So everybody thinks Trump’s Tweets are worse than Hillary’s crimes and treason. I have some ideas about this.
1. Get the fuck off Twitter.
2. Get the fuck off Twitter.
3. Get the fuck off Twitter.
Twitter is porn for the egotistical. It’s a surprise for the egotistical that Twitter is calling their souls in?
Have to admit something here. Don’t care what Trump says on Twitter. I don’t want him as a dinner guest. I want him as an antidote to Hillary. That’s it.
It’s not all about dogs. Tigger was a feral before I knew what a feral was. He lived outside. He was lithe, dangerous, a tabbie with an attitude. He let me hold him sometimes. Just for a second. I loved his little ass.
He used to hang out with Sebastian in the lower yard. They actually sat in chairs at a table. You know. Just hanging out. Sebastian wore a beret, I recall. He was obviously French. You could almost make,out his little absinthe cup.
They didn’t talk much. From the upper yard you had to read their lips. “Salut guy. ça va?” “Plus ça change, plus c’est la même chose.”
Then the roaming dogs of Greenwich found Sebastian and killed him to death. The angry old lady next door made me come scrape him off her garage floor. So. Tigger was alone after that. He said, you didn’t help Sebastian. I don’t like people anymore.
Couldn’t blame him. The death of Sebastian was a blow to my heart. I did a thing I’ve done for no dog. Bought a granite tombstone. You didn’t have to scrape him off a cement garage floor.
Anyway. Tigger still wouldn’t come in the house. He was out there, roaming. He could kill anything. He could climb anything, find anything, do anything. He was Tigger. Then he met his match.
I remember seeing the actual crime. He climbed ten feet into a cedar tree in order to attack bird eggs. Didn’t eat them. Just pawed them.
Wrong move times ten. The mother was a mockingbird.
Do you know anything about mockingbirds? The smartest birds in the world, with the possible exception of ravens and crows. Definitely smarter than cats.
So the ultimate predator suddenly became the ultimate victim.
Here’s the picture. The mockingbird mother took up a spot midway on the telephone wire — like a middle linebacker calling the defense — in front of the house where Tigger lived and screamed at him endlessly. When he tried to duck away she flew at him in full blitz mode. He ran, he hid, he skulked. YOU DO NOT ASSAULT MOCKINGBIRD BABIES.
Why Tigger finally abandoned the feral thing and came inside the house.
There was Isis. And then there was Iris. Who knew they would be the same?
But they are the same. Two spectacularly athletic cats who just spazz out from time to time. Friendly, wild, subject to the crazies morning and night.
Same damn girl. Gorgeous, hilarious, awful, and affectionate.
I had a final paragraph. Didn’t take. For supernatural reasons no doubt. So I’ll turn it over to my Scully wife, who never believes in anything paranormal. “What say you, Scully? Of Isis and Iris?”
“Okay Mulder. It’s Izzie come back, goddammit. There. I said it.”
Trolls are neither good nor bad. They patrol the frontier. They’re like gunfighters. They win and they lose.
Pretty easy, really.
1. Does the troll have a point? I mean, does he make you feel nervous, uncertain, on the defensive? Find your cojones. Make your point. Fight. You’re the home team, aren’t you?
2. Is the troll really just an idiot? Many are. Some aren’t. Ask yourself, what are your criteria? Then make a plan and execute it. Simple shit, eh?
3. Are you being stomped on by a higher intelligence who already knows you flunked shop and still can’t make change without using your fingers? Then lose gracefully and try to make friends.
4. Is the troll every dirty thing you’ve ever said behind everyone else’s back, from fifth grade on? You know. Karma catching up with you. Reflect. And act accordingly.
5. Ask yourself, just before you launch attacks that the other guy is ad-hominem, if you have ever been ad hominem yourself. You know. Condemning strangers with four letter words, ridiculing your imaginary indictments of their sexuality, and generally acting like a piece of used toilet paper pressed against the face of the Internet. Hey! Learn how to act like a gentleman. Or lady. As the case may be. A flurry of obscenities tells the whole world you lost.
I blogged for ten years with only one troll I had to ban. Because he just took up too much space, sucked the air out of other commenters’ room to opine freely.
Never met a troll I couldn’t put down like a rabid dog.
Ask yourself. What are your skills? How fast are you on the draw?
Humanitarian extraordinaire Ruth Bader Ginsburg. Thing is, at the end of the day, you usually get the face you deserve. Too bad for her.
LifeNews.com published an article this week that began this way:
“U.S. Supreme Court Justice Ruth Bader Ginsburg employed an old, often debunked pro-abortion argument in her decision today to overturn a Texas abortion law credited with saving tens of thousands of babies’ lives.
“Ginsburg was one of the five liberal justices to overturn the law in a devastating abortion ruling Monday. The ruling, Whole Woman’s Health v. Hellerstedt, overturned a Texas law requiring that abortion clinics meet common-sense health and safety standards and that abortionists have hospital admitting privileges in cases of patient emergencies.
“Pro-lifers believe the Supreme Court ruling will endanger women and allow back alley abortionists like Kermit Gosenell to practice on main street. Gosnell is a jailed Pennsylvania abortion practitioner who notoriously killed and injured women and newborn babies at his shoddy Philadelphia abortion center.
“In her opinion, however, Ginsburg claimed that abortion clinic regulations were not necessary, in part, because abortion is safer than childbirth, according to the Washington Post.
“Ginsburg wrote: “Many medical procedures, including childbirth, are far more dangerous to patients, yet are not subject to ambulatory surgical-center or hospital admitting-privileges requirements.”
“The newspaper gave credence to Ginsburg’s argument by citing a study in the journal Obstetrics & Gynecology, which estimated that the risk of a woman dying after childbirth was 10 times greater than after an abortion.
“This common pro-abortion talking point has been debunked numerous times. First and foremost, abortion never is safer for the unborn child. An abortion almost always destroys an unborn human being’s life.
“It is not accurate to say that abortion is safer for the woman, either. At the very least, researchers point out that the U.S. does not receive enough data from abortion facilities to make that conclusion. Several European studies have refuted the claim even further, concluding that more women die after abortions than childbirth.”
She cares. Of course she does. Just a coincidence that she is afflicted with that nasty predatory face, which looks like it doesn’t care about anyone any more than a Skeksis cares about the lowly race of humans.
What’s the point of being 800 years old if you don’t get to piss down the throats of the conquered? They don’t deserve to breathe the same air I breathe. Why should I care about their entrails spread across fly infested ghetto clinics full of schwartzes?
How many of these beautiful unsung voices have you killed with your progressive compassion, thou Harpy/Skeksi Bader Ginsburg? Bitter old woman, careening toward damnation.
The Eiffel Tower is a symbol of France and it is all, completely, about sex. Time they remembered it. I knew it, saw it, when I was just ten. Everybody on every street, was panting for it 100 percent of the time. I fell in love on the Riviera after one night of a torch singer who did a pretty good impersonation of Piaf. The usual renderings are almost always phallic. I mean, you’ve seen this pic or one exactly like it hundreds of times.
The Paris, France, of your imaginings.
They try to make it look like maleness incarnate. But it isn’t. As you learn when you actually go there. It’s a huge structure standing on spread legs.
Thar she blows. The Eiffel Tower at ground level. Come on in.
Entrez, entrez, monsieur. Regardez le ciel.
Zut alors!
It’s the biggest vagina in the world.
Why France is France. The all-in-one architectural incarnation of male and female carnality in history. You know. The ultimate F-Word.
Limbaugh’s been talking about all of it in his usual clever but heavy way. Nobody but me could see he was not saying anything really, just waiting for the rhythm to kick in.
Tap dancing his way to the convention. But Limbaugh moves well for a big guy, no?
https://m.youtube.com/watch?v=9G4jnaznUoQ
We can make it all the way to the convention in our dance shoes. And we don’t even have to listen.
Images too. They’re a pain, these FB harpies. You know who they are. The “Hillary will win” and “I am woman” crowd. Plus the fat lumbering emasculated males out there. But you already know how to find their pic.
You know. Somebody says something so ridiculous or stupid or unworthy of response that words fail you. You want to make a comment but you’re smart enough to know that this whole emoji thing is like a bunch of rubber ducks tossed into a bathtub with infants who have never even seen a duck. What’s needed is something visual, arresting, and final. Here are your best bets.
https://m.youtube.com/watch?v=k-oqgIZGhbU
And a bonus about me. I keep trying to leave this arena to publish my books, but…
I think you’ll find these are great time saving devices and collectively an arsenal against all kinds of FB idiocy. Comments you don’t need to make or explain or worry about PC issues.
Because I’m only here to help.
Now if you want to jump in on the question of dismissive images, we’re happy to entertain your nominations. No foul language though. We’re really really tired of that. Let the image speak for itself, like the example up top. Other vidclips are also welcome with the same stricture. Don’t want to hear any of George Carlin’s dirty words. Got it?
Saw this yesterday and went WTF? Here’s a lefty who at every turn wants more government control of everybody but his sacred self and he fancies himself as an anarchic outlaw. WTF.
But it makes sense when you think about it. The dirty secret of quasi libertarian lefties is that they’re as totalitarian at base as the Stalinists. They want to tell the rest of us what to do, what to think, how to behave in order to let them do whatever the f**k THEY want to do, because they’re just better, smarter, and born to be in charge. The mask is appropriate too. Don’t ever show your real face to the proles. They wouldn’t like you.
I have an easy rebuttal for Max’s pronouncements and profile pic. Veteran or not, he’s a control freak jerk. Here’s what a real libertarian looks like.
I WILL go all the way…
…to HERE, if necessary.
Because no matter how much I say I don’t care, I care all the way. And I’m still standing here, Humongous. Without any mask.
Well, we had a lot of white privilech in our part of town, Edna. Something you other worldser’s probly wouldn’t a appresiated. Like we had this FM raddio, which got the Sinatra twice a week. Cool, man, cool
We’re talking one huge high output speaker here. Sinatra sound as close as the next county.
And we had them Readers Digests two.
I learned everything about my Most Unforgettable Character and all the ways you can get cancer and die in agony.
But that warn’t all.
Because my starched grandfather was only eleven when this was published.
1896. First bare breasts published in a magazine.
After that we had every issue of every year of the National Geographic on file and I enjoyed them all as much as my third reading of Kidnapped and my second reading of Black Beauty. We never talked about it. The 50 years worth of Nat Geo were neatly filed on a shelf in the attic, right next to my grandma’s box of String Too Short To Use. Why I’m as literate as I am today.
The gaps are mostly in New Guinea. You know. Being honest.
I’m a eddicated guy now, Edna.
For many millions of us, the first sugar was the dream of Brown Sugar. Hallelujah.
The Reagan supporter of 40 years ago resented my listing of Hillary’s lifelong crimes. Resulting in an FU and branding me an “Ugly Fuck” before she ran away with all her relevant comments, leaving my tamer responses orphaned. Proof that the millennial generation of the ignorant and thoughtless began long before the millennials. About which I am abundantly on record.
Tell you what we need from you, honey. The Sound of Silence.
On a comment thread miles away from here I had to bop a feminist who was defending the indefensible Jennifer Rubin. She said my comment was stupid. All she said. So I laid Ellen Foley’s Cover of Mick Jagger’s Stupid Girl on her. More combined talent there than she’ll ever experience in a lifetime.
Thing is. Ellen Foley was a great singer. And she still didn’t make it. Except that I know she was great, and so should everyone else. Here’s a heart stopping ballad of hers I sometimes wake up in the night remembering. Funny how life, real life as opposed to fantasy feminist life, actually works.
Can you hear the scratches? We had records in those days. So I still wake up at 3:38 in the morning hearing this song. So many times I want to let go. And she won’t let me.
When it comes to stupid and futile gestures, there’s no substitute for the half of the English island with no human beings in it.
Without Scotland, England looks like a dog without a head. Pretty much the truth of it.
The Romans learned the hard way. The English learned the hard way. Then they invented golf, capitalism, the worst cuisine on earth, the steam engine, women who talk like something’s stuck in their throat, and men with no underwear. The world has never been the same. All part of the same stupid, futile gesture which had no other purpose than giving the middle finger to the rest of the world.
World, you’re about to get the bird again. Hallelujah.
https://m.youtube.com/watch?v=-sUXMzkh-jI
The new plan. Vote Scotland out of the U.K. Join the EU. And then the surprise military Conquest of Brussels.
The Ladies from Hell. They’ll be bringing their own Scottish hell to the bureaucratic inferno of Belgium. God save them. If He can.
Thar she blows. The Eiffel Tower at ground level. Come on in.
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