To Start My Favorite Time of Year: Five Fun Stories (posted 9/2)

It’s the first weekend in September, which means that my favorite time of the year will soon be upon us: autumn/football season/ramp-up to Thanksgiving & Christmas.  (And before you ask, yes: in my mind, a season can be four months long.) 

So I’m normally in a good mood at this time of year.  I’ve got to admit, though, that the national Dems have been doing their best to defecate on my parade throughout August.  The continued gaslighting about January 6th, the Mar a Lago raid, the disastrous college debt transfer plan.

And possibly worst of all, Brandon has come back from vacation and out of his crypt to do his best Grandpa-Simpson-hollering-at-the-clouds impersonation.  If by “clouds” you mean “half the American public.” 

We’re full of hate, and semi-fascist, and violent.  Plus we are trying to destroy America.  To add insult to injury, I’m definitely not for Biden, which means that I ain’t black.

NOW you tell me.  

But at this happy time of year, I see a silver lining even in the offensive howling of Hunter’s dad.  Because I’ve written a lot of columns in which I’ve mocked Joe Biden as a creepy, hair-sniffing, dimwitted, phony DRPOC (Dementia-Ridden Piece of Crap, for those of you playing at home).

Usually, a well-raised and God-fearing youngster like myself would feel bad about saying such unpleasant truths about someone in his late hundreds and seemingly minutes away from meeting his Maker. 

But now that Brandon has taken the mask off – the congenial mask of “ol’ Scranton Joe,” not the vacant-eyed, resting-Crypt-Keeper-face thing he’s got going on – he’s worthy of every bit of sarcasm and mockery I can come up with.  So I am absolved of guilt!

That being said, this column will have no central theme, and will not mention our cadaver-in-chief again.  Instead, I’m just going to run through five recent stories that make me happy.

1. Under Blackface Trudeau, our leftist neighbors in America’s Hat are getting a reputation for being even more delusional about guns than many of our lefty countrymen.  (Sorry, country-people, or country-ze, or whatever.)

In America, because we have a 2nd amendment and the government can’t just confiscate guns from non-criminal citizens, our less-bright local governments have “Gun Buy Back,” programs, wherein they pay people to turn in their guns in exchange for cash or gift cards.   The result is usually that a set of law-abiding people bring in a bunch of old, non-functioning guns, or ones that they aren’t going to use, and the gullible politicians pay good money for them.

Also, because we are capitalists, a bunch of clever people become entrepreneurs by selling useless guns.  One guy in Houston recently made a bunch of “ghost guns” on a 3-d printer very cheaply, and then sold them to Houston officials for a tidy profit.

A Missouri man – whom I’ve never met, but who is now a hero of mine – went one better.  He made three guns out of, and I quote, “scrap metal and garbage,” and then sold them to the politicians for $300. 

Which he then used to buy a real, functioning gun.

Because: America.

But in Toronto, because Canada doesn’t have a 2nd amendment (or, I’m guessing, any self-respect), the cops seize a lot of guns, in many circumstances.  Then they post prideful pics of the seized guns on their web site, accompanied by the hashtag “offthestreets.”

A recent post of theirs went viral, because it contained a picture of an old, seized revolver.  Or rather, a revolver-shaped mass of rust and what might be barnacles. 

It looked like something John Wilkes Booth might have used to kill Lincoln, and then thrown into a river, where it was dragged out 155 years later, smuggled into Canada, and then seized by the Mounties.

Honestly, the only way this thing could have been used to kill someone would be if they were beaten over the head with it, opening a wound in the skin that rusty gun-fragments could lodge in, and eventually cause blood poisoning.

My favorite mocking tweet read, “Off the streets of where? Atlantis?”

2. Because so many New Yorkers have fled that state due to disastrous lefty mismanagement, the state’s districts were re-drawn, and that resulted in two old warhorse congressional Democrats being pitted against each other in the August primary. 

Both of them – Jerry “the Hutt” Nadler and Carolyn “too bland for a nickname” Maloney – are in their mid-70s.  Both first went to congress thirty years ago, and have done nothing productive since.  Most conservatives just looked forward to a dirty political fight – par for the course for these two, but not usually aimed at a fellow lefty. 

And they didn’t disappoint.  Nadler called Maloney gullible; she called him senile.  And after Nadler won going away, Maloney gave the perfect female Dem concession speech: pinched, bitter, and victim-licious.

She said that she only lost because the voters (in deep blue NYC!) are horrible, horrible sexists.  She pointed to NY lefty gyno-Americans like Shirley Chisholm and Geraldine Ferraro, who she claimed, “fought sexist systems and misogyny that continues today, as we know from my own campaign.”

The rhetorical peak of her graceless speech was when she said these words: “When women are at the table, great decisions get made.”

I have but one devastating counterpoint: the empty-headed, bilious ladies of The View.

Check and mate, Carolyn. 

3. Speaking of the battle of the sexes, a Washington Post “journalist” named Alyssa Rosenberg – who is apparently as thick as a whale omelette – came up with a new argument for why biological males should be able to compete against – and crush – female athletes.

First, she wants to let you know that winning is not all it’s cracked up to be, because, “a first-place finish or another win won’t ultimately be the key to a college scholarship or an Olympic berth.”


Um, Alyssa, have you ever played a sport, or watched college sports?  Because the word around the locker room is that college scouts pay attention to how many wins an athlete has when they’re deciding to award scholarships.  Also, I’m pretty sure that spots on Olympic teams don’t usually go to women who have lost at their sport a lot, even if most of their losses are to “ladies” who are built like John Cena.

But Alyssa is taking a two-pronged approach in her ridiculous argument.  It’s not just that minor things like winning and losing are not really important in competitive sports.  She also argues that losing to a hulking dude is good for young women, because… wait for it… losing builds character!

You read that correctly: girls who get destroyed by dudes will learn “a sense of perspective, proportion, and good sportsmanship.”

Yes.  They’ll gain the perspective that their nation has lost its collective mind. 

They’ll learn about proportions – as in “that ‘girl’s’ shoulders are twice as wide as mine, ‘she’ has 75 pounds of muscle on me, and ‘her’ phallus is way more prominent than the one I absolutely do not have.”

And they’ll have to show good sportsmanship, by shaking their opponent’s hand while trying not to have the joints and tendons in their own, feminine hands crushed and mangled.

4. I have a new favorite German.

So move over, Beethoven, Hegel and Nena.  (That reminds me: I’m going to have to watch the video for “99 Luft Balloons” again soon.) (Giggity.)

Last month, 79-year-old German Nobel prize-winning biologist Dr. Christiane Nusslein-Volhard gave an interview to a German feminist magazine, but I don’t think she responded to their questions the way they expected.

Among other things, she called the trans movement’s claims that there are more than 2 sexes “unscientific” and “nonsense,” and said that letting teenagers determine their own gender is “madness.”  She was similarly dismissive of recent blatherings by German academics and politicians along the usual trendy, transgender lines.

She responded bluntly when a group of German law students forced a university to cancel a lecture because the speaker made the “transphobic assertion that there are only two biological sexes.”  

The good doctor blasted away: “This mixture of sensitivity and moral arrogance paired with ignorance is simply fatal.”

Good lord, how liberating must it be to be a female, 79-year-old German Nobel prize winner?!  She’s old, she’s female, she’s got a Nobel – she’s got nothing to prove to anyone, and she’s untouchable.

Because I love the German language, I looked up the translated phrase that I fantasize she used to open her interview with the German feminist magazine: “Bring es an, Schneeflocken!”

Yes, it means just what you thought: “Bring it on, snowflakes!”     

5. Finally, another entry in my favorite kind of story: dumb criminal tricks. 

This one comes from the great Donut Operator, and features a 24-year-old genius named Antoine Sims. 

On August fifth, Sims was on his way home in Kennesaw, GA – probably from a Bible study, or a Mensa meeting – and he thought he’d stop by for a little fast food at McDonalds.  His meal included French fries which Antoine felt were too cold.

Oh yeah, a little more background: Antoine had an active bench warrant out of Fulton County for skipping out on a drug-related murder charge.  He also had 31.2 grams of marijuana in his car.  

So put yourself in Antoine’s shoes.  To recap: cold French fries (probably due to racism); murder warrant, enough pot for an “intent to distribute”charge.

Would you:

A. Politely ask the manager for a new order of fries?

B. Just eat the damn fries and go about your (probably felonious) business?

Or

C. Scream at the manager, throw a drink in his face, and then call 911?

I’ll just turn on the Jeopardy soundtrack for you and pop over and watch Nena’s 99 Luft Balloons while you ponder the thorny question…

Survey says: Antoine chose C!

He called the cops, who came and talked to him and to the manager, and then offered him a paper to sign to accept that he was being “no trespassed” from McDonalds.

He still might have been okay.  He could have defiantly grabbed the pen and made his “X” on the form, muttering, “Cold-French-fry-serving mother frienders!  I don’t wanna go in their friending McDonalds anyway!”

But not Antoine.  He got squirrely, repeatedly asked the cops if he was under arrest, and then took off running.

Then yada yada yada, Antoine’s sitting in the Cobb County jail without bond, awaiting his murder trial. 

And he never even got to eat his fries!  

So what have we learned today?

If you’ve got a barnacle-encrusted cap gun in your attic, sell it to a slow-witted politician and buy a Walther.

Don’t screw with old German female biologists with Nobel prizes.

A perfect theme for the 2024 Democrat National Convention would be: A Mixture of Sensitivity and Moral Arrogance Paired with Ignorance!

Enjoy your holiday weekend!

Avenatti/various Schneeflocken, 2024!

2 thoughts on “To Start My Favorite Time of Year: Five Fun Stories (posted 9/2)”

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