GIVE TIL IT HURTS

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The Daily Donnybrook, and other fine things

Welcome to Ye Olde Colde Furye Blogge’s shiny new open-comments thread, where y’all can have at it as you wish, on any topic you like. Do note that the official CF comments policy remains in effect here, as enumerated in the left sidebar. All new posts will appear below this one. There will be blood…

Mike @Substack

New Eyrie posts go up on Mondays and Fridays, although the time of day may (and usually does) vary. Mike’s latest Eyrie offering is available for perusal here: Screamin’ meemie Monday!

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Powerful moment, powerful story

One to make even the coldest, most unempathetic heart go pit-a-pat.

WWII RAF veteran reunited with Battle of Britain aircraft
A WWII RAF veteran had the chance to fly alongside the aircraft he helped maintain during the heroic Battle of Britain in 1940.

Jeff Brereton, who celebrated this 102nd birthday earlier this year, took to the air in BE505, the world’s only two seat Hurricane, with R4118, the only remaining airworthy Mk 1 Hurricane to have taken part in the Battle of Britain, and the aircraft Jeff worked on, flying alongside.

Jeff, who lives in Evesham, Worcestershire, said: “I have great memories of the plane. Of all the aircraft I dealt with, that was the one that stuck in my mind. It was unbelievable to be able to see that aircraft again, that it had survived.”

Jeff’s amazing story first come to light when he gave an interview with Air Mail, the RAF Association’s member magazine. The team realised that the Hurricane Jeff worked on had not only been restored but was still flying.

The Association immediately got in touch with James Brown, the current owner of the R4118 Hurricane. James runs Hurricane Heritage, an organisation based at the historic White Waltham Airfield where visitors can experience flying in and alongside these iconic aircraft.

James arranged for Jeff to come to the airfield with his family and jump in the cockpit and take to the skies.

James said: “The story is just an unbelievable coincidence and it’s so incredibly lucky to have found Jeff. I just couldn’t believe that there was this amazing guy who was still around and actually remembers working on our Hurricane.”

Is there video, you ask? Why yes, there is, and it’s three and a half minutes of good, good stuff. The last minute or so especially, when the in-flight footage of those two beautiful old Hurries tooling along in close right echelon kicks in.

During the in-flight sequence of the vid, after his unique check-ride, Brereton says:

The main signal he gave me…he said if you’ve had enough put your thumbs down, and I’ll get you down to the ground as quickly and safely as we can. But I didn’t want to, I was putting them up, I want to go up. And it was that feeling, that sort of feeling that…you can’t have that feeling on earth. You see the same clouds and things, but they don’t look the same, they’re not the same, they don’t feel the same. Just wonderful, I can’t wait to go again. I can’t.

Well said, sir. You just put into words the sensation that makes the miracle of powered flight in a piston-engine aircraft so incredibly addictive. I can’t imagine there’s an aviator alive who didn’t smile and nod his head knowingly in complete agreement with everything you just said. God bless you, Jeff.

Further details of Jeff Brereton’s RAF days perusable here.

(Via Bayou Peter)

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Memezapoppin’!

Welcome to this week’s installment of our Wednesday meme feature, folks. Links to the “found via” sources will be attached to the specific MiQ’s (Memes in Question) whenever I can remember them, which likely won’t be very often. Only the first two memes will appear above the fold to save on bandwidth usage, since I assume not everybody who shows up at this here websty will want to see all of them. This intro will appear at the top of each week’s Memezapoppin’! post. Enjoy, funny pitcher-lovers.

Continue reading Memezapoppin’!

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Pot meets kettle, makes fool of self

Wow. Just…WOW.

Biden-Harris campaign describes Trump as ‘feeble, confused, and tired’
The Biden-Harris campaign issued a statement on Monday describing the incumbent president’s top 2024 rival, former President Donald Trump, as “weak and desperate” as well as “feeble, confused, and tired.”

“Donald Trump is weak and desperate — both as a man and a candidate for President,” the statement declared. “America deserves better than a feeble, confused, and tired Donald Trump.”

Does it really? For once, the RNC got its collective thumb out of its collective butt and fired back beautifully.


Heh. Good one, guys. Leave it to fugly Uniparty RINO Lizzie Cheney (D-Dipshit), though, to undercut the RNC’s atypically note-perfect retort with more of her usual bullshit.

“Well, when the party of Trump abandoned Lincoln, Reagan, and the Constitution, circumstances changed,” former GOP Rep. Liz Cheney, an outspoken Trump critic, tweeted.

Don’t look now, Liz, but you resemble that remark, you stupid, treacherous bint.

Biden, who is the oldest president in U.S. history, would be 86 by the end of a second term in office. Trump, who is slightly younger than Biden, would be 82 by the conclusion of a second term if he wins election later this year.

Physician to the president Kevin O’Connor said in a memo earlier this year that Biden remains “fit for duty and fully executes all of his responsibilities without any exemptions or accommodations.”

Yeah, there they go again with the lying. To rejigger an old saw to suit the circumstances, there are lies, damned lies, and “Biden” White House press statements.

Via Bill, who quips:

This gang of has-beens and never-weres isn’t even lively enough to come up with something original, Instead, they just borrow everything Trump has been saying about Biden for years, and substitute Trump’s name.

I guess one shouldn’t expect anything better from a senile old man like Biden, whose go-to play since the beginning of his career has been plagiarism. After this many decades it’s become a reflex, nothing more. Which is why it’s probably the only strategy he can remember at this point.

YOWCH. If the old crook even knew who or where he was, I’d say that savage, 110% accurate rip had to smart a bit. Luckily for him, he doesn’t.

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Indie SciFi/Fantasy Recommendations

Here are some SF/F recommendations by independent authors:

Worm – Wildbow https://parahumans.wordpress.com/

Superheroes and supervillians and a worlds-ending danger. The opening chapters are pretty rough but get past them and he finds his stride.

Pact – Wildbow http://pactwebserial.wordpress.com/
Pale – Wildbow http://palewebserial.wordpress.com/

Fantasy with the viewpoint character dropped into things and having to figure them out to survive. I haven’t read Pale, the sequel, yet but Wildbow says that it was fun to write, so that’s a good sign.

Collective Thinking – Tower Curator https://www.towercurator.com/collective-thinking/

Is the world what it is or what we make of it?

Bitter – mooderino/V Moody http://royalroadl.com/fiction/10293 https://www.amazon.com/dp/B078NK1GTV?binding=kindle_edition&ref=dbs_dp_rwt_sb_pc_tkin

Isolated girl sneaks into a virtual world and levels up her life.

How to Avoid Death on a Daily Basis – mooderino/V Moody https://www.royalroad.com/fiction/5288/how-to-avoid-death-on-a-daily-basis

A group of young adults are pulled into a fantasy world. Main character is a jerk, but he’s a pragmatic, survivor jerk. My only complaint is that the tenth book, the series finale, isn’t finished. He started it, threw it away, restarted, threw it away, restarted, gave up. Still, it’s good through the nine completed books.

Mother of Learning – nobody103 https://www.fictionpress.com/s/2961893/1/Mother-of-Learning https://www.amazon.com/dp/B0CHSJ19J9?binding=kindle_edition&searchxofy=true&ref_=dbs_s_aps_series_rwt_tkin&sr=8-1

Dropped into a time loop. Make the best of it. Recommended. Very highly recommended.

Super Powereds – Drew Hayes https://www.amazon.com/dp/B074CDM25G?binding=kindle_edition&ref_=dbs_s_ks_series_rwt_tkin&sr=1-1

Superhero also-rans, made good.

A Wand for Skitter – ShayneT https://forums.spacebattles.com/threads/a-wand-for-skitter-worm-hp-complete.730018/

Fanfiction of Worm and Harry Potter. Very good, better than most original fiction. OK, I’ll admit that that’s damning with faint praise. Many Crowning Moments of Awesome, and a few humorous reactions to those moments.

Francis Porretto
https://www.smashwords.com/profile/view/fporretto

Couple dozen shortish novels, most of them vaguely tied together by reference to common characters. This hasn’t been a problem; just blerp over unrecognized names. Consistently high quality. Even with the couple that I didn’t much care for (romance genre just isn’t my thing) I could see the craftsmanship.

Bill Quick
https://www.amazon.com/s?k=william+quick&i=digital-text&ref=nb_sb_noss
https://www.amazon.com/s?i=digital-text&rh=p_27%3AW.T.++Quick&s=relevancerank&text=W.T.++Quick&ref=dp_byline_sr_ebooks_1

Good suspense/thriller books. I don’t much care for this genre but they’re well done. The older books are notable for predicting technology and social trends decades in advance. When I read Systems I kept going back to the copyright page to confirm that, yes, it was published in 1989. Just one example: After 9/11, Tom Clancy’s Debt of Honor was pointed at as evidence that someone had thought of flying a plane into a building. Well, Bill beat Clancy by five years.

William Palafox

I’ve read only Sands of the Undead and started another (don’t recall why I stopped reading; busy with work, probably) and was impressed. Genre shifted a couple times, so what it’s about isn’t what you think it’s about.

PS Power
https://pspowerbooks.com/

I have mixed feelings about this. He’s wildly imaginative and was spitting out a short novel every month for years … but the little mistakes drove me up a wall, especially in the earlier works. Also, his series tend to converge into one big universe and you need to read all earlier works to follow what’s going on. Still, they’re creative and mostly enjoyable.

Sarah Hoyt

She’s gone indie so I’m including her here. No introduction should be needed.

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Senile Grampy Gropey puts his oar in

Jeez, this guy. This fookin’ guy.


Okay, we’ve all enjoyed pointing and laughing at the buffoonish antics, pratfalls, fictitious self-aggrandizement, and meandering tall tales emitted by this doddering old fool all along, sure. But at this point, I have to say it’s just getting tiresome.

Praetorian Media to dismiss this latest episode as simply another instance of the “stuttering” problem Vigorous Auld Jaux never evinced the slightest trace of throughout his entire life up until the last three years or so in 4…3…2…

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Guilty of being white

Y’all will remember the “White Culture” image I posted yesterday, I’m sure. Well, the pic was hijacked from a Bad Cattitude post which I only just finished reading today, which I think very much merits an excerpt.

how we got to here
how moral relativism destroyed sanity and how objectivity can bring it back

how did we break politics and academia and society to the point where the madmen are running the asylum and the joker has become police commissioner of gotham?

how have we descended to the point where mayors of major cities are suing car companies because “cars that dress like that are asking for it!”

we legalize crime, criminalize dissent, and elevate literal lunatics as luminaries and leaders.

everything sane and sound is under assault and the biggest problem these “intellectuals” see is that it is not being attacked hard enough.

the thing about crazy people is they tend to be so convinced of whatever they are afflicted by that they present as somehow trustworthy. they do not evince the cues of mendacity because they don’t feel like liars, they don’t know they are crazy or that they have succumbed to externalized identity. pile up enough of it and it starts to work like gaslighting. it starts to make you question your own sanity and makes it seem like maybe you’re the crazy one.

you aren’t.

it’s not wrong to want beauty and sanity and trust.

it’s wrong to despise them.

calling the ugly beautiful and the beautiful ugly is not progressive, it’s pathology. it’s the broken sputtering of a machine bent past use, the desperate grasping of desperate people devoid of virtue but endlessly covetous of its trappings and determined to burn the world if it means they get to have a little authority and power.

these are the failures elevated by mistaking protestations of marginalization and grievance for quality of character.

you can have objective morality and beauty or you can have abject failure and hideousness.

there’s really no middle way, no accommodation, no safe dosage.

No, there most certainly is not. In keeping with my “liberal/Leftism is a cancer on the body politic” theorem, it simply doesn’t pay to pussyfoot around with the shitlib sickness—you either eradicate it or succumb to it, there is no Third Way.

At risk of sounding like a broken record this evening, I can but say yet again: read the whole thing.

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Apropos of nothing

There are damned few blogs whose comment section I bother to check out much, but the tall but brilliant, fabulously talented and visually stunning example of a placental mammal Diogenes Sarcastica‘s would be one of those. Commenter Dan Patterson’s most apropos mention of “The Steps to Heaven” put me in mind of an old Eddie Cochran gem I felt worth putting up here, just to share the wealth a little.

Eddie wrote, recorded, and performed one hell of a lot of great tunes before his tragic death in Bath, Somerset at the too-tender age of 21, no doubt—“Twenty Flight Rock,” “Summertime Blues,” “C’mon Everybody,” to name but a few—but this one has always been my absolute favorite of them all.

Update! Okay, okay, have just a bit more Eddie Cochran lore, from the above-linked Wikipedia article.

Cochran was one of the first rock-and-roll artists to write his own songs and overdub tracks. He is also credited with being one of the first to use an unwound third string to “bend” notes up a whole tone—an innovation (imparted to UK guitarist Joe Brown, who secured much session work as a result) that has since become an essential part of the standard rock guitar vocabulary. Artists such as Joan Jett and the Blackhearts, the Rolling Stones, Bruce Springsteen, UFO, Van Halen, Tom Petty, Rod Stewart, T. Rex, Cliff Richard, the Who, Stray Cats, the Beach Boys, the Beatles, Blue Cheer, Led Zeppelin, the White Stripes, the Sex Pistols, Sid Vicious, Rush, Simple Minds, George Thorogood, Guitar Wolf, Paul McCartney, Alan Jackson, Terry Manning, the Move, David Bowie, Jimi Hendrix, Johnny Hallyday and U2 have covered his songs.

It was because Paul McCartney knew the chords and words to “Twenty Flight Rock” that he became a member of the Beatles. John Lennon was so impressed that he invited McCartney to play with his band, the Quarrymen. Jimi Hendrix performed “Summertime Blues” early in his career, and Pete Townshend of the Who was heavily influenced by Cochran’s guitar style (“Summertime Blues” was a staple of live performances by the Who for most of their career, until the death of bassist and vocalist John Entwistle in 2002, and is featured on their album Live at Leeds). San Francisco Sound band Blue Cheer’s version of “Summertime Blues” was their only hit and signature song, and has been described as the first heavy metal song. Terry Manning recorded a live version of “Somethin’ Else” at a concert inside Elvis Presley’s first house in Memphis.

The glam rock artist Marc Bolan had his main Gibson Les Paul guitar refinished in a transparent orange to resemble the Gretsch 6120 played by Cochran, who was his music hero. He was also an influence on the guitar player Brian Setzer, of Stray Cats, who plays a 6120 almost like that of Cochran, whom he portrayed in the film La Bamba.

Never anywhere near as renowned or revered in the US as he was (and remains) in Jollye Olde—it was the same with nearly all of the great old rockabilly icons, excepting Elvis Presley, who ironically enough never performed overseas—Cochran’s continuing influence on rock & roll really can’t be overstated.

In fact, it was thanks to Eddie Cochran that I myself abandoned punk rock to dive into the rockabilly pool myself, a genre so incredibly deep as to be for all intents and purposes bottomless. At my cousin and BP’s drummer Mark’s place one hot summer afternoon, we were listening to his collection of Sid Vicious’s post-Pistols 45RPM releases, almost every one of which was an Eddie Cochran cover, none of which we’d ever heard the originals before.

We started looking at the labels and, seeing the songwriter credit to one “E. Cochran,” found our curiosity well and truly piqued—who WAS this mysterious E Cochran chap anyway, and how is it that Sid had come to cover so much of his stuff? Mark always having been the record-collector geek to end all record-collector geeks, he consulted his indie-label catalogs, looked up this E. Cochran dude, and placed a telephone order for several of the original 45s Sid had glommed onto.

When the vinyl arrived a cpl-three weeks later, we adjourned to Mark’s place again, put them on the turntable, and were forthwith blown right the fuck away. From that day forward, we were ex-punks and fledgling rockabilly greasers. So it was that eventually, from this joyous discovery, the Belmont Playboys were born.

As hinted at in the Wiki article, Gene Vincent was (re-)crippled in the same taxicab crash that sent Eddie Cochran to Rock And Roll Heaven and never really recovered from his injuries. Certainly, he was never the same afterwards, either in body or in spirit, enduring constant pain and walking with a pronounced limp for the rest of his days; the crash with Cochran exacerbated severe injuries to his legs sustained in a motorcycle accident in 1955.

Craddock (Vincent Eugene, a/k/a Gene Vincent—M) dropped out of school in 1952, at the age of seventeen, and enlisted in the United States Navy. As he was under the age of enlistment, his parents signed the forms allowing him to enter. He completed boot camp and joined the fleet as a crewman aboard the fleet oiler USS Chukawan, with a two-week training period in the repair ship USS Amphion, before returning to the Chukawan. He never saw combat but completed a Korean War deployment. He sailed home from Korean waters aboard the battleship USS Wisconsin but was not part of the ship’s company.

Craddock planned a career in the Navy and, in 1955, used his $612 re-enlistment bonus to buy a new Triumph motorcycle. On July 4, 1955, while he was in Norfolk, his left leg was shattered in an auto crash. He refused to allow the leg to be amputated, and the leg was saved, but the injury left him with a limp and pain. He wore a steel sheath as a leg brace for the rest of his life. Most accounts relate the accident as the fault of a drunk driver who struck him. Years later in some of his music biographies, there is no mention of an accident, but it was claimed that his injury was due to a wound incurred in combat in Korea. He spent time in the Portsmouth Naval Hospital and was medically discharged from the navy shortly thereafter.

Cochran ended up departing this vale of tears on April 17th, 1960, the day after the wreck—Easter Sunday, as it happens. As for Gene Vincent? Wellllll…

Moar coinkydink: the “clapper boy” at Vincent’s right shoulder above is an “early rockabilly pioneer” from High Point, NC, name of Paul Peek. Now, as fate would have it, the folks responsible for putting together a little annual whoopjamboreehoo called Bubbapalooza at the legendary Star Bar in ATL tracked Paul down to a semi-rural Holiday Inn not too far from the Alabama line, where Peek was working a steady solo guitar/singing gig in the hotel lounge—one of the most dreadful, depressing gigs there is, a test of endurance and sheer will that truly puts the “work” in the phrase “working musician.”

The Star Bar people implored Paul to show up at Star Bar for Bubba the next Saturday night, a suggestion Peek was dubious about, to say the very least. But throughout the intervening week the Star Bar folks kept after him: visiting the Holiday Inn to attend his nightly lounge ordeal; badgering him on the phone; plying him with endless rounds of beer and/or whiskey in hopes of persuading a drunken pledge of attendance out of him, etc. The Star Bar crew worked poor ol’ Paul as assiduously as an intractably smitten high-school senior does his virgin sophomore girlfriend on Prom night.

And lo and behold, on Saturday night who but Paul Peek should cross the Star Bar threshold and present himself at my usual haunt down at the end of the bar, just before the Playboys were to take the stage as the headline act. I was introduced to him and extended a warm invitation for him to join us onstage for a few Vincent tunes.

Paul Peek in the flesh cut a decidedly unimposing figure: mid-60s, probably; medium height and build; balding; modest and soft-spoken; painfully shy, peering awkwardly at me through Coke-bottle glasses. Whatever flash he may have had in his youth, there was nothing whatsoever of flash about the man standing beside me now. No garbardine, no suede creepers, no vintage 50s panel shirt or velvet smoking jacket. Just an average, quiet old guy who seemed to feel as if his mere presence here might be some kind of imposition.

I can’t recall whether Paul had brought a guitar of his own along or played one of mine—seems to me now he had his own battered acoustic box, but I could very easily be wrong. No matter. Assisted by the urging of the Star Bar staff, I finally coaxed him up with us early in the set. The place was elbow-to-elbow, I mean this house was packed. Paul grinned over at me, eyes wide behind those thick-ass goggles of his, as we launched into a Vincent chestnut—”Be Bop A Lula,” perhaps, I dunno.

As the band vamped the intro behind us, I waved Paul to the center-stage mic and introduced him to the appreciative audience. After having sworn up and down to me at the bar that “none of these young people will know who I am, they won’t care about seeing some old man up there,” the audience let rip with a thunderous ROAR on hearing his name that would’ve liquified the bowels of an entire pride of savage African lions, just from pure fright.

Paul ate it up, every bit of it; you could see the happy pride at this unexpected ovation written all over his beaming face. We finished the first song, then I asked him to sit in with us for a couple more numbers. During I guess the fourth song, Paul decided it was time to do a little showboating, dropping to one knee during my guitar solo. Thanks to his creaky old knees, two of us had to help him get back upright, whereupon the crowd roared its approval yet again.

Paul ended up playing half the damned set with us; barside with him after the show, he profusely thanked everyone within arm’s reach for his thrilling Bubbapalooza experience, signing autographs while he recounted amazing tales to me of life on the road backing the immortal Gene Vincent. That was the night I learned about Gene’s salty-rock-and-roll-dog motto from the man who’d lived it with him: “We blow into town. We drink all the whiskey. We screw all the women. We make a big racket. Then we leave. I mean, seriously, what’s not to like?”

I’ve never forgotten that glorious night, and I never will. I’m quite sure that Paul Peek never did either.

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The abyss peers back

Doctor Samizdat—a good, close friend of mine, actually, which we won’t go into right now, you’ll just have to trust me on that; The Doc is part of a solid ReichWingNaziHitlerDeathBeast blogger & IRL collective which also includes my brother-from-another-mother BCE, among several others—finally carves some time out of his insanely busy work schedule to do a new post over at his Substack hang.

The Precipice
Peering into oblivion, the world on tenterhooks…..

These are strange times indeed. I told another blogger today that I haven’t written for months because, simply, I’ve had no time. That’s not exactly true. I haven’t MADE time. I’ve always held that there are folks a good deal smarter, better-connected and more prescient than me who’ve covered the same ground and that my rabble would be just more white noise.

Maybe so, maybe not. Between turbo cancers (this is a real thing, folks, it just isn’t recognized because of widespread distribution and plausible deniability), chronic fatigue and our inexorably slowly collapsing healthcare system, it’s been difficult to muster the motivation to write. I ask every new cancer patient their Vax status. The responses are predictable; their reactions are gut-wrenching. One recently asked me “did I kill myself?”. I don’t know, maybe. The saga of Kate Middleton comes to mind. Those Godforsaken royals can’t seem to love and cherish a young matriarch-to-be, can they?

The noticing is increasing, the awakening beginning to surge. Trust in government is at an all-time low, as they try to convince Americans the economy is healthy. An increasingly large percentage sees through the bullshit, and those in charge of things simply ignore it. Terrorism strikes Mother Russia, with fingerprints of CIA/MI6 everywhere, EU troops on the ground in Ukraine….not mercenaries, formal deployments. There must be some Evil shit to cover up because to all rational observers that ship has sailed; game over, score one for the Russians.

I always wondered why, after the Berlin Wall fell, we did not reach out and embrace Russia. Both largely white and Christian, yet diverse. I suppose it made too much sense. We had to have an enemy for the neocons, I suppose. So much had already been invested in China (after traitor Nixon opened them up) I believe those in charge felt that pivot was a non-starter. I’ve felt the same way about the Cuba embargo; let our culture infiltrate them. Instead, it appears as if their culture has infiltrated ours, Haitians to follow.

Insightful, perspicacious, well-written: it’s another one you’ll definitely want to read all of, even though it’s altogether too short to suit me.

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Private Parker’s Story

About his service in the Texas Militia, ten years after the collapse.

[The DemonRats are importing a million-man no-shit replacement invasion genocide army. I have no doubt something like the following fiction is going to be the American reality, sooner rather than later.]

That’s the intro to a piece of short fiction that reads more like prophecy, from the esteemed and estimable Matt Bracken. Go ye and read of it, for It. Is. Good.

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NBC hires milquetoast Vichy GOPe commentator, entire rest of roster has hissy fit

Andrew Stiles asks a question that answers itself.

What in the Actual F— Is Wrong With These People? (NBC News Edition)

Easy-peasy, Andrew: they’re Leftists, therefore completely deranged. Any further questions?

We regret to inform you that America’s journalists are in the midst of another temper tantrum. This one is in response to NBC News’s decision to hire former RNC chairwoman Ronna McDaniel as a paid contributor. The network’s own employees are in open revolt, incensed at the prospect of having to share screen time with a Republican who hasn’t completely disavowed Donald Trump.

NBC chief political analyst Chuck Todd, a former Democratic campaign aide, slammed NBC executives for hiring someone with “credibility issues” and a history of “gaslighting.” Democratic scion Mika Brzezinski urged the network to “reconsider its decision.” Host Kristen Welker issued a trigger warning over the weekend before airing her interview with McDaniel on Meet the Press. Nicolle Wallace read a passage from a book about tyranny and bemoaned the degradation of “our sacred airwaves.”

It wouldn’t be the first time so-called mainstream journalists have revealed themselves to be hopelessly out of touch with the average Americans they claim to care about. The partisan tantrum over McDaniel’s hiring suggests they are incapable of self-awareness.

Perhaps we can look forward to further discussion of this “scandal” on Inside with Jen Psaki, the MSNBC weekend show hosted by the former press secretary to Barack Obama and Joe Biden. Psaki could invite MSNBC contributor Robert Gibbs, another Obama press secretary, to share his thoughts on the matter. In the following segment, MSNBC contributor Ben Rhodes, the former Obama national security adviser who bragged about manipulating “clueless” reporters, could explain why McDaniel’s hiring is good for Iran.

Better yet, MSNBC host Joy Reid could deliver an unhinged monologue denouncing the network for endorsing “white supremacy.” Reid was promoted in 2020 to fill the time slot vacated by Chris Matthews, the former Democratic aide who argued it was racist to refer to Barack Obama as “Obama.” Matthews resigned abruptly after being accused of sexual harassment, whereas Reid did not resign after online sleuths uncovered bigoted posts on her old blog. She blamed it on hackers. (It wasn’t hackers.) She got promoted anyway.

Reid could continue the conversation with MSNBC political analyst Al Sharpton, the formerly obese racial agitator who instigated deadly anti-Semitic riots in New York City during the 1990s. Sharpton continues to use his platform on MSNBC to sow racial division. For example, he argued that criticizing Harvard president Claudine Gay, who resigned in disgrace earlier this year amid a flurry of scandals involving serial plagiarism and anti-Semitism on campus, was “an attack on every black woman in this country.”

This is the same network that hired Martin Bashir, who compared criticizing the IRS to using the n-word and ultimately resigned after inviting his viewers to defecate in Sarah Palin’s mouth. This is the network that employed Melissa Harris-Perry, best known for making fun of Mitt Romney’s adopted black grandchild, and Ed Schultz, best known for calling Laura Ingraham a “right-wing slut,” and Brian Williams, best known for lying about coming under fire in Iraq, and Touré Neblett, a 9/11 truther accused of sexual harassment who suggested Holocaust survivors benefited from “the power of whiteness.” The less said about former MSNBC host Keith Olbermann the better.

Said a mouthful there, buddy. Read on for more risible nonsense; Stiles’s closing ‘graph is a real day-maker, if you ask me.

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UNBELIEVABLE

I haven’t words.

Ship sent ‘mayday’ warning before Baltimore bridge disaster as officials scrambled to halt traffic: ‘Saved lots of lives’
The container ship that smashed into the Francis Scott Key Bridge in Baltimore sent a “mayday” warning that it had lost power before the disaster, officials said Tuesday.

Quick-thinking authorities at the bridge were able to stop cars from crossing the 1.6-mile span, an act that “saved lots of lives,” Maryland Gov. Wes Moore said.

“The ship issued a mayday loss of power. The workers on the bridge halted traffic right before impact. They saved lots of lives,” Moore said at a press conference.

However, six people still remain missing after multiple vehicles plunged into the chilly waters of the Patapsco River as the bridge crumbled, its steel arches and roadway tumbling down.

Horrifying footage shows the bridge collapsing after the Dali, a Singapore-flagged vessel heading to Sri Lanka, crashed into the central part of the structure around 1:40 a.m. shortly after it left the Port of Baltimore.

The ship also caught fire, sending thick, black smoke billowing across the busy harbor.

There’s video, and it’s…unbelievable.


The vid at the NYPost website is bigger,  but offers no option to embed it here, so I went with the above one. I’ve driven/ridden across that very bridge myself only about, oh, eighty-bazillion times. Apparently, there was a construction crew on the bridge doing routine maintenance work at the time, all of whom are now presumably in the water.

I repeat: unbelievable. Even seeing the video footage, it’s tough to wrap the mind around this one. No real indication of terrorism so far, it appears to be just one of those freak accidents that occur once in a blue moon. But these days, who the fuck even knows anymore.

Update! Now, THIS I have no trouble believing at all.

I mighta known, eh?

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Too old to rock and roll

Bruce/Ellen/Tilda, we hardly knew ye.

Bruce Springsteen returns to stage looking unrecognizable — and a little bit like Tilda Swinton
“Bruceeeeee!” — or Ellen DeGeneres?

Bruce Springsteen showed up to his first show in months looking unrecognizable — and a little bit like Tilda Swinton.

Dressed in a half-buttoned red flannel and dark jeans, the “Born to Run” musician, 74, returned to touring in Phoenix, Ariz., on Tuesday, after postponing shows due to his peptic ulcer disease.

Springsteen’s once-toned and tanned upper body appeared paler than usual, and he rocked stark white hair and a rather pallid complexion.

The pics are nothing short of chilling. In fact, in this one, he looks more than just a little bit like a certain ***”pRetend pResident”*** pinhead I could name, but won’t right now.

What can one say, really, but…YIKES!!!

Springsteen’s worldwide tour has been fraught with various medical complications since it was announced in May 2022.

In March, while touring in Albany, the New Jersey native was forced to postpone two of his shows after releasing a statement that said that the cancellation had been caused “due to illness.”

The following month, both Springsteen and his wife, Patti Scialfa — who was noticeably absent from Tuesday’s show — contracted COVID-19 and were forced to put a pause on performances.

Ferchrissakes, put a sock in it and go the fuck home, old man. I’m sure the servants at your palatial Nu Joisey mansion will have a nice pudding cup, a glass of warm milk, and a fresh Depends “adult undergarment” waiting for ya.

5

No good Whites

Why they hate us. No, really. This is not a joke. At least, I don’t think it is. And if you do, and you laugh at it, then you’re a racist bigoted homophobic Domestic Terrorist©, and the FBI/Stasi tactical squad will doubtless be executing a Dynamic Entry at your house in 4…3…2…

Remember, all the above traits, habits, and preferences are considered to be very, very bad things by the demented, depraved Goosesteppin’ Left.

2

Is Hillary Clinton now running Boeing or something?

Well. Well, well, well, well, well, well, well, well, WELL.

Another day, another suspicious ‘suicide’
With each high-profile “suicide” that looks like anything but, I get these suspicions (apologies to Eddie Rabbit). It’s always the same basic story: obvious murder motive; hard-to-believe coincidences; a revisionist coroner who says it was suicide despite evidence to the contrary; the police who say they will leave no stone unturned but after the attention dies down say it was indeed a suicide; relatives and friends say the deceased had a zest for life and told them shortly before his untimely demise that if anything happens to him, it was not suicide.

The latest is Boeing whistleblower John Barnett, who, seven years after retiring from Boeing, where he had worked for 32 years as a quality control manager, was in the middle of giving a deposition in a retaliation lawsuit exposing serious safety problems with the 787 Dreamliner. From Newsmax:

“We understand the global attention this case has garnered, and it is our priority to ensure that the investigation is not influenced by speculation but is led by facts and evidence,” police said in a statement.

A coroner’s report said Barnett, 62, died from a “self-inflicted” wound, though a close family friend of Barnett’s told WCIV-TV, “I know he did not commit suicide.”

“He wasn’t concerned about safety because I asked him,” the friend said. “I said, ‘Aren’t you scared?’ And he said, ‘No, I ain’t scared, but if anything happens to me, it’s not suicide.’”

The person added: “I know that he did not commit suicide. There’s no way. He loved life too much. He loved his family too much. He loved his brothers too much to put them through what they’re going through right now.

Follows, a non-comprehensive list of super-hinky supposed self-offings.

Does any sentient human being really believe that Jeffrey Epstein, who could have brought down not only many rich and famous people, but also many important politicians, committed suicide shortly after saying he wouldn’t; when the night he died, the prison guards were AWOL and the cameras aimed at his cell door just happened not to work; the damage to his neck was not compatible with self-hanging, etc.? What about Seth Rich, the one who likely released the DNC emails, who had a wallet full of cash on him despite his death allegedly being a robbery (later called “botched”); the two mysterious figures caught on video who killed him being given about as much attention by the authorities as the one who planted the fake pipe bombs around the Capitol; the FBI denied having files on him but then later had to admit it did even at the time it said it didn’t (i.e., lied); etc.? What about Mark Middleton, affiliated with both the Clintons and Epstein, who committed double-suicide: a gun blast through his chest while hanging from a tree by his neck with an electric cord around it, with no gun found in proximity to the body? In the above link you can read the deputy sheriff’s report, which doesn’t address the obvious problems. If you question even this suicide, you’re a conspiracy theorist.

There are many more “suicides” where these came from.

Because of COURSE there are.

2

Moar “squatters rights”

Just another D卐M☭CRAT pogrom against the right to own property, that’s all it is or ever was.

The property takeovers are all over the country in the nation’s woke cities. The stories are legion.

“The homeowner wouldn’t talk with us on camera for fear of retaliation from those living on the property. When he asked them to leave they beat him up sending him to the hospital,” a Portland, Ore., TV reporter explained in 2022 after squatters took over a man’s home while he was away. “He hasn’t been back since but still pays $1,500 a month for the mortgage.”

A Portland man complained that he left town to take care of his ailing mother only to discover someone had squatted in his apartment and turned it into a drug den.

A New York woman attempted to get the squatters out of her childhood home, but she was arrested for unlawful eviction because in that state squatters seem to have more rights than she does. Now she believes the Queens authorities will not act before 30 days is up and that means the squatters will be considered official tenants. The frightened neighbors say they believe the squatters started renovating the home. The owner believes the squatters will succeed in “stealing my home.”

In Atlanta, a man trying to build affordable housing on a nine-acre lot has 30 squatters on his property. He allowed four people to live on it and take care of it while he was away, but when he came back from California, he found dozens of squatters on his property, many of them Antifa holdovers from the “Stop Cop City” protests. Now, the homeowner can’t evict them because COVID-era moratorium on evictions is still in effect.

A Seattle area man is attempting to get rid of a man known as a “serial squatter” out of his $2 million property and is attempting to shame him out. He hopes the tactic works before he has to spend more time and thousands more dollars on court costs and lawyers. The squatter owes him tens of thousands of dollars in back rent.

You’ve undoubtedly seen this guy, one of Joe Biden’s invading army of illegal aliens, who’s now encouraging squatting by telling la gente to invade houses and take them over. “We can invade a house in the U.S. What do you think of this new law?”

When did all of this start?

The left has been mining this “occupy” vein for quite some time. The idea behind it is that those mean old white colonists took other peoples’ property and exploited it, so now a new set of white colonists are taking over people’s private property because they’re more noble. The upshot is that they envy someone else’s property but are too lazy to work and buy it for themselves, so they just take it. This is supposedly striking a blow against gentrification. Others call it stealing.

The proof of concept is found in Occupy and “Occupation Zone” extortion scams.

Occupy, the left’s recruitment program for future Antifa/anarchist actions, popularized the takeover of other people’s property.

Occupy Wall Street in 2011 drew leftist activists from all over the globe to pitch tents and learn at the feet of Lisa Fithian how to organize, monkey wrench, destroy, and frame a narrative. Not to be outdone, Portland activists mirrored the movement, took over two downtown Portland parks, and presided over a disgusting campsite filled with overflowing toilets, drug dealers, anti-Semitic activists, and local union paymasters “supporting” the event. The city and the mayor allowed them to take over the parks, and at least one city council member joined them in protest marches. Got to stick it to the 1%, you know.

From this Portland organization came a subgroup whose objective was to “occupy” peoples’ homes that they felt were ripe for the taking.

Eventually, they began taking over parts of the city and calling them occupation zones.

Proving yet again something I’ve contended for many, many years: Give Leftists an inch, and they’ll eventually take everything you have (now the latest addition to Mike’s Iron Laws). In the above context, quite literally so. Leftism isn’t merely a competing ideology or a legitimate system of political beliefs and values in opposition to conservatism. It is actually a cancer on the body politic, always 100 percent fatal to any healthy polity, thus must be not “tolerated” or “defeated” but utterly destroyed.

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