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Mapping the Outbreak: “Remember, correlation is not causation.” “Shut up, Karen.”

by Vanderleun on May 2, 2020

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ghostsniper May 2, 2020, 8:56 AM

Seems to be hanging in the american communist ghetto’s eh?
So what’s the downside?

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Mop May 2, 2020, 10:37 AM

So China is killing off the democrats? The Clinton’s and Obama must have stiffed them on something.

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Casey Klahn May 2, 2020, 12:50 PM

HFS!

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diocletian May 2, 2020, 2:20 PM

I don’t know about all the cities, but this article says there is no evidence that New Orleans is a sanctuary city. https://www.fox8live.com/story/36874639/doj-no-evidence-no-is-a-sanctuary-city/

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ghostsniper May 2, 2020, 5:17 PM

“no evidence” – the media’s most overused retort lately.

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Hale Adams May 2, 2020, 6:03 PM

“HFS”? I learned a lot of acronyms during my short stay in the Army, and quite a few in the 30-odd years since. But I haven’t seen this one before ….

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John Coggeshall May 2, 2020, 7:11 PM

Well……lets try “H–y F—–g S–t……works for me.

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Dex Quire May 2, 2020, 10:23 PM

Brilliant …

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Boat Guy May 4, 2020, 7:49 AM

In this case I thought it stood for “Hope F’in So”

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Welcome to the New American Digest: 2003-2020

My Back Pages

Van der Leun: The Normblog Bio of Your Host

“From a student radical/hippie/leftist of the Free Speech Movement/Vietnam Day Commitee era and a full-on Democratic Liberal in the decades after, I think I’ve evolved a politics that is neither right nor left but is, in its elemental nature, draconian. In the last 20 years, I’ve taken apart my beliefs with a sledgehammer. Now I’ve got to put the surviving parts back together with tweezers and other ‘shabby equipment, always deteriorating’.”

A Wicker Basket

Comes the time when it’s later
and onto your table the headwaiter
puts the bill, and very soon after
rings out the sound of lively laughter—

Picking up change, hands like a walrus,
and a face like a barndoor’s,
and a head without any apparent size,
nothing but two eyes—

So that’s you, man,
or me. I make it as I can,
I pick up, I go
faster than they know—

Out the door, the street like a night,
any night, and no one in sight,
but then, well, there she is,
old friend Liz—

And she opens the door of her cadillac,
I step in back,
and we’re gone.
She turns me on—

There are very huge stars, man, in the sky,
and from somewhere very far off someone hands me a slice of apple pie,
with a gob of white, white ice cream on top of it,
and I eat it—

Slowly. And while certainly
they are laughing at me, and all around me is racket
of these cats not making it, I make it

in my wicker basket.

— BY ROBERT CREELEY