Everyone here knows that I am not one to brag.
Sure, I may have mentioned in passing that my oldest daughter is busy saving the lives of children in a pediatric hospital, or that my youngest daughter is a budding astrophysicist whose mentoring professor just submitted an article with her on which she’s going to be first author.
And yes, if you held a gun to my head, I’d confess that when Sheila Jackson Lee once saw my wife, she said, “I thought that the sun was a powerful heat, but THIS woman is HOT!” And that my Aussie shepherd Cassie (“the Wonder Dog” is an honorific, but I can’t really type her name without it) is the apotheosis of canine cool.
But yesterday I was able to check off another bucket list item. Because I am now the proud owner of a… wait for it…flamethrower!
No, tragically, it is not a flamethrowing robot dog. (My wife somehow doesn’t agree that that would be the best $10,000 [with shipping] that we ever spent. Because she’s apparently not the financial visionary that I am.) (See my Friday column at Martinsimpsonwriting.com for background.)
This is a small, personal flamethrower to be used for burning weeds or grass, among other things. And by “other things,” I don’t mean pro-Hamas protestors’ tents, because in Florida, we don’t have any of those on our campuses. Because we are not governed by terrorist sympathizers or sniveling cowards.
But I do already have a few other “flame-thrower-target” ideas. I’m going to see what happens if I turn her on the first “Co-exist” bumper sticker I see, and there’s a house a few blocks over with one of those, “In this house we believe… chromosomes don’t exist, etc.” yard signs that intrigue me…
If you have any suggestions about other possible uses for Sparky (yes, I’ve already given her a name, and yes, it’s a name that works for a personal flamethrower OR the electric chair that we used on Ted Bundy) (Because: Florida!), please leave them in the comments.
And yes, Sparky’s pronouns are she/her. Because guys always think of their favorite physical possessions as female. I refer you to sailors always calling their ships “her,” and to every Beach Boys song about a beloved car. (“She’s real fine, my 409.” “She’s my little deuce coupe, you don’t know what I got.” Etc.)
Not to mention the fact that when the Japanese fooled around with us at Pearl Harbor, they “found out” on the receiving end of a big ol’ fissile middle finger dropped from a plane that was named after the pilot’s mom, the Enola Gay.
And if by some freak coincidence, I should pass away in a flame-thrower-related accident this week (my wife is not totally discounting the possibility), I am asking here and now that the great and powerful CO will give my eulogy, at a service to which I trust you will all travel to attend.
And the only requests I have are that “I’ll Fly Away” be played, that the flag at the CO Compound be flown at half-mast for a respectful interval, and that CO’s first sentence be, “The world without Martin Simpson is now a dark and dismal place, but we can all be comforted knowing that he died doing what he loved: throwing flames.”
Yes, I have been hitting the celebratory bourbon this evening, thanks for asking. Because did I mention that today I received my own personal FLAMETHROWER!?
Now where was I?
Oh yeah, Disney is still reeling after having been beaten like a rented mule by Ron DeSantis; campus protestors are continuing to illustrate their own idiocy AND the difference between how blue states and red states react to said idiocy; and Gavin Newsom continues to step on rakes.
You’d think that Disney would be busily engaged in trying to win back their audience and staunch the flow of red ink they’ve been experiencing lately. But nope!
Their latest blunder happened last month, when a family of four were staying at a Disney Resort at Disney World, and during a meal, paid an extra fee for a visit from a character, the Evil Queen from Snow White and the 7 Dwarves (currently Snow Brown, One Dwarf and Six Normally Proportioned People).
And they did get an “evil queen,” sort of. It was a dude in a costume and make-up!
“This is some Bibbidi Bobbidi Bullschiff right here!” said the dad.
Well, I don’t know if he said that. But he should have. He did say that his whole family have been huge Disney fans before this. He also said that he spent $8000 on his current trip.
Obviously the family were bait-and-switched. It would be like paying to meet a living president at the Hall of Presidents, and getting the mortal remains of the late Joe Biden. Or paying to meet Geronimo or Sitting Bull, and getting Grandma Squanto (#wemustneverstopmockingher). Or paying to meet Universal Studio’s classic movie monster the Mummy, and getting Imhotep Pelosi.
Okay, that last one would be getting exactly what you paid for. But I think the other examples make my point.
I can’t believe Disney is still pulling stuff like this, and I feel this guy’s pain. But if this guy was going to drop $8K on entertainment, he could have just come up with another $2 large and got himself a FRD instead! (“Flamethrowing Robot Dog,” of course).
And then, if he’s ever confronted with a hulking dude in a robe and tiara, it’s Evil Queen versus Flamethrowing Robot Dog! And that has pay-per-view written ALL over it! C’mon, man.
Meanwhile, pro-Hamas asshats continue to illustrate why you should never send your kid to a college run by leftist wokesters. On one campus after another, they continued to set up squatter camps and then virtue signal and “negotiate” with feckless administrators.
But I see several silver linings coming out of this mortifying debacle:
1.The GOP should be cutting ads of these idiots to run – interspersed with border chaos scenes – 24/7 in October and early November. (Though I’ve got a feeling that we’ll already have plenty of great footage from the Dem convention in Chicago in August. I’m going to have a 50-gallon drum of popcorn delivered to my house for that!)
2. The contrast we’re seeing between red state campuses and blue state ones are both educational and edifying. Texas troopers immediately arresting lawbreakers on their campuses are just one example.
At Florida State, 5 minutes after protestors started setting up tents on the quad, campus officials made them pack it up. When protestors’ chants got boisterous, a number of university grounds people suddenly appeared on loud riding mowers to keep the campus tidy. Then sprinklers mysteriously went off, dampening the brave freedom fighters.
One beta male protestor accused the school of intentionally trying to discourage them, saying, “Waah! How am I going to impress my mouth-breathing simpleton friends, and maybe even get a chance at the most dispiriting, low-quality hippie-chick tail ever, with all of this lawn mowing and lawn watering going on?” (I’m paraphrasing, slightly.)
An unnamed university spokesman (and as of this moment, a hero of mine) said – and I swear I am not making this up – “Work on our grounds happens throughout the day.”
I’m not crying. I’m just allergic to newly mown grass and moist Marxists.
My favorite visual of the week came from Emory U in Atlanta, where a bunch of Hamas-loving, cop-hating protestors set up an illegal encampment on campus. After too many warnings, some Georgia state troopers descended on them with the wrath of an angry Old Testament God.
Or at least with the enthusiasm of a well-coached outside linebacker trying to make the first string at an SEC school! You probably saw the video. One particular moron tried to run away, a checkered terrorist tablecloth on his head. (You say “keffiyeh,” I say “terrorist version of a MAGA hat.”) (Hat-tip to CO for that one!)
The dope was run down from behind by a trooper in full gear, including what I first thought was a looped length of rope on his belt, but later realized were just plastic zip ties. (Man, if that had been rope, and the cop had dropped the perp and quickly hog-tied his legs with a rope, that would have been the most awesome trifecta of toxic masculinity – cop, football player and rodeo roper – ever!)
The cop demonstrated perfect form: knees bent, weight going forward, then the lowered shoulder and exploding through the tackle. He even put his head to one side of the target right before impact, to avoid the 15-yard penalty for spearing!
I tell ya, those protestors were dropping like Moanin’ Megan Rapinoe walking into a particularly tall blade of grass!
More, please.
Finally, Gavin Newsom is back in the news, and for a hilarious reason.
(By the way, I realize that today’s column would make a good round on Family Feud: “Name three people or groups that Ron DeSantis has totally owned in the last year! Survey says: Disney, pro-Hamas campus protestors, and Gavin Newsom.”)
Newsom got the brilliant idea of commissioning a $1 coin to honor innovation in the late great Golden state, and tweeted out a call for suggestions of what should appear on the coin. And the people of the internet unleashed a torrent of swift kicks to the smooth, featureless groin of the Ken Doll.
Dozens of proposed designs featured some variation on the tent city: a single filthy tent surrounded by garbage; a few dozen tents with whacked-out meth heads lounging around; an endless vista of tents in the foreground, with the LA skyline in the background.
One suggestion featured a gas-station sign with innovatively high $6+ gas prices. One proposed a wagon train of U-hauls heading east, while another contemplated how to indicate in an image the turning a budget surplus into a $73 billion dollar deficit in two years.
But the leader in the clubhouse seems to be a glowing, golden image of the Golden Gate Bridge, one of its iconic towers partially obscured by a ginormous poop emoji.
It’s a perfect image for California currency under Democrat rule: not a bitcoin, but a sh*tcoin.
Well done, Gavin! Hamas delenda est!
Martin Simpson 
Another home run!
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Thanks, Sherry!
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