Month: May 2021

Today it’s going to be two sad stories, and then two happy ones.

In the first sad story, we go to Portland, Oregon.  Or as I call it, the terrible Portland.  (A dear friend lives in Portland, Maine, which is as beautiful as the one in Oregon is stupid.)

May 26^th marked the one-year anniversary of the death of career criminal and meth enthusiast George Floyd, and the Portland progressives commemorated it appropriately, by rioting and destroying things.  Again.  

The details are grimly familiar.  Black-clad Biden voters put on their gas masks, started many rounds of sub-literate chanting, and trashed the place.   They attacked cops and first responders by throwing various things at them, including frozen water bottles, glass bottles, and metal spikes.  Some fired mortar-style fireworks at cops, and they also left metal spikes in the street to try to prevent firefighters from putting out the blazes they started.

Oh, did I not mention that in addition to being racial arsonists, they are also actual arsonists too?  Yes, like some of their socialist forebears in the 1930s, they love themselves some night-time incinerations. 

In fact, some of the human flaming dumpsters set fire to actual dumpsters and pushed them up against the Multnomah County Justice Center to try to burn it down.  Two of them tried to pry open the doors and get inside.

By the way, you may remember that many Dem “elites” are still outraged that several hundred boneheads broke into another government building on January 6^th.  Those people were stupid, and their actions were wrong.  But they behaved more like drunken frat boys than terrorists, dressing in ridiculous costumes and posing for selfies and stealing a speaker’s podium as if it were their rival frat’s mascot. 

They didn’t kill or even seriously injure anyone, but false claims to the contrary were made by Brian Stelter and various other leftist Karens in our MSM.  Or at least I think that’s what Stelter said, as his voice was muffled by the yoga pants he’d somehow managed to pull up over his big dishonest thumb of a head.

One of those invading knuckleheads – an unarmed woman with no criminal record who went about a buck fifteen soaking wet – forced her way through a window, and a cop shot and killed her.  You’ve never heard his name, or anything about the circumstances of his use of deadly force, because no public trial or inquisition has been made into that shooting. 

Now I’m a big supporter of law enforcement in general, and without knowing more of the details, I’m not going to throw that nameless cop under the bus.  And while I don’t think that being a stupid vandal is a capital offense, I also believe in the doctrine of “play stupid games, win stupid prizes,” whereby engaging in stupid vandalism greatly increases your chance of catching a beating or a bullet, even if such a result is not, cosmically speaking, “fair.”  

And if the left is going to justify the principle that anyone who tries to break into government buildings – I would expand that to private property too – is risking getting shot, why can’t that apply to the tens of thousands of leftist thugs who have been destroying our cities for a full year now?

Don’t you think that if the first of the two jackasses in Portland who tried to force their way into that Justice Center caught a bullet in the face, the rest of them might have been a little less enthusiastic about continuing the assault? 

But lest we get to feeling that our country is leading the world in bad-faith racial arsonists – I’m not saying that we’re not on the medal stand — I have another sad story from our mother country of England that shows that the leftist anti-whitey virus might be capable of trans-Atlantic spread.

This story is about a photogenic black British lady in her late 20s named Sasha Johnson who was shot in the head while at a party.  And let me start this story by noting that even though she’s apparently a hateful racist, she doesn’t deserve to die for that, and I hope that she recovers, and that this experience might prompt her to do some soul searching and a re-appraisal of her toxic belief system.

In the meantime, if you look her up online, you can find various video clips that provide insight into who she is.  She calls herself the “Black Panther of Oxford,” and is on the far political left.  She is very fond of the “F” word, not so much of white folks.  She loves a good chant — the more stupid and vulgar, the better. 

She apparently has some disposable income, judging by the amount and quality of fashionable accoutrements she is usually decked out in, from the tip of her black leather beret down to her camouflage pants, including multiple Africa-centric pins, pendants and jewelry in between. 

Wait a minute.  Let me do a little journalistic digging, because maybe such a big fan of all things African was actually shot in Kinshasa, or Mogadishu.

Nope, London.   Hmmm.

Anyway, she is very much NOT fond of cops, whom she enjoys incorporating into her chants, along with the non-friend “F” word.  She thinks they need to be defunded, and she is not shy about grabbing a microphone and sharing that deep thought with the world at the drop of a goofy black beret.

So cut to a week or so ago, when she gets shot in the head.

Naturally her “friend-the-police” comrades called Uber, the BBC, the ASPCA, Rowan Atkinson (somebody had connections), and CarMax.  

Oh no, sorry.  According to the fake earpiece through which I’m not being fed information, her anti-capitalist, anti-white, anti-cop fellow numbskulls actually called the pasty white British cops.  Who arrived in capitalism-provided cars, trailed by capitalism-provided ambulances, and saw to it that she was transported to get advanced, capitalism-provided medical care.   

Boy, if she survives and recovers from her injuries, she is going to be ticked off that her activists-in-arms buddies called the pale patriarchals to rescue her!

Well, at least she’ll be comforted that the racist white conservatives who shot her will be brought to justi-

What’s that, fake earpiece?  The cops arrested the four a-holes who were shooting up the place, and they are mouth-breathing gang members the same color as Sasha’s snazzy beret?

Cue the sad trombone, playing “The Ballad of the Disappointed Whitey Haters” in E major.

By the way, how does our execrable MSM – in this case CBS – headline the story?

“Leading anti-racism protester shot.”

As always, Shakespeare said it best: “Methink’st thou art a general offence and every man should beat thee.”

But enough of that grim stuff.  Let’s turn to one country that has learned the value of NOT allowing violent morons free reign in their society: Israel. 

I don’t need to rehearse the details for any of you: terrorist Hamas starts murdering Israeli civilians, Israel defends itself by using targeted strikes against terrorists, the world press and the Dem jihadi-lovers in Congress condemn Israel.  Of course.

While that is a sad and all-too-predictable story, I want to celebrate the feel-good story of this conflict, which is the amazing trick the Israelis played on Hamas terrorists. 

Hamas gets tons of aid money from gullible (and often malevolent) leftists around the world, and rather than waste it on frivolous things like infrastructure, education, or improving the lives of their people, they spend the lion’s share of it on buying weapons and building miles of tunnels in which to conceal those weapons and their own lunatic fighters.

Probably on hookers and opium and bee-keeper outfits for their women, too.  But mostly on tunnels and weapons.

The terrorists are usually protected from Israeli strikes because they hide among women and children – as big, strong, brave men are wont to do.  So Israel staged a phony invasion.  They positioned some armor and troops near the West bank, and leaked their imminent ground invasion to track down the terrorists.

When the media reported that the invasion was beginning, most of the terrorists went into the tunnels, so that they could pop out and ambush the Israelis. 

And the Israelis, who knew where the tunnels were, bombed the hell out of them, killing hundreds of terrorists without putting their own soldiers in danger.  In effect, the jihadis took millions in foreign aid, used them to dig their own graves, and then crawled down into them to wait. 

And then the IDF said, “Surprise, mother frienders!”

I love a story with a happy ending!

Speaking of which, if you haven’t seen the video of the black cat in Chicago who jumped out of the fifth story of a burning building yet, drop everything and watch it.

I don’t know the story behind it other than that what I just told you, but it looks like a cross between a metaphor and an Aesop’s fable come to life.

The burning building is a metaphor for the way that leftists have ruled Chicago and Illinois for decades.  They are lousy people with worse ideas, and they are burning down their own home.  The cat is a stand-in for the sensible Illinoisans who have had enough.

The cat launches himself away from the building, extending all four limbs and sailing downward like the offspring of a flying squirrel and a… well, a falling cat, I guess.

The shrieking onlookers are the brainwashed Chicagoans who have succumbed to learned helplessness:

“Why is he leaving the safety of that towering inferno, which is only on fire because of racism?”

“He should wait for the government workers’ task force that is working on a plan to put that fire out by early this fall.”

“Does he have a permit to jump out of that building?”

“He’s not wearing a mask!  That’s dangerous!”

But the intrepid cat soars outward and down, clearing a concrete wall by inches, and landing on the grass.  He bounces once – like a boss! — and then trots away, unscathed.

The other residents turn their attention back to the burning building, shouting, “Don’t worry!  Stay where you are!  Higher taxes and more gun control are on the way to save you!”

And THAT, my friends, is the story of how CO and the COW leapt from a skyscraper on Lake Shore Drive, narrowly escaping the grasping, incompetent claws of Pritzker and Lightfoot (worst 70’s cop show ever), and landed – like a pair of bosses — safely in Florida.

Where they were met by Ron DeSantis, me, and Cassie the Wonder Dog.  And we all shared a glass of a brown liquid, as we looked back at Illinois, where the skies are darkening with black cat-flying squirrel hybrids, making their escape!

Happy Friday everybody!

Man o’ Manischewitz, I leave town for a drive across the country for two weeks, and when I get back everything is on fire, the train is off the tracks, all hell has broken loose, we’re up Schumer creek, and the inmates are running the asylum!  Also, the fox is in the henhouse, and the devil is in the details, and the proof is in the pudding.     

I know: that didn’t even make sense!  But what the hell, people?!

One of the best parts of going on vacation is not following the news every day, and I was mostly successful at that.  But I did check the computer for a few minutes each night, and since I got home, I’ve been catching up. 

Talk about drinking from a fire hose of weird news! 

I’m going to touch on just 3 stories that jumped out at me, and will try to write about some more later in the week.

First, did I dream this, or did Joy Behar – one of the whitest and stupidest people on tv (and that’s saying something) – really lecture Tim Scott – a black and not-at-all-stupid senator – about how he doesn’t understand anti-black racism?

Does no one on her staff have a mirror that could be held up to Behar, so she could then recoil in horror, realize what a gigantic a-hole she has become, and then slink off into well-deserved ignominy?   

Second, did someone slip some hallucinogenic mushrooms into my omelette somewhere in New Mexico, or did the CIA release an insane recruitment ad when I was on the road? 

Nope, I just looked it up, and it wasn’t a fever dream of mine.  This really happened.  I quote from a story in the Guardian: “A social media campaign, Humans of CIA, aimed at boosting diversity in the agency—”

Whoa, stop right there.  That’s a lot of weapons-grade wrongness in a very small collection of words.  Let me count the ways:

First, I don’t want our spy agency to have “social media campaigns.” 

Clandestine drone surveillance campaigns?  Yes.  Infiltration and disruption campaigns?  Abso-freakin’-lutely.  Counter-Fang-Fang reverse-engineered triple-agent honey-trap campaigns? Sounds like fun.

But social media campaigns?  “Here’s a pic of my meal in the CIA cafeteria this morning?” “5 Reasons why Masculinity is So Toxic?” “How to Handle Micro-Aggressions When you are Undercover?” 

No bueno, and no gracias.

Second, ”Humans of CIA?”  That’s what you named your social media campaign?!  As opposed to what?  “Inhumans of CIA?”  “Amphibians of CIA?”  “Deciduous Trees of CIA?”  Ugh.

Third,“…aimed at boosting diversity…”  Good lord, will this NEVER end?! 

We need super-sneaky, bad-ass spies.  We don’t need differently-abled, transgender, anorexic, Zoroastrian, little-person Asian-or-Pacific-Islanders!   (Besides, that 6-box-checking unicorn is already pulling down a 7-figure income leading a grievance study program at some horrifically over-priced college.)

I mean, sure, if we need to infiltrate a bi-polar, transgender terror cell, recruit with that in mind.  If we’ve got a lead on a hearing-impaired Pacific-Islander drug cartel, go find the Samoan Marlee Matlin and coach her up. 

But otherwise, can we PLEASE just find some people who like to spy and are good at it?

“I wonder what kind of employee you get, when you begin with that insane set of criteria?” you are not asking, because you already know.

Let me introduce you to a 36-year old Latina CIA officer with a lot of issues.  How do I know these things about her?  Because she yammers about it throughout the video.

In the first minute of the ad, we learn that she likes Zora Neal Hurston’s fiction (okay), that she’s the daughter of immigrants (who cares?), that “nothing about [her] “is tragic,” (what?), “[she] is perfectly made” (Meh.), and she’s bilingual (I guess that could come in handy pretty often). 

Also, she can “change a diaper with one hand, and console a crying toddler with the other.”  Um, is this a job interview for a daycare provider?

Then things go seriously downhill.  “I’m a woman.  I’m a mom. I am a cisgender millennial, who has been diagnosed with generalized anxiety disorder.” 

Oh, no.  You want to be a spy, and you have an anxiety disorder?

“I am intersectional, but my existence is not a box-checking exercise.” She says, after spending 59 seconds checking off a dozen irrelevant boxes.

Then she segues into a half-minute of unintentionally revealing “methinks she doth protest too much” guilty defensiveness: “I did NOT sneak into CIA.  My employment was not and is not the result of a fluke, or slip through the cracks.  I EARNED my way in, and I EARNED my way up the ranks of this organization.  I am educated, qualified, and competent.” 

Now we’ve gone from daycare to a self-help support group led by Stuart Smalley.  (“He’s good enough, he’s smart enough, and doggone it, people like him!”)

But then… the very next sentence: “And sometimes I struggle.  I struggle feeling like I could do more… and I struggle leaving the office when I feel like there’s so much more I could do.”

I’m no top-secret spy-training guy, but that sounds like a lot of struggling for someone who wants to get into the exciting field of high-stakes, life-endangering espionage.

“I used to struggle with imposter syndrome, but at 36, I REFUSE to internalize misguided patriarchal ideas of what a woman can or should be.”

And… there goes my gag reflex.

Imposter syndrome?! You’re supposed to be a spy!  Do you know what the operational definition of a spy is?   (Cue Sam Kinison wearing a James Bondian tuxedo.) AN IMPOSTER!!  OH! OHHH! 

You pretend to be a gardener on the grounds of a ChiCom training base, or a caterer for a gathering of  Hamas big shots, or a secretary for a handsy Russian general who gets a little chatty after his third vodka.  And when Comrade Grope-ski gets a little flirtatious, you give him a sultry look and a third vodka, not a lecture on how he better keep his patriarchal mitts off your strong Latina cis-gendered butt, lest you report him to the CIA HR!

I cannot imagine anything more comforting to our enemies than watching a recruiting ad like this!  

And in case you’re wondering, yes I do have an idea for a better CIA recruiting ad, thanks for asking:

We open on a dark screen that stays dark throughout.  We hear a hoarse whisper, voiced by Clint Eastwood, or possibly Tom Waits.    

“Hey.  If you were an enemy of the United States, this is all you would ever see of me.  I might be shadowing you in a crowded public place, or behind you in line for a cab, or sitting beside your bed as you sleep. 

I could be there to inject you with a drug that causes a heart attack, or to install some malware on your computer, or put a listening device in your bedside table, or a small explosive charge in your cell phone, so that you next time you call for an Uber you get your head blown clean off.

Or maybe I’ll just slide this very sharp, very thin blade between two of your ribs and into your heart or liver.  Both of which will hurt.  A lot.  So maybe you should re-think that, “Let’s screw with America,” plan you’ve got going.

I’ve got imposter syndrome.  Because I’m an imposter.  Which is why you won’t suspect that I’m the guy who’s going to get you and your fellow bad guys imprisoned or killed or both.  But I am.  And I will. 

And this is all you’ll ever see of me.”

Then the following words appear on screen: “If this sounds good to you, contact the CIA.  We’re hiring.”

In keeping with my renewed appreciation for America after my cross-country road trip, I thought I’d end today on a feel-good story in praise of one of my favorite things about our country: the second amendment.

This charming little educational story appeared on Breitbart on May 6^th, under the headline, “Alleged Intruder Armed with Knife Takes Fatal Head Shot.” 

Already you know that this story is going to be great, but it turns out to be like an onion, in that it has many layers.  And also because it will make you cry.  With laughter, I mean.  

The first layer of the story: 54-year-old idiot with an active Domestic Violence Injunction against him stops by his kids’ mom’s house to do her harm, kicks his way through the front door and grabs a knife, and goes through the house until he finds her in a back bedroom.  She depended on the powerful government injunction to protect her.  But also a pistol.  (Belt and suspenders, people.)  She shoots him in the head, and he wins first prize in the “Assume Room Temperature” challenge.

But wait.  There’s more.

It turns out that mom had some kind of a security cam outside her front door.  So in addition to the dry police narrative of events, we get an audio/visual presentation too.

The 30-second video opens with violent idiot stomping up to the front door, and then giving it a backwards kick, as he makes a cogent appeal to be let into the house.  To wit, “You want to friending play, b**ch?  Friend!”  Then he punches the wall near the door.  “You want to friending play?  Let’s PLAY!  Friending b**ch!”

Then he gives the front door six more kicks, until it breaks open.  He stomps through it, and we can hear his voice getting fainter as he starts moving through the interior of the house.  “Let’s friending play!  Let’s friending play!”   

Sadly, the video ends there, before he found out she had a gun, and uttered his last words.

Which I can only hope were, “What the friend?  I immediately regret my decision!  I don’t want to play anymo—” BLAM!

The third layer: I love the way media report on crime.  The story called the idiot the “suspect,” and said that he, “allegedly kicked in the door.”  Also that he “allegedly made threats against the woman.”

You don’t say?  We just watched the video.  There’s no “suspect,” and no “allegedly.” 

Even when the story links to the video, it says that the police “posted video showing the suspect allegedly kicking in the door.” 

Way to go, journalists! 

Let’s go back to basics: an “allegation” is a claim that somebody did something.  The actual definition of the adverb “allegedly” is “used to convey that something is claimed to be the case or have taken place, although there is no proof.” 

It makes NO sense to say that a video shows someone doing something for which there is no proof that he did!  Go back to J-school, you idiots! 

And now, for the final layer of the onion – which, I warn you, will make you cry.  (again: with laughter.)

Where do you think the violent dope was going when he took a detour to his baby mama’s place to play a spirited round of “taking a knife to a gunfight?”  Was it:

1. The monthly meeting of his local Mensa club.
2. Weekly Bible study.

Or…

Wait for it…

• Anger management class.

You can’t make this up.

Look at the bright side, folks.  This guy graduated at the top of his anger management class, and in the same way that Joe Biden is governing.

Posthumously.

Many thanks to our Founders, who provided the lady in this story with a very effective way to de-escalate a tense situation, and simultaneously to ensure that her ex will never lose control of his temper again!

Avenatti/Valedictorian of the Anger Management Class, 2024!

After my grim column on Monday, I’m turning back to the sunny side of the street today. 

Sidebar: This doesn’t mean that the racial arsonists on the left still aren’t vile creeps, or that their horrific dishonesty about this country, average cops, average white people, or everything else aren’t going to get a lot of black people killed in coming years.  Just because I choose to occupy myself with more uplifting thoughts doesn’t mean that Shakespeare’s words don’t still apply to that sorry lot: “Thou art a general offence, and every man should beat thee!”

Just a few quick stories today, and then I’ll tell you about a fun trip that I’m going to be taking.

First, it’s nice to see that there has been at least a little pushback on some of the Leftists who spent the last several weeks playing their parts in the modern day version of that old fable, “The Gender-non-binary Child Who Cried Racism.” 

Even Melting-Face Maxine Waters is getting a little blowback from her blatant calls for mob violence in Minneapolis.  After half the sentient bipeds in North America called out her slimy comments, she implausibly said, “I’m nonviolent,” and then went on to accuse the GOP of unfairly pouncing on her egregious comments.

And then, in my most-desired dreams, Candace Owens stepped out of a crowd of reporters holding a wooden bucket of water, and threw it on Maxine.  Whereupon she shrieked, “You cursed brat!  Look what you’ve done!  I’m melting, melting.  Oh what a world, what a world! Who would have thought a good little girl like you could destroy my beautiful wickedness!”

Then she slowly sunk through the floorboards, leaving only her pointy black hat and that ridiculous wig that is fooling no one.

In another feel-good story already commented upon on the CO site, the leftist Hollywood brain trust got together months ago to confront the problem that last year’s Oscars were only watched by around 24 million people.  A passing guy wearing a MAGA hat sneered, “I bet you can’t get this year’s viewership down to under 10 million.”

“Oh yeah,” said an actor or actress whose pronouns are a question mark and a shoulder-shrug emoji, “well hold my kale smoothie and watch this!”

And…. 9.85 million sets were tuned to the Oscars on Sunday night. 

And don’t forget that 1.4 million of those were in airports, too high on a wall to be reached by the travelers, who were desperately launching themselves upwards or getting onto others’ shoulders to try to reach the “off” switch.   

Another 1.2 million were in convalescent homes and hospitals where the occupants were either sleeping or comatose.     

Doughy, actress-fondling entertainment bigshots insisted the small audience was due to the pandemic, and had nothing to do with the unwatchable nominated movies or the insufferable nominated “stars.”   

To add insult to self-inflicted injury, these geniuses decided to hold the Grammys in a train station this year, which might help explain another 10,000 viewers or so, who were trapped on trains passing through, forcing them to briefly gawk at the self-satisfied narcissists who know nothing about politics sharing their vast lack of knowledge with their miniscule audience. 

I’m not kidding about this: the Oscars were actually held in the LA’s Union Station! 

This was a two-fer for the Hollywood left. 

By not holding the ceremony in an established auditorium or other venue, they were able to ensure that no honest businesspeople in unnecessarily locked-down CA  were able to earn any money.   AND the homeless people who usually “live” in the train station – the benefactors of so many Democrat policies over the years! – were forced to pack up their belongings and get out for a couple of days.

Rumors that next year’s event will be held in a Greyhound station, and that the 2023 awards will take place in a Port Authority bathroom remain unconfirmed. 

Hooray for Hollywood!

Speaking of LA, guess who has two thumbs and is going there soon, but only to visit briefly, because CA is being run into the ground by terrible leftist politicians? 

This humble hilarious genius right here, that’s who!  (If this were a podcast instead of a written column, you could see me standing with both thumbs pointing at myself right now.) 

A couple of my cousins got the idea of the three of us taking a road trip together.  So one of them bought a 45-year-old Cadillac Eldorado convertible, and on May 1^st, we’re going to drive Route 66, from its origin in Chicago to its terminus in LA.   Which means that we’re going to be turning fly-over country into drive-through country.

I’m really looking forward to the trip!  We figure we’ll spend around 10 days on the drive out, and then take a little jaunt up the Pacific Coast Highway.   I’m going to fly back home from San Francisco, because I can’t be away from my smoking hot wife and Wonder Dog for more than a couple of weeks, but those two will then drive back home to Illinois.

I haven’t been on that route any further than St. Louis before, so if any of you know 66 and have any suggestions about must-see stops, please let me know.   Also, please feel free to chime in with your guesses about how likely it is that we’ll have a major break-down with that car along the way. 

For what it’s worth, my over/under is… New Mexico.  

My regular Monday column might be delayed, but I’m taking my laptop, and hope to post some travelogue entries along the way.

In the meantime, in lieu of a snappy ending, I leave you with a joke that seems timely, since I’m heading to LA:

A bunch of people are seated in a circle of folding chairs when a guy clears his throat.  “I want to welcome you all to a meeting of Plastic Surgery Addicts Anonymous.  I see a few new faces here this week.  So I’m very disappointed.”   

Boom!