Month: December 2018

It has been depressing to watch politics over the last several weeks, but the Christmas season reliably pulls me out of all that.  We’ve put up the tree and trimmed out our new/old house, and I’ve had the first few fires in the fireplace lately.  As is my tradition, I’ve re-read The Christmas Carol, and I’ve been listening to a lot of great Christmas music.

This year I’ve got Jesu Joy of Man’s Desiring (you can’t go wrong with Bach) and Come Thou Long Expected Jesus (my favorite recent version is on a website called Reawaken Hymns), in heavy rotation.  But I also appreciate secular seasonal songs, and I’ve been enjoying various versions of ephemera like Santa Baby.

Also, in the wake of the recent leftist idiocy about Baby It’s Cold Outside, I’ve immersed myself in that one again.  Would it shock you to know that Ray Charles probably did it best?  Not if you’ve been paying attention.

I guess I’m saying that I’m a pretty ecumenical celebrator of Christmas, and I spurn no one of good will.

Except Zoroastrians.  They know why.

But enough about that contemplation of a loving God and our eternal souls – there’s a screwed up culture to discuss.

On the “reap what you sow” front, let’s look at two stories:

1.The Boy Scouts of America are filing for bankruptcy.   On the one hand, that is a sad commentary on our current cultural hostility to the kinds of values that scouting used to be associated with, and it might have been inevitable.  But recent attempts to fashion a new, “woke” Boy Scouts certainly didn’t help.

Brief aside: As someone who loves the English language, I beg you to stop mis-using “woke.”  It is NOT an adjective.  It’s the past tense of the verb “wake.”

As in, “When I woke, I found that I’d pummeled into unconsciousness the hipster doofus who’d told me that I need to be more woke about the environment.”

Back to the Boy Scouts:

So they decided to admit girls in 2013, confusing many of us.  “Wait a minute,” we said, pensively.  “So you’re a girl.  And you’d like to join some sort of a scouting organization?  Gee it’s too bad that no one has invented such a group for girls.  I mean, they could call it the Girl Scouts, and then girls would have a place to–.  Oh, wait.”

Then they decided that admitting gay scouts, and later gay scout leaders was a great idea.  Because the higher-ups in scouting were trying to teach the benighted people of America that there are really no differences between the sexes, and no reason to take sexual attraction into account when putting a bunch of adolescents together in such activities as staying away from home overnight, sleeping in cabins, swimming and showering together, etc..

And now the benighted people of America have given their response to the BSA: enjoy bankruptcy, you morons.

2. The Weekly Standard is closing.  This one saddens me too, because they hosted a lot of very smart thinkers and writers, and I once respected Bill Kristol.  But he has lost his mind about Trump, and for some reason the Standard has gone full Titanic, steering toward the Trumpian iceberg.  But the original Titanic, once it hit the iceberg and started taking on water, did not circle around and intentionally hit it again, and then again.

And the original captain did not ask his first mate, “Hey, who are all of those people jumping over the side?”  To which the original first mate did not reply, “Our subscribers.  They don’t seem to want to keep crashing into the iceberg over and over again.  Plus, the iceberg is now wearing a giant red hat and calling us all losers!”

But Bill Kristol was all, “Full speed ahead!  Republicans should vote for Hillary!”

And now, the icy waters of bankruptcy close over the wake (not the woke!) of a once-lively conservative publication.  RIP, Weekly Standard.

“Yes, Martin,” I’m sure that you’re saying.  “You’re obviously right.  Again.  When groups and individuals make bad choices and fail miserably, they are punished.   Also, I agree that you got screwed on that People magazine’s Sexiest Man Alive 2018 thing.  If you and Idris Elba both had sexy 2019 calendars out, I would totally buy yours.”

First, thank you for your support.  But it’s too little too late, because in the lead up to the award, I became a little over-confident, and gave a vanity publisher a big down payment.  And now I’ve got a garage full of unsellable “People’s Sexiest Man Alive: Martin Simpson” 2019 Calendars sitting where my car should be, and my wife is furious.

But to your first comment: I’ve noticed that there is one place where failure is rarely punished: the Left.

I know you’ve heard it a million times, but socialism has turned huge swaths of the planet into rust belts and gulags and graveyards, and college kids are still wearing Che t-shirts.   Socialized medicine has led to first world countries with third world hospitals, but half of our citizenry is still clamoring for it.  Decades of exclusively leftist governance has turned once-proud American cities into blighted wastelands, but the lefties who flee the hellholes they created vote for Beto O’Houlihan McMurphy to try to do the same thing to Texas.

Ugh!  Even on an individual level, lefties tend to fail upward.  Bernie Sanders never had an honest job in his life, until he started getting elected to local office as a socialist in Vermont in his 40s.  And he was almost president!

Or take an even better example: the google-eyed It Girl of the Left, Alexandra Ocasio-Cortez. She’s almost 30 years old, and her curriculum vitae so far consists of being an incompetent bartender.  (I have it from very reliable sources that if you ordered a scotch and soda from her, you’d be equally likely to get a glass of Pine-sol and a sugar cube, or a V-8 with a dandelion garnish.)

After an undistinguished career in drink mixery, she decided to run for a House seat in a heavily blue district against the semi-animated corpse of a soul-less leftist hack who hadn’t stepped foot in the district since the close of hostilities in the Spanish-American War.  Because it was an off-year primary and voter turnout was very low, she managed to win with a get-out-the-vote effort that focused primarily on a tight-knit group of both Ocasios and Cortezes.

So now she’s off to Washington to represent the people of her district, whom I wish well in their ongoing efforts with their methadone treatment.  (The plan’s not going to work unless you work the plan, people.)

A few weeks ago she spoke to a temple in Queens, and came out with the startling news that she’s recently discovered that she is Jewish. (Hat tip to Bill Leggott, who reminded me that I’ve missed this golden opportunity for mockery.)  I haven’t been able to find video of this speech, but if anyone finds it, PLEASE post a link.

But even without seeing the link, I’m going to put my wizard hat on (Yes, I’ve got a wizard hat.  I keep it on the top shelf of the closet, between the sombrero and the conquistador’s helmet.) and predict what it looks like: Big smiles from Alexandra that show off her undeniably cute dimples, hugs to sweet little Jewish ladies, some ridiculous platitudes delivered with energetic obliviousness, followed by her standing there with an expression that you’ll recognize if you’ve watched a recent NFL game, when a player was being taken into the tent for a concussion protocol.

If the rabbi allowed her to try lighting the menorah, I’d say there’s a 50/50 chance that she partially burned her own clothing.

In other news, the leaderships of both Jewish and Italian-American anti-defamation groups have recently opened high-level negotiations. So far, the Italians have suggested that they will claim Ocasio-Cortez, if the Jews will take Michael Avenatti.  But the Jewish response was, “Whoa. Hang on.  Give us a chance to think about this. You might need to take Michael Cohen, too.”  The Italians came back with, “Only if you’ll accept the Mooch.”

The talks are still on-going.

But lest we despair about the way things are going here, let’s remember that it could be worse.  We could be the English.

Consider the story – which I swear to God I am not making up — that a British school will now be teaching primary school children “that ‘all genders’ can have periods.”  The story goes on to say, “Advice on menstruation will be issued to boys and girls after Brighton and Hove City Council passed a motion to help minimise discrimination against the trangender community.

So the next time that obnoxious British guy in the next cubicle is mocking you because Americans have elected Maxine Waters and Nancy Pelosi, you now have a pre-loaded reply: At least our schools aren’t teaching our sons how to handle their periods!

Come on, England!  You gave us Magna Carta, Shakespeare, Churchill, the Beatles, and Benny Hill.  Has it really come to this?

And it’s not just literature and government and great music and hilarious videos of nurses running around in lingerie.  Look at the history of medicine, and you’ll find an over-representation of great British docs and discoveries.  They came up with first way to measure blood pressure and the first smallpox vaccine, they pioneered the use of general anaesthetic, and on and on.

In fact, a Brit (Stephen Hales, 1677-1761) first came up with surgical forceps, and 200 years later a group of British pharmaceutical chemists working in Kent first synthesized Viagra.

And now you’re telling me that British school boys are being taught that they can benefit from the use of forceps to gently ease the delivery of the children from their non-existent wombs, while British school girls are being taught that Viagra can help them increase their sexual performance with the genitalia that THEY DON’T HAVE! ARE YOU OUT OF YOUR MIND?!  OH!  OOOHHHHHH!”  (Yes, English people, you could all learn something from a late, great American named Sam freaking Kinison!)

My only hope is that the kids are going to be smart enough to recognize their educrat overlords for the leftist dolts they are, and ignore them.

And if any British schoolboys happen to be reading this column, I have two messages for you.

First, yes, Nigel, I know that Idris Elba is British, and he was once in contention to be the next James Bond, but I don’t care: he’s dead to me.

Second, if you ever find yourself bleeding profusely from your genital region, ignore the idiotic mewlings from your teachers that this is just a natural part of the process during which a young boy becomes a woman.  Put down the chain saw and pick up your severed body part, and go to the closest hospital straightaway.

If, 30 days later, you find yourself bleeding from the genitalia again, this is NOT a sign that Aunt Flo is back for her monthly visit.   It’s a sign that you need to take a good long look in the mirror, and determine whether you’re the kind of person who should be operating power tools.

On that terribly inappropriate note, I want to wish all of CO nation a very Merry Christmas!

We’re already halfway through December, but I’ll confess that I’m having a tough time getting into the Christmas spirit, and I’m sure that you regular members of CO nation know why: Idris Elba was recently named as People magazine’s Sexiest Man Alive for 2018.

Which means that I was unfairly passed over.  AGAIN!  And that’s after I spent the entire year following a strict regimen: I cut down to no more than 3 servings of ice cream per day; I spent 15 minutes four days a week practicing my smoldering, partially-raised-eyebrow look in the mirror; I never skipped leg day.

And still I was edged out by a guy whose name sounds like a sub-tropical disease that can only be treated by an extensive course of antibiotics and months of physical therapy.

You know, I’ve never really understood the kind of emotional pain that some women feel, as described in the old saying, “Always a bridesmaid, never a bride.”

But now I understand.  Because I am living through the male equivalent:  “Always a hilarious genius, never People magazine’s Sexiest Man Alive.”  If Christmas weren’t coming, I don’t know how I’d get out of bed in the morning.

 

Leaving aside my personal pain, my spirits have recently been lifted by the knowledge that America is apparently officially out of problems.

I know that some of you just choked on your egg nog.  “Out of problems?” I can almost hear you yell.  “The Democrats are about to take over the House, Mitchell Trubisky’s shoulder thing might still be going on, and Bush 41, Stan Lee and the guy who invented Sponge Bob are dead, while Nancy Pelosi and Ruth Bader Ginsburg are still plugging away, healthy as a couple of octogenarian oxen!”

Those are all good points.  But the Congressional gavel was held in Pelosi’s dessicated mummy hands before, and the nation survived.  And the Bears having signal-caller issues is not exactly unprecedented.  In fact, if you consult the New Testament, I think you’ll find that Christ himself warned that, “The poor – and uncertainty at the quarterback position in Chicago – shall be with you always.”

But if we are not out of problems as a nation, how can you explain the following 3 stories, which no culture with actual problems could ever trouble itself with:

1.The charming, witty and harmless seasonal song, “Baby It’s Cold Outside,” has become the subject of annual controversy.  What an earlier era saw as a light-hearted and flirtatious duet, the censorious kill-joys on the feminist left see as an ominous ode to rape.

By the way, here is the chorus from every top 10 rap song of the last 10 years:

“Ima f*** you up and your [n-word] beeyotch too

Ima f*** you up and your [n-word] beeyotch too

You betta [anatomically impossible transitive verb], you [expletive] [N-word] ho.”

Those lyrics are fine.  But, “This evening has been (Been hoping that you’d drop in)/ So very nice (I’ll hold your hands they’re just like ice),” is terribly offensive, and rapey.

Lunatic censors also point to the female singer slyly asking,”What’s in this drink?” as evidence that the male singer is about to roofie and ravage her.

Which answers the age-old question: Can humorless leftist scolds tell the difference between Bill Cosby and Bing Crosby?

Sadly, they cannot.

Before you object that frivolous complaints about one inoffensive song don’t prove much, consider

2. The story of the Princeton a capella singing group — which despite being the least threatening collection of males since the court eunuchs of ancient Babylon — are apparently also a part of rape culture.

It seems that the Tigertones have for a number of years been singing a song originally featured in the Disney film, The Little Mermaid.  The song is called, “Kiss the Girl,” and it features a singing crab urging a handsome prince to kiss a mermaid who obviously wants to be kissed.

Because nothing communicates evil patriarchal oppression like a crustacean with a Jamaican accent urging a white Idris Elba-figure to try for first base with a mythical half-woman/half-fish creature.

3. Our good friends at PETA have finally addressed another scourge of modern American life: insufficiently sensitive animal-related idioms.

I am not making that up. They issued a press release suggested that we replace offensive sayings like, “Bring home the bacon,” with “Bring home the bagels.”  Or “take the bull by the horns” with “take the flower by the thorns.”

Yes, their ideas are idiotic.  But this could be a fun parlor game for us to all play: let’s draw animal-related sayings out of a hat, and then come up with a PC reason to object to them.  I’ll start:

“a horse of a different color” – Somehow, I’m sure that that’s racist

“don’t look a gift horse in the mouth” – Obviously classist, because who but the evil 1% could afford to give horses as gifts?  Plus, why should any human have the right to “own” an animal?  Plus I suspect that there is a subliminal Stormy Daniels joke in their somewhere.

“sly as a fox” – Are you suggested that other animals are stupid?  I mean, “mentally handicapped.”  I mean, “mentally handi-capable.”  You know what I mean!

Don’t get me wrong: I love animals.  In fact, I’d rather spend time with some particular animals – Cassie the Wonder Dog, most other dogs, even our three indifferent cats – than with many people.  People like the PETA officials who came up with this ridiculous list.  If I met one of them on the street, I’d be tempted to beat them like a rented mule.  No offense.

So I rest my case: if we have time to worry about innocent songs and animal metaphors, America is out of problems.

 

But you know who is not out of problems? Europe.

You might have heard that snooty Macron is having a touch of trouble with mobs of violent protestors trying to burn Paris to the ground every weekend for the last month.  Hilariously, the trouble started because the lefty elites who run France decided to inflict a 47 euro-per-liter gas tax on everyday French people, all in the name of stopping global warming.  Which it definitely will not do.

By the way, I made up the “47 euro” amount, because I refuse to look up the ridiculous made-up money that the EU-nuchs have chosen as their currency.

Brief diversion: I love the names of money that different countries come up with.  America did it best (obviously) with the dollar.  (I know: it was originally some kind of Spanish word.  But we took it and improved it.  You’re welcome, Spain.)  You can pay top dollar for something; you can bet your bottom dollar on something.  Clint Eastwood made a fine film with the super-cool title “Fistful of Dollars.”

My second favorite foreign currency name is the Polish “zloty.”  Partly because I love the Polish people, and partly because I love anybody sticking a “z” and an “l” together in any word.  Also, can the zloty be subdivided into 100 groszy, you ask?  You bet your bottom dollar it can.

My favorite foreign currency name?  The Vietnamese “dong,” obviously.   Mostly because of how fun it would be to be an adolescent boy in Vietnam, constantly referring to your money and snickering because adults couldn’t do anything about it.

Also, if “Fistful of Dollars” was re-made for a Vietnamese audience, it would have a hilarious title.  And Stormy Daniels would star in it.

 

Where was I?  Oh yeah, the collapse of Europe.

So you may have heard that another European gunman attacked another Christmas market, this time in  Strasbourg.  He killed at least 3 and wounded 11.  Which means that it’s time to dust off my timeless favorite quiz game: Guess that Murderer!

Question 1:  Just before opening fire on his innocent victims, the killer screamed a blood-chilling phrase at the top of his lungs.  Was that phrase:

1. Onward Christian soldiers!
2. Dreidel, dreidel, dreidel, I made it OUT OF CLAY!
3. That government is best which GOVERNS LEAST!
4. Allahu Akbar!

 

Question 2:  What was the closest variant to the killer’s name?

1. Francois D’Orleans
2. Sven Nordstrom
3. Jim-Bob Thompson
4. Ahmed Yemeni Mohammed bin Sulamein

 

Cheer up, Europeans.  You may have to deal with bi-weekly terror attacks, but at least you aren’t forced to live with species-ist idioms like “cat’s pajamas” or “bees knees.”

Okay, rather than ending a column during this Christmas season on such a dour note, I will leave you with my two favorite recent feel-good stories.

First, Elizabeth Warren’s representatives reportedly started talking with Beta O’Rourke’s people recently, causing rumors that they may be contemplating a joint run at the presidency in 2020.  Which would be just perfect: a fake Hispanic Irish-American guy teaming up with a fake Indian WASP lady (#wemustneverstopmockingher) on the same ticket.

I can’t think of a picture that better sums up the phoniness of the Democratic party in 2018.

Second, a judge has ordered Stormy Daniels to pay Trump’s legal fees, racked up (HA!) to defend himself against the defamation suit which a court threw out as frivolous.

To repeat, for the record: I didn’t vote for Trump in the primary, and voted more against Hillary than for him in the election.  I don’t like the way he has acted with women in general, and with ol’ Equine Visage in particular.  I wish he’d stay off twitter, and that he could maintain his aggressive counter-punching with about 90% less boorishness.

But you’ve got to give credit where credit is due.  He had an affair with a porn star, then paid her $130,000 to keep her mouth shut about it.  When she did not keep her mouth shut (I haven’t seen any of her films, but I understand that that is not a-typical behavior for her), he ended up winning a judgment against her for $292,052.

Do you realize what that means?  He had sex with a woman who is a professional at having sex for money, and SHE ended up paying HIM $162,052.

That’s right, lefties who say that Trump is a failed businessman: he had a one-night stand with a porn star, and made a tidy profit on it!

Top that, Idris Elba!

A lot of the best and worst of November involved the mid-term election, and I feel like that has been talked to death.  So this will be an election-free column, and you’re welcome in advance.

Here, then, is an eclectic mix of stories that caught my attention last month:

1.God opens a Job-style can of whoop-arse on Creepy Porn Lawyer.  Be grateful that you didn’t have the November that Michael Avenatti had.  As recently as early October he was riding high on a fetching little filly called Horseface and some speculation that he might make a run for the White House in 2020.  As the Kavanaugh hearings heated up and the media showed a ravenous appetite for more accusers – no credibility required – Avenatti came up with another accuser, this time one who allegedly witnessed a series of obviously fictional gang rapes.

But Swetnick proved to be a sweat act, and she almost immediately backed off of her ridiculous story.  Then the Kavanaugh backlash brought increased attention to the miasma of malodorous sleaze that surrounds Avenatti like a cloud of Democrat rhetoric.  He and Swetnick were referred to the DOJ for investigation of their presentation of false testimony.  His law firm was evicted from their offices for non-payment of rent.  His porn star client accused him of filing a lawsuit against her wishes and behaving unethically.

Usually, you would think that if your porn actress client is saying that her reputation is being tainted by her association with you, that would be the low point of your month. But not for Michael Avenatti.

Because next up, he was accused of beating up his estranged wife.  The good news? It wasn’t his estranged wife.  The bad news?  It was his mistress.  The worse news? Witnesses report him yelling to the cops who showed up, “She hit me first!”

Nice legal defense, Rumpole of the Bailey.

Allow me to remind you of the top two rules of politics in 2018:

1. If you’re a pasty white northeasterner, don’t pretend to be Geronimo’s great-great-grandaughter. (#wemustneverstopmockingher)
2. In the middle of a #metoo frenzy, don’t respond to a violence against women charge by touting your ability as a counter-puncher.

I’m no F. Lee Bailey, but I think he should have gone with the classic old defense of, “I was clenching my fist in righteous anger at the terrible way that Donald Trump has treated women, when my mistress tripped and fell into me, striking my innocent knuckles with her orbital socket.”

I almost feel sorry for Avenatti.  The way things are going for him, he will likely soon come down with boils, and all of his cattle will die, and spokesmen for the Gambino and Genovese crime families will release a statement distancing themselves from Avenatti and questioning whether he is, in fact, of Italian descent.

But I’m still looking forward to his trial, when the prosecution quotes him during the Kavanaugh hearings saying that, “We must always believe the woman!”  And then the Creepy Porn Lawyer will squirm in the witness box, and lean forward and mumble, “Well, not this one, obviously.  Because she’s lying.  I never laid a hand on her.  Also, she hit me first.”

 

2.Speaking of morally bankrupt leftist creeps getting their comeuppance…  Have you been following the saga of the Clintons’ Speaking Tour?  (And if you think I’m too high-minded to go for the “they put the ‘sag’ in ‘saga’ joke, you really overestimate me.)  They’re calling it, “An Evening with the Clintons.”

Which is better than the original title: “Handsy McGroperton and Coughing Cankle’s Whine-Fest ’18.”

Opening night of the tour was November 27^th, and a friendly CNN report (of course) noted delicately that, “the event was not sold out.”

No kidding. I looked it up, and the Scotiabank Arena holds 19,800 people.  I mean, it would hold 19,800 people, if a popular event – like an action-packed curling tournament, or a symposium on buying viatical insurance contracts with no money down – was happening.

Let’s look at CNN’s account again:  “Organizers cut the Scotiabank Arena in half and blocked off the upper level, but as the show got underway there were sections of seats unoccupied.”  Not empty seats.  Empty “sections” of seats.

In the end, they managed to cram 3300 people into the 19,800 seats.   The highlight of the evening – and I am not making this up — was when Hillary had another coughing fit.  Some might say – and by “some” I mean “me” – that that 3 minutes was the rhetorical high point of her entire career in politics.

The crowd seemed a bit disappointed, though, when she didn’t re-create the familiar routine from her presidential campaign, during which she would invariably launch a spirited attack along the lines of, “CAW CAW, CAW CAW CAW!” and then explode into an explosive coughing jag, followed by falling into the side of a limo, or down some temple stairs, or into the open doorway of a campaign jet.

 

3.”Presidents with Enormous Egos for 1000, Alex.”  Also in November, the incredible shrinking post-presidency of Barack Obama continued apace, with two really shameful appearances, even for him.

The first was on November 19^th, when he gave a talk to a bunch of camp followers in Chicago.   The most widely reported quote from that event came in response to a question about climate change, which prompted Obama to wax eloquent on one of this favorite themes: the left already knows how to fix every problem in the world, but evil conservatives keep stopping them:  “The reason we don’t do it [i.e. solve problems like climate change] is because we are still confused, blind, shrouded with hate, anger, racism, mommy issues.”

By “we,” he means “you.”

He goes on to rhetorically stroke himself on how much he believes in “reason and logic and Enlightenment values,” noting that, “people call me Spock for a reason.”

Yes.  And that reason is your ears, which are very weird-looking.

In one sense, Obama’s unearned arrogance is typical of lefty elites.  They are so sure that they are right, and so impervious to mountains of evidence to the contrary (see: socialism, the repeated failure of), that they cannot conceive of a legitimate opposing argument.

If you oppose him, it has to be because of racism.  If you oppose Hillary, it has to be because of sexism.  If you oppose Michelle, it has to be because you have an irrational aversion to scowling people with the shoulders of a welterweight boxer.

Obama also shares the left’s disdain for the common people.  How else could he speak so blithely about how we’re all confused and blinded and shrouded by all things evil?

But “mommy issues?”  What does that even mean?  And it’s pretty rich coming from a guy raised entirely by his mommy, yet who wrote books all about the absentee father he never knew.

A week later, Obama was speaking at Rice University, and he once again played Mr. Modest.  He said that the stock market rise during his presidency and afterward is all because of him.  He said that he brought “homespun values” to the presidency, citing specifically – and I am not making these up – “tell the truth and try to see the other person’s point of view and treat people kindly and with respect.”

What can you say to that?

I mean, besides, “If you like your doctor you can keep your doctor,” and “conservatives are bitter clingers to their God and their guns,” and “you regular Americans are shrouded by hatred, anger and racism.”

I guess those are “homespun values.”  Assuming your home was run by Saul Alinsky, Maxine Waters and Satan.

He even took credit for lower oil and gas prices, and the increase in American energy supplies now.  Really, he did.  After doing everything he could to stop all oil exploration and every pipeline proposal.

It was like watching Harvey Weinstein brag about how he was the one who got that whole “#metoo” ball rolling.

Obama’s total classlessness is still shocking, but it shouldn’t be.  We’re told that Trump is an egomaniac, but Obama literally said that his election would stop the oceans’ rising.  Obama brags with a straight face about how scandal-free his administration was, and how none of his appointees was ever indicted, seemingly unaware that these facts are proof of how corrupt and supine the media was in the face of Fast and Furious, weaponizing the IRS, Benghazi,  etc. and etc.

Barack Obama has gotten more mileage out of sycophantic media coverage and a superficial glibness than any public figure of the last half-century.

4.Non-existent voting fraud almost seems like it might exist.  You might not have heard, but a Texas woman has had her conviction for illegally voting confirmed, and is heading to jail.  You can find the story in the Fort Worth Star Telegram, but I’m going to let you guess which party she voted for.   And which nation she’s not a legal citizen of.

This innocent victim first illegally registered to vote in 2002, and voted in at least 4 elections after that.  In 2014 she moved to a different Texas county, and when she tried to register to vote there, the county told her that as a non-citizen, she could not vote.  So she registered again, this time claiming to be a citizen, and she voted in at least one more election.

The same news story refers to a recent “alleged” voter fraud ring involving at least four named and indicted women.  The five relevant names in the story are Ortega, Solis, Parra and two Sanchezes.  In a totally unrelated story, the Democrat party is desperately trying to ensure that as many millions of illegals from Mexico as possible get into the US immediately.  Also, if you think that any of them would ever think of voting illegally, you are a filthy racist.

And in case any slower-witted readers think that the adjective that we object to in the phrase “Hispanic illegal voters” is “Hispanic,” you have failed the reading comprehension portion of our test.   To begin studying for your re-take of the test, consider the following:

“Canadian illegal voters”

“Scandanavian illegal voters”

“amphibian illegal voters”

Hint: there is one objectionable adjective common to all of these phrases.

Hint 2: “voters” is not an adjective, but a noun.

 

5. R.I.P., creator of Sponge Bob Squarepants. Last week, Stephen Hillenburg died at the age of 57 from the terrible disease of ALS. I’d never heard his name, but I’m the father of two girls aged 16 and 21, and his work brought my girls a lot of happiness.  While I didn’t feel particularly moved by Sponge Bob or Patrick, the show had a demented little minor character named Plankton.

Because I’ve always been more than a little partial to curmudgeon Americans, I liked Plankton.  And my girls absolutely loved him.  So I developed an eerily accurate Plankton impression, which I regularly deployed as part of my wildly successful “Father of the Century” campaign.

A particular favorite was the F.U.N song, which you can Google.  In it, Sponge Bob sings a saccharine version (“F” is for friends, etc.), to which Plankton responds with his own, acid version: “F” is for fire that burns down the whole town, “U” is for uranium (pause) bombs…”

Especially when my oldest daughter needed cheering up, I could launch into my screaming Plankton song, knowing that by the time I howled, “N is for no survivors!” she’d be giggling.

Or mortified, if I did it as I dropped her off at school.  Good times.

Rest in Peace, Stephen Hillenburg.

 

 

 

It’s the time of year to write about all the things we are thankful for, and like most of you, I’ve got more than my share.  A loving wife, two fine daughters, an Aussie shepherd who is the pinnacle of canine virtue.  A Chicago Bears team that is suddenly fun to watch again.  Plus all the opportunities that come from living in the best damn country in the world.  (Pipe down, all of you “She Guevara” Ocasio-Cortez types with that, “You’re celebrating genocide!” schtick.)

But in addition to personal things, I’m also always scanning the news of politics and culture to find things that we as a nation can be grateful for.

Things like the fact that Florida was able to disrupt the attempt by dishonest lefties in Broward and Palm Beach counties to steal the too-close elections of our governor and senator.  I generally don’t like talk of “stealing elections,” but if we don’t implement a sane system of managing an election and preventing fraud, we’re asking for everything we get.

Fortunately, this time around the fright-wigged South Florida Snipe was not able to prevail.

I’m also thankful for all of the left-on-left fighting we’ll be seeing in the near future.  Admittedly, this is finding a silver lining on a pretty dark cloud – I would gladly sacrifice the entertainment in exchange for having the Dems nowhere near the levers of power.  But we optimists find good cheer wherever we can.

And watching the potential Dem presidential candidates try to out-Stalin each other next year is bound to be entertaining.  Especially considering the – I was going to say “Murderer’s Row” of candidates, but that phrase suggests talent and skill.  What’s the opposite of Murderer’s Row?

How about, “Petty Thieves’ Row?”  Malicious Vandals Row?  Bumbling Incompetents Row?

Anyway, consider the potential field of Dem presidential candidates.  Paddy “Beta” O’Houlihan in Texas is 0 for 1 in political races for Senate, so naturally he’s contemplating the presidency.  Spartacus is said to be considering throwing his galea in the ring.  (Yes, that’s a Roman headgear reference.  Because I want this column to be both entertaining and educational.  You’re welcome.)   Bernie is only in his late 100s, so he’s likely to take another crack at it.

Even Hillary is said to be positioning herself for another presidential limp.

Er, run.  Presidential run.

She’s already got her campaign slogan ready to go:  CAW CAW CAW 2020.

Don’t forget Lizzie Warren, who is ready to roll out her “Put up the Teepee in DC” primary tour in the new year.  (#wemustneverstopmockingher)

I wouldn’t be surprised if Ocasio-Cortez took a stab at it.  If her entire previous job experience as a part-time bartender qualified her to be in Congress (thanks again, blue state voters), why shouldn’t a few months in Congress qualify her for the White House?

By the way, did you catch her interview the other day, in which she referred to the three branches of government as the House, the Senate and the White House?  Or when an interviewer asked her how she would pay for the obscenely expensive package of socialist giveaways that she’s proposing, and she said – and I quote — “I find the question so puzzling because ‘How do you pay for something that’s more affordable? How do you pay for cheaper rent?’ You just pay for it.”  Gee, I wonder why Milton Friedman never thought of that.

(By the way, here’s a VERY partial list of other things that Ocasio-Cortez finds puzzling:  Which shoe goes on which foot.  Where the moon goes in the daytime.  Four-piece children’s puzzles.)

Am I the only one who thinks that if you had walked into the bar where Ocasio-Cortez was working last year and ordered a margarita, you would likely get a glass of dishwater with a lemon slice in it. And then when you pointed that out, she’d apologize and come back with a cup of cream with a tiny umbrella in it and some sawdust sprinkled on top.  And when you pointed that out, she’d furrow her brow and take it away and come back with a soap dispenser from the bathroom.  And then she’d slip in the spilled dishwater and fall, hitting her head, and then slowly get up with little cartoon birds flying around her skull.

Which explains why her eyes look like that.

Anyway, I’m also very thankful that our cranky, small-minded previous president and his scowling wife are not still our president and first lady.  I’m thankful that Jeff Flake is on his way out the door, and that bitter Stacy Abrams is not the governor of Georgia.

I’m thankful that one-eyed badass former SEAL Dan Crenshaw is going to congress.  If you didn’t see his recent interview with a panel of lefty hysterics on Face the Nation, you owe it to yourself to give it a watch.  (And yes, I’m as shocked as you are to learn that that show is still on the air.)

My favorite part was when one of the moonbats breathlessly claimed that Trump “has literally attacked the press,” and Crenshaw responded, “I’ve been literally attacked, so let’s choose our words carefully.”  Boom!  Drop the mike, and the eyepatch.

Finally, I’m thankful that I’ve had the chance to write on this website for almost two years now.  (This is the part when I’d lay in some soft violin and piano music, if this column had soundtrack capabilities.) After the Great Cankle-cide of November 2016, I’d written a snarky email about the joyous aftermath to a small circle of friends.

Though I’d never met him in person, the great and powerful CO was one of those friends.  He emailed back to ask if I’d mind if he posted my email to his new Facebook page.  And after negotiating a six-figure licensing fee, I reluctantly agreed.

HA!  Of course I jumped at the chance to do some ranting to a larger audience than my put-upon wife and the always attentive Cassie the Wonder Dog.  I could not imagine then how much fun it would be to be part of the growing CO nation, or how many great people I would “meet,” or how rewarding a writing experience this would turn out to be.

So this Thanksgiving, I am very thankful for CO, COW, COSE and all of the amazing contributors and readers of the CO page.  I’m grateful to have met some of you in Denver this past summer, and look forward to meeting and spending some time with more of you in Key West in February.  You’ve made my life appreciably more fun that it had already been, and I wish all of you a very happy and safe Thanksgiving.

Oh, I almost forgot.

Supreme Court Justice Brett Kavanaugh.  BOOM!