So I survived the flu, and a trip to Illinois to see some snow and my tough-as-a-two-dollar-steak aunt – cancer, schmancer, is apparently her philosophy, and she’s hanging in like a champ! — and I’m back home, catching up on work and world events.
And man, have there been a lot of shenanigans going on already this month. Let me just hit a few high points. By which I mean low points, at least when they apply to people who irritate me.
No discussion of low points would be complete without at least a brief mention of the Grammys, the annual self-congratulation fest put on by a cavalcade of vapid, talentless hacks and alleged musicians. I watched about 10 minutes of that – I blame the Nyquil and my fever – after which I had not recognized a single “artist.” Or “song.”
I’m going to go out on a limb here, and risk my reputation as a hipster with his finger on the pulse of modern American culture, by saying that I used to appreciate music more when it involved some discernable talent. When musicians could read music. Or play an instrument. Or sing. Instead, there’s now a guy called “D.J. Khaled,” who has made a career out of being chunky and tramping around a stage gracelessly, while hollering into a microphone such lyrics as, “Uh huh huh, huh huh,” and “Less go!” and “Get yo hands up,” over and over again, while he is surrounded by people who can at least sing a little bit.
So, to summarize my review: Get off my lawn!
But that wasn’t the most egregious crime against humanity at the Grammys. For that honor, you’d have to go to the compulsory segment on all modern award shows in which brainless leftist celebrities foist their room-temperature-IQ political thoughts on their rapidly dwindling audience. The Grammys’ entry took the form of a line of “Who’s that?” illiterates stumbling through excerpts from the anti-Trump smear “book” Fire and Fury, culminating in a surprise special guest reader.
At first she’s holding the book in front of her face (not a bad strategy for her, by the way). But you don’t need to see her, once you’ve heard the first nasally “caw caw caw!” from her pie hole. And then she lowers the book, and it’s Hillary Clinton.
And the (very small, mentally infirm) crowd goes wild!
By the way, if you had told me that Hillary would make an appearance on a national television event in the winter, my money would have been on her showing up in one of those adorable Super Bowl Budweiser ads, as lead Clydesdale. Which is why I don’t gamble on sports. (Well, that, and the fact that the Bears haven’t covered a spread since Mike Ditka had a buzz cut.)
Where was I? Oh yeah, Cankles McPantsuit and her dramatic reading. Please keep it up, leftist celebrities and Hillary fans! Please keep trotting that hideous woman out to remind us of how happy we are that she lost the election.
Speaking of schadenfreude, how about that memo, and the collapse of the Russian collusion story, and the smoking rubble that used to be the reputations of Comey, and Buck Naked (um, I mean “Peter Stroke”), and his unattractive mistress, and Hillary and Obama and the entire MSM? Look upward if you dare, at a sky blackened by the swirling flocks of chickens coming home to roost on the leftist liars who pimped the Russian story for over a year. (I mean, if chickens could fly. Stupid, flightless birds, ruining my picturesque metaphor!)
Oh, I know. The media is doing their best to not report any of this, and to gloss over their hypocritical reversals at every turn. But it’s still fun to watch those weasels squirm.
Remember when the Dems and MSM made such a huge deal out of the revelation that Don Jr. had agreed to meet with the Russian team of Boris Badanov and Natasha, on the promise that they’d have some political dirt on Hillary? Though nothing came of that meeting, it apparently really did happen, and I agreed at the time that it did not exactly cover Don Jr. with glory. But it also seemed to me as pretty much commonplace rough elbows politics, played by both sides from the dawn of time. Every campaign does oppo research, and it was grotesquely entertaining to watch the MSM pontificate on what an unspeakable horror it was that the president’s son was interested in hearing scandalous information that might damage his dad’s opponent’s chances to win.
But now it turns out that Adam Schiff has been caught on tape being pranked by a couple of Russian comedians. If you haven’t heard that yet, go listen to it now. Those knuckleheads, posing as authentically evil Russians, working on behalf of evil Russia, and the even more evil Vlad “the Impaler” Putin offering Schiff photos of “naked Trump.” And Schiff audibly salivates on the phone call, and had his minions follow up afterward to secure the imaginary damaging information.
But the MSM is in full “nothing to see here” mode, and will not cover the story.
By the way, Rush has labeled Schiff “Pencil Neck,” which is perfect. But I must also point out that since Harry Reid mercifully left the scene, Schiff has the highest Simpson Face Punchability Index (SFPI ©) of any active politician of either party. (9.95, if you’re scoring at home.) Plus, he bears an uncanny resemblance to South Park’s Mr. Mackey (m’kay?).
How ironic is it that after more than a year of coordinated pursuit and smearing of Trump, the only one in Washington who apparently WASN’T in bed with the Russians was Trump!
- Obama was caught on a hot mic creepily collaborating with Putin, when he told Medvedev, “Tell Vlad I’ll have more flexibility after my election.”
- Hillary and the DNC paid for creepy Steele to get false info from Russian spies to interfere in an American presidential election.
- Pencil Neck Schiff (m’kay?) definitely tried to get dirt from Russian spies, except that he was too stupid to tell Yakov Smirnov from Lavrenti Beria. (That’s right – a Beria reference in the same sentence with a Mr. Mackey reference. Boom!)
Finally, I read about an event that so perfectly sums up the apogee of leftist governance that, after my fever broke, I thought that I had imagined it. But no, ‘tis true.
I give you: the San Francisco poop map.
If you haven’t seen this – and you’re not sitting down to a meal — check out the story on Redstate. It turns out that someone had the idea of charting all of the 311 calls to city officials reporting waste in public. When I saw the phrase “urban poop map,” my first thought was that thoughtless dog owners were not taking responsibility for their animals.
But no. It’s human poop. A map of one of the formerly great cities of our great nation, liberally sprinkled with emojis to indicate the reported sites of human excrement. (Insert your own “sh–hole” city joke here.) Can you think of a better way to sum up the result of decades of elitist Democrat rule? We’ve always been able to point to the architectural ruins of Detroit, the graffiti-defaced desolation of Baltimore, and the soothing night-sounds of small arms fire on the south side of Chicago.
But now we have the specter of neighborhoods of multi-million-dollar houses in SF, the streets in front of them ankle-deep in human waste.
By the way, the SF city map on the website lists various neighborhoods by name. The one neighborhood called “Dogpatch?” Ironically, no poop emojis. But the neighborhood just north and west of there, called “Democrat Base Patch?”
Completely covered with poop emojis. True story.
I’m not going to end on that morose note. Instead, let me leave you with three stories that have brought joy to my heart so far in February:
1.It seems that poachers have been running rampant in a South African national park lately. But there is now one less of them, after – prepare yourself for some great African names — Limpopo police spokesman Moatshe Ngoepe (pronounced just like it’s spelled, duh) reported that some local lions apparently expressed some strong anti-poaching sentiments.
By which I mean, they ate a poacher. Apparently they left just his head and “some remains,” along with a crudely lettered sign reading, “This one’s for Cecil!” (Okay, I made that last part up. But how cool would that have been?) Along with, I’m guessing, a nearby poop emoji that would not have been out of place in a large, Democrat-run city.
I love animals, and I hate people who are cruel to them. So good on you, poacher-eating lions!
2. During my flu-induced delirium, I spent part of a post-Grammys evening on Youtube, watching various videos of actual, talented musicians. (For example, Tom Waits singing “Martha,” Kasey Chambers and Bernard Fanning singing, “Bittersweet,” Blossom Dearie singing “Someone to Watch Over Me,” anything by Bach. I defy anyone to listen to any of those and think, “You know what this song needs? Big fat D.J. Khaled strutting around screaming, “Put Yo Hands Up!” and “We duh best!”)
And I came across a video piece on Dave Grohl talking about playing drums for Tom Petty on SNL in 1994 on “Honey Bee.” Watch that video, and the manic, ecstatic way Grohl hammers the drums. I want to live my life the way that guy attacks that song!
3. This past weekend, there was an event that I only just now heard about. It was sponsored by Tim Tebow’s foundation and called “Night to Shine;” it was a coordinated event on several continents, during which a lot of churches and volunteers put on a prom for mentally and/or physically disabled people. If you can watch any video of that event and not tear up a bit, you’re dead inside.
I could sit for hours, watching those sweet, life-loving people – all of whom can dance better than I can (I am absolutely not joking about that), and whose joyous expressions make Dave Grohl wailing on “Honey Bee” look only mildly pleased – and the good-hearted Christians doing their makeup and escorting them down the red carpet, and high fiving them. I can’t see those giddy people with Down’s Syndrome, though, without thinking about the darkness in the world, and what so many people would do to them, if they had it in their power. (I’m looking at you, Planned Parenthood.)
What a gulf there is between the best and the worst of us, and our impulses!
That’s probably a good thought to end on: Yes, there are people in the world like Chuck Schumer and Adam Schiff (m’kay?) and Lieawatha Warren (we should never stop mocking her) and Roy Moore.
But then there’s Tim Tebow, and Tom Waits, and the Cautious Optimism page, and my daughters, and my wife.
And that’s not bad.
Martin Simpson 