Bad Americans
My favorite video of the year so far: "Dead Slut Squawkin. "
“I’ve dealt with older white guys trying to keep me down my whole life, my whole career. I’m a woman in a very male-dominated field…There’s a bunch of old white guys trying to silence me. And I’m just here to say that’s wrong…This wouldn’t be happening to a guy.”
Let us bid a fond adieu to this rotten person struts and frets while lying and crying her way towards her exit -- Stage Left -- into oblivion. Door. Ass. Bang.
And, by the way, it would seem Griffin has been stalking her own doom for quite some time....
America will never be destroyed from the outside. If we falter and lose our freedoms, it will be because we destroyed ourselves. -- Abraham Lincoln
In this Brave New 1984 World all Americans are passengers in a gigantic aircraft flying into the storm clouds of a new harsh history.
Americans always been “The New World,” and every day we wake high above "The Old World". In this aircraft we feel safe in our techno-miracle. Here we feel sealed against the ancient unchanging history still unfolding far below in the eternal blood-feuds and tribal genocides of Africa; below in the bestial gangs of Mexico and the deepening socialist disasters of South America. Above it all we fly here where the beer is cold, the champagne iced, and the service crisp. We fly above the jumbled rubble of ancient empires in the middle east where an moon cult still seeks converts with the sword. In this year of our Lord 2017, America is a large aircraft of some 321 million souls and, in the cargo hold, it carries the future hope, "the last best hope" of all mankind. Still.
This nation “conceived in liberty” is precious and rare. It is also fragile and its controls can be taken over and, like an airliner piloted by an Islamic fanatic, be crashed into the ground or into, as we have seen, our tallest buildings.
It all depends on who is the pilot and where he sets his course for us to transit the towering storm clouds we can see all around us.
Since 9/11 our flight through history has become more perilous. First there was the continuous bungling of the wars in Iraq and Afghanistan, made more deadly by the constant drone of what came to be known as “Bush derangement syndrome.” This of course was no “syndrome” but a conscious plan to harm the nation by traitors within the media and academia; these traitors are legion as are their underlings.
Our American traitors reached their apotheosis with the elevation of a socialist weakling and coward to the office of the presidency. This odd creature, a man whose resume was only skin-deep, piloted the nation through eight years of torpor, appeasement, cowardice, corruption, and a constant drive to increase race hate among Americans.
In those years the America we all inhabit began to lose power, turn nose down and auger into an earth in which China was flexing its power while their vassal state, North Korea, continued to threaten Earth with nuclear Armageddon. Not satisfied with letting our enemies grow strong, the previous president gave billions to Iran, a nation which had sworn to destroy us with nuclear weapons just as soon as it got their hands on one. To this the previous president effectively said, “God speed.”
And then somebody unexpected stepped forward to try and get control of the aircraft and, through the intervention of a God that still seems determined to bless America, succeeded. He took his rightful place in the cockpit and began to take the America into higher and safer realms.
This could not be allowed. Since the morning of November 9, a vast and vile uprising of traitors, quislings, perverts and their lackeys have risen up, daily and hourly, to try and destroy and overthrow a legitimate election with lies, memes, images and hate so vile that even those who did not especially like the President have now begun to see the traitors actions as despicable.
I want President Donald Trump to SUCCEED. rooting for him to fail is like rooting for the pilot of your plane to crash. Stop being divided
— Marlins_Man (@Marlins_Man) November 10, 2016
In short, what we have on board with us is a group of passengers endeavoring to storm the cockpit and murder the nation’s pilot. While these blood enemies are using every media weapon to hand, there is little doubt that -- if they could -- they would use actual weapons to kill this President without hesitation. Depend upon it.
None of these animals can actually fly our plane, mind you. All they can do is destroy it and all of us with it. This is their mission. In their seething hatred they do not even care if they perish in with us. As such they are a clear and present danger to our aircraft, our nation, our lives, and our posterity.
Like the animals with boxcutters on 9/11 there is no negotiation possible with these rabid America-hating animals. They are cut from the same cloth as the Islamic haters of America and are aligned with them. And like them they cannot be allowed to break into the cockpit.
Watch for them. Denounce and out them everywhere.
Avoid crowds. Be prepared. Let's roll.
Hey @kathygriffin! A few words... pic.twitter.com/KBZOEb1zkp
— Jeanine Pirro (@JudgeJeanine) May 31, 2017
Here comes the Judge!
Imagine living in a bubble so impermeable it didn’t occur to you that retailing a photograph of a decapitated president’s head would be a horrendous career move
— a bubble in which you don’t know anyone who doesn’t think the world would be a better place once Donald Trump had had his head cut off.... That’s why she initially defended the picture to the journalist Yashar Ali by claiming it was “art.” But in her heart of hearts, Kathy Griffin is no more a provocateur than Tickle-Me Elmo. Her professional life has been about making fun of people who try and fail to achieve genuinely deserved American celebrity. That’s very nearly the opposite of risky. Making fun of a Kardashian is about as daring as smoking a clove cigarette. -- New York PostIt's past time to 1)Hate these people with an iridescent hate, and 2) Make them pay and pay again for every move like this. We are not in Kansas any longer. Time to fire up the erasers.
If somebody were to put one of those crosshairs on Kathy Griffin, I'd pay folding money for the video. No crosshairs? Too soon? Too violent? Okay, how about just one little red laser dot? Pour encourager les autres. It would probably save a lot of liberal lives in the long run.
Watch when you need to be more repulsed at this little cockroach than you already are:
Everything wrong with this video:[HT: Never Yet Meltedr Yet Melted ]1. Nye ironically genders his audience with "guys" in the first sentence.
2. No one knows this girl from Crazy Ex-Girlfriend.
3. Humans are now apparently referred to as "bipeds" which is ableist against war vets with 1 leg.
4. "World of ours" implies the earth belongs to humans, which is western chauvinism and not environmentally friendly.
5. If she has a vagina, she does not have the option of "hard"...she's stuck with "moist."
6. Her vagina does not have a voice; that's gross. If it makes a sound it is actually air escaping and is rude.
7. When she sings about her vagina she holds her stomach not her vagina. Anatomy error.
8. "Metaphorical voice" is 6 syllables and she crams it into a 3 syllable section of the music.
9. The woman is so out of shape she can't do a proper front kick her and looks like an elephant trying to walk up steps.
10. "Butt stuff" is not highly related to evolution. Any mammal that does "butt stuff" routinely will actually be selected out. It's evolution in the same sense that extinction is evolution.
11. Sex "stew" assuming it refers to bisexual orgies actually are taboo in most societies. Anthropology error.
13. Singer declares that she will have sex with anything. And is proud of this.
14. No one is boxing in her box.
15. She recommends jerking off strangers.
16. After 1:30 minutes of singing she is out of breath. This is pathetic.
17. Sexuality is not a spectrum. See evolution of mammalian sex. The book Red Queen gives a good description (by Matt or Mark Ridley...I forgot).
18. 1:38 Bill Nye grooving is sexually repulsive.
19. No one uses a Fleshlight outdoors. It is used inside, with appropriate shame.20. Bill Nye grooving again.
21. 2:03 Watch her try to kick. It's like watching someone on their first day of training.
22. 2:10 - Ironically tells normal people who are going about their business to get off THEIR soapbox while lecturing Americans from a position of ignorance.
23. Bagels with lox are disgusting...and so maybe her box is better than that.
24. 2:20 The face of Satan appears.
25. Ignorant non-scientist calls this "exactly the right message."
Thank you for re-electing President Trump.
BY
darwinkilledgod @ My Sex Junk - Rachel Bloom - Bill Nye Saves The World - YouTube
A catchphrase that will live in infamy!
"Extra care is doing things nobody tells us to do, or maybe even expects us to do."
"You get this kind of 'extra care' every time you fly with us."
Newer, cheaper opioids like oxycodone and fentanyl make their way into the needles of the junkies – more dangerous because the “high” takes you to death’s door – and often beyond. 1.5 overdose deaths per 100,000 in the 1970s has become more than 40 in West Virginia. There are now more drug deaths in America – 52,000 – than car accidents and far more, four times more than gun related deaths. In 2016 life expectance in the United States fell, for the first time since 1993 – the height of the AIDS epidemic.How is it possible we have arrived here? We, who twice defeated the British? Who overcame the French and the Spanish; who fought two world wars? Who in the 20th century saved humanity not once, not twice but three times? Who gave mankind the telephone, the light bulb, the car, the airplane, the internet, the computer, and space travel? Who created an uncommon prosperity from ungodly acts of creation that lasted – not one generation or two but twenty or more and counting? Who built the United Nations, gave the world peace and brotherly love and served as the patron of the church, for two hundred years sending missionaries into the darkness with the word of God and the love of Jesus?
Drugs. Is this how we want that story to end? Drugs | Joel D. Hirst's Blog
[Trigger Warning: May cause projectile vomiting.]
If you don’t understand the problem, you are behind the curve. -- Western Rifle Shooters Association
As some wag said this morning, "If you are going to add another letter to 'LGBTQ' make it an 'E' for eunuch."
Turn backwards, turn backwards, time in thy flight....
I came across this famous clip of Clinton and the 50 points tonight. Looking at it now it seems imbued with an almost mythic and tragi-comic glow. Here is someone in desperation; someone both wrapped and rapt in the final stages of a long delusion which was soon to blossom into pure bad craziness. This is the chrysalis containing the full cat-lady.
In the eyes you can see her not-so-carefully-concealed defectiveness more clearly now than you did when the video first started to be seen. The freeze-frame at the beginning of the clip is much more arresting now.
Because of this, I've made the video larger and placed it one click away in the continued section. That and to keep it from scaring small children and the horses.
Continued..."This is what happens when you let Madonna blow people."
Above: Led by Whoopi Goldberg, Lena Dunham, and the sole surviving member of the Clinton crime cartel in her stroller followed by assorted parasites in Search of Still Free Health Care and a Perpetual Government Grant, the Wretched Refuse of America's Left Trudges North.
Below: Canadian Army Masses to Enforce Canada's ""No Flee Zone" Policy with the Latest in Advanced Canadian Weaponry
AMERICAN DIGEST NEWS SERVICE
DATELINE: OTTOWA, November 9, 2016
Canadian Prime Minister today ordered all 215 members of Canada's armed forces to the porous southern border to stem the tide of tens of millions of disgruntled members of MoveOn, Democratic Underground, IndyMedia, Daily Kos and other assorted weeping moonbats that have begin to surge towards the socialist haven to the north in search of asylum.
"We feel their pain," said the PM speaking to 2 reporters at a hastily called press-conference in the Sauron province headquarters, "but we simply can't let in any more 'sunshine' Americans. We did that during the Vietnam years and our mental health care system is still groaning under the load. To let in more of Les fou Americans at this point would pretty much overload the sidewalk spaces already staked out by Canada's homeless.
"Alas, mon amis, we must say to you, as that great French general said at the crisis of the First World War Ils ne passeront pas.
"Please take your laptops and your bongs and go back and make what life you can in the ruins of your once celestial city."
Developing.....
First lady Michelle Obama hugs former President George W. Bush during the dedication ceremony for the Smithsonian Museum of African American History and Culture on the National Mall in Washington, on September 24, 2016.
The Intellectual Yet Idiot (IYI) is a production of modernity hence has been accelerating since the mid twentieth century, to reach its local supremum today,
along with the broad category of people without skin-in-the-game who have been invading many walks of life. Why? Simply, in many countries, the government’s role is ten times what it was a century ago (expressed in percentage of GDP). The IYI seems ubiquitous in our lives but is still a small minority and rarely seen outside specialized outlets, social media, and universities?—?most people have proper jobs and there are not many opening for the IYI. Beware the semi-erudite who thinks he is an erudite.
The IYI pathologizes others for doing things he doesn’t understand without ever realizing it is his understanding that may be limited. He thinks people should act according to their best interests and he knows their interests, particularly if they are “red necks” or English non-crisp-vowel class who voted for Brexit. When Plebeians do something that makes sense to them, but not to him, the IYI uses the term “uneducated”. What we generally call participation in the political process, he calls by two distinct designations: “democracy” when it fits the IYI, and “populism” when the plebeians dare voting in a way that contradicts his preferences. While rich people believe in one tax dollar one vote, more humanistic ones in one man one vote, Monsanto in one lobbyist one vote, the IYI believes in one Ivy League degree one-vote, with some equivalence for foreign elite schools, and PhDs as these are needed in the club.
These self-described members of the “intelligenzia” can’t find a coconut in Coconut Island, meaning they aren’t intelligent enough to define intelligence hence fall into circularities — but their main skill is capacity to pass exams written by people like them. With psychology papers replicating less than 40%, dietary advice reversing after 30 years of fatphobia, macroeconomic analysis working worse than astrology, the appointment of Bernanke who was less than clueless of the risks, and pharmaceutical trials replicating at best only 1/3 of the time, people are perfectly entitled to rely on their own ancestral instinct and listen to their grandmothers (or Montaigne and such filtered classical knowledge) with a better track record than these policymaking goons....
The IYI subscribes to The New Yorker. He never curses on twitter. He speaks of “equality of races” and “economic equality” but never went out drinking with a minority cab driver. Those in the U.K. have been taken for a ride by Tony Blair. The modern IYI has attended more than one TEDx talks in person or watched more than two TED talks on Youtube. Not only will he vote for Hillary Monsanto-Malmaison because she seems electable and some other such circular reasoning, but holds that anyone who doesn’t do so is mentally ill.- - by Nassim Nicholas (The Black Swan) Taleb Read the entire, whole, complete without excisions bloody thing at Medium or be known throughout all eternity and the twelve heavens as an intellectual piker.
In a binary political choice a vote cast either way increases the “weight” of the party voted for in the case of victory or in the case of defeat.
Either way, the more people that vote (participate) the more chance there is of a balancing of power in order to keep the more powerful in check. The greater the participation, regardless of who the vote is cast for, the more heft there is in the electorate. In voting one does not really vote for him or against her, or for them or against those, but first and foremost for us.
Since political offers, options, circumstances, and environments can alter rapidly it is best to keep the overall participating electorate as big as possible in every election. Both parties, each in their own way, have an interest in dissuading the other party’s voters from participating. If both parties are effective in doing this either may win but what is really reduced is the overall electorate. Thus, not participating in any election decreases the size of the electorate and thus doth increase the suckitude of the power structure between elections.
Not choosing is a choice. Through not voting you choose to increase the overall power of the elite political structure that rules you.
The monsters from the id that now control the Democrat Party have transformed that party into a mob of undead extras from The Dawn of the Dead. It's an indecent and disgusting spectacle and I suspect there's more than a few million long-time Democrats who are revolted by it. That certainly seems to be creeping into the polls. No matter the good it once did, the Democrats today present as sick and crazed political party that is so greedy and hungry for power that it will do anything, including selling its country down the drain, to get it back.
Regardless of the race of the Democrats' current leader and failed president, Martin Luther King's dream of judging people by the content of their character and not the color of their skin has been transformed into a tawdry thing; a dried husk in which they wrap their skeletal remains, a hollow phrase spewed by the ascendent race hustlers of the party and lapped up by their acolytes.
Until 2004, with the exception of Guiliani's second term as mayor, I voted the Democrat ticket in every election since 1967. In 2004, offered the Insane Clown Posse of John Kerry and John Edwards, I voted for George Bush. The spectacle of the last twelve years of various Democrats reaching for the gold ring did not inspire me to change my view. Only the dead enjoy parties in a crypt.
From the party that gave us FDR, Truman, JFK and even, yes, LBJ, the Democrats have gone through a process of gradual but inexorable devolution to the party of such weak, tepid and compromised souls as Carter, Clinton, Kerry, Clinton Part Deux, Bernie the Crazed Attic Aunt, and of coursee Obama - the ultimate bargainer, the race hustler with an Ivy League sheepskin and the slick suit hiding his childhood castration. But these craven souls the Party puts up are only the shadows cast by the compromises it has made within itself. It has made many compromises over the years and taken in many "causes" each one more dubious and rotten than the last.
As a result of this unremitting ideological promiscuity, the "progressive" party has become progressively more diseased from each submissive encounter. The gangrene that has rotted the body of the party has transformed it into some transnational Dorian Gray. Strutting and noble and handsome when preening before the cameras and the crowds, but putrid and pestilential when you see it as it is in the dull light of its pustule blossoming "new morning."
Politics is a profession founded on and fueled by hypocrisy. This we all know. But, at the same time, we also need a politics that somewhere within it has a shred of uncompromised decency, the dim understanding of honor, and more than a shred of courage. None of these qualities exists in the Democratic Party today.
For some time, I expected there would be a turning around among many Democrats. I expected that the better angels of their nature would triumph and lead them out of the moral swamp into which they were wading deeper with every passing month.
During this year's never-ending primary season, however, I have come to the place where the whole sorry spectacle and circus of the Democrats has finally filled my gorge with disgust and revulsion. The party whose ideals once excited me has become a mockery, a dumbshow, a parody of itself, and a dangerous parody at that.
Instead of inspiration the Democrat Party delivers a brain-damaged cackling whore of unspeakable criminality, a shopworn socialist's solutions, numbing boredom, sheer despair, intellectual and spiritual poverty, sexism, and the worst sort of racism seen since it gave birth to the Klu Klux Klan. Classical racism loathes "the other." The new racism of the Democrat requires one loathe oneself first and last, and to accuse those that do not of racism. To paraphrase Bob Dylan, "The Democrats want to get you down in the hole that they're in."
Instead of telling us what sort of New Jerusalem it would have us build as our City on the Hill, the party requires that its members root about in the ghettos of the soul, to ponder the rightness or wrongness of the very babies of its opponents. Instead of waving the bright banners of America triumphant, the Party dons the rags and bones of defeatism and appeasement and moves about the country like a tarted-up Typhoid Mary, infecting all who kiss its chancred lips. As a party, it's a poxed whore for whom no condom is thick enough. Democrat's a death trip.
No more dates with Demy for me. I'll have no more to do with it. I know I'm not the only one. Day by day over the six months, more and more are coming to this conclusion.
The Democrat party is somewhat like a first wife thought about at a safe distance from the divorce.
You know you loved her at some point, but you can't really remember why.
You know she was beautiful to you then, but now you can only see the ruins of that beauty, and you are glad you had the best years.
You know that, yes, you must have been happy with her and had a lot of good times, but now you can't remember what, where. or when.
In fact, when you think about her now you can't really believe you wasted all those poisoned years with her just because you believed that somehow, some time, she would grow sane, beautiful, and young again.
In some way, in some universe, that hopeshould be true about the people you loved. When it comes to the politics you once loved it is never true. When a party goes insane and degenerates into a diseased mass of hate, "an old bitch gone in the teeth, / A botched civilization" it never really reforms.
Like they say in the National Parks, "Once a bear is hooked on garbage, there's no cure."
Continued...Never forget: Social justice warriors are racists who hate free speech.
Two thoughts:
and
A few days ago a chance remark to an elderly woman in Chico that incorporated the name "Richard Nixon" elicited a response from here along the lines of "He was the first of a long line of evil presidents such as Bush One and Bush Two."
I replied that you could not overlook the really demented daily evil of Obama.
She responded, "Oh, you people only hate him because he's black."
I said, "Actually we despise him in spite of him being black and the fact that he can't play the blues."
She started to blink rapidly and small white flecks of spittle began to form in the corners of her lips. I put the car in gear and drove away confident that my work with her was done for the day, but noting her address so that I could reserve her a seat in the tumbrils.
All of which put me in mind of this item from 2011 concerning the roach motel of the progressive mindset where the evil checks in but it doesn't check out.
Gary Laison, his wife Diane Laison and Joan Kosloff, all of Philadelphia, take part in the Occupy Philadelphia protest outside of City Hall in Philadelphia. Gary Laison, 75, said: "I think the kids like seeing older people there. I think the sense (that) they are not alone, that they are a part of this span of generations is important to them."
They that beg us barter—wait his yielding mood—
Pledge the years we hold in trust—pawn our brother's blood—
Howso' great their clamour, whatsoe'er their claim,
"Suffer not the old King under any name!"
Their infernal machine lops and trims the green upstarts, the single emerald sprouts, the high stalk topped with the blue cornflower down to the level of their dull brown mass. Down there in the dull damp, down among the dead men, the mass molders and they love to inhale the musk of decay.
Their minds are the godless grave of words muttered by Mao, garbled by Goebbels, and limned by Lenin from which no life or liberty can ever hope for escape and resurrection.
Their secular "green" religion has its bad rap but no hymns.
Their "progressive" policies eviscerate all prayers.
Their fantasy of a "fairer world" will become their grandchildren's small and shrunken lives on a nightmare planet where all men, finally equalized, will live like dung beetles on the desolate wastes of what once was.
They persist , like zombies lashed to a dying animal, in their death-in-life existence, seeking only the freedom of an approved and "assisted" suicide as their reward.
They call themselves "progressives" and flatter themselves that their thoughts and actions are "revolutionary" when they are as reactionary as any mob that can be remembered from history.
They chain themselves deep in the pit of pretend, and celebrate their servitude by bending heaven and earth to get you down in the hole that they're in.
They believe that the individual should become the mass, and that the mass should worship its apotheosis; that single one who best reflects their ossified visions on which the anointing oil has long since dried to a brown crust of thought.
They are the monarchists of the masses. They seek a state in which the head that wears the crown may change but where the crown itself grows forever larger.
What happened to all those who, in my youth, marched and sang for "freedom?"
How did they become so old, so hidebound, so shrived, so shriveled, so stuck in the past?
When did they become so mired in "Imagine?" How, from once striving so hard against colonialism in all its guises, did they allow their minds to become so utterly colonized by a matted mass of dim and discredited notions?
They no longer "rage against the machine." They are the machine.
"Drive them fast to their tomb."
Behold how he doth relish the taste of his own pungent substance.
Take my country, please.
We talk about sealing the border. We talk about not letting the Mexican flag prevail over the American flag. It's all nonsense. The real symbol of Mexican illegal immigration goes unremarked. It's right there in the foreground. It's the Pinata.
The pinata is a bright candy-and-toy-filled container (generally suspended on a rope from a tree branch or ceiling) that is used during celebrations. A succession of blindfolded, stick-wielding children try to break the pinata in order to collect the candy inside of it. -- Wikipedia
I submit that America as The Big Pinata is what all this is about. It's all it ever has been about. This Mexican flag over the American flag hung upside down (Distress!) simply takes our eye off the ball, or rather, the pinata. And since pinatas are normally approached blindfolded, that's not surprising.
The kids above know, even if it is unconsciously, that the pinata is what is at stake here. What illegals from Mexico and every other country want most is unlimited chances to step over the line and take another swing at The Big Pinata. To date our border reality, if not our policy, enables that.
Those Americans who would like to think that there really is a border want the number of chances to take a swing cut back to somewhere below absolute zero. Those Americans who are consumed with the notion that self-esteem is more important than security favor unlimited swings along with policies that feed, clothe, medicate, and otherwise care for those 'wretched masses yearning to get the Big Pinata jackpot.'
Congress seems to be going for a policy which is: "Okay, kids, you get unlimited swings but, damnit, you gotta get in line, sign the guest book, and take your turn. After all, we can't have a horde of party animals just whaling away at the Big Pinata from all directions. Somebody could get hurt. And while you're waiting, could most of you please walk the dog, water the grass, take out the garbage, mind the deep fryer, give our spouses a little satisfaction in the afternoon, and do all those other dirty, little jobs that 'Americans just won't do.' You know, like coal mining."
In the meantime, it's clear that the Pinata Party is going to continue. After all, what can really shut it down? The fun's too cool. The prizes are too rich. And they're not even carding most people.
I know, I know -- a Wall; favored solution of Israel and East Germany. It'll probably happen in some form or another, but -- in the present political climate -- it's not going to happen anytime soon, mano, so be cool.
In America, just the argument about the wall is good for another five years. Then there'd have to be "legislation" for appropriation since no state is going to pay for it. That's at least two sessions of Congress right there. Then we'll have the period in which the various federal agencies will draw up the specs. Then the bidding period. Then the review of the bidding period. Then the review of the bids. Then the discovery that the winner of the bidding process is a company owned by Halliburton. Whoops, back to square one. Then the awarding of the contract. Then the beginning of the construction of a barrier that's what, a thousand miles long? Get back Great Wall of China, here's something else that can be seen from space with the naked eye.
Timeline? Ten years minimum. Fifteen in realistic terms. Twenty in Washington Time.
And guess what? The Big Pinata will still be there and the party will still be going strong, and the people will still keep a coming.
I mean, wouldn't you? If you are a person with an IQ level a few points above that of broccoli, and you want to make some money and have a good life, and you suddenly discover that, oops, you've been born in a Third World oligarchy like Mexico, without the benefit of being born into the Mexican oligarchy, you're walking north, compadre. North is where they're having the pinata party. And you don't care that the party's been walled up inside an exclusive club with a bunch of big armed bouncers manning the velvet rope and checking ID, you're going to get in somehow.
If anyone thinks a wall is magic bullet that puts our immigration problem out of its misery, they are sadly mistaken. As inventive as the means of getting in now sometimes seem (hiding people "inside" car seats, leasing children in order to become an instant familia), they will seem like amateur hour once a wall (physical, electronic, cyber) goes up. Once that's done, we're in for decades of Wile E. Coyote antics south of El Paso. Human catapults. Rent-A-Rocket Packs, Pocket Submarines, the Full Rube Goldberg.
Why? Because we've done everything possible to stop the flood except the one thing that would stop the flood: call off the party and slap the organizers of the Big Pinata Raves into jail, pronto, so they can't organize any more. And, while we're at it, we need to make sure any pinata around is empty. Yes, even if you make it and hit it, you get bubkis. Nothing falls out. After all, when a slot machine doesn't have a jackpot, nobody plays it.
Will we do it? Will we really throw the people who hand out the jobs in jail? Will we stop giving free food, shelter, medical care, education, and citizenship to babies born on American soil no matter the status of their parents? "In the present political climate," no way, Jose.
The stark reality is that for this country to get serious about immigration and controlling our borders, something else other than just a flood of illegals coming in on a daily basis has to happen. Something terrible. Something that doesn't just cost mere money and jobs, but costs lives. A lot of lives. That's the one way, the only way, that anything will be done. And what will be done then will be, well, the most terrible solution to the border problem any can imagine, and nobody wants.
Communist East Germany. Searchlights and the Stasi . With the guns pointed out and Predators high overhead.
And that, my friend, is. not. going. to. happen.
[First Published: 2010-08-25]
What a vile couple in all respects. This one has the class of a crocodile. When not exhibiting the worse fashion sense in the history of the White House, this denizen keeps busy telling Americans what to feed their children. Look what Michelle Obama wore this week | Entertain This!
And so it was that Barack Obama observed the anniversary of 9/11 by visiting something called Ka-BOOM!,
a non-profit that helps build playgrounds for children. Neither the President nor the First Lady nor anyone else in the 40-car motorcade appears to have thought it odd that, on the day the Twin Towers went Ka-BOOM!, America's Commander-in-Chief should be helping put children's toys in backpacks marked Ka-BOOM! From Kabul to Madrid, Bali to London, a lot of backpacks have gone Ka-BOOM! over the past 13 years, but evidently the thought did not discombobulate those who manage what the President calls his "optics". And so a day in which Islamic imperialists killed thousands of Americans by flying planes into skyscrapers has somehow devolved into a day for raising awareness of the need for better play facilities for children. Coalition of the Unwilling :: SteynOnline
Speaking just for myself, I think that we should hire the unemployed Ray Rice to punch the lights out of the next twenty TV, radio, or Web reporters -- from CNN to Fox to MsNBC -- that show that video clip and vomit out their feigned outrage one more time.
It's a tough job and a dirty job but it is clear that:
1) Ray Rice has the skill set and endurance necessary to the task, and....
2) America would actually enjoy seeing the video tapes of insects from Keith Olbermann to Rachel Maddow decked in an elevator over and over again.
Of course, that's just me. I could be wrong.
"Did I ever tell you
about the man who taught his asshole to talk? His whole abdomen would move up and down you dig farting out the words. It was unlike anything I ever heard.
This ass talk had sort of a gut frequency. It hit you right down there like you gotta go. You know when the old colon gives you the elbow and it feels sorta cold inside, and you know all you have to do is turn loose? Well this talking hit you right down there, a bubbly, thick stagnant sound, a sound you could smell.
This man worked for a carnival you dig, and to start with it was like a novelty ventriliquist act. Real funny, too, at first. He had a number he called “The Better ‘Ole” that was a scream, I tell you. I forget most of it but it was clever. Like, “Oh I say, are you still down there, old thing?” -- William Burroughs @ RealityStudio »
Let's hope the party crasher wears the masque of the red death....
He bore aloft a drawn dagger, and had approached, in rapid impetuosity, to with-in three or four feet of the retreating figure, when the latter, having attained the extremity of the velvet apartment, turned suddenly and confronted his pursuer. There was a sharp cry—and the dagger dropped gleaming upon the sable carpet, upon which, instantly afterwards, fell prostrate in death the Prince Prospero. Then, summoning the wild courage of despair, a throng of the revellers at once threw themselves into the black apartment, and, seizing the mummer, whose tall figure stood erect and motionless within the shadow of the ebony clock, gasped in unutterable horror at finding the grave cerements and corpse-like mask which they handled with so violent a rudeness, untenanted by any tangible form.
And now was acknowledged the presence of the Red Death. He had come like a thief in the night. And one by one dropped the revellers in the blood-bedewed halls of their revel, and died each in the despairing posture of his fall. And the life of the ebony clock went out with that of the last of the gay. And the flames of the tripods expired. And Darkness and Decay and the Red Death held illimitable dominion over all.Poe -- The Masque of the Red Death
From the always clear and never cloudy Michelle Obama's Mirror
Guy goes into a bar in Louisiana where there’s a robot bartender! The robot says, “What will you have?” The guy says, “Whiskey.” The robot brings back his drink and says to the man, “What’s your IQ?” The guy says,” 168.” The robot then proceeds to talk about physics, space exploration and medical technology.
The guy leaves, but then he gets curious so he goes back into the bar. The robot bartender says, “What will you have?” The guy says, “Whiskey.” Again, the robot brings the man his drink and says, “What’s your IQ?” The guy says, “100.” The robot then starts to talk about Nascar, Budweiser, the Saints and LSU Tigers
The guy leaves, but finds it very interesting, so he thinks he will try it one more time. He goes back into the bar. The robot says, “What will you have?” The guy says, “Whiskey,” and the robot brings him his whiskey. The robot then says, “What’s your IQ?” The guy says, “Uh, about 50.”
The robot leans in real close and says, “SO, . . . you people . . . still happy . . . with Obama?”
I run a data center. Disk drives that are left running continuously last between two and three years. Three years is about 36 months.
The odds of a disk failing in any given month are roughly one in 36. The odds of two different drives failing in the same month are roughly one in 36 squared, or 1 in about 1,300. The odds of three drives failing in the same month is 36 cubed or 1 in 46,656. The odds of seven different drives failing in the same month is 37 to the 7th power = 1 in 78,664,164,096.
Of course this is very simplified because disk failure modes are more at end-of-service-life rather than linearly spread over median life. So what if I am off by a factor of 4X? This crude calculation gets us into the same astronomical ballpark. You could insure against this event happening by buying lottery tickets. --theBuckWheat Comment at Doug Ross @ Journal: GEORGE WILL ON MIRACULOUS IRS COINCIDENCE OF CRASHED HARD DRIVES: "Religions Have Been Founded on Less"
What are ordinary Americans to make of this strange man-child who has, through sloth and design in the media, sloth and inattention among the body politic, and cupidity, corruption and chicanery within his dark political machine, risen to dominate the landscape? What are ordinary Americans to make of this most un-American of all our erstwhile leaders; a man profoundly ungrounded in the American earth? It is a protean question, painful and difficult to contemplate, to which ordinary Americans will give but a partial answer this November.
In the meantime, there will be an ever increasing addition of possible answers and pondering added to the already towering tsunami of non-information available on the subject of Obama. It is by now a commonplace that never has so little been known about so pivotal a figure in our history. In this case partial ignorance leads not to bliss but rather an opera buffa that is sung in the key of existential distress and portends a finale that is not "a comedy tonight," but a Roman Tragedy replete with fire and blood.
Conspiracy abhors a vacuum and we've had more than our share of theories, speculations, dire warnings, and dark murmurings about a leader's life that is, in many ways, less documented than the undocumented Democrats oozing across our southern borders.
- He is /is not a natural-born citizen.
- His mother was / was not a harlot.
- His father was / was not a man named Obama.
- His mentor was a black Communist pornographer/poet.
- His mentor was a crazed, race-hustling preacher on the make in Chicago.
- His mentor was a bitter Red agitator with an sheaf of techniques for destroying the country.
- If we knew his college grades we'd see how brilliant he is.
- We don't know his college grades because he's much less brilliant that he seems.
- He wrote his books.
- He couldn't write a rubber check.
- His books are the accurate transcript of his life.
- His books are carefully crafted legends.
- He's out to rule the world.
- He's just another hack politician in the iron mold of corrupt Chicago pols since time immemorial.
With Obama the best that can be said is, "All that is solid melts into air, all that is holy is profaned." We simply do not know enough, even now, to know who this stranger among us is. We sense, dimly at first, but with increasing conviction that he does not mean us well and that he is controlled by some strange amalgam of interior compulsions. The hallmarks of his administration's actions and his speeches seem to be to do many small but insidious things in deep background, a few large and destructive moves in the foreground, give as few details as possible, take no questions, and, if a question is taken, to give no answer. It is an administration that sees no foreign enemies, only domestic ones. Theories about his history and his current character and motives abound as facts fade. The chances are that when he departs the stage most will still say, "Who was that masked man?"
We could ask, in the words of Sinatra, whether this man with the power is "a puppet, a pauper, a pirate, a poet, a pawn or a king?" But we'd get no answer that would satisfy. We might as well read tea leaves, read auguries from the flights of flocks, divine answers from sheep's entrails, or descend into the subways and read the words of the prophets on the walls between the stations.
Or, in the spirit of divination that has lately gripped the nation, we can simply look at a photograph from a simple time in the man-child's life. As the writer said in Everything I Need to Know I Learned in Kindergarten, "Wisdom was not at the top of the graduate school mountain, but there in the sandbox at nursery school."
Or in the sand on a beach in Hawaii:
A toddler sitting and laughing on the shoulders of his grandfather, who would become the only father figure the child would ever know. Perhaps it was while looking at this picture that Obama or his ghost writer came up with, in Dreams From My Father, “One of my earliest memories is of sitting on my grandfather's shoulders as the astronauts from one of the Apollo missions arrived at Hickam Air Force Base after a successful splashdown." The shoulders of the grandfather seem to loom large in the legend.
The photograph holds, as so many people’s photographs do, one of the happy moments. But I’d like to see the next few moments. I’d like to see what happened next after the laugh. I’d like to see what that boy in the background with the stick raised as if to throw it at the heads of the toddler and grandfather in the foreground did. Did he let it fly? Did it strike the laughing toddler in the back of the head? Did an abrupt attack from behind form a lasting impression? Or did it miss? Or was it merely a brief gesture signifying nothing?
One can imagine all sorts of next moments but know none of them. Which is, of course, the problem with the burgeoning field of “Obama Historical Studies.” This man’s personal history is simply a collection of small tokens separated by vast swathes of time empty of data and detail. The one thing we can be certain of is that these empty spaces, these profound absences without leave, are not due to happenstance but due to design.
Later in the dubious “autobiography,” the aptly short-titled Dreams, we stumble across this statement: "I’d arrived at an unspoken pact with my grandparents: I could live with them and they'd leave me alone so long as I kept my trouble out of sight."
Maybe that’s how it works still. Maybe that's at the root of the grand bargain made between this man and the media and those that voted him power. He keeps his trouble hidden and many decide to just leave him alone and live with him. That would explain the curious silence that soaks sheaves of his erstwhile supporters that are not currently getting checks cut by the Obama Booster Industry. It’s the policy of a profound invert, “I don’t tell so you don’t ask.”
At this point, trying to understand who or what Obama was is like peeling an onion. You unwrap layer after layer and when you reach the core you have nothing; you have the Oakland of American politicians, a man who has no there there.
This is the central fallacy and futility of "Obama Studies." You cannot, in the end, understand a person as carefully crafted as Obama by examining the past. He has no past. He’s the man upon the stair that was not there. You can only understand Obama in the present by looking at what he and his minions do.
Once your attention is directed away from the past and into the present it all becomes as simple as that snapshot from the beach. What one sees is a man of dubious ancestry rising on the shoulders of a previous generation, stalked by a paranoid fantasy , and becoming, as a result, a bad man with an evil intent, supported by a rag-tag collection of apparatchiks, with a megalomaniac design for a bleak future; a man that does not stand with his feet planted in the American soil, but forever in the backwash of the slow Pacific swell on its most distant shore.
But in the end it is also clear that this man is not wholly someone who has been invented by himself or others in the shadows, but by us as a country and a culture. Simply put, this leader who cannot lead is the fruit of our more than 50 years of downward drift and rising degeneracy. In this we are like the happy toddler on the beach waiting for a stick in the back of the head to wake us up or put us down like an old dog; like, as Ezra Pound wrote so long ago, "an old bitch gone in the teeth, a botched civilization."
If you can't read the writing in the red box, this is what it says...
"In all honesty, I am already bored with this topic. It is far less interesting than I had hoped and I really don't want to finish this essay. I'm fairly sure you don't really read these so I'm just going to put enough words down to make it seem like I wrote a lot while I kill time. Wanna hear some words that rhyme with time?
Crime, dime, mime, (haha mimes are funny), chime, lime. Aw dude you know what has lime in it? Sprite, it like lemon lime. I could really go for one of those about now, but not sierra mist, that just isn't the same. It tries too hard to be sprite but it just cant pull it off. It should just try to be itself and stop trying to measure up to other sodas."
What Happens When "The Workers" Just Don't Care Anymore? | Zero Hedge
Phone number (650) 903-0800
Current acting CEO is Mitchell Burke. Let her (yes "her") know where you stand on the issue.
Monday's Conference Call at Mozilla
Dial-in: conference# 8600
US/California/Mountain View: +1 650 903 0800, x92 Conf# 8600
US/California/San Francisco: +1 415 762 5700, x92 Conf# 8600
US/Oregon/Portland: +1 971 544 8000, x92 Conf# 8600
CA/Vancouver: +1 778 785 1540, x92 Conf# 8600
CA/Toronto: +1 416 848 3114, x92 Conf# 8600
UK/London: +44 (0)207 855 3000, x92 Conf# 8600
FR/Paris: +33 1 44 79 34 80, x92 Conf# 8600
US/Toll-free: +1 800 707 2533, (pin 369) Conf# 8600
A losing general “forgets” about the last battle he lost because he’s losing another one today.
That doesn’t mean he’s winning the campaign. On the contrary, here’s Charles Minard’s classic graph which illustrates the the progress of Napoleon’s Grand Army during the Russian Campaign.
Attaque à outrance
The width of the line is the remaining size of Napoleon’s remaining troops. The Grand Armee “moved on” but that did it no good. It was still annihilated by the time it got back to where it began.
When President Obama started his term the Democrats controlled both houses and the presidency. He made soaring promises about ending the war on terror where it began; pledged to reach out to Muslims and make America loved. He was going to bring a new era of prosperity to the country. And now he’s reduced to hoping that some scandal will displace Obamacare from the headlines. If this is victory, what does defeat look like? Belmont Club » Three Charts Plus One
There's nothing slicker than these pod people.
"Happy families are all alike; every unhappy family is unhappy in its own way.
"Everything was in confusion in the Obamas' house. The FLOTUS had discovered that the POTUS was carrying on an intrigue with a girly boy, who had been played "swaddled manlet in Onezie pajamas" for POTUS in that little room off the Oval Office, and FLOTUS had announced to POTUS that she could not go on living in the same WHITE HOUSE with him. This position of affairs had now lasted five years, and not only the POTUS and FLOTUS themselves, but all the members of their cult and party, were painfully conscious of it. Every person in the WHITE HOUSE felt that there was no sense in POTUS AND FLOTUS continuing to pretend they were living together now that there were no more elections to be stolen, and that stray people brought together by chance in any crack den had more in common with one another than POTUS AND FLOTUS and daughters WHAT’S-HER-NAME? and WHO-IS-SHE-AGAIN?, the staff parasites of the family and household slaves of the Obamas. The FLOTUS did not leave her own room, the POTUS had not been at home from the private locker room and sauna at the golf club for three days. The daughters ran naked all over the WHITE HOUSE; the Jarrett quarreled with the mother of the FLOTUS, and wrote to HILLARY CLINTON asking her to look out for a new situation for her; the "swaddled manlet" of POTUS had walked off the day before just at closet-cuddle-time; the BIDEN THING, and the POLAXED PELOSI had given warning."
[With apologies to Tolstoy and Anna Karenina.... and Judy Garland now that I think of it!]
Here's hoping that this puffed-up vinegar from this withered crone keeps that closet alcoholic Hillary so drunk she can't haul herself out of the closet and onto the campaign trail.
Update:
"So what we would have here, then, would be a “buttery soft,” angry white wine. Suitable for sipping with with a surfeit of spoiled seafood, plump fat chicken thighs, and beltway pork. Through clenched teeth. Afterward, you can do some yelling and shatter the glass." House of Eratosthenes
J. Mendel, Brandon Sun, Sophie Theallet, Michael Kors, Jeremy Laing, Philosophy, Milly, Lacoste
"Of all the trends we saw for next year,
the “sheer fabric/no bra/I actually paid money for this shirt so you can see my titties trend” is by far our #1 favorite. This isn’t necessarily a new thing, nearly every season someone tries to pull off this look and normally it goes unnoticed. But the number of labels that decided to go this route for spring is a little overwhelming. In fact, I didn’t even include all of them in our post because we kept getting everyone’s shows mixed up and got sick and tired of having to re-make our stupid little collage every time we found someone else made exactly the same barely-there item. Boobs are great and all, but we can’t help but be a little concerned about this—like, why is everyone suddenly making items that leave nothing to the imagination? Is everyone secretly way sluttier than we thought? Are we so wasteful as a society that we’re now OK with spending tons of money on clothing that technically isn’t really clothing? Is global warming worsening at such a rapid rate that by next season we won’t even be able to survive unless our asses are hanging out? Are we about to die? ARE WE DYING IN 2014?!" Spring 2014 | VICE United States
House passes spending bill to defund Obamacare - Washington Times
"An arrest is not a charge; a charge is not a conviction.
"All of those lesser things are a blurry flurry of paperwork that may be retained or not; that may be accessible or not. And then you come to the vast piles of files that have to be processed, and unless a red flag sticks out, the file is processed.
"The surveillance state may be here, but someone has to sift through all of that stuff and say 'Hold'. Even if the computers filter, someone has to make the final call and those people are as overloaded with info and and cramped with time as are the people processing the VA's paperwork.
"George Orwell meets bureaucratic inertia; Winston Smith fathers four children with Julia before O'Brien (just before his retirement party) actually hears about Smith and then tosses the file because it would ruin his record with the Party and jeopardize his retirement pension and benefits. Big Brother continues babbling on the telescreens as things are swept away to keep everything looking good and all reports continue to be filed in proper form and on time - content be damned." -- Side-Lines: Background Checks? Check and Double Check. Comment by: Mikey NTH
"To all the naysayers.... what is the point of having all these wonderful SWAT teams now if they can't be used.
They need their practice. If it isn't 107 year olds it might be you they practice on. I vote for the 107 year olds. Plenty of targets of opportunity in our old folk's homes." -- 107-year-old Arkansas man, Monroe Isadore, killed in shootout with S.W.A.T.
Negotiations continued for some time and when S.W.A.T arrived, negotiations still continued. S.W.A.T. was able to insert a camera into the room, where Isadore was, and confirmed he was armed with a handgun. S.W.A.T. inserted gas into the room, after it was evident negotiations were unsuccessful, in hopes Isadore would surrender peacefully. When the gas was inserted into the room, Isadore fired rounds at the S.W.A.T. officers that had inserted the gas from outside a bedroom window.
Shortly afterwards, a S.W.A.T. entry team, inside the residence, breached the door to the bedroom and threw a distraction device into the bedroom. Isadore then began to fire on the entry team and the entry team engaged Isadore, killing him.
For quite some time now one of my standing "jokes" has been that when I died I wanted to go as "a very old man who was respected in my community who shoots it out in the woods with the Federal Agents." This little bit of slight -- very slight -- humor was first minted during the era when such a thing happening to a law-abiding American citizen of the Caucasian persuasion was less likely than a meteor strike on my forehead. Now, however, as we see the startling and increasing transmogrification of some SWAT teams from law-enforcement operations into brown-shirted tools of local and national bureaucracies and governments, I may have to reconsider my "wish." Lest it be granted free of charge by officers of a less than trustworthy stock.
I'm not at all sure what was kicking through the nervous system of a 107-year-old-man, but I'm pretty sure that just holding the situation steady for a couple of hours would have resulted in a shooting but a nap.
Principled Anti-War Celebrities We Fear May Have Been Kidnapped
Obama: Wrecked our Economy! But at Least He's Fouled Up Foreign Policy
The President’s proposed Syrian missile strike is destined to fail worse than a White House official’s urinalysis. Not to mention a domestic healthcare law that has even AFL-CIO officials scrambling to figure out where they went wrong in life. The only option for libs: further propagandize the base into believing that these policies are good ones, and hope it all goes away until after the next election.
As professional anti-Bush-war protesters scramble to justify a military strike on Syria into simple libtardian picket-sign slogans, they can’t help but find themselves in a state of confusion and moral dilemma — a very familiar state to find themselves in.
Less than enthusiastic wandering picket-liners can be heard muddling disheartened laments, “But, like, wasn’t it like bad, when like Bush went to war, man?” Don’t ask questions! Just “X” out the “NO” on your “NO WAR” signs and do what you are told!
(1) “Where is the G*damn flag? I want the G*damn f**king flag up every morning at f**king sunrise.” From the book “Inside the White House” by Ronald Kessler, p. 244; Hillary to staff at the Arkansas Governor’s mansion on Labor Day 1991.
(2) “F**k off! It’s enough I have to see you shit-kickers every day! I’m not going to talk to you, too!! Just do your G*damn job and keep your mouth shut.” From the book ” America Evita” by Christopher Anderson, p. 90; Hillary to her State Trooper bodyguards after one of them greeted her with “Good Morning.”
(3) “If you want to remain on this detail, get your f**king ass over here and grab those bags!” From the book “The First Partner” p. 259; Hillary to a Secret Service Agent who was reluctant to carry her luggage because he wanted to keep his hands free in case of an incident.
(4) “Stay the f**k back, stay the f**k back away from me! Don’t come within ten yards of me, or else! Just f**king do as I say, Okay!!?” From the book “Unlimited Access” by Clinton ’s FBI Agent-in-Charge, Gary Aldrige, p. 139; Hillary is screaming at her Secret Service detail.
(5 )”Where’s the miserable c**k sucker?” (otherwise known as “Bill Clinton.” From the book “The Truth about Hillary” by Edward Klein, p.5; Hillary shouting at a Secret Service officer.
(6 )”You f**king idiot” From the book “Crossfire” ~ p. 84; Hillary to a State Trooper who was driving her to an event.
(7) “Put this on the ground! I left my sunglasses in the limo. I need those f**king sunglasses! We need to go back! From the book “Dereliction of Duty” p. 71-72; Hillary to Marine One helicopter pilot to turn back while en route to Air Force One.
(8) “Come on Bill, put your d**k up! You can’t f**k her here!!” From the book “Inside the White House” by Ronald Kessler, p. 243; Hillary to Gov. Bill Clinton when she spots him talking with an attractive female
Found by The Forward Observer — Quotes from Hillary Clinton enjoy!
Bonus item from this world-class prunt:
Cliff Notes to The Strong Horse vs. My Little Pony @ AMERICAN DIGEST
Many more stunning examples at PUTIN VS OBAMA HT: Rodger
The problem with the Oprahs of our age is that they've come to the point where if they don't experience a 24/7/365 ass-kissing they think their moist gobbits of rotting fame are sinking out of sight in today's contemporary celebrity sewage. And they are. Hence, they go to extreme lengths to keep the ass-kisses coming and, when they don't get it, they pout like the useless little floaters they are. Especially when they get to Europe where fewer people than ever buy into the "racist" hallucinations of a bulbous old bag on her way out. An old bag, it turns out, that can't even come up with a new "racist" hallucination but has to rely on one that has worked for her before.
Looking back a number of years it seems that Oprah Winfrey always has trouble shopping for handbags in Europe with Tina Turner. Does this sound strangely familiar?
From 2005: OPRAH VS. HERMES
Oprah hasn't just had beefs with people; she's also taken on luxury designers. This story is shrouded in controversy, but a few facts seem to have emerged. In 2005, Oprah showed up at a Hermes boutique in Paris to buy a purse. Unfortunately, though, the store had already closed and denied her request to slip in to quickly buy the handbag. Oprah was supposedly livid about what she considered to be rude treatment and suspected that the denial was based on racism, and a public war of words broke out. Oprah's Famous Feuds | Mental Floss
In addition she was hanging around, yet again, with Tina Turner:
The New York Daily News cited sources close to Winfrey as saying the talk show host was first rebuffed by a clerk and then a store manager. The Daily News reported Winfrey had gone to the store to buy a watch for singer Tina Turner, her dining partner that night. The New York Post, in its Monday Page Six gossip column, reported she was turned away because the store had been "having a problem with North Africans lately." In comments to CNN, an Hermes spokeswoman categorically denied that allegation. "There was never any discussion of North Africans," she said. "The story is not true." CNN.com - Luxury store apologizes to Oprah - Jun 22, 2005
That kind of razzamatazz from years back sounds a lot like today's headline:'Oprah's a liar': Sales assistant in Swiss racist handbag row denies telling TV host that she could not view item because she couldn't afford it
'I don't know why she is making these accusations. She is so powerful and I am just a shop girl. 'I didn't hurt anyone. I don't know why someone as great as her must cannibalize me on TV. 'If it had all taken place as she claimed, why has she not complained the next day at the wedding of Tina Turner with Trudie Goetz, my boss? She was there also at the Turner wedding as a guest. I don't understand it.
"I don't know why she is making these accusations..." says the shop girl. Well, we do. This serial slanderer is making them because she can and because, first and last, Oprah may have lots of money and fame but she has no class at all. None. Not a shred.
Thus does a pattern of phony racism emerge from this serial slanderer. First she's off to Europe for something involving Tina Turner. Then she needs a handbag because any one of the thousands she already owns just won't do. Then she waddles into a high end shop and then she waddles out and makes up some lie about what happens and steeps her buttocks in the warm and unquestioning media broth that they slurp upon her. For moral dwarfs like Oprah it has got to be a wall-to-wall, floor-to-ceiling ass kissing all the time. Otherwise she remembers just what a useless blob she was and is.
People with actual class, people who are actually among the real established upper class, don't slander shop girls. They don't need to. They know who and what they are and they are secure in their status. That's the virtue of old money, real money, real class: "We don't buy handbags. We have them."
Hat Tip: RC2
Once he quit cocaine it was all downhill into the morass of mawkishness for Williams. For the others it was just age and chance.
Dear Occupy Punks, This is what real street battles look like....
Continued...
They knew all the right people, they took all the right pills.
They threw outrageous parties, they paid heavenly bills.
There were lines on the mirror, lines on her face.
She pretended not to notice, she was caught up in the race.
-- Life in the Fast Lane
The French have an idiomatic phrase -- “nostalgie pour la boue” --which means, roughly, "the yearning for the mud." This compulsive “yearning” is something that seems to invariably come over people whose lives have veered into the fast lane of the secular life; a life without spirit, or, at best, a phony “spiritualism” such as yoga or transcendental meditation. In France they play with “nostalgie pour la boue” as a kind of minor amateur dabbling in the degrading. In America, where anything worth doing is worth overdoing, many who yearn to emulate the French have gone pro.
"Yearning for the mud" in America is a compulsion that comes over people when they have, for complex reasons, a need to immerse themselves in self-degradation. It's usually a mix of drink, drugs, and weird sex until the soul is obliterated by the abused flesh. Why? Hard to say but it is often the case that, when they look at themselves, they can't stand what they see.
This obliteration of the soul and the abuse of the flesh is one of the central tenets in many of our post-modern, secular lifestyle religions. For them the “signo” of “In hoc signo vinces” is the full body tattoo project, an earlobe plug, and the multiple facial piercings with a coke nail as an accessory.
Most people try some of these things for a time in their youth, but soon grow out of it when age and experience get the upper hand. Others grow out of it via deep psychoanalysis and a few trips to the rehab clinic. Still others are simply killed by it, their lives bracketed by dates that are far too close together.
Many, however, never kick this yearning for the mud and were, in the past, thought of as "perverts" but are now more kindly seen as "differently minded." Seeking the safety of number they now live in those urban sinkholes of the soul they laud as "enclaves of Alternative Lifestyles."
Once ensconced there they busy themselves in making bad design projects, bad art, bad fashion statements, bad life decisions and bad politics. Because we are rich and kindly as a culture so we generally let them be despite their endless moaning that they are "oppressed." Once comfortable in their redoubts, however, they think it their duty to sally forth from time to time and infest the rest of the nation. Not content to live their stunted lives among others of similar stature, they think it is incumbent upon them to get all other Americans “down in the hole that they’re in.”
A minority of the last group make a career and money out of nostalgie pour la boue, and are generally known as "pundits," "media personalities, or "celebrities." In reality they’re just perverts with positive cash flow.
An example might be the too often seen Janeane Garofalo whose mind and body bear all the markers of a mud person except for a bone through the nose, and that’s probably on her “To-Do” list for this winter. The fact that this creature is a “go-to” person for comment from her fellow blobfish Bill Maher tells you all you need to know about both them and the audience that tunes them in.
This week if you would see this demographic of spiritual dwarfism in action you have only to tune in to the current cluster of parasites and perverts inhabiting parks in lower Manhattan in search of a free lunch between bouts of free non-love and mutual masturbation.
Down in the mud of the All-American perverts' daisy chain there's a lot of cross-over between celebrity culture and media culture. Indeed, at a lot of levels, it is becoming hard to tell them apart. Both factions live, for the most part, in an insulated bubble of blather that is impervious to personal moral, psychological, spiritual, or political change; one that ruthlessly exacts the penalty of shunning and expulsion from the bubble in the event of any sudden shifts and heresies from any accepted inhabitant. Like junkies in all ages, once the ideological needle goes in, it never comes out.
Alas, this nostalgie pour la boue is starting to bore these creatures and they will, when bored, like junkies in all ages, feel the need to “increase the dose;” to move on to another, more powerful, and more deadly socio-political drug. And this is exactly what they are doing. I'd like to suggest that there's another kind nostalgie going around in this hybrid culture that glories in the mud: nostalgie pour la defaite -- "yearning for defeat." Given the war record of the French in the 20th century, this nouveau nostalgie is also tres Francais.
Nostalgie pour la defaite is that state of the flattened soul when an American, who either came of age in the Vietnam era, or who was taught and mentored by many leftists or liberals of that vintage, yearns for the defeat of America, and acts accordingly in word and deed.
This compulsion is now not only required to keep their residency in their subcultures, but to keep their status in the same as well. The more virulent their articulations of hate of America, the more shrill their calls for the death of host that sustains their parasitic existences, the higher their regard by their peers. Neither children nor even infants are safe from their depravities.
Nostalgie pour la defaite is a perverted form of "confirmation bias." In a way, joining this group is like joining a gang -- once you're in, getting out is not an option unless you seek social and political death. Once articulated, this ideological state is then seen as confirmation that his or her world view -- and that of their social milieu -- is the correct view and correct milieu. To operate otherwise would throw not only all the progressive views, assertions, and actions of the last thirty years of diseased progressive politics and sham social theory into question, but the entire structure of the afflicted personality as well. It is not just life in the fast lane but life inside the lie.
An America that is ascendant rather than retiring, an America whose policies are aggressive and not apologetic, is an America the People of the Lie are simply unequipped to inhabit or report on. They have, quite frankly, an empty tool box when it comes to this task and no raw materials with which to build.
The only America they can support is one that supports them and their lies without question. They want one thing and one thing only -- a blank check for money and means, unceasing regard, and an endless opportunity to smear the lie on all comers.
Our current infestation of American media personalities and American celebrities with Nostalgie pour la defaite rises from decades of beliefs in an America that is best as a "pitiful, helpless Giant;" a kind of "Nostalgie pour la jeunesse perdue" -- nostalgia for lost youth. It is literally the only America they know and their entire professional and personal lives, from the New York Times to the Los Angeles Times, from the Hamptons to Beverly Hills are based on this grand assumption.
They've had Presidents and Presidential candidates that, commuting to and from these locales, have confirmed it to them. Their coworkers in their jobs confirm it to them. Their significant others, drawn from the same chitinous ranks, confirm it to them. The parties they attend, the awards they ceaselessly give and receive like the swapping of spit at orgies, the places they vacation, the books they read and the films they make and see, all confirm it to them over and over again. It is not only the only America they know, it is the only America they can know.
Anything that confirms the Nostalgie pour la defaite is news they can use. Anything that confirms American exceptionalism is not, by definition, news at all. Anything that actually represents American exceptionalism is bad news and must be crushed by any means necessary.
Now several generations of these diseased Americans have been raised and trained to desire that, in all things, America should always lose and become less of an important force in the world. The results of a weaker America do not concern them. It is only important that America become and remain weak and hamstrung. Only then will Europeans and others say nice things about them as they flit about the world.
If America is to become weak, what do they propose in its place? The short form for their vision of the future is "an empowered United Nations."
At which point they step from their Nostalgie pour la defaite back into nostalgie pour la boue -- the yearning for the mud. In the final analysis, it isn't that big a step. The mire is where they feel most at home.
Can they be saved from themselves? Not all. Not even most. The only thing that can save them from themselves would be themselves, and that is a rare transformation. It does happen, just as for some individual junkies the personal addiction can be brought under control “one day at a time”, but most of these bad Americans are stuck forever in their armed cultural hamlets and redoubts. They assure us of the truth of the motto, “Once a bear is hooked on garbage, there’s no cure.”
"We," said my radical young neighbor, smashing my window,
"speak the essential conscience of mankind."
"If it comes to no more than small breakage," I said, "speak away.
But tell me, isn't smashing some fun for its own sake."
How can Nancy Pelosi continue to use up oxygen on the political scene? You must look at her base and degraded base; at the low dregs of humanity that form the foundation of her political support. Is it any wonder that, with supporters such as these her perverted political notions prevail?
I've been here before in The Black Hole of San Francisco @ AMERICAN DIGEST
"These days, the streets of San Francisco resemble the streets of Calcutta." -- Cinnamon Stillwell "Homeless by the bay"San Francisco, America's top open-air exhibit of failed social policies, never fails to illuminate the lies of social utopianism. Although large sections of this city still retain their charm at a distance -- the swooping helicopter pan shot in from the Golden Gate; the brightly painted Cable Car cresting against sunset -- most soon lose all charm in close-up. Instead, strolling through this city has become like taking a long walk through an endless parking lot at The Homeless Depot.
Scene: A clear and crisp dawn in a small side street near Laguna and Hayes. Plantings in all the window boxes on fussily painted facades. A few very small well-kept front yards. Clean curtained windows. All in all a pretty and quiet moment in the city's morning.
Then, between two of the cars on the street and a bulging shopping cart on the curb, I notice a man who has obviously slept rough for at least 200 consecutive days. He is, like some haggard Tai-Chi dancer, turning in a slow pirouette and gazing intently at the ground. Then he lowers himself delicately down into a squat between an Audi and an SUV.
Seeing no real reason not to stroll past, I do and see that the man, pants to his ankles, is slowly relieving himself onto the curb. I note that he has no plastic bag which dog owners use to deposit the deposit. I was to see this behavior twice more in a single day in San Francisco.
And I was in the better neighborhoods.
But now Zombie brings it all back with
Nancy Pelosi's San FranciscoWe here at TLC realize that our fabulous new hit series Sarah Palin's Alaska may not appeal to all our viewers. We understand that a substantial segment of the population has no interest in watching Sarah Palin or taking a tour of Alaska.
And so it is with great pleasure that we'd like to announce a new show carefully designed to appeal to those of you who don't like Sarah Palin, her state, or her values...
Check out Zombie's invaluable collection of the diseased infestations that now "controls" the once and future shining city on hills that was San Francisco: STRONG CONTENT WARNING IF YOU CLICK ON THIS LINK. DO NOT EAT BEFORE CLICKING. DO NOT ALLOW CHILDREN TO BE IN THE SAME ROOM WITH YOUR COMPUTER SCREEN.
One of the very mild examples
Apropos of nothing in particular, isn't it surprising -- when looking back on the governorship of Arnold Schwarzenegger -- just how much of a weakling he turned out to be?
"No place but in this besotted country could some bright young shoeless Arkansan go to Washington with nothing more than the Worlds Biggest Rolodex and some finely tuned Kennedy Body Language only to retire rich as Croseus 8 years later to a triple residency in Chappaqua, Georgetown and some architectural Gewgaw in Little Rock." - D.W. Sabin"
From Sense of Events: Heck, I even miss Clinton! Pass it along.
"What a revoltin' development this is!" -- Chester A. Riley
Tiger Woods, that wily old horndog, finally felt that enough time had passed that he was ready for his "amends that must be made" close-up. Because he is Tiger Woods, a wealthy businessman whose cash flow has been crimped by extra-curricular quim of late, he can afford one of the very best apologies money can buy. And he got it.
With no little rehearsal Woods delivered his ritual mea culpa about as well as could be expected. Smooth, forthright, sanctimonious, and with only a whiff of irritation that his honey-pot gravy train had come off the rails. He'd worked it up enough with professional media coaches that it actually had the flavor of real sincerity to it, even as it ran the standard changes of stars saying they're sorry. I'm sure the whole spectacle cost him a lot in time and money, but, well, "mistaeks wur made," and it had to be done.
If only Tiger had come to me before he drove into a tree I could have just given him my "Standard Apology for 21st Century Schmucks" out of the goodness of my heart. It would have saved him at least $100,000 in speech writing fees and media consulting. And he wouldn't have had to spend weeks sitting around in some half-baked 12-Step Program for Horndogs. I've been honing my "Standard Apology" for years now. It goes like this:
First let me say that I'm sorry I'm saying I'm sorry. I'm sorry because after you hear this apology you'll be sorry too. So I'm sorry for making you feel sorry by having to say I'm sorry.
I begin by noting that at present, as above, I'm sorry. Yes, I am very, very sorry. It was all my fault and I am sorry for it all. I failed, first and foremost, to understand that on tour golf is a game limited to eighteen holes.
Duffers cannot understand the pressures on the pros. It's hard to wind down after an exhausting day strolling on a very long lawn to polite applause. You just somehow have to keep driving, and pitching, and wedging, and putting long into the wee-hours of the morning. No matter how many pars, birdies, and eagles I got, I was always looking for that perfect hole-in-one to round off the round. What began as confusion became compulsion powered by room service.
I am sorry, as always, for what I did. It was thoughtless and rude even though it was intensely gratifying at the time I did it. It wasn't really what I meant or felt in my heart, but was just what I wanted to do. Many have taken my deeds to mean other than what I said they meant after I was discovered. Why, I even meant them to mean other than what they meant when I did them.
Well, the damage those deeds did is done and I can't undo my doing that dropped me the do-do. All I can do is stand here strapped in the pillory of the present as all those whom I have so wrongly (but without malice I swear) harmed cry like the little girly-men they are, especially the girls. Their heartbreak is now my ass ache. I cringe to see them writhe with the bleeding agony of those raw wounds I ripped open by my harsh and unconsidered actions.
Have I said I feel really bad about this? I do. I feel even worse that I, through my abject failure to realize how deeply the awl of my deeds would bore into them, even, yea, down to the living blue-veined bone, that I simply stood by and allowed the burning salt of my senseless screwups to pour without limit into their raw and festering souls. I am, as I said, deeply sorry and feel bad besides.
But even inside the cloistered walls of my expensive institution, I have heard the rising torrent of justifiable outrage; the howls of those whose most sacred, festering and inane values I have eviscerated with the senseless whirring chain-saw of my betrayals.
To them I offer, in deep and abject humility -- since I am, because I did what I did, lower than a cockroach's stool stuck to the bottom of a homeless hermit's shabby sandal in the storm drains of Las Vegas -- my most sincere if unworthy apology.
I have heard the skin-shuddering shrieks of those whose souls have been sliced into bloody gobbets of flesh by my dull-edged errors. Though I am unworthy to feel that pain, I feel it still as if it were a red-hot 3/4 inch Makita drill bit driven into the base of my skull and left there set on "Wash-Rinse-Repeat."
In closing, I come to you today penitent, conscience-stricken, regretful and contrite. I have been deep-fried by your pain and deeply regret my actions. I repent them with every shred of my soul. I am, for having hurt your feelings and bruised your tender buttons, a base and abject man mortified by my cheesy, contemptible, insignificant,. shabby, small, and pathetic being. I know now the low things I have done and I am filled with remorse, melancholy, shame, and self-reproach. If I could have myself flogged fleshless by an flock of Carmelite nuns on Methamphetamine I would so. But I can't locate those sisters right now -- and they would be suspect if they showed up.
But I digress.
I am compelled by my inner idiot and 12-step sponsor to say that I bleed for you, wish only to console you, empathize with you, and open my heart in an anguished lament that my actions, wittingly or unwittingly, have raised upon your soul these unlanced boils of existential angst. It is my hope you will allow me to lance them with my sincerity and bandage them in the saline soaked cloth of this apology.
I come before you today an abashed,
chagrined,
conscience-stricken,
guilty,
shamed,
demeaned,
crestfallen,
humiliated,
penitent,
mortified,
and broken man.
I can only seek, humbly, that one thing that will make me whole again after ripping the flesh of your feelings so senselessly. The single thing that would bring infinite balm to my being would be your acceptance of this, my guilty apology, and your eventual, even at the last ding-dong of doom, forgiveness.
In this simpering sorrytude I dwell in the hope to be one day resurrected to the realm of the acceptably American.
Thank you for letting me share.
Omaha, Nebraska: December 31, 2010 The Reformed Senate Select Committee to Investigate the Mass Progressive Suicides (CIMPS) of December 2009 today released its findings on the tragedy.
CIMPS’ summary concludes:
Continued...Late last year a virulent poem created by Al Gore decimated the Progressive Movement of the United States when 98% of its membership committed suicide after reading it. Contrary to rumors of a putsch by the Conservative Revolutionary Front, it is the finding of the emergency U.S. government in Omaha that it was not LSD in the water supply of Washington, the Upper West Side, and vast portions of Hollywood, San Francisco, and 1300 Pennsylvania Avenue that precipitated the near extinction of American progressives. Neither was it a conspiracy of global oil interests headed by defrocked members of the KGB. The deaths are attributable to the deranged act of a lone poet.
Overwhelmingly hilarious from the twisted but beautiful minds at The Nose On Your Face
Everybody with a blog or access to a blog is ordered, under pain of mockery, to reblog this immediately.
[Note: Reposted because I don't have the time right now to examine the eternal banality of Charles Johnson's prose. But I will get around to it. As for his recent little list of why he left wherever he thought he was, all I can say is, "Door. Ass. Bang."]
The Hockneyesque "Green Sphere Upon the Sands of Solace." From the "What? On the Beach Again?" series. Here we see the questioning autodidact Johnson confronting the existential vacuity of American beachspace with a sardonic Worholian distancing of the self from the mundane spritziness that is the Malibu shell of angst, despair, and desolation. Note that even the small Macintosh-referenced trash icon in the middle distance is in an emptied state.
Mozart: [hesitantly] I never knew that music like that was possible!
Salieri: [uncertainly] You flatter me.
Mozart: No, no! One hears such sounds, and what can one say but... ”Salieri."
-- Amadeus (1984) - Memorable quotes
Of late many have opined on the mental state of Charles Foster Johnson erstwhile hotchat master of Little Green Footballs. Words such as "dementia," "quisling," "bull goose looney," "testicular chancre," "slobbering obamallationist," and "schmo" have hurtled about the blogosphere for months. I shall not endeavor to improve upon this brick-bat barrage of blandishments in which Mr. Johnson is repeatedly and heartedly encouraged "to perform self-intercourse with a low-yield thermonuclear warhead."
Nor shall I note that having a "big" "b-log" floating about like a cowchip on a vast sea of Internet sludge is akin to possessing a two-inch penis. Neither shall I underscore those slanderous assertions that Johnson's writing skills are limited to the "Paste" command. I note only that before "Paste" there is always his first tool, "Cut." I shall also say nothing to underscore the obvious assertion in so many quarters that a "Dan Rather Scoop" is now so far in the past that even Dan Rather's lawsuit has run out of Dan Rather gas.
No, too much has been done to malign Charles Foster Johnson, that Howard Hughes of Somewhere Lost Angeles. Instead I propose to consider the one area in which there can be no justifiable criticism of the "artiste" that dwells within the eternal sunshine of his mind, his photography....
Continued...As tanking traffic, revenues and interest metastasize at the once proud but now flaccid Little Green Footballs, czarina Charles ("I'm writing as bad as I can") Johnson takes time out from slander and libel and Christian bashing to post a "News Item" that begs his dwindling clutch of hatchlings to buy their Halloween costumes and candy from his Amazon links:
Continued...0r - The Not-So-Pretty Perversions of Patrick Goldstein and Friends
Patrick Goldstein, Testing Pos for Perversion
The arrest of Roman Polanski for his repulsive crime has caused an eruption of foul-smelling gas bubbles in the media slime ponds where many of what passes for America’s public “intellectuals” wallow.
Foremost among these sources of stench is the chancrous Patrick Goldstein who, like many others who are “intellectually insane” sucks his pay-check out of the fetid swamp of the Los Angeles Times. Like many ill-educated and under-read third-rate scribblers, Goldstein thinks it’s the mark of a “writer” to throw a “lit’ry” reference into his prose slop from time to time. That he either has not read or comprehended the work he cites escapes his notice as he hopes it will escape his readers.
Andrew Sullivan reacts to the unseemly demands of 67% of the American public
I say again, "A raaaaacist is anyone who's winning an argument with a liberal."
It pains me to have to take (mild) issue with other members of the Founding Bloggers, but it does seem to me that today's hope that the Race Card will be tossed out onto the waters of oblivion along with slavery, the Reconstruction, Jim Crow, and Affirmative Action. Simply put: It. Ain't. Gonna. Happen.
Why? Because when it comes to the defending the Obama administration's current dog's dinner of legislation, the race card is not just the strongest card in the left/liberal/progressive deck, it is the only card in that deck.
When all you have in the deck is the Race Card, the name of the game is "52-Pickup." The technique then is similar to a spastic Ricky Jay trying to decapitate a duck or penetrate a water melon. For example:
Continued...
Tom Curley: Head Muppet of the Associated Press
[UPDATE: Jules Crittenden today has an informed and balanced view on the entire issue at Jules Crittenden ｻ Professional Issues. I recommend it. ]
It was there only for a brief moment on Wikipedia before the editing gestapo got it, but the truth endures, for now, in the cache:Tom Curley - Wikipedia, the free encyclopedia.
Curley, an executive battening off the rotting hulk of the Associated Press, had ignored common decency and a direct appeal from Defense Secretary Robert Gates to refrain from publishing photographs of a dying United States Marine. Gates said,
“I cannot imagine the pain and suffering Lance Corporal Bernard’s death has caused his family. Why your organization would purposefully defy the family’s wishes knowing full well that it will lead to yet more anguish is beyond me. Your lack of compassion and common sense in choosing to put this image of their maimed and stricken child on the front page of multiple American newspapers is appalling. The issue here is not law, policy or constitutional right – but judgment and common decency.”Decency? For the chancre ridden media scum that infest our nation, Continued...
As noted today on Drudge and confirmed on Politico, flag@whitehouse.gov is in fail mode and bouncing all messages back with the neat notice:
Continued...
After our Overlord Class spends $550 million to buy eight jets, look for the US Congress to buy itself a fleet of these next year: BMW 7 Series High Security : 2010
An intercom system with concealed microphones and speakers allows safe communication with people outside of the vehicle without the need to open doors or windows. Additional safety options include an assault alarm, fire extinguishing system with temperature sensor for extinguishing fires in the engine compartment and below the vehicle as well as irritant gas sensors for protecting passengers from gas attacks. If the interior protection system is triggered by excess gas levels, all windows are closed automatically, the central locking system is activated, the fresh air valves are closed and the ventilation system is shut off. An additional internal fresh-air supply system ensures that passengers are provided with breathable air. BMW also offers special options for authorities, governments and embassies. The package provides a range of special features such as flag holders, arrangements for radio installations right through to a gun case with compartments for two machine guns in the center console.What an option package! Still, it could come in handy.
"In my own life, in my own monomanical way, I have tried to take as much money and jobs and positions as I can possibly claw from this country that has given me so much, and is so willing to give me more," Michelle said. "See, that's why I left my dead-end job at a big law firm for a corrupt and high paying career in public service. But let me tell you, the plane is the best bit of gaming the government I've ever done. I can't believe you fools are actually paying for this stuff."
David Vance @ one of my favorites, JammieWearingFool brings us up to date on the woman who would be queen.
That moved me - did it move you? So, how has Michelle been getting on in her role as First Lady? Let's consider those on her staff, shall we?
To put it in context, Hillary Clinton had a staff of three, Laura Bush a staff of one. Long ago, Jacqui Kennedy had one. In these frugal recessionary times, how many has lovely Michelle? Michelle has a staff of...twenty two.
First Lady requires more than twenty attendants Here's what she pays them in this time when all Americans are being called on by the Obamas to sacrifice for the greater good. I note that this information comes to you courtesy of the Canada Free Press, rather than the press of the frothing Obamallatio addicts of America's "Free" Press:
Continued...
"I'm the Doctor. You wait on the Waiting List!" The short and simple annals of the poor often record the keenest insights into what's in store for the rest of us in our Brave New Dystopia. They've been showing up to be on the government, free health-care waiting list for decades. We're next.
Listen to this chilling Obamacare anthem @ Blip.fm | Vanderleun | Dr. Octagon – Waiting List
Here are the lyrics from Kool Keith's 1996 solo album Dr. Octagonecologyst
You enter, step in the room, four, five
My over compressed thoughts and ways make you get live
You are the patient, and i, your black doctor,
Medical bills, insurance, cash in the ceiling.
Dioxalyn fingerprints here ever since
I got my white suit pressed, out the cleaners,
X-ray shades, with hard shoes and some razor blades
Who's the brother that's sick, and needs the operation?
Bullets removed from your head, grand central station
I gotta cut off your ear, first behind your neck
Rip out the stomach, and open rectum's to dissect
Shine the light, inside, roaches crawling in your throat
I have no tools, my hammer's done, my drill is broked
I'm the doctor,Continued...
You wait on the waiting list,
Patients been here since this morning I dismiss.
Receptionist: How do you write about New York Times columnists and editors so well?
Melvin Udall: I think of a slug, and I take away reason and accountability.
-- As Good as It Gets (1997) - Memorable quotes
Thomas Friedman, bad writer, world traveler, and all around bon vivant, wants YOU to pay to save the planet. Just Do It
Yes, this bill’s goal of reducing U.S. carbon emissions to 17 percent below 2005 levels by 2020 is nowhere near what science tells us we need to mitigate climate change. But it also contains significant provisions to prevent new buildings from becoming energy hogs, to make our appliances the most energy efficient in the world and to help preserve forests in places like the Amazon.Awww, poor widdle Amazon rain forest.
When not abroad fellating Arab potentates or hectoring you to reach for your wallet, this is how Thomas Friedman lives.
The gall of these non-elected, self-selected nattering flatulators is without limit.
HT Sasquatchian @ Planet Gore on National Review Online
Nine.
One to change the light bulb.
One to scream out "Racist society!" to the neighbors.
One to berate the black police officer on the scene.
One to berate the Hispanic Police Officer on the scene.
One to call the (black) Mayor.
One to call the (black) Governor.
One to call the (black) President.
One to begin booking the talk shows.
One to start production on the documentary film.
by GCOTHARN @ The End Zone
There's a lot of brouhaha and rumbles of mutiny being heard around the 'sphere today about Obama's first slide into negative polling territory. Most of those that despise him, and they are legion, are happy for the first time in many months. But I'd suggest they curb their enthusiasm.
It is true that the economy is unlikely to have a miraculous turn-around, and it is equally true that there is going to be some sort of a health-care fiasco foisted onto this perishing republic since the Dems are too dumb and too deep in the mire to "let the kid die." But in all this swirl of endless blather about said health-care bill, the people getting happy about the Obama drift down are forgetting that he's got a hole card. When he flips that card over it says, "Afghanistan."
There's two things that I think about when I think about Obama and Afghanistan.
1) As I have written about before in The Road to a Democrat Led Defeat of America Goes Through Afghanistan, and spelled out in Afghanistan Bananistan: The 10 Point Plan, Afghanistan is Obama's "Get out of bad election results and/or get re-elected free card." He can pretty much use it any time he needs it to become "The man with the vision to bring peace to America." All he has to do to keep the card fresh is to give our forces there just enough rope for them to twist, hang, and die slowly in the wind. If you've been paying attention, that's just what has been taking place.
2) Will Obama be so cynical that he will actually let American troops dies for a cause that he knows for certain he'll end as soon as it becomes politically necessary? Silly rabbit, of course he will. Obama has no love for the American military as he has shown again and again over the years and as he will demonstrate convincingly as soon as it suits his own purposes. This is a man who has no respect of honor and valor since he not only has neither but is, as I have written in some detail, Not Man Enough to Be President. It is a deep tragedy of our moment that our military has as a commander-in-chief someone who not only does not value their sacrifice, but will use it for his own self-serving and cynical ends.
Look for "Obama: The President of Peace" opening sometime next year. Maybe sooner if the daily rushes start to look really bad.
O brave new world that has such outrages in it! For wisdom and clarity on the chump-change AIG bonus issue that has so many pairs of bipartisan panties in a twist, I recommend a sane man,TigerHawk, on two key points:
1) What did they know and when did they know it?
My speculation: The Obama administration, including the president or his political staff, has known about these bonuses for quite some time, and the letters from Liddy to the Treasury were requested by the government to provide cover. I further speculate that neither the Treasury nor Liddy wanted this issue to explode until after the bonuses were paid precisely because they could not afford for the people they need to unwind the losing trades to quit before their work is done....
2) What is to be done.
"You cannot make people miserable and not pay them. You have to choose or they will quit and we will not have the skilled people we need to unwind this mess. So either torture, humiliate, and investigate the hundreds of people at AIG and other financial institutions -- none of whom actually created these problems -- who are struggling through all of this and grit your teeth and pay them, or leave them alone to toil in quiet ignominy and screw them out of most of their contracted compensation. For many people, one or the other will suffice, but not both."
From the Governor's Gazette, Dated November 12 (VIA Blago-Gate Timeline (@ Verum Serum)
"I did not have interpersonal relations with that man, Governor Blagojevich." - Bloodthirsty Liberal
The story that put the lie to the No-O & Blogo Meeting was discovered yesterday. Once discovered it promptly disappeared down the memory hole at News : KHQA. Seeing that it had vanished I searched for it in Google Cache and, sure enough, there it was. For about an hour and then cached page vanished as well. A second story from the same source confirming the meeting also met the same fate.
But, fearing something like the erasure of the cached page, I made a screen shot. Here it is:
Continued...At least he didn't emulate Jimmy Carter by saying, "I'll never lie to you." Indeed, this whole administration is shaping up to be a paraphrase of Mary McCarthy's “Every word he says is a lie, including and and the.” Still they'll look to find a reason to believe.
Local scribbling Seattle schmucks find themselves hoist by their own petard. Run and hide like little girly-men.
Chicago Boyz posts Tit for Tat
after "the Stranger, a leftist rag in Seattle, Wa. decided it would be funny to write a supposed review of local haunted houses in which the scariest houses where those that had Republican campaign posters in their yards. [h/t Instapundit] Presumably trying to be thorough, they displayed the addresses of the houses prominently in the article.and calls for some turnabout:
I figure that turnabout is fair play, so I did some Internet research and found the address of the paperâs editorial director.
Chicago then asks:
"If a reader in the Seattle area would like to swing by and take pictures, we could post those, you know, just to be thorough."Happy to oblige.
1146 16TH AVE E
SEATTLE, WA 98112
Stranger offices
1535 11th Ave. 3rd Floor
Seattle, WA 98122
Once the story made it to Instapundit and other pages, the brave Stranger Staffers redirected the link to their brave expose to Drudge and shut down comments on the subject at "The Slog," the Stranger's blog.
Too late though: Copy of the page with addresses blanked is HERE.
Brave, brave new worlders.
GOP Mom has the details and the documents: From Tony to Barack, Part I
Documented evidence proves that Senator Obama and Tony Rezko coordinated their purchases as well as the relative values of the house and the lot. Significant economic value was transferred between the properties after the execution of the purchase agreements and prior to the closings on June 15, 2005. Furthermore, this transfer fully explains Senator Obama’s reason for buying the extra strip of land. In sum, Senator Obama would not have been able to purchase the house at such a large discount if Rezko had not purchased the adjacent lot.
Remember last week? Last week in Obamaland you were rich and selfish if you made $250,000. This week, O's defined rich and selfish down to 200K.
"Here's what I'll do. Cut taxes for every working family making less than $200,000 a year." -- Barrack Obama's prime-time infomercial.
Want to bet that's the bottom? Want to bet your bank account, your mortgage payment?
That's got to be the first infomercial where people discovered they were going to actually pay more by buying the product. No steak knives either.
Obama's limit to "I won't tax you" is going down faster than Andrew Sullivan in an asparagus patch.
Reparations by proxy are only the beginning. Obama: "To that extent, as radical as I think people try to characterize the Warren Court, it wasn’t that radical. It didn’t break free from the essential constraints that were placed by the founding fathers in the Constitution, at least as its been interpreted and Warren Court interpreted in the same way, that generally the Constitution is a charter of negative liberties. Says what the states can’t do to you. Says what the Federal government can’t do to you, but doesn’t say what the Federal government or State government must do on your behalf.... I'm not optimistic about bring major redistributive change through the courts.... The courts start engaging in a process which is adminstrative." [Emphasis added.]
HT: neoneocon
Obama: Not Man Enough to Be President
Continued...[ UPDATE: Monday - Video: Atlantic editor James Bennet takes a turn in the Fox barrel saying, in essence, "Who knew?." Magazine and article author are just "victims." Atlantic to apologize to McCain, suspend payment to Greenberg, contemplating lawsuit. Details at bottom of post. Scroll down.]
"Some of my artwork has been pretty anti-Bush, so maybe it was somewhat irresponsible for them [The Atlantic] to hire me.” - Jill Greenberg
The Atlantic Monthly's current cover by Beverly Hills photographer Jill Greenberg looks like this:
Not really Annie Leibovitz quality, but not even Annie's delivering that these days. ["One sees such portaits, and what can one say but...”Salieri."]
As far as it goes it is workmanlike enough and presents McCain, unlike the Obama covers we are used to seeing, without the halo. Given the level to which the owner and the staff of the Atlantic are in the tank for Obama -- the owner's wife, Katherine Brittain Bradley, is on record in one instance for $28,500.00 to committees supporting Barack Obama-- even the cover-lines are not half-bad if a bit half-hearted. I'd only remark that it is no accident that the Atlantic's editor approved the upper red slash bar with the words "Porn" and "Adultery" in it. Editors, especially those whose paycheck depends on displaying their bias for their boss, love those little gotcha games. I know. I played them too.
But that's not where the Atlantic cover story stops.
It's a question, you see, of the disposition of all the McCain "out-takes" from this shoot. Out-takes are images taken of a subject at a photo shoot that are not used for publication by the client commissioning them. Typically, when you hire a photographer for a shoot -- and I have hired dozens over the years -- the photographer delivers all the film or digital images taken to the editor and art director for their review and selection. In a professional shoot these can easily be dozens if not hundreds of images.
[Greenberg NSFW, children and other living things now on continued page]
Continued...By last Friday, I'd gotten used to the idea that the children of Republican candidates had become, for many in the media and in the dark web of Obamatrons, fair game. I thought with that we had finally reach the bottom of the slime that support Barack Obama. But as always I was wrong. It would seem that for many of Obama's supporters there really is no bottom.
If you know anybody who is still considering a vote for this man, show them this and ask how any decent human being can align themselves with this sort of political machine? No matter how you might feel about Obama, his supporters -- at this point -- have sucked all the honor out of the man and his campaign and his party. It's like watching a monstrous post-modern inside-out version of the Klu Klux Klan ooze out along the edges of the Democrat Party.
Continued...
Just so we all know the new and improved rules. Memorize them. There will be a test.
UPDATE -- From May 19, Four months later to the day:
Continued...
Beverly Hillbilly American Royalty in the Making
"I did not make baby with that woman."
Flashback to 1936:
Continued...
New Orleans: The good old days
"You've got a mouth full of gimme, a hand full of much obliged." -- Bessie Smith, Gulf Coast Blues
[Written in January. According to Cassy Fiano in "New Orleans: Saints Needed" New Orleans has only gotten worse: New Orleans was quite possibly one of the most uncomfortable and scary places I have ever visited in my entire life. It was like a haven for thugs, drug dealers, gangsters, rapists, and criminals. Does that mean that everyone there is a rapist or a criminal? Of course not, but it was awfully hard to distinguish who was just trying to act like a thug and who was the real thing.
As always, crapola rises.]
I don't know about you but I have had it with the legions of hustlers, grifters, drunks, junkies, pathics and drooling layabouts that keep waddling and teetering up to the public trough from that swamp of puke called New Orleans. The latest of an endless line of calls upon the kindness of strangers by these public-purse pimps is this little bit of chicanery: Katrina victim sues U.S. for $3 quadrillion
Hurricane Katrina's victims have put a price tag on their suffering and it is staggering -- including one plaintiff seeking the unlikely sum of $3 quadrillion.This chunk of legalized slunk trading may or may not include the Washington con job currently being floated in Swampy Bottom -- "Louisiana Senator, Mary Landrieu (D), is presently asking the Congress for $250 BILLION to rebuild New Orleans. Interesting number." But it hardly matters.The total number -- $3,014,170,389,176,410 -- is the dollar figure so far sought from some 489,000 claims filed against the federal government over damage from the failure of levees and flood walls following the Aug. 29, 2005, hurricane.
I've considered the matter of New Orleans carefully.
I've weighed the never-ending, and now maudlin, saccharine suffering of its people against my now limitless cache of compassion fatigue. They have been found wanting.
To be fair and just, here's what I propose we give New Orleans from this day forward. Nothing. Niente. Zip. Zero. Nada. And a full-scale barium enema just for asking for one more thin dime. Did you send money to this barrage of bozos? I did and I want it back. With interest.
LA Times to cut 250 jobs, including 150 news jobs
"Once a bear is hooked on garbage there's no cure." -- Gary Snyder
ALL ALONG OUR WATCHTOWERS where our Princes of the Media tell us our views, things are looking very shaky for their latter-day plutocracy. Their ratings tank, their circulation implodes, and revenues auger into the ground like a one-winged Gulfstream. Like the once-popular Yogi Berra Restaurant, people are staying away in droves.
Extreme measures seem to be called for and extreme solutions are tried. Some once-brilliant network exec has a new thought to save the ratings, "sex!" Katie Couric's perky points are whipped out, rubbed with ice-cubes and back lit by the blaze of Baghdad. It doesn't help. Husbands cringe and wives run screaming from the plasma-screen wall. Faced with the continuing disaster, another never-brilliant New York Times publisher has his only idea for the 600th time: "Bash Bush!" Times editors from the last time the Publisher waved his stuffed moose around convene for their 5348th Sulzberger Suckupathon and decide to "save the newspaper" by..... redesigning the web site! Ad sales and staff continue in their mutual suckage. Heroin suppository prescriptions are renewed.
Across town, employees of cable news networks whose viewer-ship has fallen to rival the circulation of "The Nation" ponder a future without houses in the Hamptons, and their forthcoming inability to land jobs as spokesmen for Ginzu Knives at the North Dakota State Fair. Desperate times call for desperate measures. Or, as we used to say in the 60s in the drug-drenched pits of Berkeley, "If you are going to have a revolution, get ready to do revolting things."
Backs to the ratings wall, they pull out their thermonuclear weapon, and video tapes
Continued...
My ongoing problem with Alice Walker is not her crappy writing, -- that's easy enough to avoid -- but her crappy thinking. That's not so easy to avoid since, with the rise of the Internet, Idiocracy is everywhere. Indeed, with the rise of the Obamatron, Idiocracy is the new governing principle of the Democratic Party -- and it couldn't happen to more deserving folks.
But along with the fun this brings to the connoisseur of Idiocracy, it also brings pain. One of the constant irritations of the Obama candidacy is the endless stream of the half-talented and the race-hustlers scrambling for a place in the envisioned Obamastration, or at least a hot weekend in the Lincoln bedroom and a ride on the plane.
In their thirst for future favor, ranking members of the Idiocracy such as Walker are now commonly given space in the walking corpses of newspapers. This would be fine except for the fact that although newspapers are dead, the Internet insists on keeping them alive. In my perfect world the rule would be: "If you can toss your crap on my front porch, you can't toss it off on the Internet. I mean, fair's fair."
But the Internet, like life, is not fair. Dead newspapers still insist on putting their idiots online where, like the hidden turds in a bank of stained February snow, they melt out with Spring.
I try to step around these little gifts strewn on my path through the Internet. But every so often, there is a shit sculpture so exceptional that no matter where you go, no matter how you try to avoid it, you still step in it. You step in it because it is so stunningly stupid it is linked everywhere. And then, because it sticks to your mouse, you drag it back to your home page. Sorry about that.
Case in point -- the recent squeezing of that Novelist Laureate of Loonies, Alice Walker.
Continued...
"Just when you think you're out... they pull you back in."
Whether you tuned in to television, radio, or the internet in the last few days it was impossible to avoid the sight and sound of Reverend Jeremiah A. Wright.
Much has been said about Reverend Jeremiah A. Wright, but what has not been fully voiced is the gratitude felt by many Americans freshly exposed to his oratory.
So, in my role as a voice for the voiceless, I would like to take this opportunity to thank Reverend Jeremiah A. Wright for his selfless service to the country.
Seldom in my memory has one man with one single, unwavering, and forceful train of thought done for America what Reverend Jeremiah A. Wright has done.
Almost alone in the 21st century Reverend Jeremiah A. Wright has brought back to life and given voice and face to something most of use believed was lost with the 20th century -- the stone cold stereotype of the angry, bitter, racist and crazy African-American.
So thank you, Reverend Jeremiah A. Wright....
Continued...
Dead man walking.
They shouted at him, as the Spitzers split from the press conference, "Governor, will you resign? Will you resign?" Silly journalists. Any sharp pundit would have gotten up in Mrs. Spitzer's face and asked, "Does this mean you are going to run for the U.S. Senate?" I'm looking for Oprah to do that job when she has the Spitzers on to talk about "the healing process."
These men up north honey sure do make me tired
These men up north they surely do make me tired
They've got a mouth full of gimme, and a handful of much obliged
-- Ella Fitzgerald | Gulf Coast Blues
After hearing Michelle Obama's stump speech four times, New Yorker writer Lauren Collins offers this pearl:
"You're looking at a young couple that's just a few years out of debt," Obama said. "See, because, we went to those good schools, and we didn't have trust funds. I'm still waiting for Barack's trust fund. Especially after I heard that Dick Cheney was s'posed to be a relative or something. Give us something here!" -- Michelle Obama: Reporting & Essays: The New Yorker
"Give. Us. Something. Here!" -- The core Obama campaign slogan.
Can we get us something from the government? Yes we can!
Can we get us more from the government than we've gotten already? Yes we can!
Can we get us more of the same service that's given the country the USPS, the Social Security System, Medicare, and a tax code so complex it needs a semi-truck just to move it around town? Yes we can!
OOOOooooo, Cat fight in Kennedyland! Neo-Neocon to Kennedy: "Watch out for those women scorned, Ted." She quotes from a "statement" put out by the petulant women of New York NOW:
Opening somewhere in the midwest soon:
As the 2008 election scandal looms in the background, the inhabitants of Iowa begin to slip into an existentialist void, wherein social taboos are shattered on whims and the line between adult authority and juvenile irresponsibility in campaigning is practically nonexistant. Focusing on three candidates in particular, the Edwards, the Obamas and the Clintons, "The Ice Storm of Iowa " chronicles a brief period of rapid moral deterioration, as the candidates shatter their social "roles" in pursuit of votes, within an environment turned inwards on itself. -- The Ice Storm of Iowa 2008 - Plot summary
The Democratic rivals struggled with an ice storm -- and each other -- as they spent Saturday courting constituencies crucial to winning the nomination and the White House. -- Democrats in Iowa battle ice, each other
This is not to say there is no clear choice here. There is only what I'd call a "sorta" choice.
Franklin Foer's plea of "Guilty... but with an explanation" for the New Republic's Fictional soldier's stories is at Fog of War.
There will be a tsunami of comment on this all over the sphere. This is just an early warning signal.
You can play "follow the flamers" at Memeorandum where the dog pile is only just getting started.
Continued...Remember the fluff published by National Geographic about Judas being simply "misunderstood?" It turns out that NatGeo well understood what they were doing. They were publishing a scam. And took pains to hide their tracks. Here's today's item from NYT (via The Anchoress) Gospel Truth - New York Times by April D. DeConick, a professor of Biblical studies at Rice University, is the author of "The Thirteenth Apostle: What the Gospel of Judas Really Says.
In a WaPo triple thumb-sucker today ("quagmire" returns in the first graph), you've got Clintonista John Podesta and a couple of his rollicking sidekicks taking Bush to task for succeeding at the surge. Success in a strategy that has reduced violence and brought a semblance of peace back to large sections of Iraq is.... well.... just not good enough.
Continued...
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- That's Entertainment: Kathy Griffin in Tears During Press Conference
- Storming the Cockpit
- Dead Career for Brain-Dead Bitch: That is the world Kathy Griffin lives in.
- DEMOCRAT LOGIC COMIX: Kathy Griffin's #Resistance Edition
- Bill Nye the Perverted Guy
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- On Not Voting: "Not choosing is a choice" [Bumped]
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- His Finest Moment
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