into the 1st floor. All of this happened in mere seconds. The weight of 3 collapsed floors then caused 47 of the 48 10″x10″ pressure treated wood pilings to snap clean off. Only 1 was left undamaged. The snapped pilings caused the whole thing to collapse onto the ground like a giant pile of kindling wood in pastel Florida colors.

It was my job to wade into that trap and find out why the structure failed and that is how you now know the story you just read. As I said, at 3.5 million dollars, a total loss, it was the largest single residential claim in State Farms 100+ year history in Florida.

The owners were not present when the disaster occurred, having previously left to another island they also had a residence on (very wealthy, very nice – unlike all the lies you hear about wealthy people uttered through curled envious lips by the american communists). They decided they had loved the home and wanted it rebuilt just as it was before. So now my job was to reconstitute the home but in such a way that it would now be capable of sustaining 300mph continuous wind velocity.

It took a year to clear the property of the debris (there are no bridges to Upper Captiva so all things must be barged back and forth) and reconstruct the home. The only remaining original aspect being the 1 wooden piling that was not damaged. That piling was not incorporated into the structure as I questioned it’s structural validity, but a local guy chainsaw art effected it and turned it into a multiple ring toss game for drunkards. You know, the 3″ rusty steel ring on a long fiberglass masonry twine and you try to swing it to hook onto a small wooden peg. I think it had about 5 of them on that carved totem. I just looked at the place on Google Earth. It is alive and well and we still get a Christmas card from the owners each year.

Irma’s on it’s way to that area right now. I expect to get another Christmas card from those wonderful people this year.


Listalactites of the Labyrinth

Onward, my noble steed! The story behind the woodpecker-riding weasel “The woodpecker landed in front of us and I feared the worst,” says Le-May. “I guess our presence, maybe 25 metres away, momentarily distracted the weasel. The woodpecker seized the opportunity and flew up and away into some bushes away to our left. Quickly the bird gathered its self-respect and flew up into the trees and away from our sight. The weasel just disappeared into the long grass, hungry.”

The Biggest Things Ever to be Transported by Sea (With Pics)

Ken Jennings Finds the Biggest Waterfall in the World The amazing thing about the Denmark Strait cataract is that it dwarfs anything you’€™d see above the waves. Its water drops almost 11,500 feet, more than three times the height of Angel Falls in Venezuela, normally considered Earth’€™s tallest waterfall. And the amount of water it carries is estimated at 175 million cubic feet of water per second. That’s equivalent to almost two thousand Niagaras at their peak flow.

Blue Marlin, the Ship That Ships Shipping Ships

The First Joke

Someone Made 18 Stereotypical Maps Of Europe, And Some Of Them Will Probably Offend You | Bored Panda

Ad Hominem: This is the best logical fallacy, and if you disagree with me, well, you suck. McGroarty’s Logical Fallacies — fun list – Stephen Hicks, Ph.D.

Top 10 Unsolved Mysteries In Physics  Since then, many black holes have been observed, including a huge, supermassive one at the heart of our own galaxy. (Don’t worry. It won’t swallow up the Sun any time soon.)But the mystery of what occurs at the heart of a black hole is still unsolved. Some physicists thought that there might be a “singularity”—a point of infinite density with some mass concentrated down into an infinitely small space. It’s difficult to imagine. Worse yet, any singularity leads to a black hole in this theory, so there’s no way we could observe a singularity directly.

All This ‘True Conservative’ Talk About ‘Principles’ Is Just Another Lie    Let’s take the latest in a seemingly endless series of #fails from that smarmy dope Paul Ryan, King of the Fredocons. First, he rushed to help out the liberals with their ridiculous narrative about how Donald Trump is a “Nazi” (Wait, I thought the narrative memo had him being a Russian fifth columnist – damn, our president sure is versatile!). You couldn’t keep Ryan from eagerly jumping in with his usual more-in-sorrow-than-in-anger-about-Trump thing to help the left push its latest meme. Antifa though? Not so fast! Ryan, the poodle that he is, obediently waited until Nancy Pelosi led the way and offered some tepid words about these commie blackshirts and their thirst for blood before Brave Sir Ryan ran out and offered some tepid words about these commie blackshirts and their thirst for blood.

It’s Sea Slug Census Time Again! – Atlas Obscura

Gun-Controlled Chicago: At Least 45 Shot, Seven Killed over Labor Day Weekend

France Adopts Law That Uses Informants To Monitor Private Conversations For “Hate Speech”     The device used to relay the “insult” is confiscated. Phones, computer, tablets will be held by the state. It is evident that the device will be investigated for evidence of additional “hate speech.” If found, heavier charges can be made.

The hanging of train robber Black Jack Ketchum didn’t go as planned

Theia, the unknown planetary object devoured to form the Earth and Moon as known today

A View of Saturn’s Rings From the Inside, Courtesy of Cassini – Atlas Obscura

The city of the future could lie below your feet |   In a metropolis like Los Angeles. With limited space, people are building in-fill housing in backyards and garages. A key concern around the world is immigration: when cities are planned, the living space for immigrant populations is often overlooked.

Bohemia’s Strange Trip | City Journal     Heroin, opioids, and crime are on the rise again in Fog City. Homelessness has again become a plague, and not only in the Haight. Billionaires step over sleeping bags and dodge dog feces on sidewalks to enter some of the nation’s most expensive restaurants. A city with more dogs than children, San Francisco has become, like New York, a city of extremes of wealth and poverty, with too few of the middle-class adults upon whom urban cultural and economic vibrancy ultimately depend.

People Are the Design Margin |    ‘Cajun navies’ are also useful because there are also things government does not know how to do, like keeping existing supply chains running. The story of how the H.E.B. grocery chain kept 60 of its 83 stores open and stocked in the face of one the worst storms in centuries is management case study material. They tracked the storm to determine which cities it would most likely hit. They drew down on frozen food and upped their inventory of canned goods. They organized car, boat, truck and even helicopter pools. They sacrificed variety for quantity. In a word they did what only grocery people would know and the average bureaucrat would not.

Richard Bong State Recreation Area – Kansasville, Wisconsin – Atlas Obscura The Bong-area park police have asked visitors to please, stop sealing the signs.


The inside story of what it took to keep a Texas grocery chain running in the chaos of Hurricane Harvey

[Note: In any large scale disaster such as Harvey and now Irma the key to recovery is to keep the food supply chain open. If the people manning and managing the grocery chains falter it is about three days, maximum, until the guns come out.]

The largest grocer in the state is H-E-B, with about 350 stores scattered throughout Texas and Mexico. At a time when retail watchers question the future of brick-and-mortar stores due to Amazon’s continued ascendance, the 112-year-old retailer is drawing widespread praise after managing to open 60 of its 83 stores in Houston last Sunday, hours after Hurricane Harvey slammed into Texas as a Category 4 storm. (Now, 79 of the 83 stores are open.)

When employees couldn’t get to work, some stores still operated with as few as five people: one stationed at the door as crowd control and four working the registers, trying to get people out as quickly as possible.

On Saturday morning, I spoke with Scott McClelland, a 27-year H-E-B veteran who is president of the chain’s Houston division. For much of the week, he had worked from 5 a.m. to 9:30 p.m., with days blurring together.

The behind-the-scenes operation, as he told me, is a complicated dance involving multiple command centers, a helicopter, private planes, military style vehicles and frequent calls to suppliers, urging them to send toilet paper — and to skip the Funyuns.

McClelland, in his own words:

One thing about a hurricane is you never know exactly where it’s going to hit. They call them spaghetti models. They make their best guesstimate.

Historically, hurricanes hit one city. A hurricane is going to hit Houston. Or a hurricane is going to hit Corpus Christi. But because of the size of this one and the uncertainty of the route it was going to take, every area had to prep. That meant the drawdown on our distribution centers was huge. It really made it challenging for us.

We first knew the storm was coming last Tuesday. You begin to put plans into motion. We began shipping water and bread into the effected areas. Those are the two categories people buy first.

When you go into a hurricane, nobody buys frozen food. You want milk, bread, water. You want batteries, you want canned meat. You want tuna.

Coming out of a hurricane, if there’s been flooding, they’re going to want stick goods: mops and bleach. I’ll take all the bread I can possibly get right now. Then you’re going to start to get produce. The guy who runs floral at H-E-B calls everyday: Can I start to ship floral? We don’t care about floral. People do not buy flowers in the middle of a hurricane. You only have so many trucks and so much space.

RTWT and pass it on to Florida and environs @ The inside story of what it took to keep a Texas grocery chain running in the chaos of Hurricane Harvey


Liner Notes for “The Labyrinth”

The bulk of Western civilization was built on the courage of men who were willing to brave the mysteries of the sea.

Today, everyone in Silicon Valley has to subscribe to the ninety-five theses of the social justice warrior’s creed, beginning with certain dogmas about race, sexuality, and the essential lovableness of jihadist Muslims.

So people are uploading the equivalent of 193 million copies of War and Peace books, or 75,000 copies of War and Peace movies, every single day.

Hillary announces new computer scheme, gets hacked right out the gate

The Limits Of Honesty–Even Tucker Carlson Can’t Say The Looters Are Black

Record-breaking Triceratops fossil found in Denver

Why North Korea and the United States are Near War | Scott Adams’ Blog

Bad Places to Hide: Atlantic Ocean | You can just make out something that’s clearly not a wave. It is, in fact, a shark.
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BREAKING! Trump Steals Food from Black Kid 

This time he’s clearly GONE TOO FAR!

HT: Never Yet Melted


Labyrinthine Lotto

Halt and catch fire:  Man falls into flames at Nevada’s Burning Man festival

 A Clash of Cultures: The Bourgeois vs. the Burning Man

The 2016 Election is Not Reversible –  because it was but the first stage of a process that no one can control and the end of which no one can foresee.

Google Conducted Hollywood ‘Interventions’ To Change Look of Computer Scientists   Most TV computer scientists are still white men. Google wants to change that. Google is calling on Hollywood to give equal screen time to women and minorities after a new study the internet giant funded found that most computer scientists on television shows and in the movies are played by white men. 

Time for a Full Investigation… of the FBI

The bulk of Western civilization was built on the courage of men who were willing to brave the mysteries of the sea.  Cinnamon, Porcelain, & Sacrifice 

Toxic Femininity Hides Jealousy and Corruption  Unfortunately, for the toxic feminists we got to see what the lead critic, Lynn Yaeger, actually looks like. She’s a clownish, bizarrely made up and garbed frump. We now know to a certainty that the magazine that peddles leftist propaganda in between countless pages of ads for fifteen thousand dollar handbags and expensive furs dyed to look like mangy skunk is written by strange women promoting often-gay designers who would dress men as women and women as prepubescent boys. Game’s up for fashion’s leftist advance androgyny guard.

“A dog that will bring a bone will carry a bone” is an old time expression to mean that a person who will steal for you will steal from you. That’s true of Google. They steal from the people who use their services and they (most likely) steal from the people on whose behalf they are stealing. Their fraudulent traffic numbers scandal is probably the tip of the iceberg. Google is based on a theft culture. That means they will steal from everyone, including their employees and potential employees… Diary: September 2017

Amazon lowering Whole Foods prices will hurt those who think they’re better than you   Why? Doesn’t Amazon care about people who want to send the message “I have too much disposable income — thus the raw Manuka honey I’m spreading on my eco-farmed brown rice cakes — and I want to subtly communicate that under the guise of good health and environmental consciousness”?

At this rate, the sports media should stop worrying about NFL owners ever hiring Colin Kaepernick -which they will never do anyhow – and start worrying about them having him disappeared. Vox Popoli: Black vs Blue and Green

Robert Fergus, 72, ran naked with a pair of scissors in the public reception of the MacDonald Loch Rannoch Hotel and smashed a glass pane. His wife Ruth, 69, threatened to shoot a staff member after “reacting badly” to the alcohol she consumed earlier.  ‘Out of control’ pensioners fined for hotel rampage 

Not the Onion: This from the BBC’s new Pidgin English page destined to make its readers more and more smarter. “Mr Ranjan say di rat dig hole put for inside the barriers wen dem use take block water; na dis one come make di barriers weak well-well sotay flood water pass through, begin cause palava for di people.Dis flood na part of wetin some countries for South Asia dey face, as heavy rain don bring flooding since two weeks wey affect India, Bangladesh and Nepal.” Domot – BBC News |

Doug Ross @ Journal: You Have a Choice, Houston




Breaking! Some Hillary Voters Did Indeed Move to Canada

Evidently some Hillaryvoters and Progs did actually make it into Canada: Bizarre brain-like blobs discovered lurking in a lagoon in Vancouver    

It’s sticky, slimy, and if you held one in your hands it might feel something like a gelatinous, semi-deflated basketball. But the biggest surprise about this bizarre brain-like blob found recently in an artificial lagoon in Canada is that the gooey mass isn’t actually an it at all, but a they. Yep, this pile of slimy green stuff is in fact a colony of thousands of organisms bound together into a cooperative collective that rests or floats in freshwater reservoirs, filtering plankton and other nutrient sources out of the water.


Back to School

Spiffy new clothes, a shiny bookbag, freshly sharpened pencils, and the promise of the beautiful autumn leaves’€™ arrival were nice. But they couldn’€™t make up for the fact that a new school year was beginning. Where oh where had the summer gone? – – neo-neocon

Yesterday I heard of a young mother who came downstairs early in the morning to find her fifth-grade son dressed for school but flat on his back in the middle of the living room staring in despair at the ceiling.

MOM: “What on Earth do you think you’re doing?”

BOY: “I can’t do it. I just can’t go to school any more.”

We all know how that small strike ended. Management made an offer (“Go to school or else.”), and the union of one caved in with a plaintive “But mom….”

I first thought that there was rough justice in that. After all, the thought of actually going on a ten-minute “I-won’t-go-to-school” strike never would have entered my ten-year old mind. If it had I would not have heard the dreaded promise, “Wait until your father gets home.” No, I would have heard the thermonuclear announcement, “I’m calling your father at work and telling him to come home right now.” That one always alerted me that I had only one half-hour to get my affairs in order.

Today, after mulling the lie-down strike a little more, it seems to me there’s more than a little to be said on the side of the fifth-grader’s strike. After twenty years of schooling and more than thirty on the day shift, those early grades seem — looked at through society’s grubby glasses — to be an idyllic time. After all, weren’t they?

No real worries. No problems with the opposite or the same sex. No goals other than getting to Christmas break, Easter break or the long and endless summer. No money to make. No money, in fact, to speak of at all. All your expenses covered. No taxes. No sense of mortality. In short, the lost and golden land of childhood. We all think of it, once far removed from it, as some distant Edenic idyll.

But if we try and shift our point of view a bit, and if we try to remember all those things the haze of our twice-told childhood fairy-tales hides from us, we might see it — just a bit and just for an instant — from the point of view of the fifth-grade boy flat on his back in the living room staring at the ceiling in utter despair.

Here he lays. He’s been going to this job of his for as long as he can remember. Unlike my experience which didn’t start until kindergarten, today’s boy has probably been working in the education industry since age 3.

They started him out on basic blocks and why he shouldn’t nail somebody who took his cookie. Those are hard lessons. How to stack something up so it doesn’t collapse in a heap at the first shudder in the earth. How to “share” your very limited and very personal resources. Why you don’t just whack anyone who irritates you with the nearest blunt object.

These are basic lessons, and we forget how hard they are. Some of us don’t learn them at all. Those people are either in prison, assembling bombs, or CEO of a Fortune 500 company.

Still, that’s your entry level position in the educational-industrial complex at age 3. It’s all downhill from there.

For years you get up at an ungodly hour and don’t even get a chance to read the paper. Plus, no coffee at all. Not. A. Drop.

You are then pushed out of your home and either driven to your “office-complex” by a cranky chauffeur with complete control over you, or you get to ride with a few dozen of your more-or-less peers with different ideas of hygiene and levels of intelligence in a shaking tin box with no seatbelts, driven by some of the least intelligent members of your community. I’d be a nervous wreck by the time I got to the office, I’ll tell you.

Once you do get to the office, your time to just goof off is extremely limited. No leisurely stints by the water cooler for you. No coffee cart with tasty pastries coming by after only an hour. Bladder issue? Raise your hand and get a note. Other than that you are never alone.

You get one break out in the dirt, with, I might add, no coffee. A couple of hours later you get a quick hit of really bad food that is the same this Wednesday as it was last Wednesday. After that, it’s back to your office where they don’t even have a little cube for you, but slam you together with 15 to 30 other slaves to the clock in a room fit only for 10.

In some huge gesture to your youth, they let your out of this joint at 3 in the afternoon. They tell you it’s a “school day,” but if you’ve been up since 7 and out at three, that’s a full eight hours in my book.

Oh, and no chatting with your friends. Yes, you, pipe down. If not it’s off to the CEO’s antechamber for a quick and humiliating performance review. Daily if you don’t snap out of it. If you really don’t snap out of it, we’re calling your father AND your mother to come here from work right now.

Perhaps you get to enjoy the mastery of your skills? Don’t make me laugh. Master one thing and boom here comes another.

Comprehend fractions? That was so last week. Now do long division. Made a volcano that blew up on cue last week? Big deal. This week you are going to construct an Algonquin winter lodge diorama from scratch — and it better have plenty of cotton balls for snow.

One o’clock. Your project for this hour is the basic structure of the cell. Okay, two o’clock, everybody stand up and turn to the person next to them and say, “Hola, como se llama…”

Day in day out, week in week out, year in year out … you trudge off to this room crammed to the brim with bird’s nests, flash cards, trilobites, pilgrim hats, Indian headresses, drawings and paintings in which the proportion of the head to the body is never right, but looks for all the world like an exhibit by demented Fauvists with no drawing skills whatsoever and a very garish color sense. Twice a day, everybody in this room is let out. Is it any wonder they run screaming into the sunshine?

You have no veto whatsoever over your co-workers, your working conditions, your hours, or your choice of when to do what tasks. Everyone does the same tasks at the same time for 55 minutes and then it is on to something new.

Did I mention the fact that you can’t quit? If you try to quit they send the Gestapo to your home and track you down and haul you back.

There is, however, judgment. Oh, the judgment. Constantly tested. Constantly graded. Constantly up for criticism with your single allowable plea being, “Guilty. But with an explanation.” It’s like an annual review every week with no raises, ever.

And nothing, nothing you do, is ever quite good enough, is it? Except for that four-eyes up in the front row who always gets it done perfectly. No mistakes ever. You know, the kid who will be pantsed and then smothered with 30 co-workers backpacks out behind the backstop one rainy afternoon.

By the fifth grade, you’ve been in this dead end job for about seven years. If you’re lucky, your pay has gone from a dollar to ten dollars a week. Get straight A’s and you might get a bonus of one day at the local “Magic Kingdom.” Then it’s, “Okay, break’s over. Everybody back on their heads.”

I don’t know about you, but that sounds like one of the worst jobs in the world. In fact, the more I think about it the more I want to lie down with that kid in the middle of the living room and say, “I just can’t do it any more either.”

It took me about 30 years to get to that point. I guess I’m not as smart as I was in the fifth grade. In fact, I’m sure of it.


John Bender Before and After Tet

In the Summer of ’63
John was free.

Played the guitar,
Knew he’d be a star,

Drove a fast car….

Life was a whirl.
He got the girl,
Had his fun,
Sailed into the sun….

Now he’s just a name on the wall,

Cut into stone,
Burned to the bone.

Took a fall.
That’s all.


Drive-By: Turnabout in Great Boomer Moments 

This… at Great Boomer Moments | Western Rifle Shooters Association

Yields this…. in the comments.

Discussion ensues…..


A nurse says she was assaulted and illegally arrested by a Salt Lake City police detective for following a hospital policy that does not allow blood draws from unconscious patients.

Video shows Utah nurse screaming, being handcuffed after refusing to take blood from unconscious victim – The Salt Lake Tribune

Detective Jeff Payne is the “officer” in this case. Unclear why he is still working this morning but according to the dispatcher I just spoke to in Salt Lake City at 801-799-3000 that seems to be the case.

At one point, Payne threatens to take Wubbels to jail if he doesn’t get the sample, and he accuses her of interfering with a criminal case. “I either go away with blood in vials or body in tow,” Payne says.

After Wubbels consults with several hospital officials and repeats the policy, Payne tells her she is under arrest and grabs her, pulling her arms behind her back and handcuffing her. The footage shows the detective dragging Wubbels out of the hospital and putting her inside a patrol car as she screams, “Help! Help! Somebody help me! Stop! Stop! I did nothing wrong!”


A University of Utah police officer and other officers, who provide security for the hospital, were present at time of the arrest and did not intervene.

As he stands in the hospital parking lot after the arrest, Payne says to another officer that he wonders how this event will affect an off-duty job transporting patients for an ambulance company.

“I’ll bring them all the transients and take good patients elsewhere,” Payne says.

[click to continue…]


Boomer Anthems: American Pie

“For some reason I wanted to write a big song about America and about politics, but I wanted to do it in a different way. As I was fiddling around, I started singing this thing about the Buddy Holly crash, the thing that came out (singing), ‘Long, long time ago, I can still remember how that music used to make me smile.’

“I thought, Whoa, what’s that? And then the day the music died, it just came out. And I said, Oh, that is such a great idea. And so that’s all I had. And then I thought, I can’t have another slow song on this record. I’ve got to speed this up. I came up with this chorus, crazy chorus. And then one time about a month later I just woke up and wrote the other five verses. Because I realized what it was, I knew what I had. And basically, all I had to do was speed up the slow verse with the chorus and then slow down the last verse so it was like the first verse, and then tell the story, which was a dream. It is from all these fantasies, all these memories that I made personal. Buddy Holly’s death to me was a personal tragedy. As a child, a 15-year-old, I had no idea that nobody else felt that way much. I mean, I went to school and mentioned it and they said, ‘So what?’ So I carried this yearning and longing, if you will, this weird sadness that would overtake me when I would look at this album, The Buddy Holly Story, because that was my last Buddy record before he passed away.” — American Pie by Don McLean Songfacts

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“Give Texas What It Needs”  & “Hold the Line”

Yes, I know she’s grown old and problematic. Who hasn’t? But every so often…
Noonan, Peggy.
Park, Ball.
Here, Outta.

By Peggy Noonan
Aug. 31, 2017 7:18 p.m. ET

Give Texas what it needs. It has endured a disaster without precedent. Washington must move quickly, generously. There should be no “The relief bill must be offset by cuts in federal spending.” There should be no larding it up or loading it down with extraneous measures. This is an emergency.

This is no time to threaten government shutdowns. It’s no time to be dilating on debt ceilings. This is the time to know as never before that everything that holds us together as a nation must be strengthened wherever possible, and whatever sinks us in rancor avoided and shunned.

Give Texas everything it needs, and do it right quick.

Most Americans, including Texans, don’t have more than a few hundred dollars in available savings. Most live close to the edge, paycheck to paycheck. Most homeowners in Houston don’t have flood insurance. When they’re lucky enough to get out of the shelter, they’ll return to houses that are half-ruined—wet, moldy, dank, with no usable furniture—and with kids coming down with colds and stomach ailments from stress or from standing water that holds bacteria and viruses. It will be misery for months. When the trauma is over, there’ll be plenty of time for debate. Do we need to hold more in reserve for national disasters? Do local zoning laws need rethinking? All worthy questions—for later.

There is such a thing as tact. It has to do with a sense of touch—an ability to apprehend another’s position or circumstances, and doing or saying the right thing. There is, believe it or not, such a thing as political tact. It too involves knowing the positions of others, and knowing what time it is.

Politicians, don’t use this disaster to score points or rub your ideology in somebody’s face or make your donors smile by being small, not big.

Give Texas what it needs. Keep the government up and running. Don’t even consider doing otherwise.

Now another subject, which ties back to Houston. A lot of people this week were saying, “You should see that Mattis speech.” A frequent answer was: “I did. I play it over and over.”

A week or so ago, probably in Jordan, Defense Secretary Jim Mattis had an impromptu meeting with what looked like a few dozen U.S. troops. Someone taped it. This is what Mr. Mattis said: “Hold the line.”

“For those of you I haven’t met, my name’s Mattis,” he began. “Thanks for being out here, OK? I know at times you wonder if any of us know . . . but believe me, I know you’re far from home every one of you, I know you could all be going to college you young people, or you could be back on the block. [We’re] just grateful. . . .

“The only way this great big experiment you and I call America is gonna survive is if we’ve got tough hombres like you. . . . We don’t frickin’ scare, that’s the bottom line.

“You’re a great example for our country right now. It’s got some problems—you know it and I know it. It’s got problems that we don’t have in the military. And you just hold the line, my fine young soldiers, sailors, airmen, Marines. You just hold the line until our country gets back to understanding and respecting each other and showing it, of being friendly to one another. That’s what Americans owe to one another—we’re so doggone lucky to be Americans.”

He ended: “I flunked retirement, OK? Only reason I came back was to serve alongside young people like you, who are so selfless and frankly so rambunctious.”

This was the voice of true moral authority, authority earned through personal sacrifice. Speeches like that come only from love.

But it was particularly poignant that Mattis’s speech, with its refrain—“Hold the line”—spread so far and fast this week.

And so, to selfless and frankly rambunctious Texas:

If you gave just a few minutes to the news, you saw it all—the generosity and courage, the sense of community, of people who really care about each other. You saw the pontoons and air mattresses and bass boats and rowboats and pool floats in which people were rescued. No one knows how many were saved or how many saved them. Every disaster at some point becomes a jumble, and people stopped counting. But surely tens of thousands were saved.

We all saw it, often live, on television and the internet because of excellent reporters and crews:

A mother with little children was marooned, the water in her home rising dangerously. “I didn’t know who to call. I didn’t know if it was going to be too late.” Suddenly, there were men outside the house coming for her. “It was just an angel,” she said as she wept from the back of their boat.

Houston Police Chief Art Acevedo honored Steve Perez, the 60-year-old cop who drowned in his patrol car. When Mr. Acevedo spoke to Perez’s widow, she told him she’d begged her husband not to go in but he’d told her, “We’ve got work to do.” The chief told her: You know who he was, if he had to die, he wouldn’t want it to be home in bed, he would have wanted it to be on the job and trying to help. “Because he has that in his DNA,” said Mr. Acevedo.

On one channel they were looking for what they’d heard was a group of abandoned horses being led through the streets by a guy in a jet ski. In Columbia Lakes a local man showed a reporter the homemade barrier he’d built to protect his neighbors in case the levee broke. He wasn’t afraid: “We don’t do drama.”

On Facebook there was the story of the woman who went into labor while the waters quickly rose. Word spread through the apartment complex. Soon a huge, heavy truck made its way to her door. Neighbors formed a human chain to help her out. She got to the hospital and gave birth to a girl.

There were a lot of human chains. And often when they showed people being pulled from houses the families were all ethnicities and races, the whole American mix—black mamas, white papas, mixed kids, an Asian child. On the national level America always sounds like a constant argument over race. On the local level, meantime, everybody has been happily integrating in the most personal possible ways.

The local ABC station caught a young Catholic priest, a French Canadian assigned to a Houston parish, out in a kayak in heavy rain looking for people who could use a Mass. “I guess this is how the Americas were evangelized as well with a canoe,” he said, “and this is a kayak. I hope that can bring a smile to a few people.” Noticing the TV cameras, he said: “I guess we’re live. The Lord is alive, and the Lord is always with us as well.”

And of course there was the Cajun Navy, from Louisiana, performing its own spontaneous Dunkirk. Texas had taken them in after Katrina. Now it was “Sam Houston, we are here.”

We are a great nation. We forget. But what happened in Texas reminded us. It said: My beloved America you’re not a mirage, you’re still here.

If they’d done only that, they’d deserve whatever they need.

They held the line.

The American Spirit Is Alive in Texas – WSJ

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The Lumpenproletariat of the Labyrinth

Stock photos have always seemed a little eerie, no matter what they depict; they are purely affective gestures, void of the visual difference that sets most photos apart as unique. In that way, an account like Dark Stock Photo is more of a fine-tuning of what makes the form so jarring to begin with. Warped Image — Real Life

There is absolutely nothing that so defines Leftism as anger. Converse or correspond with anyone on the Left for long enough and it becomes obvious that they are just plan mad at people, especially those who do not agree that they just know better than you do. So their commentary is, “smug, predictable, dismissive,” says Morrisey, “with all of the subtlety, wit, and artistry of a sledgehammer.” You either agree with them altogether or you are painted as a racist, homophobic, neo-Nazi, fundamentalist Christian, white supremacist, misogynist child of darkness. Who hates the government except in hurricanes.
Sense of Events: Let us mock Texans, their faith and their politics

The name of the second college is far worse. I’d prefer that it were named for Benjamin Franklin’s dog, rather than some colored lesbian who once attended the Law School, whom nobody not a communist had ever previously heard of. This level of Affirmative Action up-sucking to Identity Groups is just plain nauseating. Never Yet Melted » An Architecture Major from ’94 Reviews the New Colleges

Where’€™s My Soma?   The university is a Liberal’€™s natural habitat.  Give them complete administrative control, an unlimited budget, and the ability to impose admission requirements, and you get a place where you can’€™t find a non-foodie restaurant and none of the milk comes from cows.  There are twelve coffee shops per bookstore, and the bookstores outnumber the auto mechanics by about 15:1.  And, of course, everything of consequence is run by white people, but the nice Diverse ladies who are such fun at cocktail parties make $300K per year chairing make-work departments that do nothing but issue unread Diversity memos.  Everyone’€™s gay, or wishes he was, and the days are spent squawking about outrages that happen far, far over the horizon. It’€™s static  — by design.  If you want a real challenge (and are current on your blood pressure meds), head to the nearest college town and try finding something to do that doesn’€™t involve sitting and staring at a glowing screen.  All the ballyhooed urban boho €œnightlife and culture”€ is really just the Brownian movement of shallow people drifting from bar to coffee shop to bookstore to fusion restaurant to experimental theater performance, all the while twittering and facebooking about how wonderful and uplifting and educational it all is.  The only emotion they experience is the dopamine hit that comes from being outraged about stuff, which confirms their smug superiority to the unwashed masses out in Flyover Country.

Southern Poverty Law Center Transfers Millions in Cash to Offshore Entities Millions in Salaries, $61,000 in “legal services:” “The minimum amount paid to an officer, director, trustee, or key employee in 2015 was $140,000 in base salary, not including other compensation. The group spent $20 million on salaries throughout the year. The SPLC, which claims to boast a staff of 75 lawyers who practice in the area of children’s rights, economic justice, immigrant justice, LGBT rights, and criminal justice reform, reported spending only $61,000 on legal services in 2015.”

Afghanistan, Bananastan: This weekend, leaders from Ole Miss Greek life convened upon Camp Hopewell in Lafayette County for a three-day retreat designed to build leaders and bring campus closer together. The retreat was cut short Saturday night, however, after three black students found a banana peel in a tree in front of one of the camp’s cabins. The students shared what they found with National Pan-Hellenic Council leaders, sparking a day’s worth of camp-wide conversation surrounding symbolism, intended or not. In the midst of the open and sometimes heated discussion, senior accounting major Ryan Swanson said he put the banana peel in the tree when he could not find a trashcan nearby. Greek life retreat ends abruptly with bias concerns 

Suppose the public doesn’t really care about Melania Trump’s high heels? What then?

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Arkansas Firefighters Help Houston Fire Dept. Put Out Fire Using Boat Motors

HOUSTON (KFSM) — A group of Arkadelphia, Arkansas firefighters that traveled to Houston to help in recovery efforts helped to put out a structure fire on Thursday, our CBS affiliate THV11 reports.

Firefighters from both the Houston and Arkadelphia fire departments had to hold their breath as they went under water to hook up their equipment to a fire hydrant.

Firefighters on scene managed to save a woman, her husband, and her cats from the fire.

In order to shoot water on the fire, the crew had to use the jet propulsion from the motor on a boat to create water pressure.

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Angelica Hale: 9-Year-Old Sings Incredible “Clarity.”

UPDATED: Now with extra-“double rainbow!” reaction video (“Reaction Videos” being a whole subset of YouTube.) to the song from Brother.
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Fearless 2020 Election Prediction #1

I hereby predict that, should he chose to run for a second term, Donald Trump will carry the state of Texas.


A woman asks the unidentified man about the situation outside the Little York Food Mart located in the flood devastated area of Houston’s east side. “It’s a shame,” the man responds. “We need more real men out here to step up and protect where you live.” Graphic language can be heard in the footage.He then notices someone (off camera) approaching the store apparently looting or attempting to loot the store.“Hey! Don’t go back in that store,” he yells, confronting the looters. “I’m telling you one time: I’m not scared to shoot you, I’m an ex-[expletive] SWAT deputy. I will cut your [expletive] in half.”“Don’t go in that store no [expletive] more.”He turns to the woman recording, “I’m a former law enforcement officer. I still support law enforcement.”The woman tells a passenger in her car, “Yeah, we got a real man with a shotgun in his hand.”

WATCH: Shotgun-Toting ‘Ex-SWAT Deputy’ to Houston Looters — ‘I Will Cut You in Half’


Drive-By in the Labyrinth

As everything fails at once, with a debt-ridden government presiding over a herd of selfish and oblivious citizens, those who are not products of the decay are uniting to oppose it. We want escape, but know that it will not leave us alone, so we are rising to take power and drive out the bad and replace it with the good. The Alt Right are folk heroes of this movement, even as all seems lost and the future uncertain.  Folk Heroes Of The Apocalypse

BOOM! (ers) Part 1   The term “baby boomer” applies to those born from the end of WW2 to 1964. During this time, there was a huge increase in population as traditional values, lack of birth control, and a thriving economy propelled optimistic and prosperous white Americans to reproduce in large numbers. Roughly 76 million of them were born. Of that population, around 65 million are still alive. Immigration brings the total to around 80 million people. Around 10,000 of them are retiring every day. Most are compelled to retire by age 70.5. Once a person reaches that age, the IRS requires them to withdraw at least 5% of the value of their retirement plans such as IRAs or 401(k)s. Pew research found that 1.5 million Americans reached the age of 70 last year, a trend that will continue for the next 15 years.

To lose one’s smart-phone — in other words, to lose a thing that never existed in all of human history until just over a decade ago ago — is now a crisis requiring immediate action. Imagine really cutting yourself off: no cell-phone, no Google, no Amazon, no YouTube, no Facebook, no Twitter, no email, no texting, no Google Maps, no Wikipedia. Doggo – waka waka waka

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