The Cautious Optimism Roving Correspondent for Affairs (and Stuff) – CORCA – returns after a short hiatus:
After a week pounding out three snark-filled columns to close out March, I was unable to write a column last Monday due to the soul-crushing burden of having written about our nefarious leftist overlords thrice the week before.
But now I’m back, because it will take more than a little tortuous soul-crushing to keep this roving correspondent down…
…is what I thought before I watched Brandon’s performance over the last week.
He kicked the bucket with a video-taped message for our newest High Holiday.
Sorry, that’s “kicked things off,” not “kicked the bucket.”
Or is it?
Anyway, Biden’s embalmers produced a minute-long video that must have been editing together from a depressingly large number of takes — I’ve got the over-under at 42 – until he came across as almost life-like. He opened with the phrase, “To evurrone celebrating trzzzgrder dayof vzzzzbillity.”
When I ran those words through my “Slurring-to-English” translation software, I learned that March is now officially the month that, “Comes in like a Lee-Ann and goes out like a Sam,” because the last day of the month is now apparently “Transgender Day of Visibility.”
I know what you’re thinking: it’s just not the same anymore, now that Transgender Day of Visibility has gotten so darned commercial. In the old days, it meant a cozy day spent in the kitchen, helping your father/mother bake a tray of gingerbread he-shes (hat tip to Dennis Miller), followed by donning your gay apparel – or straight apparel, whatever – and making a trip around the neighborhood singing Transgender Day of Visibility Carols.
Or Kevins. Whatever.
But no longer. Now the political elite have gotten hold of our beloved holiday, and they’re determined to score political points from it. The theme of Biden’s Greco-Roman-Teleprompter-Grapple was that the prez sees transgender folks, and they will no longer be invisible.
Not like they used to be. Like when you’d be hanging around on Main Street, and a person with the upper body of a Kodiak bear would be walking toward you, wearing a wife beater over a poodle-skirt and Doc Martens, a string of pearls hanging just below her prominent Adam’s apple, partially hidden by a bushy beard.
And just before you bumped into her, you’d be startled, and gasp out an apology, “I’m sorry! I didn’t notice you!”
“I know,” she’d say in her dainty, James Earl Jones voice, “I’m so sick of being invisible!”
Well suffer no more, transgender citizens. Because your president sees you, and he values you, and he sniffs your hair. Unless you’re a dude — that would be gross.
Speaking of invisibility, did you see the press conference last week when Obama triumphantly returned to the White House, rattled off some narcissistic lies, and then mingled with the various sycophants and lickspittles who crowded around him, eager to touch the hem of his robe?
Poor Old Joe was left to wander around the periphery like the Ghost of Transgender Visibility Day Past, unnoticed and un-missed by all in attendance.
But lest you think Joey Gaffes has cornered the market on delusional, consider the latest ad campaigns from the Dem brain-trusts running Chicago and NYC. Both metropoli have noticed that they’ve been losing a lot of productive citizens to red states lately, and they’ve decided to fight back.
And Florida’s so-called, “Don’t Say Gay Bill (actual title: “Stop Sexually Indoctrinating our Kids, You Weirdos!”) gave them just the opportunity they were looking for.
Chicago bought full-page ads in several Florida newspapers touting its “In Chicago, We Believe” campaign. Unfortunately for them, lots of Florida residents put on their bifocals to read the smaller print beneath the headline slogan, which began, “…that you don’t pay enough taxes; that recidivist criminals don’t kill people, guns do; that single-party corruption and a mayor who frightens children like a sewer-dwelling Stephen King clown is just good fun…”
Not to be out-done, NYC bought giant billboards in several FL cities with the word “gay” on them, and an invitation for Floridians to “come to the city where you can say whatever you want.”
Especially if what you want to say is, “Please continue fiscally raping me, you socialist lunatics!” or “What are you going to do with that machete, deranged, whitey-hating, homeless person?” or, “Why are you shoving me toward the subway tracks, fellow Biden-voter? AAaaghhh!! Splat!”
As a Floridian, I’d like to thank those nearly-bankrupt cities for spending some of their dwindling funds in our state on their insane ad campaigns. And hey, if those ads entice a few of our recent Grievance Studies graduates with fluorescent hair and horrific facial piercings to pursue their obsessive urge to regale 5-year-olds with hot genitalia talk in YOUR state, we’ll call that a win-win.
In a related story, if you want a sneak preview of the kind of entitled d-bags you’ll be sharing the Big Apple with, I give you “Jackie,” an entitled shoplifter whom I swear I am not making up. She was recently caught shoplifting from a Manhattan Duane Reade store.
When a security guard stopped her, she objected to being treated disrespectfully, just because she is a good-for-nothing, larcenous POC. Quoth the thief, “Like, my whole thing is, is that they put hands on you when they’re not allowed to touch you.”
The store officials weren’t impressed by Jackie’s legal reasoning, so she had to enlighten them further. “I said, ‘no, you can’t do that. I gave you back your property… and you are not letting me leave the store.”
She also explained that SHE was the real victim. “Taking stuff is hard. Whenever you try to steal something, it’s a 50/50 shot that you’ll get caught. But usually, you get caught.”
Brilliant! She sounds like she might have been part of the focus group who came up with the marketing slogan for the cologne “Sex Panther,” from the movie Anchorman: “60% of the time, it works every time.”
But let’s not dwell on the dregs of society.
Let’s dwell on the dregs of the legal system, and the way that Biden kept his promise to nominate the best possible jurist to sit on the land’s highest court… as long as her genitalia and skin color were pleasing to him.
The Ketanji Brown Jackson story raises several nauseating points: First, the gender and racial cheerleading is repulsive, and dishonest, and stupid.
Repulsive because this kind of identity politics always requires that we accept the premise that all women think alike, and all blacks think alike. And that idea is surely at the heart of what reasonable people would call sexism and racism.
Dishonest because they know that that premise is not true, which is why they decry – not celebrate – Clarence Thomas and Amy Coney Barrett, even though their skin tone and genitalia should supposedly give them sacred, unassailable virtue.
And stupid because the same left has spent a large part of the last year denying that anyone can even say what a female is, and yet they’re celebrating her status as a new black FEMALE on the supreme court? Even the nominee herself pretended to be stumped by the question of how to define a woman – which, in a sane world, would be enough to deny her nomination immediately.
But now, I guess the MSM is suddenly crawling with expert biologists, since they have no hesitation in declaring that Jackson is a woman?
The over-reaction from the left about the most basic and relevant questions that the GOP senators asked during her confirmation hearings – especially after the ridiculous and evidence-free slurs against Kavanaugh as a gang-rapist, and Barrett as a religious lunatic – speaks volumes.
To me, it seems clear that the far left has a giant bug up their butts about any SC nominee who is not a committed, leftist, activist, legislate-from-the-bench enthusiast.
But since I’m neither an entomologist nor a proctologist, I guess I’m not qualified to make that judgement.
It’s been a long 4 years and it’s only been 63 weeks.
Avenatti/Sticky-Fingers Jackie 2024!