I spent much of the last week on a road trip, during which I drove a few thousand miles, saw my immediate family and many cool cousins, and generally enjoyed a break from the routine of watching the continuing implosion of our country.
I listened to some podcasts and books on cd, and only saw a few brief news stories. So today I’ll comment on a couple of stories I saw before my trip, and one that happened in the past several days.
But first, two funny things I saw in my travels. One was in Alabama; it was a big sign on the side of the road, professionally printed. On the top it said, “Everyone will eventually confess that Jesus is Lord.” On the bottom it said, “Even the Democrats!” And “democrats” was written in flaming red letters.
Now as loathe as I am to mix religion with partisan politics, and as much as I know that that kind of a sign will do less than nothing to persuade any persuadable types…
That’s funny right there. I don’t care who you are.
Second, just across the river from my small Illinois hometown, in a cornfield that had been harvested, three lone stalks still stood, spaced out within maybe 10 yards of each other. Behind them a sign read, “Biden Corn Maze.”
For humor to work, it has to have some element of truth in it. And that one has a lot more than “some.”
Because you know that if our prez found himself in that empty field, he’d look at the corn stalks… and think “Corn Pop”…and start to panic. Then he’d stumble around trying to get out of the corn maze, and yet remain lost, and somehow end up with an ear of corn lodged in his Cuomo.
But enough of the wisdom of those in the flyover states. Let’s look at the utter foolishness of those running the country.
Exhibit A was Imhotep Pelosi, freshly risen from her ungodly slumber and trailing her burial wrappings into a briefing room, where a reporter had the temerity to ask whether she might need to do a better job of selling Biden’s obscenely bloated and unnecessary budget bill. (That last bit was my paraphrase.)
Queen Nancy’s response was top-shelf arrogance: “Well, I think you all could do a better job of selling it, to be frank with you.”
Because as we all know from our American government classes, it’s the partisan press’ job to shill for a president’s spending priorities like a bunch of hookers when the fleet is at anchor. Especially when his own hacks are botching the job.
The desiccated dullard went on to explain that “Whether Americans know it or not, they overwhelmingly support it.”
Not since the days of “they’ve got to pass the bill to find out what’s in it” has she treated citizens with such naked contempt.
And let me apologize right now for creating a mental image associating “naked” with our House Speaker. Flush your eyes with clean water and consult your physician if the burning continues.
Exhibit B was those money-grubbing old commies, Ben and Jerry, highly compensated purveyors of ice cream and idiocy.
During an interview, they were asked about their recent virtue-signaling move of refusing to sell their ice cream in the West Bank. Because the problem in the Middle East is Israel, not the howling mobs of violent, malevolent jihadis occupying the other 98% of the region.
It seems these dolts recently published an op-ed defending that anti-Israel move, and the title of that op-ed was – I swear I am not making this up – “We’re Ben and Jerry, Men of Ice Cream, Men of Principle.”
Which sounds like either the most nauseating rhetorical self-stroking possible, or the worst title of an Avengers movie ever.
(Sidebar: I love me some ice cream, but I wouldn’t eat Ben and Jerry’s if my life depended on it. Because I consider myself: “Martin Simpson, Man of Ice Cream, Man of Principle.”)
To her credit, the young interviewer asked reasonable questions, and then followed up. She mentioned that they sold their company to Unilever – because nothing says “Workers of the world, Unite!” like selling out to a gargantuan, transnational corporation – and asks if singling out Israel isn’t just a teensy bit anti-semitic.
Ben – or it could have been Jerry – fumbled around, trying to explain that up is down and black is white.
Then the interviewer asked that if they’re not selling in the West Bank because they politically disagree with Israel’s government, why are they still selling in GA or TX, who are offensively trying to maintain voting integrity and limit infanticide, respectively.
What followed was the kind of pause you see when Joe Biden is trying to remember a two-syllable word.
It drug on and on, while both old coots squirmed. Finally Jerry – it may have been Ben – shrugged and said, “I dunno.” Then, “That’s an interesting question.” Then, “I don’t know what that would accomplish.”
Oh don’t you, either Ben or Jerry?! You mean that not selling ice cream to the three Palestinians who can afford it is the metaphorical lever that will move the world, but not selling to tens of millions of Americans would have no effect?
After some more squirming and stammering, Jerry – or was it Ben? – said, “I think you ask a very good question. And I think… I’d have to sit down and think about it for a bit.” (To which reasonable people might ask, “Maybe you should have done that BEFORE you acted!”)
The interviewer then bemoans the way that all women in Texas have now been “stripped of their rights” because they can’t pursue abortion. And Ben – it might have been Jerry – said, “By that reasoning, we should not sell any ice cream anywhere! I’ve got issues with what’s being done in most every state and most every country.”
Exactly! And yet you chose to single out Israel for the boycott.
Then the other guy – I’ve narrowed him down to either Ben or Jerry – tried to rescue his flailing partner. “I think one thing that’s different is that what Israel is doing is considered illegal by international law.“
Ah yes, the vaunted international law. As interpreted by such paragons of virtue as the murderous rulers of various People’s Republics and Islamic Republics that deface the globe.
I can only hope that at the next shareholders’ meeting that those hypocritical sell-outs attend, the audience starts a rousing cheer of, “Let’s go, Ben and Jerry!”
Finally, during my road trip I caught the story about Pete Buttigieg’s paternity leave. I have many thoughts, but you’ve already had them too:
First, I think we can all sympathize with the physical stress and trauma that comes with enduring a long pregnancy, with the bloating and the discomfort and the labor pains, and eating the ice chips and swearing at your husband that he did this to you, and he better never touch you again!
But maybe that was just me, and my experience of having the small bones in my hand crushed by my wife as I tried to helpfully count during her contractions.
I’m no ob-gyn, but I’m pretty sure that Mayor Pete is not a birthing person – and forgive me if that moronic term that was made up 10 minutes ago has already been replaced by an even more moronic and PC one.
But I’m not sure why he’d need 2 months to bounce back from NOT giving birth to a baby.
Especially when, for the first time in recorded history, we might have actually needed a secretary of transportation!
I mean, there’s a reason why the phone under glass on Commissioner Gordon’s desk was the Bat-phone, rather than the “Secretary-of-Transportation-phone.”
And why no president in any thriller or non-fiction account has ever read an urgent message or taken an urgent phone call, then dropped into his chair, ashen-faced, and said, “Good lord, this is a disaster! Get me the Secretary of Transportation immediately!!”
But the timing is terrible, and Biden’s horrific policies have actually produced the first supply-chain disaster in my lifetime. Now would be the time for a competent Secretary of Transportation to shine!
And Mayor Pete was nowhere to be found. It turns out he left 2 months ago, without telling anyone, and without appointing an underling to take over his duties while he struggled to deal with the terrible physical toll of not being pregnant, and then not going into labor – with the non-existent Braxton-Hicks contractions, and the epidural that didn’t happen, and the c-section that never took place.
So just when you thought that yet another terrible Biden appointee couldn’t make things any worse, up steps Mayor Pete. And a new metaphor for dereliction of political duty is born:
“Bottle-feeding while the ports clog” is the new “fiddling while Rome burns.”
But the worst part of this whole shipping-container fire (see what I did there?) is that Pete was able to disappear for 2 months, and nobody even noticed. I can’t think of a more damning indictment of the utter uselessness of your job than that!
I mean, I missed one column this past Monday, and I assume there was wailing and gnashing of teeth throughout the CO Nation. If I were to miss a second column, self-harm on a wide-spread scale would be a real possibility.
If I missed a third column? Deployment of the National Guard and a declaration of a national state of emergency would undoubtedly ensue.
But a cabinet secretary disappears without a trace for months, and the country is no worse off than it is after he returns?
It almost makes you wonder whether we could do the same experiment with the rest of the cabinet. And maybe the entire Executive branch. And OHSA, and the Department of Education, and the Bureau of Alcohol, Tobacco and Firearms.
And the House of Representatives, and the Senate…
Avenatti/Mayor Pete’s Wet Nurse, 2024!
Martin Simpson 