It’s Christmas week, and though we don’t get snow drifts in north Florida, I’m still trying to dig myself out of a deep drift of ridiculous stories that keep piling up. So let me jump right in.
I mentioned in my last column that every year I re-listen to Frank Muller’s perfect reading of A Christmas Carol. This time around, I heard a line I hadn’t noticed before, right near the beginning of the book. In the initial introduction of Scrooge (“a squeezing, wrenching, grasping… covetous old sinner…solitary as an oyster,” and etc.), Dickens writes a bunch of descriptions of Scrooge’s coldness, culminating in, “He carried his own low temperature always about with him.”
That feels right: most of us carry a dominant mood or personal hardwiring around with us. And when I watch the parade of leftist malcontents that seem so intent on foisting their grievances onto the rest of us, I can’t help recognize the way they “carry their [misery and crazy] always about with them,” like Scrooge.
Which brings me to the sad yet hilarious case of Sam Brinton — Samsonite Sam, as our own Ed Jamie Landis called him, in honor of his tendency to steal women’s luggage.
We all know him by now as the bald, cross-dressing puppy fetishist lunatic with the mustache and lipstick, and the unfortunate resemblance to Matt Damon’s mentally ill, gender-confused, less attractive cousin.
This guy’s official job title was, “Deputy Assistant Secretary of Spent Fuel and Waste Disposition in the Office of Nuclear Energy.”
Sidebar: The number of words in your job title is usually inversely proportional to your impressiveness as a human being. Consider the following titles on the business cards of some of the Cautious Optimism site’s regulars: CO – Renaissance Man; Christopher Silber – Economic Wizard; Laura (COSE) – America’s Sweetheart; my Aussie Shepherd Cassie – Wonder Dog.
But crazy Sam Brinton has a 15-word title. I rest my case.
How did that loon get hired for a job that required some kind of security clearance, even in the leftist miasma of stupid that is the Biden administration?
Couldn’t they find someone less obviously deranged than him just by throwing a dart at a wall of mug shots from Antifa felons? Sure, they’re all unattractive, and look like they’re living in someone’s basement, and like they’ve spent all the time they’ve saved by being a-sexual on reading Marxist theory and writing slam poetry.
But still, they’re not posting pics of themselves on their social media wearing Donna Reed’s dresses and Courtney Love’s lipstick, holding the leashes of disordered males wearing dog masks.
During my career, I interviewed and hired several hundred tutors at my prof job, and probably 100 different tradesmen to help me with my rental properties. I learned that first impressions can be unreliable, and some people can hide their crazy for a short time.
But this guy’s crazy could be seen from the international space station! And still it took two charges of stealing different women’s luggage – on camera, in airports – to persuade the Democrats in DC to fire him!
In a related story, a degenerate Army colonel posted his traditional retirement pic – of him in full uniform, with an American flag behind him – with an idiotic dog mask on, and a series of hashtags that included “#ArmyPup” and “#ServiceDawg.” (Insert your own “dog-faced pony soldier” joke here.)
I’m just glad that Ike and Patton didn’t live to see this, but what the hell is going on in the military?!
After I read those two disheartening stories, I came across a funny tidbit about yet another lefty hate-monger who used to have a career, Keith Olbermann. After years of calling for conservatives to be banned for posting conservative thoughts on Twitter, Keith got temporarily banned from Twitter.
Was it for sharing his leftist “thoughts?”
Nope. He shared a link to a sociopath who was posting Elon Musk’s whereabouts in real time, so that some other sociopaths could potentially assault or kill him or his family.
So did Keith take this as an opportunity to take a good long look in the mirror and question his life choices?
He did not. Instead, he starting posting again on – and I quote – a “second account that he maintained for rescue dogs.”
My blood ran cold when I read that. After the two previous stories, I pictured Olby sitting alone in his sad apartment, using a rescue dog site as a ploy to hook up with fellow members of the leftist dog fetishist community. (“My turn-ons are running after a ball and bringing it back, and having my glands expressed. My turn-offs are cats and heartworm. And yes, I like it ruff!”)
Thankfully, I can report to you now, that – so far at least – it appears that Olbermann’s “rescue dog” account was really intended to help rescue dogs, not to find canine-identifying romantic partners.
So at least he’s got that going for him.
Where can we go to escape from these weirdos?
Not to the White House. The latest insider look at Joey Gaffes featured his raging about how he’s sick of people bringing up his age.
While his frightening senescence is definitely cause for concern, we shouldn’t forget that he was always a few shelves short of a bookcase. Joe Biden at the height of his powers was a shallow, vain, plagiarizing corrupt-o-crat mediocrity, an 8-cylinder engine misfiring on 6 cylinders. You add a dusting of megalomania and a glazing of dementia to that, and what do you get?
A repulsive curmudgeon – not a charming curmudgeon, like me – barking out, “You think I don’t know how f—king old I am?”
No, Joe. No, we don’t. Because A, the safe over/under answer to any question beginning, “Do you think Joe Biden knows…?” is a big ol’ nope.
And B, If you really understood how old you are – and if you had anyone around you who cared enough about you as a human being to try to prevent you from beclowning yourself even more – you wouldn’t have run the first time, let alone again.
Speaking of superannuated blights on our nation, Nancy Pelosi recently unveiled a nauseating portrait of herself in the Capitol’s Statuary Hall to celebrate her 2385 years of service in the House. Joining her – take a deep breath and focus on controlling your gag reflex – was terrible RINO disappointment John Boehner.
Ugh. I often wonder how Dems would react if they ever understood that we conservatives hate many of our GOP “leaders” way more than they do?
Anyway, Boehner gets up there and cries – Surprise! – over what a great Speaker ol’ Imhotep was. And he told her that his two daughters, who are Democrats, wanted him to tell her, “how much they admire her.”
Yeah, I just threw up in the back of my mouth a little, too.
Can you imagine admitting that in public, let alone being happy about it? I tried, but could not.
In fact, I can more easily imagine me saying this: “You know Nancy, my son joined ISIS and is doing life in Gitmo, and my daughter is in a relationship as Sam Brinton’s leash mistress. But they both think that you’re a terrible person, and said that they wish you’d been taken by one of the plagues that struck the Nile valley when your boss was pursuing the Hebrews into the Red Sea. They also asked me to tell you, and I quote, ‘AIIEEE! Kill her with fire!’”
“And I couldn’t be prouder of them.”
I also found myself wishing that people still pulled pranks. Because someone needs to sneak into the capitol one night and replace Nancy’s ginormous portrait with a huge, classic movie poster of the mummy: “Boris Karloff IS Nancy Pelosi AS the Undead Monster from Beneath the Pyramids!”
If possible, they could also stick a smaller second-feature sign on there for a western flick that featured a wagon train beset by a whooping horde of angry Liz Warrens. (#wemustneverstopmockingher)
Let’s end on a happier note.
The New York Times – you may remember them from such headlines as “Hunter’s Laptop Doesn’t Exist,” and, “Bill Clinton Never Had Sex with That Woman” – recently put out a list of the “Most Stylish People of 2022.”
On that list, and I am not making this up, is John Fetterman.
That’s right. Uncle Fester, cosplaying as a San Francisco street-defecator in a wrinkled hoodie and foul gym shorts, is super stylish, according to the brain trust at the NYT.
During my first 18 years of life in a small Illinois farm town, I wore nothing but jeans and flannel shirts, plus a leisure suit for proms, and a polyester shirt and clip-on tie for church.
And I was a dashing, straight, Gianni Versace compared to John freaking Fetterman.
I’m telling you, Dickens had their number 179 years ago:
They carry their crazy always about with them.
Fetterman/ Sam “Scooby Don’t” Brinton 2024!
Martin Simpson 