Three Great Stories (posted 2/3/20)

As we await the vote to acquit Trump – and the hilarious wailing and gnashing of teeth that will accompany it throughout the media — I’d like to start a new week with three other stories that brought me joy this past week.

First, Don Lemon’s perfectly emblematic laughing fit with two other non-entities on his insufferably stupid show.

Everybody agrees that among Hillary’s worst mistakes in 2016 – right up there with “being Hillary Clinton” and “running for president” – was her dismissal of half of the country as “deplorables.”  Smart politicians go to great lengths to criticize their opponent, but not voters who might be considering their opponent.

Enter Don Lemon, who had two equally dim bulbs on his unwatchable show who mocked all Trump voters as idiotic hicks.  One guy did a hilarious Southern accent, and the other one mocked the way conservatives can’t spell, or understand a map.   And Lemon could not stop laughing for two solid minutes.

A day later he explained that he hadn’t been laughing at conservative people, but at the joke.

Yes.  The joke.  The one about how stupid conservative people are.

You know what voters really love, elitist hacks?  Being lectured on IQ by people who think that bovine flatulence is going to destroy the earth in 8 years, and that there are no such things as X and Y chromosomes, and that socialist dictatorships produce a thriving economy and a bountiful sugar beet harvest.

This is how you got President Trump, CNN.  And it’s how you’re going to get him for four more years.


Second,  the super-satisfying way the Brits left the EU.

I’ve always had a soft spot for Britain, even though their history is a little hit-and-miss.

On the “pro” side, they gave us Shakespeare and the Spitfire and the Beatles and the long bow (my personal favorite of all the bows), and they founded us.

On the “con” side, they got a little too Democrat-y for their own good and started taxing everything that moved, so my ancestors had to send them packing with the help of the Kentucky long rifle and a little something I like to call “grit.”

But as other countries go, they’re pretty damn good.  And lately, they’ve been getting better, culminating with the arrival of my two new favorite Brits: Boris Johnson and Nigel Farage.

Nigel Farage is one of my favorite Brits for several reasons.  First, because every nation should have a most-perfect-first-name for their citizens; that name, for Brits, is obviously “Nigel.”  (For France it’s “Francois,” for Mexico it’s “Juan,” for all Scandanavian countries – and don’t pretend you are not all essentially the same country – it’s “Sven,” for Germany it’s “Hans,” and so on.) (For America?  Do I have to state the obvious?  Okay, I will: “Martin.”)

Second, I absolutely loved the way that Farage led the UK out of the arrogant, micro-managing bunch of swampy poke-noses who run Washington DC.

I’m sorry, make that Brussels.  The arrogant, micro-managing bunch of poke-noses in Brussels.  Honest mistake.

Anyway, Farage has long pushed for Brexit against a gaggle of condescending jerks who said it would never happen, that no one populist and a crowd of freedom-fetishizers could ever win over Cankles McSocialist and the Dem/MSM establishment.

I’m sorry, make that the EU.  Honest mistake again.

So last week, Nigel made a final speech in the Reichstag, bidding farewell to the EU.

Shoot!  Not the Reichstag.  The Javits Center.   He made the speech in the Javits Center, under many suspended bags of blue and white pieces of paper meant to symbolize the glass ceiling, which the Brussels Brain Trust (great wrestling tag team name, by the way) intended to release in the celebration over the anticipated British vote to stay in the Eu.

Good lord!  Where is my mind today?  It wasn’t the Reichstag or the Javits Center, but the EU Parliament building.  Honest mistake yet again.

Where was I?

Oh yeah.  Google Farage’s speech, which was so perfect that I thought I’d hallucinated it when still gripped with my flu fever last week.   Everybody who appreciates freedom and standing up to bullies should watch it.  But the ending is especially great.

He closes by pulling out a small Union Jack flag (his colleagues all do the same), and he waves it around as he says that he is waving goodbye.  “We look forward in the future to working with you as a sovereign—”

At that point – in a moment that couldn’t be better scripted to more clearly illustrate what’s wrong with unaccountable, leftist, big-government entities – the Euro-crats cut off his microphone.  Because he was in the middle of stating that the Brits would be happy to interact with all European peoples as one sovereign, self-determining people, but not as a vassal state, as the arrogant elites in Brussels see them.

And those elites literally silenced him.

A moment later, a sour-looking lady who looks like she identifies as an 1880’s librarian said, “If you disobey the rules, you get cut off.  Could we please remove the flags!”  As she said this, she looked at Farage as if what she’d really like to cut off was not his mic, but what Bruce Jenner cut off of himself.

But Nigel just smiled at her.  Because guess what, angry old Euro-weasel spinster bureaucrat?  The Brits don’t have to obey your rules any more, and you can replace the Union Jack with that “Six Flags Over Micro-Managemen- Land” goofy EU flag of yours.

And I think Nigel might have a suggestion as to where you can stick that flag pole.


Last but not least is that fan favorite, Grandma Squanto.

As Liz Warren’s campaign seems to be heading toward life support, and she contemplates the prospect of returning to her previous place of employment – and yes, I do mean a cigar store (#wemustneverstopmockingher) – I came across a report that I thought must surely be some parody story in the Onion.

But then I looked it up and found out that it was real.  I’m speaking, of course, of her plan to choose a secretary of education, when she becomes make-believe president.

She was asked how she would make education inclusive.   (Which is an idiotic question, but I don’t have time for that right now.)  And Warren points to two criteria.

First, “It has to be someone who’s taught in a public school, hello?”

I love when 100 year old white ladies try to sound like a dim-witted character from a third-rate sitcom with a racially diverse group of teens who were what the middle-aged writers thought was hip in 1987.

Then – and I cannot stress enough how much I am not making this up – she told a story about meeting a 9-year-old transgender kid a few months ago, who asked about what she would do to help transgendered kids.  And she said that, “I’m going to have a Secretary of Education that this young trans person interviews on my behalf, and only if this person believes [this] nominee is absolutely committed to creating a welcoming environment … will that person actually be advanced to be Secretary of Education.”

Leave aside the issue of transgenderism, or gender dysphoria, or terrible parents who should be Baker Acted and possibly horse-whipped.  That’s such a politically correct minefield that it can’t be resolved here.

But forget all that, and focus on the core of what she said: she wants us to believe that she’d have a confused 9-year-old child vet her cabinet nominees.  That’s a confidence-builder, isn’t it?

Can you picture Ronald Reagan stopping by the local middle school after his inauguration?  “Hey, kid, are you not sure whether you should pee standing up or sitting down?  Good.  Stop eating that paste, and come over here and talk to Cap Weinberger and George Schultz for a minute, and tell me who you like for SecDef.”

On his podcast, Adam Carolla often plays a game he calls “Stupid or Liar,” in which he takes a clip or a quote from a prominent celebrity or politician, and asks his audience to determine whether that person is an idiot, or just lying.

A recent example was when vacuous Democrat waste of a haircut Gavin Newsom claimed that all homeless people need is affordable housing, because high rents have caused their situation.

As if a guy sitting in his own filth, shooting heroin between his toes and explaining to anyone who will listen that he is Napoleon and is about to make a triumphant march on Paris, would get right back on his feet if the city of Santa Monica would just offer him a 2/1 with off-street parking for $650 a month.

Carolla’s conclusion: Newsom can’t be stupid enough to believe that.  So he’s a liar.

But what do we conclude about Grandma Squanto?  Your first instinct has to be that she can’t be stupid enough to believe that she should give a bunch of kids some crayons and ask them to write out a full roster of names that she can then declare her cabinet.

On the other hand, she stared at her vacant, translucent face and watery blue eyes in various mirrors for 30 years, and was apparently convinced enough that she was an Indian to take a DNA test and then publicize it.

So what you do you think?  Liz Warren: stupid or liar?


Avenatti & Stupid-or-Liar 2020!

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