Monthly Archives: September 2019

Climate Hoax Stepford Shill Greta Thunberg Charms: “How dare you! You have stolen my dreams and my childhood with your empty words.”

“How dare you!” The Greta Hall of Fame just inducted its newest and latest member. Move over Mses. Garbo, Van Susteren and Waitz (all right, Grete, close enough). Meet America’s and the world’s cosmic climate sweetheart, the incomprehensibly frightening Greta Thunberg, the 16 year-old, pigtailed and braided latter-day atavistic incarnation of Frau Blücher. She actually makes David Hogg look like George Gobel. If you missed her staged, canned, over-rehearsed, eating-the-scenery over-the-top schlock screech speech at yesterday’s UN climate whatever, you missed one for the ages. Spooky. Seriously. Histrionics for the books. Classic. Sad. Pathetic.
 
Like watching accident dashcam videos. Ah, our Miss Greta. She stole the show, perhaps as the beneficiary of the most fleeting of moments of ignominy couched as righteous indignation and horror. With screams from the crowd of “Where are her parents?” this vacant-eyed Climategate human shield central casting global warming clone and Soros-sponsored crisis actress captured the imagination of many the Kubrick fan as we thought how she’d be perfect perhaps singlehandedly supplanting the twins in The Shining all by her lonesome. Look, I’m no shrink but I know troubled when I see it. After all, I’ve been to talk radio conventions.
 
Somebody help this girl! There’s not a human being with a soul, sentience and a pair of working neurons who watched her and didn’t wax aghast over how this kid was paraded up to the front of the room where she took it from the top and read her carefully prepared jeremiad, her plaint, her indictment against the world. Trembling, lachrymating, spitting each element of the gravamen, the bill of particulars of the bereft. Triggered. Move over SJW fave Jessica Starr, you’ve been outgunned and outmatched. It’s horrifying no matter how many times I see it. And yet I admittedly find myself watching it and her repeatedly even though it’s irritating. Troubling. But, dammit! so entertaining. And addictive. What is it about this moment that is so compelling? It’s like watching airline meltdowns where emotionally frayed travelers are dragged off flights with passengers applauding their ouster. It’s wrong . . . but so fascinating. Who ever agreed for her to appear? Didn’t they have any focus group review her dress, affect, mannerisms, style? What bonehead thought she was ready for prime time?
 
Greta Thunberg is a shill and will be forgotten by Friday. She’s being used. And you know what happens to anyone used by Dem prog libs and then what happens when they’re used up? When they’ve served their purpose. Remember Cindy Sheehan, the Khans, Omarosa, Avenatti, Dusty Samples (Stormy Daniels to you), Christine Blasey Ford? Again, once spent, POOF! They disappear. See ya. On the ash heap of history. Here’s a copy of the home game. Don’t let the door hit you.
 
“The eyes of all future generations are upon you and if you choose to fail us, I say we will never forgive you.” This used and rehearsed, this prop, this poor Stepford animatronic. Like a rescued cult member staring before the cameras, eyes fixed, affect flat. Timed, rehearsed, blocked, programmed from childhood. This was her moment. Ready for her closeup, Mr. DeMille. One of the most blatant and horrid examples of child abuse seen in modern times. But, remember, the world’s children are expendable. Fodder, merchandise, easily trafficked and merchandised. This child (chronological age is irrelevant) was ready for her Malthus moment. To shudder and shake and cry and carp about how the world would implode, explode and vanish but she never said exactly what needed to be done to fix it. Not one plan, program, idea, vision, platform. Reminds me of the Democratic vision . . . wanting.
 
“How dare you! You have stolen my dreams and my childhood with your empty words.” I heard that very phrase repeatedly howled from Hillary supporters the night she skipped on Javits and ordered Creepy JoPo give the sayonara speech. But I digress.
 
“You say you hear us and that you understand the urgency, but no matter how sad and angry I am I do not want to believe that because if you really understood the situation and still kept on failing to act, then you would be evil, and that I refuse to believe.” Wow. I screamed the same thing when they canceled The Ropers. I’m with ya, kid. Been there. But, at the risk of sounding redundant, when we yelled and protested even at your tender age we had a suggestion. You know, end the war by leaving the war. How exactly do we fix change as in climate? Notice how they’ve lost the notion of global warming. That baby was going nowhere; perhaps someone researched Hypsithermals and Holocene maxima.
 
“You are failing us but young people are starting to understand your betrayal.” Counterfeit. Fugazy. Inauthentic. Unauthentic. Not real. Staged. A poseur. Some climate parvenu. A weather snake oil dilettante. An exceedingly scary and shockingly vacuous young lady, put up and propped up by climate hucksters pushing and pulling for the ultimate brass ring, the big enchilada — carbon taxing. That’s what everything’s about. It’s about cap and trade, track and tax, carbon exchanges and carbon taxing. The illusive and mythical and magical and phantasmagoric carbon footprint. It’s a part of our world now. Antifa thugs, global protesters leaving parade routes with garbage strewn. Incomprehensible logolalic platitudes. Alas.
 
“It doesn’t matter what is true, it only matters what people believe is true.” Thus spake Paul Watson of Greenpeace fame and how true it is today. But as for our Greta, we’ll never forget her moment. Forever forged and emblazoned on our collective conscious. Poor Kate McKinnon. She must be watching and thinking “I could play Greta perfectly!” But that’s a no-no. She’d lose your Liberoid membership card and that would be the end.
 
Onward, patriots!

The NYT Signed Signed Its Suicide Note Through Its Latest Kavanaugh Debacle

Free speech is the cornerstone of civilization.I’m as ardent as anyone can be in preserving and maintaining an absolutely unfettered freedom of the press, expression and thought. Free from government licensure, regulation, restriction and the prohibition and proscription in its exercise. The First Amendment stands for such; why do you think it’s the first? And with the Internet and social media under attack from within, primarily internecine platform censor grabs, I’m even more acutely aware of the necessity of unlimited speech and expression and thought. I want to hear and read and see everything that I care to and look away or turn off that which I’m not interested in experiencing. That simple. But it’s my choice.

This topic means a lot to me professionally.I remember being in the front lines of terrestrial talk radio when it meant something and when it was edgy and dangerous and relevant. Yes, I was there. Front and center when talk was illustrious and luxurious and fin and just great. When a nascent Rush Limbaugh could be Rush Limbaugh. When he and it mattered. And what fueled such was freedom to speak and freedom to offend. I remember when we were faced with the horrors of a revamped Fairness Doctrine which was anything but fair. Why? To counter Rush and his spate of Rush wannabes that he inspired and hatched. Everything was conservative talk, so much so it made me sick. But it was fresh and fun. Liberal and progressive talk was left to the mealy-mouthed dorks and drops of NPR, who are still there by the by. But the blowback was a sign we were important and that it mattered. Remember, you only take flak when you’re over the target. I remember when there was something called shock jocks, when there was actually something shocking about what they said and not rekindled and warmed-over drivel and drool from coprolalic children spewing and spitting bile and filth. They actually shocked. Today, well, it’s a bunch of programming retreads and hangers-on who still think it’s 1983. Alas, but I digress. Ahem.

Dead serious here, Sparky!This is not just no a series of shite observations here, this is fact. And reality. I mean this. Free speech cannot be abridged but with free speech comes responsibility and liability. And there’s plenty of the latter to apportion to the humanoid pustules of the NYT. So it’s with great sadness that I hereby recommend that the New York Times be ordered shuttered, shut down, shut up, padlocked and condemned by government fiat, imprimatur, order and action once and for all.

I’M KIDDING! (For the most part.)

Journalistic malpractice.But what these dastards and bastards have done to Justice Kavanaugh is simply without peer, shame and incomprehensibly unconscionable. How the once mighty Gray Lady fell and stooped to this I’ll never know. Perhaps the writing was on the wall when they hired that ferret Dean Baquet, who if I don’t know better was sent in clandestinely to destroy the paper by abandoning the rudiments and undergirding of plain old journalism. That’s right, journalism! Look, have whatever opinion you want. No sweat. Wax socialistic, anachronistic, solipsist, Zoroastrian, Communist, proto-fascist, neoliberal . . . it doesn’t matter. That’s your right. That’s called an editorial. Have at it. Knock your socks off. But when you report it as news — incontrovertible, verified, actual, true and verified news — that’s something quite different. My fellow patriot, what we’re seeing here with the treatment leveled against Kavanaugh is mind-boggling. Even to me. Let me provide the following gravamen, if I may.

The rendition will slay you. Now the story goes something like this. But first, let’s pick up from the Times’s retraction or explanation or clarification or whatever the hell you want to call this. My guess, preemptive girding in preparation of certain litigation from Justice Kavanaugh.

Editors’ Note:Sept. 15, 2019

An earlier version of this article, which was adapted from a forthcoming book, did not include one element of the book’s account regarding an assertion by a Yale classmate that friends of Brett Kavanaugh pushed his penis into the hand of a female studentat a drunken dorm party. The book reports that the female student declined to be interviewed and friends say that she does not recall the incident. That information has been added to the article.”[ES]

WARNING: The following is NSFW.Let me warn you. This is not for the mild-mannered or faint of heart. I must address penis protocol and the facts of Kavanaugh’s latest imaginary indiscretion from the past that no one can remember but only thinks they heard someone mention that they heard someone remember they heard. This involves frank discussion. Or something. (And yes, I see the frank pun that’s beckoning.)

 The facts, ma’am. Just the facts. Please, and let me again apologize, am I to believe that BK was standing about a college party, sufficiently gooned and waxed out of his gourd, whilst his schmeckle was airing out and along came friends (plural) who took control of said schwantz via manucaption of some sort and pushed said appendage into the hand of an unsuspecting coed party attendee who happened to be standing about? Now please, go through this scenario in your mind. I dare you to try and reenact it. Does this even make sense to you? Is this even remotely possible? Forget the journalistic horrors evinced by the NYT, how am I supposed to believe this even happened? Oh, wait. I forgot. It’s the Times.

Let me see if I’ve got this straight.Don’t you think whilst at the party even a tipsy Kavanaugh would have noticed (1) his member was exposed — tumescent, turgid, flaccid we don’t have the foggiest, (2) friends (again plural) were fidgeting with his googootz and (3) said friends were “pushing” it into the mitt of some hapless lass? And, what, he just stood there all the while watching and the victim recipient of his accoutrement doesn’t remember the commotion and positioning and pushing and . . . well, see what I mean?

Valedictory. Sorry, but there’s a word for what this is: BULLSHIT. New York Times, I curse you, your editorial staff, your very essence. Carlos Slim, dump this rag. Sell it for scrap. They’ve earned unfathomable contempt from all.

9/11 Amnesia, Historical Discombobulation and America Learned Nothing

The mission statement. Your country needs you. It needs your leadership, courage and focus and it desperately needs your wisdom. It needs you to recognize the issues that truly affect your fellow countryfolk. It needs you to apply critical thinking to the incredibly complicated problems that face us and your fellow countrypeople for generations to come. The issues that face us are simple. Simple to recognize but admittedly not so simple to resolve. But the first requirement is to focus on what matters. Focus without the patellar obeisance and Sturm und Drang of the usual suspects. Focus on what needs to be done and disregard the ancillary trifles, the supplemental distractions upon which the vile chapters of the Democratic party focus. Not all are intellectually and spiritually fallen, I hasten to remind. But the voices today that represent the majority of the mouthpieces and bullhorns that infect our political stage are not those of the average goodhearted, well-intentioned, hard-working and honest American. The profane quorum of disparate demagogues and obscene contrarians serve no purpose other than to crank up the volume in the echo chamber and reflect the thoughts of their fellow travelers and fellow victims of terminal #TDS. They are not the majority but enjoy the majority of media platforms. And we have to do something about that. Now. Instanter.

That horrible day. Yesterday represents our annual exercise in euphemizing, sloganeering and bumper sticker activism. Hashtag bigmouths and blateroons quick with a quip and flash tweet. Mosh pit feelers who through their immane “sensitivity” are able to channel the focus of the moment. They make me sick. And why? Because invariably they will admonish you and me to #NeverForget. But they forgot. Everything. And what’s worse, they and we (to be honest and fair) have forgotten everything. We apparently learned nothing from the official narrative of the horrors. How certain Muslim and Islamist foreigners hellbent and focused on doing harm to us slipped in under the radar, many actually complying with extant immigration laws, and regrouped and reconstituted for their terror production. We learned nothing. Today you’ve the bashi-bazouks of the terror left actually calling for open borders, a dissolution of sovereignty and the elimination of national security, all the while demanding to pay the health care bill of invading dastards, hoards and swarms of the undocumented, illegal, unregistered, unknown and anonymous. We learned nothing. Today your government looks away as #Antifa thugs pummel and beat and slap and punch and kick and throttle and laugh at you, me and the rule of law — on antisocial media no less. They’re considered heroes as are #BLM screechers and howlers (whenever they’re roused from dormancy). But the NRA is a terrorist organization?! The most cogent plan outlined and suggested by #Libturd lefties is a prohibition against plastic straws and 38 categories of subgenders. We learned nothing. America is paralyzed by a psycho cycle, where public triggered bleats and screams are the norm. Where points are given for the level of difficulty in deciphering the message of ire. Pussy hats, infanticide, transgender grooming in preschool reading circles, public libraries and Whole Foods converted to perv central recruitment stations, maniacal witch hunts by a benighted and befuddled Mueller. Ah, yes, Herr Mueller, the senescent dotard coot led astray and away. We learned nothing.

Bolton boltin’. When I saw that Wilford Brimley doppelgänger Johnny Boy Bolton had been given a copy of the home game I leapt in joy. I danced about the stall and rode my steed in full gallop as I hooted and hollered yeehawing down the boulevard. I am the Walrus. Nope, you were the Walrus. He is gone! He is gone! (For now.) This man embodies everything wrong and dangerous with Staussian neoconservative ideology and it somehow slipped through our focus. It has nothing to do with conservatism and all to do with a bunch of lapsed libs using military brute force to spread democracy one shattered and destroyed country and people at a time. But never forget, Bolton was a leftie prog. A draft dodging chickenhawk who never smelled gunpowder or blood and would shit his BDUs the first time one of his democracy beneficiaries lobbed a round at him. War for thee but not for me. I despise him. And his Project for the New American Century (PNAC) ilk. What Johnny and his band of intellectual ferrets wanted above all was for our beloved America to completely dominate humankind worldwide (snatching the world’s resources by the by). And all he and they needed was “some catastrophic and catalyzing event — like a new Pearl Harbor.” Enter 9/11. Enter the Patriot Act. Enter the longest military action in our republic’s history. As long as I live, two words will forever cause my soul to screech, my spirit to howl: BleachBit and PNAC. And what’s more, ask anyone today what the PNAC ransom note was all about and you’ll get that vacant, void, vacuous stare. That clueless look. The blank blink. But mention transgender bathrooms, cow flatus and mythical climate change and you’ll hit paydirt.
 
We learned nothing.

In 47 Years We’ve Gone From Global Cooling To Global Warming. Still Believe It’s Not A Hoax Of Epic Proportions?