Month: October 2024

We Are Getting Swamped by Leftist Insanity (posted 10/30/24)

Two quick personal notes before I get back to the firehose of events: I talked with Katie this afternoon, and she is recuperating quickly, and hopes to be back at work (nursing and saving children’s lives!) around 11/8 or so. 

And my youngest called us today to say that she has been officially notified that a leading science journal has accepted her astrophysics article for publication shortly.  What is it about?  Well, it has, “Orbital Motion, Obliquity and Eccentricity” in the title.  So… I have no idea.  But I know that she wrote it with one of her professors, and she is getting “First Author” credit.  At age 22! 

I’m not saying that her writing prowess means that she’s taking after dear old dad, because my writing has never been described as containing “obliquity.” On the other hand, I get “eccentricity” a lot.  So I’ve got that going for me. 

Do you think I’m proud of my girls?

To quote DeNiro – the great actor, not the real-life malevolent moron, “Little bit.”

Okay, on to the news.  I have been struggling for over a week to get to the great news coming out of Israel, but the desperate Dems are giving me material that is too good to ignore.

For example, I just saw the entirety of Michelle Obama’s angry speech in Michigan, and it was worse than I thought.  Just off the top, I think I might see where Kamala got her phony accent idea, because Michelle must have said, “ya’ll” thirty or forty times. 

She was born and raised in Chicago, and has spent most of the last 8 years jetting between her mansions in Chicago, DC, Martha’s Vineyard and Hawaii. 

Similarly, I was born and raised within 80 miles of Chicago.  And though I don’t have any mansions in far-flung places, I have been down to CO’s compound in Boca once, and that was pretty cool.  But even in my college town in the free state of Florida, you’ve got to go to one of the small surrounding towns to hear “ya’ll” on a regular basis.

And I can assure you that nobody in Chicago – or Martha’s Vineyard or Hawaii – gets authentically folksy with the “ya’ll this” and the “ya’ll that.” 

Anyway, I’d already seen Michelle’s delusional contention that Trump hides from hostile interviews, while Kamala bravely faces them. But after that, she said that Kamala has been an extraordinary candidate, and – not making this up – “by every measure, she has demonstrated that she’s ready [to be president].”    

After I cleaned up after my spit-take at the screen, she gave her explanation for the only reason that Kamala isn’t running away with this race.  And you’ll never guess the culprit in a million years…  It’s sexist and racist men!

Oh, wait a minute.  I meant EVERY one of you will immediately and instinctively guess the culprit.

She spent five full minutes on the vulnerability involved in being a woman, from the emotional roller coaster of going through puberty, to “the complicated business” going on in an adult woman’s body, to the incredible stresses and joys of pregnancy.  In fact, she spoke as if she clearly knows what a woman is, and how women differ from men!

In which case, she urgently needs to share that groundbreaking information with her party, many members of which apparently cannot distinguish females from the 47 other genders that they believe exist.  (I’d suggest that she start with Ketanji Brown Jackson.)  

But she quickly moved on, following in the obnoxious footsteps of her small, petty husband, and started wagging her finger.  In an election in which Que Mala is desperately seeking votes from men, Obama addressed them directly… only to berate them.  She called them frustrated and angry – I can’t imagine why they would be! – and then blamed their rage for killing women, warning that their own women will become their collateral damage.    

She is as angry and obnoxious as her husband, and I totally believe the rumors that her Secret Service code name was “Scowling Wookie.”  

(Okay, I made that up.  But if I were the head of the Secret Service…)

Poor Kamala can’t catch a break.  She sends Michelle out there to appeal to men and Barack out there to appeal to black men, and Big Mike repels men and Barry race-shames black men.  But at least Joey Gaffes is in her corner.

Oh no, wait.  The only tiny silver lining the Dems got out of Trump’s MSG rally was the little-known comic who made the joke about Puerto Rico being an island of garbage.  Giddy with relief, the entire MSM sprinted to their fainting couches and their rage chairs and their tantrum tables, and started weeping and howling about the incredibly offensive comments.

“How could anyone talk about people so disrespectfully?!  Comparing humans to garbage is a dehumanizing crime against humanity right out of the Nazi playbook!  Trump will never be able to wipe away the stain of—”

What’s that?  While Kamala was away last night preparing for her big, “Word Goulash on the Ellipse” speech, Joe Biden gave his Visiting Angels caregiver the slip, and staggered in front of a camera to make a campaign call?

Well, that’s okay.  It’s not like he could distract from—  What’s that?  He said WHAT?!

Let’s go to the video, which I’ve cleaned up through the use of my patented Simpson Transcript De-Slur-ifier™ : “Donald Trump has no character. He doesn’t give a damn about the Latino community… just the other day, a speaker at his rally called Puerto Rico a floating island of garbage?… The only garbage I see floating out there is his supporters.”

Cut to thousands of Democrat consultants and apparatchiks simultaneously face palming themselves so hard that it registered on the Richter scale.

Good lord, if Biden is actually sentient enough to know what he’s doing, I have gained a whole new respect for him.  After the way Que Mala and the Dem machine threw him under the bus, he has been playing 4-D chess, pulling one act of sabotage after another! 

When Kamala’s handlers try to distance her from Biden, he repeatedly grabs her in a bear hug.  When she tries to run away from the Afghanistan debacle and the border disaster, he says, “Guess what?  She’s my Afghanistan-planning Border Czarina. No joke!”  When she says that DeSantis is playing politics with a hurricane and whines that he wouldn’t take her calls, Biden wobbles out and says that RDS is doing a great job, and he has Biden’s number if he needs anything.

And now he goes full Grandpa Simpson, standing in the Rose Garden and shaking his fist at the sky, hollering, “Everybody who is voting for Trump is garbage!  GARBAGE, I TELLS YA!”

So the Obamas aren’t helping Kamala, and Joey Gaffes isn’t helping Kamala.  But do you know who is?

An anonymous factory worker in Saginaw, Michigan. 

On Monday, Kamala did a photo op tour of a business called Hemlock Semiconductors.  (Speaking of Hemlock, if I were head of the Secret Service, Kamala’s code would be “Verbal Poison.”) (Ooh!  Or better yet, “Lip Service.”) She walked around looking over various objects, trailed by two guys in suits and a guy in a hard hat who explained what she was looking at.   

And before you can ask: No, the MSM didn’t immediately go on air and call Harris’ visit to the factory a phony campaign stunt, as they did Trump’s stint at McDonalds.  Nobody breathlessly said, “We’ve done a fact check, and it turns out that Kamala doesn’t work in a semiconductor factory.  In fact, she’s never worked in any kind of factory!” 

Anyway, Kamala approached some metal rods on a table as the hard hat explained what they were.  She reached out toward the metal, asking if she could touch it, and hard hat quickly said, “Do not touch it!”  She stepped toward a table of the same material in a raw form and pointed to it, and the guy said, “Please do not touch any of the poly – it is very sharp.”

And she said, “And shiny!” And giggled. 

Sweet merciful crap!  I couldn’t help but think of the hilarious meme video of a little girl who sees a bear approaching her family’s deck.  She steps up to the deck and asks, “Can I pet that dawg?”  Her alarmed parents yank her arm back, and she repeats herself three times, more insistently each time.  “CAN I PET THAT DAWG?!”

If you haven’t seen that, search for “can I pet that dog?” and watch what might well be the intellectual equal of our VP.  Except that the little girl is super cute, and her southern accent is WAY more convincing than Kamala’s.

I found myself wishing that when Kamala said, “Can I grab that rod?  Can I grab that ROD?!” the hard hat guy had shrugged and said, “Sure!  It’s a bold move, Kamala.  Let’s see how that works out for you.”

But with the way Kamala has tried to shamelessly steal every Trump policy she can, I wouldn’t put it past her to cut herself on the rod, then smear some blood on her face and hold up a fist, yelling, “Fight, fight, fight!” 

I know this column is getting long – I’m trying to pace myself in this last week before the election! – but I can’t end without giving you a non-politics palate cleanser of a story that I bet you haven’t heard about.

This one goes in the “Unexpectedly” category, and comes to us from South Africa, where famed wildlife conservationist and snake handler Graham “Dingo” Dinkelman tragically died on Monday.  (By the way, if “Dingo Dinkelman” isn’t the name of a “morning zoo” AM DJ from the 1980s, I don’t know what is.) 

Often called “the South African Steve Irwin,” Dinkelman died after a month in the hospital following a car crash.

HA!  I kid.  He died after being bitten by a venomous snake.  UNEXPECTEDLY!

This story is easy to laugh about, even though – seriously – being a conservationist is a righteous job, and the guy was a husband and a father, and seemed like a brave and cool human.  His death is truly tragic.

But c’mon, man. When people are calling you the “Steve Irwin” of your country, and you know that Steve Irwin was killed by an animal, can you not connect a few dots and jump to the obvious conclusion?

The story about his death made it even worse.  This is a quote from his wife, which I swear I am not making up: “Dingo had a venomous snake bite which, unfortunately, due to his allergy to snake venom, sent him straight into anaphylactic shock.” 

Whoa, whoa.  Hang on.  Are you telling me that the guy who decided to spend his life handling venomous snakes… was ALLERGIC TO SNAKE VENOM?!  OH!! OHHHHHHH!!!

Sorry.  I just channeled my inner Sam Kinson there for a moment.

But really, are you Schiffing me? 

First, being “allergic” to snake venom doesn’t even make sense.  It’s not like some people have an AFFINITY for snake venom, is it?  I mean, are there guys out there going, “Oh yeah, I put snake venom in my coffee every morning, and it goes great with French Toast!  It actually lowers my cholesterol and also works like Viagra for me.  Love the stuff!”

Venom is not like one of those medications that work for some people and not others, or a food that some people can’t stand, but some like.  It’s right there in the name: venom! 

I’m going to put this in terms so simple that even AOC could understand: venom… is venomous!

Second, if at some point in your life you learn that you are allergic to snake venom, does that not change your choice of career just a bit?  You don’t see people with crippling fear of heights pursuing a lucrative career as window washers on skyscrapers, or people who are repulsed by lying becoming MSM journalists.

But Dingo was apparently one of those “steer into the skid” kind of guys.  So RIP Double-D, I guess.

All right, I promise to get to some great Israel news on Friday!

Hamas delenda est!

As Time Runs Short, the Dems Frantically Beclown Themselves (posted 10/28/24)

I wanted to start your Monday morning off with a comprehensive take on the events of the last three or four days, but every day lately is filled with too many stories that need mocking, or celebrating, or head scratching.  And I’m only one man.

One roguishly adorable, snark-filled robot-flamethrower-dog of a political-commentary-spewing man. 

First there’s the Democrats self-immolating like the Kamala campaign had given them all the rhetorical equivalent of the Hezbollah Pagers Gift-Pack.  Michelle Obama praised Kamala in the most ham-fisted way possible, and Elmer Fudd Walz claimed that holding an event at Madison Square Garden makes you a Nazi.  (I’ve always suspected that Patrick Ewing and Billy Joel were SS-types, with their many appearances at MSG, but now there’s proof!)

And Que Mala herself tried out a brand-new fake accent: southern preacher!

Meanwhile, Trump and Vance have been colossi bestriding the earth, stomping around the campaign trail like Godzilla and King Kong, trampling MSM hacks and leftist pols as if they were tiny Japanese communists fleeing through a cardboard skyline in Tonka trucks.  (Oh look, there’s a miniscule Asian Tim Walz, struggling to load his shotgun before Trump’s ginormous foot crushes him as flat as Que Mala’s comedy video submission to the Al Smith dinner!)  

And that’s not to mention the many ways Israel has been kicking terrorist arse as if they were Doug Emhoff noticing his date getting a little too chummy with the valet.

Plus it’s been a month since I’ve even pointed out that Liz Warren is whiter than a Holiday Inn ballroom that had mistakenly double-booked a Tilda Swinton family reunion simultaneously with a Game of Thrones convention featuring a “Dress up like the White Walkers” costume contest.  (Spoiler alert: Joe Biden won, and he wasn’t even dressed up!  He just wandered in, got tangled in a red curtain, fell over a sandbag, and bam!  Ladies and Gentlemen, your new “Night King!”)  I don’t even have time to remind you that #wemustneverstopmockingher.

So okay, this is going to be a three-column week, and I better get started, because I’m falling further behind as we speak.

Que Mala has been even more of a piece of work than usual.  I don’t know what she was like way back in the day, when she sidled up to married codger Willie Brown and gave him a sultry, “I’d-do-ANYTHING-for a political appointment” stare. 

But I do know how she comes across in recent years, and it is a nightmare.  She can’t think on her feet, and she can’t give a straight answer to a question to save her life.  And the cackle parodies itself.

And her phony accents!  From Jamaican to Latino to street African-American from Selma – via Berkeley and Montreal – (“Ya bettuh thank uh union membuh!”), she’s multi-lingually phony.  But this weekend she rolled out a new character: Southern black lady preacher from Mt. Pisgah Baptist Church.

In a Philly church she said, “Weepin’ may en-duah for a night…but JOY [drawn-out head waggle here] cometh in the mornin’!”

Ouch.  I’m trying to follow Uncle Jesus over here, and I know I’m supposed to love everybody.  But could you leave the Good Book alone?  You’re giving me the creeps.

However, that wasn’t even the lowlight of the weekend for her.  She was booed and heckled at several speeches, and she made the inexplicable blunder of promising two huge celebrity performers at two different speeches: Bruce Springsteen and Beyonce.  

Now you can say what you will about Trump, but the man knows how to market.  He dominates the news with his McDonalds gig, he packs Madison Square Garden, he takes his opponent’s embarrassing moments and turns them into his own ads.  When he gets arrested on bogus charges, he takes the most badass, glowering mugshot ever, and turns it into a viral meme and hot-selling t-shirt in a few hours.

What’s Kamala’s strategy to market herself?  Promise a performance by Beyonce, and then pull a hugely self-destructive bait-and-switch.  “You came here to hear Beyonce sing?  Well, she’s going to make a 5-minute speechlet, and then I’m going to hit you with the most vacuous stump speech you’ve ever heard in your life.  How about that?  Are you ready to NOT rock?!!  HELLO, HOUSTON!!”

BOOOOOOOOOOOOOO!!! 

Good lord, how could that have possibly worked?  What could she have expected to get out of it?  A large crowd, sure.  But a large, p*ssed off crowd!   “Always disappoint your audience!” said no worthy political consultant ever.

And what good is a large crowd, if everybody in the world knows that they only showed up for the performer, and not for you?

That’s not a rhetorical question, since Kamala answered it with her Springsteen rally.   He actually did sing a couple of songs, and the crowd was clearly there for it.  Then, as soon as he was done and Que Mala took the stage, a huge portion of the crowd headed for the exits, en masse, and on camera.

By the time Kamala started flinging word goulash out into the crowd like Gallagher smashing watermelons, all of the exits were packed by people looking like they were trying to get on the last chopper leaving Saigon.    

Yikes!  That’s one hilarious optic, and the best illustration of Kamala’s campaign I can think of. 

And not for nothing, but I have fond memories of Springsteen’s early albums, and his singing and songwriting.  But holy cats, when did his vocal chords start sounding like Joe Biden walks?  And when did “Dancing in the Dark” turn into “Dry Heaving on the Stage?”

As hard as it may be to believe, Kamala’s surrogates continue to do as much damage to her as she does to herself, whether they are celebrities, or just everyday supporters.   

Dave Rubin had the story on Friday of a mom exposing what a Kamala-supporting teacher did in her CA classroom.  The teacher conducted a mock election in class, and she promised that if her class voted for Kamala they’d get a pizza party, but not if they voted for Trump.  The class voted for Kamala and the pizza (unexpectedly!), and the teacher followed through with the pizza.

Obviously, kids voting for “Kamala and pizza” are actually kids voting for pizza.  The same way as adult dullards going to the rally with Kamala and Springsteen were actually a bunch of adult dullards going to a Springsteen concert. 

Anyway, on a recorded call with the teacher, the mother asked, “Other classes, because they did not vote for Harris, they’re not going to get pizza?” 

And the teacher said, “Yeah.  Well they can, they just have to do what the conservatives do, and pay for it themselves.” 

Got that?  The teacher wants the kids to become future powerless, welfare-dependent wards of the state by supporting Democrats, rather than paying their own way in life like successful conservatives.  Talk about an unwitting self-own!

But the celebrity Kamala-ites were no better.  Actress Ellen Barkin jumped on the “Trump’s rally at MSG is a Nazi rally bandwagon,” demanding a boycott of the event.  The response?  Younger people said, “Ellen who?” and older people said, “Is Ellen Barkin still alive?”  And some Jews and non-Aryan types – along with, yes, some white folks – filled MSG to the rafters.

“What does Hillary Clinton think of Trump’s recent rise in the polls?” you have not asked.  But she answered anyway, doing an interview viewed by literally dozens of people on CNN, during which she agreed that appearing in MSG (like Slick Willie did in his ‘92 convention there) makes you a Nazi.      

She complained that she finds it “so distressing” that Americans would vote for Trump. 

Do you know what I find distressing, Hillary?  Your seven years of election denying, and the dishonest campaign that you ran in 2016, and the eight years you spent in the WH, attacking your husband’s legion of sexual assault victims.

And also your cankles, which are more terrifying than distressing, truth be told.  One of my ancestors was trampled to death by a draft horse in the late 19th century, and our whole family has collective PTSD about that.  And every time I see you clomping toward a microphone for an interview, I break out in a cold sweat.  So please stop triggering me, you mendacious shrew!

Speaking of which, Michelle Obama gave a speech in Kalamazoo on Saturday.  My first thought was, “What can Michelle Obama do for you at this point?”

I mean, other than if you need a fill-in for an injured middle linebacker who has the heft and belligerence to be a real presence against the ground game.  (That position is not called the “Mike Linebacker” for nothing.)

But at this point, Kamala doesn’t need to stop the run, she needs to stop the bleeding.  And how did Mitch try to do that?  By claiming that – and I swear that I am not making this up – “unlike her opponent,” Kamala has not been the one “ducking interviews or cowering in safe spaces with only fawning audiences.”

The old cliché about effective lies is that they must have at least some element of truth in them… and this one isn’t even close!  Yes, Trump has done a few interviews with friendlies lately, but he’s been interviewed by hostile lefties for years.  As opposed to Harris, who hid for 2 months, then did only the most “safe space” interviews until her campaign’s engine was smoking and all four tires were flat, and she became desperate enough to spend 20 minutes with Bret Baier.

During which she was depantsed, disemboweled and defenestrated. 

Anyway, Michelle had a couple of other arguments to advance: Trump is either a Satanic Hitler or a Hitler-esque Satan, and everyone who doesn’t vote for Que Mala is racist and sexist.

Unexpectedly!    

Okay, I haven’t had the chance to see much of Trump’s MSG rally yet, so more on Wednesday.

But I already know one thing: I would much rather listen to Melania (giggity) and her authentic, adorable accent (“Good evening, New York Citee!  Hello, Madeeson Square Gar-den!”) than Kamala’s phony Foghorn Leghorn (“Ah say, ah say the-uh, boy, Yoo bettuh thank uh union membuh, boy!”)  

Eight days left – if you haven’t voted yet, get to it!  

Hamas delenda est!

I’m Eating Popcorn and Watching Kamala Flailing (posted 10/25/24)

I voted yesterday at a local library/polling place.  I already knew who I’d be voting for, of course. But since I’d been out of town and pre-occupied with more important things lately – Katie’s doing great at home, thanks for asking! – I wasn’t up on all of the local ballot issues, judge retentions and the like. 

Fortunately for me, local Democrats dropped off a handy flyer telling me how to vote on every issue. I read their reasoning and their conclusions, then took their flyer into the voting booth and “pulled a George Costanza,” i.e. voted the opposite of every suggestion they made.

Success!

There are so many bad signs for Kamala’s campaign right now, and that’s giving me a great deal of comfort.  (As well as entertainment!) 

My greatest fear a month ago was that if Trump didn’t debate her again, the corrupt MSM would continue to cover for her, and allow her to hide for the last 6 weeks of the campaign, and thus sneak into the WH without revealing her bone-deep vacuity.

But her internal polling must have shown so many problems for her campaign that they figured they had to put her out there for some interviews.  And THAT decision has to rank among the all-time terrible strategic decisions in world history.

As bad as Napoleon invading Russia with winter coming on.  Or Hitler invading Russia with winter coming on.  Or the leaders of Hamas and Hezbollah deciding to launch a sneak attack aimed at slaughtering hundreds of Jewish civilians.  (“Hey, what are the Juden going to do about it? We’ve got our UN-funded tunnel network and missiles, plus the fecklessness of Joe Biden.  It’s not like the Jews will be able to strike ba–  Hold on, my pager is beeping.  I’ve got to take this.”) 

Allowing Que Mala to sit for interviews turned into a death spiral.  When she screwed up the first several shots with friendly hack interviewers, she had to do a few more, just to get the taste of the first ones out of the viewers’ mouths.  And after a couple more similarly flubbed ones, she had to go onto 60 Minutes, because their reputation is (undeservedly) better than the “Call Her Daddy” slutcast, and she knew that CBS would still do some friendly editing to cover up her worst moments.

But then the “60 Minutes deceptive editing” scandal blew up, and her polls dipped a bit more, and she got a little more desperate, and agreed to go on with Bret Baier.  She figured she’d get some street cred for facing down the bullies at Fox, and she prepared a bunch of attack shots on Trump to use as sound bites later.  Just for insurance, she showed up late and had her staffers ready to call the end early, and in between she’d be able to filibuster her way through.  (“If I just repeat, ‘May I finish?’ several dozen times, that will take half of the interview time.”)

Annndddd… she staggered out of that one looking like Wile E. Coyote after the Acme bomb blew up in his face.  Her hair was sticking straight backwards, her face covered with soot, and her pantsuit scorched and half burned off. 

And now it’s Hail Mary time. 

Which has to be especially awkward for a campaign that is struggling mightily with Christians: “Oh, you think God created humans, ‘male and female created He them?’  And you believe that ‘while you were yet in the womb, He knew you?’  And one of your sacraments is to partake of the body and blood of your Savior?  Well have a Dorito, dumbass.” 

Also, when some protestors identified themselves as Christians, she told them, “You’re at the wrong rally.”

(Finally, she says something true!)

But, uncomfortable or not, it’s time for her to swing for the fences, and start giving out interviews like Doug Emhoff giving out backhands to his dates. 

Thus I open my browser each morning lately, and I can’t tell one “Disastrous Harris Interview Gaffe” story from the next.

She does an interview with her new endorser Liz Cheney – whom 99% of Americans either distrusts or hates – and when asked to tell three things about herself that most people don’t know, she recites a list of things that EVERYBODY knows.  (“I’m a lawyer, I’m a mother, I was a prosecutor…”)  D’oh!

That doomed outing with Cheney was a “town hall” – which everybody knows is supposed to be an event in which you answer actual questions from the audience.  And then the host admitted that all of the questions had been pre-determined. 

In other words, this “town hall” is going to be missing the “town” part.  D’oh!

She goes on Telemundo and admits that she wants to legalize all of the millions of illegals in the country.  I’d love to have seen the reaction of her Head-of-Hispanic-Outreach at that moment.  “Que?!  Dios mio!  Como es tan estupida?!”

And it’s not just Que Mala blasting away at her own feet!  It seems like every surrogate for her is competing for the chance to step on the most rakes. 

Wicked Witch Whitmer does an obscene parody of handing out communion. Bill Clinton says that Harris is, “extremely vulnerable” and points out that Laken Riley is dead because her illegal murderer whom Biden/Harris let in was not vetted.

A gaggle of beta-male celebrities try to reach out to normie males by gushing over how they are all “girl dads” and think Harris is just fabulous.  One of them even says that his two-year-old daughter is a feminist and “already smarter than any men in the room.” 

Okay, Jan. 

Small, petty hypocrite Barack Obama wags his finger at black men and lectures them that not voting for Kamala is “not acceptable.”  Because men – of all races – love nothing more than being told what they must do by a half-white guy and his outside-linebacker wife.

The late Joe Biden is regularly giving speeches in which he ties Kamala to every horrific decision made during his dumpster-fire administration.  Just yesterday he also drove home the point that Trump is a dangerous fascist who would jail his opponents by shouting that the Democrats, “Should lock him [Trump] up!” 

D’oh!

Even her weirdo running mate is doing her no favors.  At a rally on Tuesday, he attacked Elon Musk, saying, “I’m going to get that wascally wabbit, as soon as I can get this shotgun loaded!”

Sorry, that’s the wrong quote from the wrong Elmer Fudd.  What A-WOLz actually said was, “Elon’s on that stage, jumping around, skipping like a dipsh*t.”

I’m not making that up.  Those are the words of the oddball whose bizarre gesticulating can be found in the dictionary beside two words: “knucklehead” and “skipping dipsh*t.” 

That’s the guy who’s making fun of Elon Musk!  Musk just sent a rocket into space, and then brought it back down and FREAKING CAUGHT IT! Meanwhile, Tim Walz was ALMOST able to load a shotgun.

And then, not only was he NOT able to catch a single pheasant that he shot down… he wasn’t even able to shoot down a single pheasant.  This despite the fact that he was holding a gun made for shooting birds, in a field surrounded by flying birds, none of whom were covered by shotgun-pellet-resistant Kevlar feathers.

Am I saying that the FCC should force the networks – anytime they show video of Harris and Walz – to display the chyron, “Dueling Dipsh*ts”?

I’m saying that we should have that conversation.    

So Kamala’s flailing, her surrogates are flailing, her boss is flailing, and her running-mate is flailing.

And now I can’t leave the house because I’ve got a schadenfreude-induced reaction that is threatening to last more than four hours.  At the polling place, I kept getting eyed by female voters – and a few male ones – until I had to say, “My eyes are up here, people!  Pay attention to your ballot.”

Perhaps I’ve said too much.

Meanwhile, Trump seems to have swapped out the “Bad Trump” for the “Good Trump” when he needed to do it most.  He’s been relaxed and even joyful at rallies.  He’s gotten RFK Jr. and Elon Musk on board, and Tulsi Gabbard just officially joined the Republican party.  And his McDonald’s appearance was a masterstroke, entertaining his supporters and bringing out the worst in his opponents.

One of Gutfeld’s guests ran through some of the memes that Trump’s McDonald’s visit has given birth to, and they’re pretty great:

“Trump is the one who will finally fix the McDonald’s ice cream machine!”

“You know that that McDonalds was one of the new ones with the flat roofs, because the slightly sloped roofs on the old-style ones would completely defeat the secret service’s ability to protect him.” 

“Have you heard that Kamala’s going to try to recreate Trump’s magic at McDonald’s?  She’s trying to decide now whether she should do a stint at Five Guys, or maybe In-N-Out.” (Subtle Willie Brown joke for the win!)

So what do the Dems have left?  There were rumblings for a few days about a big “October Surprise” that the Dems were going to launch against Trump.  And then on Wednesday, Kamala came out to a podium to launch the devastating, Trump-destroying wonder weapon:  He’s a Hitlerian, Hitler-loving fan of Adolf Hitler!

And off in the distance, the plaintive moan of the saddest of all sad trombones was heard, pathetically bleating like a slowly deflating balloon.

Man, they can’t even do an October surprise right!

Well, give them some credit, because this is October.  So check that box.  However, you may have noticed that the second element of an October surprise… is “surprise.” 

And do you know what is NOT a surprise?  (Hold on while I fire up the Sam Kinison filter here…)  SOMETHING THAT THEY’VE BEEN SAYING EVERY SINGLE DAY FOR NINE FREAKING YEARS!  OH! OHHHHHH!

Great googly moogly!  Maybe we should counter with an October surprise of our own.  I have a few suggestions:

Did you know that Kamala is… not a deep thinker?!

Or… fellated her way onto the first rung of the political ladder?!

Or… can’t put together a coherent English sentence?!

All right, everybody.  We’ve got 11 days left.  If you haven’t voted yet, go vote.  If you know someone who hasn’t voted yet – and is likely to vote the right way (!) – offer to drive them to the polls.  Let’s not take anything for granted.

As for me, while I’m still cautious, I’m feeling more optimistic every day.

Have a great weekend!  

Hamas delenda est!

Trump Trolls the Left, Walz Struggles with a Shotgun, and Sinwar Dies Like a Dog (posted 10/23/24)

I won’t bury the lede: Katie came home from the hospital yesterday!   As I’m writing this in the middle of the night in Florida, she’s sleeping in her own bed in Denver for the first time in nearly a month.

And all is right with the world! 

Speaking of which, in a secret ceremony yesterday Trump received his black belt in trolling, as the culmination of a week in which he crushed it at the Al Smith dinner, and then again as a temporary worker at a Pennsylvania McDonalds.    

The dinner demonstrated (again!) the gulf between Trump and Kamala as politicians.  Trump was at his roguishly charming best as he read his jokes skewering Walz and Harris, and playfully tweaked miserable Chuck Schumer for looking so glum.  He even managed to pull off some self-deprecating humor by mocking himself for his fabled giant ego. 

“Tradition holds that I’m supposed to tell a few self-deprecating jokes this evening.  So here it goes…. Nope!  I’ve got nothing.  There’s nothing to say.”

Meanwhile, Kamala showed her usual unerring talent for self-destructive boneheadedness by skipping the dinner.  But rather than just taking the “L,” she sent an uninspired and unfunny video that somehow made things worse. 

First there was her delivery.  (I’ve never seen such woodenness in my life.  And I’ve been to the Black Forest.) Then there were her lines.  (Utter pap.)  Then there was the celebrity comedian she persuaded to help her get through the video: Molly Shannon.

Yes, THAT Molly Shannon!

The one who was intermittently mildly humorous as a mid-level Saturday Night Live cast member. 23 YEARS AGO!  

A few days after the dinner, Trump did his stint as an honorary McDonalds worker.  And you can tell how well that went for him just by listening to the empty heads throughout the MSM losing their Schiff over it.

One after another, they whined about how stupid and pointless and offensive it was.  I saw a series of clips featuring outraged hacks from all the alphabet networks making the same hysterical objection: Trump’s entire McDonald’s visit was phony, and nothing more than a political stunt!

What?  You mean a billionaire former and future leader of the free world in his late 70s hasn’t actually taken up a lucrative second career as a fast-food worker?!  The hell you say!

But they’ve got a point, because there’s a slim possibility that Trump may just have made his visit to McDonalds as a political photo op.

Unlike that time when Brigadier General Dukakis was caught leading his armored division around the training grounds in Michigan.  (It’s not called a “battleground state” for nothing.)  Or when Bill Clinton just happened to jog into a fast-food joint and grab a big Mac (and the closest waitress’ behind) for the cameras. Or when Que Mala and nanny-banger Doug stopped in at a convenience store to pic up a bag of Doritos.

Or when Tampon Timmy Walz was surprised to find a gaggle of press weasels who somehow coincidentally turned up in the same field where he was hunting pheasants. 

Luckily for said pheasants, Walz is not so great with the weapons of war that he didn’t carry when he didn’t go into war, so none of them were felled by the Great Beige Hunter that day. 

By the way, I think I speak for the entire pheasant-American community when I say that I’d rather be a pheasant directly in front of a shotgun-wielding Tim Walz than one of Tim Walz’s feet in his brand-new pair of unbroken-in waterproof LL Bean boots with the tag still on them. 

Because that guy has got “accidental-self-foot-shooter-off-er” written ALL over him.

The only thing funnier than watching Walz struggle to load that shotgun was watching a couple of leftist bubble-dwellers on MSNBC gushing over the new Harris-Walz merch: a hunting cap!  You could tell that they’d never met an actual hunter in their lives from the way they talked about hunting as if it were an exotic behavior of an obscure, just-discovered tribe from a remote island somewhere.

“This stylish hat is in blaze orange, which is apparently a color that hunters wear when they go about their mysterious ritual outings.  And we feel quite sure that putting “Harris/Walz” on this cap will greatly increase its desirability among so many deplorably toxic males who inexplicably like sports and women who were assigned female at birth and yet still identify as women, with the hips and the breasts and the off-putting lack of a prominent Adam’s apple.” 

And we wonder why they’re not connecting with male voters!

Speaking of self-destructive behavior, how about that Yahoo Sinwar and his ignominious death at the hands of the IDF last week?  I love everything about the way he was brought to justice. 

I love that he died trapped and helpless, without the comfort of his goat girlfriend.  I love that he was killed by three anonymous grunts who had only been in the IDF for a short time, before they happened across his path. 

I love that after those guys blasted the house he was scurrying through and injured him, they used a drone to fly into the damaged building to get the last video of him before they finished him off.   

And while I would have liked to see the IDF find and kill him immediately after October 7th, there’s some comfort in knowing that he spent the last year of his life hunted and increasingly desperate, living underground like a hateful, miserable little mole.  He got to see his entire army of Hamas terrorists getting skillfully taken out by the hated Jews, some in pitched firefights, but many in small groups, or even one at a time.

He got to watch Gaza subdivided and strategically searched and pulverized, his weapons stashes and fighter bases systematically discovered and destroyed, his miles of underground tunnels either flooded or blown up.  He cowered helplessly as everyone in the chain of command below him was killed or captured, and many of their hostages rescued.  He had to watch his evil allies in Hezbollah out-thought and out-fought, blown up by their own cell phones, then pagers, then radios.

He had to witness his entire life’s work thoroughly destroyed, knowing that there were no worthy successors to take his place.  All of his arrogant plans had been based on the mistaken belief that the Jews would never dare to fight door-to-door in heavily fortified Gaza, that they’d never be able to withstand political pressure from the anti-Semitic idiots in the UN and the garden-variety idiots in the Biden administration.

And in the end, he had to face his death with the taste of dust and ashes in his mouth, already badly wounded, slumped in a ruined living room chair, watching his enemy’s high-tech drone hovering nearby, recording his pitiful state to show to the world.  Even if he’d had a gun, or an unwounded hand to hold it in, he would still have been powerless to hurt the Jews who were controlling that drone.

But he didn’t have a gun, or an uninjured gun arm.  All he had left was a skinny piece of wood, and all he could do was make a pathetic, impotent attempt to throw it at the drone.

He missed.  And then he watched the drone float backwards and away, leaving him alone in a filthy, crippled house, knowing that in a few seconds his miserable life would come to a violent, painful end at the hands of his hated enemies.

As it should be.

Meanwhile, here at home it’s worth remembering that the IDF’s incredible string of successes has been achieved because they have resolutely ignored the advice, bullying and threats from Joe Biden and Kamala Harris.

Biden/Harris told them not to risk civilian deaths in Gaza, and not to invade Gaza, and not to strike Hezbollah, because those would all only escalate the war.  They told the Jews to negotiate a cease fire that would have left Hamas and Hezbollah in power and stronger than ever. 

Who can forget Que Mala, lecturing the Jews that they shouldn’t go into Rafah?  She warned that such an invasion would lead to disaster, because she’d “looked at the maps.” 

By the way, it turns out that the demolished building that became the final resting place for Sinwar and his two bodyguards is located in… wait for it… Rafah!

UNEXPECTEDLY!           

Hamas delenda est!

Que Mala’s Hindenburg/Train Wreck/Dumpster Fire Interviews (posted 10/22/24)

A brief Katie update: She had another good day yesterday, and though the docs haven’t guaranteed anything, she may be going home today!  If she does, she will have spent the last 27 days in the hospital.  Thanks again for all of your very kind words, CO nation!

Moving on to the national and world events that are less important than my daughter’s health…

I loved Bret Baier’s interview with Kamala!  Before it happened, a lot of people were dissing Baier, suggesting that he’s some kind of RINO who would go easy on Harris, which never made sense to me.  (The only Fox that I routinely watch is Special Report and the first 10 minutes of Gutfeld, and I generally like Baier.) 

One can always quibble over one detail or another, but I thought Baier did to Kamala what JD did to Walz: pressed her on details and pushed her into revealing her essential emptiness.  She demonstrated the main danger of avoiding challenging interviews, which is that if you ever finally face one, you crumble.  She dodged questions, squirmed, got angry, and tried to filibuster and run out the clock

For me there were two highlights.  The first was when Baier wrong-footed her into addressing Biden’s dementia.  He started by pointing out that Kamala has accused Trump of being mentally unstable, which was bait that she bit hard on, diving into her talking points about how unbalanced Trump is.

Then Bret segued into, “When did you first notice that President Biden’s mental faculties were diminished?” clearly catching her off guard.  She furrowed her brows and paused for what seemed like a minute.  You could almost see the cartoon thought-bubble appear over her head:  “D’oh!” 

She finally said that she’s watched Biden in various contexts, and that, “He has the judgment and experience to do exactly what he has done in making very important decisions.”

Yes.  He’s made a series of horrifically bad decisions, and by now I think we all know that he has the judgment and experience to do exactly that.  Even Kamala seemed to sense the danger there, so she immediately pivoted to, “Joe Biden is not on the ballot.” 

Which begs the obvious question: If he’s so fantastically capable of being president, why did you and your party bum-rush him out of the Oval like Bill Clinton tossing out a half-naked intern when Hillary was clomping down the hallway toward him?     

The second highlight was when Baier nailed her on her previous support for making taxpayers pay for sex change operations for criminals and illegal aliens.  After he showed a 2019 clip of her advocating that very unpopular position and asked if she still supports it, her response was clearly a dodge: “I will follow the law, and it’s a law that Donald Trump followed.”

Of course she was lying.  As California AG, she lobbied to get rid of the existing law that disallowed taxpayer-funding mutilations, and as president, Trump fought in the courts against that change.  Baier countered with that info, and pointed out that as president, she would have a say in the matter, rather than having to passively “follow the law.” 

When he cited Trump’s argument that he opposed that law, poor Que Mala crowned herself with a dunce cap and launched a thousand devastating attack ads against her, saying, “You know, you’ve gotta take responsibility for what happened in your administration.”

Yes, you cackling doofus.  Yes you do.

If I were a Trump advisor, I’d start an ad with the clip from the View in which Kamala was asked what she would do differently from Biden, and said, “There is not a thing that comes to mind.”  Then I’d put together a 30-second montage of the last 4 years – thousands of illegals crossing the border, Afghanistan falling, Biden screaming through his Reichstag speech, damning stats on inflation and crime – followed by her statement that “you’ve gotta take responsibility for what happened in your administration.”   (I’m Martin Simpson, and I approve this message.)

It’s worth noting that in spite of the ridiculous obfuscation that Que Mala has become infamous for, the woman is actually capable of speaking clearly when she wants to.  Consider her aforementioned support for taxpayer-funded phallectomies (if that’s not a word, it should be) or her well-known 2019 statement that, “There’s no question, I’m in favor of banning fracking.” 

Those are concise, grammatically understandable sentences, completely different from her usual syntactical goulash. Because in those sentences, she was telling the truth about what she really believes.

Except.  Even when she accidentally bumps into a bit of truth-telling, she still resorts to one of the most irritating figures of (dishonest) speech.

No, I’m not referring to “Let’s be clear,” which virtually always precedes a miasmic verbal fog of such suffocating vagueness that it could choke a horse. 

And no, I’m not referring to “speaking the truth,” as in “Speaking truth to power,” or “Speaking our truth,” or “Speaking the truth about American history,” etc. – which always precedes a whole bunch o’ lyin’.

I’m talking about,“We need to have that conversation.” 

If you watch Kamala’s speeches from her California days all the way through her Hindenburg disaster of a 2019 campaign, you’ll see her talking to various far-left groups or groupies. And they would invariably ask her about some proposal from the farthest left fringe: “Would you agree that every black person in America should receive $10 million in reparations?” or “Would you support immediately freeing every person of color in prison, since they are obviously the innocent victims of racist Amerikka?” or “Do you agree that we should confiscate all of the earnings of everyone who makes more than $500K per year?”   

Instead of giving the politically smart answer – “What’chu talkin’ bout, Willis?  NO!” – or the likely true answer from her heart – “YES!” – she always used the same weaselly phrase: “I think we need to have that conversation.” 

Ugh.  That’s clearly such an obvious attempt to simultaneously deceive both the low-IQ extremists in front of her (“I’m with you!”) and the sane but gullible people who are watching at home (“Don’t worry, I’m not that extreme”).

I hate that phrase, even as I must grudgingly acknowledge that it can be useful when you believe something that you might not want to openly admit. 

Okay, I’m going to need to write another column shortly, because I haven’t even gotten to half of the stories I wanted to talk about, including the karmically satisfying death of Yahoo Sinwar and the hunting prowess of Tim “Elmer Fudd” Walz. 

But I have to end with one of my favorite Florida stories, in which a bad guy is being brought to justice, and Ron DeSantis is proving himself to be a boss.  NOT UNEXPECTEDLY!

On October 9th, as hurricane Milton was bearing down on Florida, a state trooper rescued a frightened dog who had been chained to a fence and abandoned alongside Interstate 75.  The dog was trembling and growling, standing in water that had already risen to his belly when the trooper found and freed him. 

Few things make me angrier than cruelty to animals, and this story was outrageous.  I figured that in the devastating aftermath of the third giant storm in as many months, that dog’s heartless owner would never be brought to justice.  But I live in the free state of Florida, and I’d foolishly underestimated our law enforcement and our governor.    

When a reporter asked DeSantis about the story, the guv started out perfectly, as is his wont:  “First of all, what kind of an animal would just leave a dog chained to a pole in the middle of a hurricane?” After praising the work of the FHP for rescuing the dog and expressing the confidence that many people will “compete” for the chance to give it a good home, he expressed the right amount of moral outrage.

“I hope they find the person who did it, and that person should have the book thrown at him.  We’ve got very good laws in Florida against animal cruelty.”  Then he gave a shout-out to the excellent police working dogs that will be helping in the storm.  (Insert Shane Gillis doing his Trump impression here: “Beautiful dogs. Talented dogs.”)

A short time later, DeSantis gave an update.  The dog was going to get a good home, and had been renamed “Trooper.”  Then the kicker: “I’m proud to announce that the authorities have identified the dog’s former owners, and [a state attorney] is now pursuing animal charges against the individual.” 

The creep in question, 23-year-old Giovanni Garcia, is charged with a felony that could bring up to 5 years in prison.  State officials are calling for changing the laws to allow for harsher penalties against people who abandon their animals during an emergency.

Cassie the Wonder Dog and I approve this legislation, and neither of us thinks that 5 years in jail is enough for this bum.  

Am I saying that Garcia should be chained to a post in the bottom of an empty pool, which should then be filled up with water that slowly rises over his head, killing him in the same way that he’d callously left his dog to die?

Say it with me, CO nation: 

I think we need to have that conversation.

Hamas delenda est!

A Promising Katie Update (posted 10/20/24)

I’m back at home, and will be writing another column for tomorrow, but I wanted to post another brief Katie update, since many of you had sent such thoughtful comments and prayers to my post on Friday.

I’m very happy to report that Katie has continued to improve since last Thursday, and will likely get out of the hospital today or tomorrow.  Since her last release only lasted 14 hours, we’re a little gun-shy about celebrating too soon, but she has rapidly improved.  The NG tube was taken out on Friday and she’s been eating more, and everything is functioning as it should.

I flew back to Florida on Friday and am taking care of business here, and God willing, my wife will be returning this week, after she’s gotten Katie settled back in at home.

Over the last several days, I’ve had a lot of time to get caught up on the larger world, only to find that the last ten days have somehow contained about three months’ worth of political and cultural events.  From the IDF whacking Sinwar to Bret Baier whacking Que Mala to A-WOLz not whacking any pheasants, everything’s been happening, and most of it has been good. 

Sure, none of it compares to finding out that your daughter won’t need another surgery.  But still, it’s good stuff, and I’m looking forward to getting at some of it tomorrow.

In the meantime, Katie’s on the mend, and I can’t thank you all enough for your support, kind comments, and prayers.  I didn’t have time to respond to them, but I did read them, and they meant the world to me.  Really, thanks!

I’m looking forward to getting back to the usual mockery and happy-political-warrior mode tomorrow.    

Hamas delenda est!

My Daughter is in the Hospital, & Little Else Matters (posted 10/17/24)

I am writing this from my daughter Katie’s hospital room in Denver, to update and touch base with those who have emailed or are wondering why I haven’t posted a column this week. 

Katie had a set-back this past weekend, but she’s doing better now, and I appreciate all your prayers and well wishes posted after my last column.

Katie continued to improve after her surgery, and last Saturday afternoon she was released after two weeks in the hospital; her husband and my wife were ecstatic to finally have her home again.  They got her settled in, and my wife prepared to fly to Vermont on Sunday, to join me and some friends of ours on a previously planned fall getaway.

Unfortunately, in the middle of the night Katie once again started experiencing a lot of pain, and she was rushed back to an ER, and eventually re-admitted to the hospital she’d left only 14 hours before.  Since then she’s been on antibiotics and pain meds, and the doctors have been watching her closely.  

She’s got an infection that has been responding to treatment, and the docs are doing various tests to diagnose the cause of the problem.  They’re fairly optimistic that they’ll be able to get her through this without another surgery, and she has been feeling a little better each of the last several days.

I flew to Denver, and we celebrated her 27th birthday in the hospital on Tuesday.  Which stinks.

On the other hand, she’s an optimistic young woman, and she knows that she’ll now have a birthday story that will make her extra grateful during all future birthdays.  Just like many people who had that one horrible trip – with the canceled flights and the food poisoning – that makes every subsequent vacation sweeter, or the WWII vets who never had a tough winter after that freezing Christmas of ’44 in Bastogne.  

It’s a cliché to say that tough times reveal people’s character, but I’m happy that this truism has been confirmed in our lives over the last several weeks.  My wife has been a doting mom at her daughter’s bedside, trading off night shifts with Katie’s husband, who has proven himself a stand-up guy. 

He’s been with her every day, making sure she has everything she needs, and reading one of their favorite Tolkien books to her every evening.  He has been bringing her things from home, including some kind of scent-diffuser – her hospital room smells like sage, instead of like a hospital room – which has to be the most thoughtful thing I’ve ever heard a straight guy do.

And something that I have to admit I wouldn’t have thought of in a million years!

I’ve got a lot to be thankful for.  In addition to the increasingly positive prospects suggesting that our nation might be nearing a return to political sanity in a few weeks – I’ll be posting about that stuff again shortly – our homes and hometown have survived three hurricanes in the last two months. 

And we’re living in a time of unbelievable advances in medicine, in a great nation that has helped to produce – and benefit from – those advances. 

It’s the middle of a quiet night, and I’m watching my beautiful daughter sleeping peacefully in a sage-scented room, surrounded by amazing technology in an impressive building filled with skilled professionals dedicated to returning her to health. 

My heart is full, and I can’t believe that 27 years have passed since my wife and I were watching her sleep in another hospital bed, her face as innocent and her expression as untroubled as it is right now.     

We Were Spared by the Latest Hurricane, But Kamala’s Interviews Did Cat 5 Damage to her Campaign (posted 10/11/24)

I’ll start today with a storm update.  Because Milton took a slight southern turn before landfall, our area in north central Florida got off easy, with winds just gusting into the weak tropical storm range, and less rain than had been forecast.  I never lost power, and with my wife and daughters out of state and my stalwart canine companion at my side, the storm was no more than a cozy night at home for me.

Even the storm-ravaged path across the state from Tampa to the Atlantic appears to have fared better than the worst-scenario forecasts, and although there are heartache and losses to contend with, the death count is much lower than we had feared.

As with past storms, Ron DeSantis continues to crush it in the “Great Governor” bidness.   He competently managed the pre-storm organization and warnings, and staged the resources to come in afterward and get power restoration and rescue missions underway quickly.  He also made a great statement re: any potential looters, which I roughly paraphrase as, “You loot, we shoot.”

And he sharply Hillary-slapped Que Mala’s pathetic attempt to play politics with the storm, and make herself look important.  She wanted to cosplay as a president and force him to drop everything to take her phone calls, and he rightly pointed out that he was busy, and that the only federal official that he should logically be talking to would be the president (if we had one) and a competent FEMA official (if we had one).

Speaking of Kamala, she’s had quite a week, hasn’t she?  She’s gone on what one media source called a “charm blitzkrieg” of media appearances.  Unfortunately for her, her efforts were about as charming as the original blitzkrieg in 1939.  (Carried out under false pretenses?  Check.  Leaving a trail of destruction in its wake?  Check.   Executed heartlessly but competently?  Yes and no.)

As I said in a previous column, I think the decision to have Kamala do a round of interviews – even if they are given to bootlicking leftist presstitutes – is strong evidence that her internal polling is looking lousy.  All competent leftist pols know how terrible she is at this, so things must be bad if they are risking it anyway.       

And holy cats, did she double and triple down on the banality and word goulash in all of her interviews!

The biggest one was the 60 Minutes shot with Bill Whitaker.  That one was bad enough even before we found out that the CBS hacks had heavily edited and “polished” what they showed.  (This practice followed the pattern the Dems used with Biden for the last several years: his ads and pre-taped appearances were always horrific, which meant that the unexpurgated outtakes must have been the rhetorical equivalent of a crime against humanity!)  

Whitaker actually asked her some legitimate questions, and several times – after she excreted a rambling stew of obfuscation – he followed up with a gently chiding, “Yes, but the question was X.”  He didn’t go after her as hard as he could have – or as hard as every MSM interviewer always goes after every conservative or GOP candidate or spokesperson – but the fact that he pushed at all was enough to pierce her wafer-thin veneer of non-idiocy.

He asked her repeatedly how she’d pay for her plans, and if she regretted opening the border and thus allowed a quadrupling of Trump’s number of illegals getting into the country, and why she’d changed her position on so many issues.  And each time he got a variation on the same response: a CAT-5 yammer storm.  (“People have hopes, dreams and ambitions; I was raised in the middle class; My background is in law enforcement.”)

The brainiacs on the View tried to go much easier on her.  (Unexpectedly!)  But even their softballs baffled her like a wicked splitter from Ohtani when he’s really feeling it.  Then Sunny Hostin asked her a question that she had to have expected: “Would you have done anything differently than President Biden during the last four years?”

Now every Dem pundit has been talking about this since they threw Biden under the bus and made Que Mala the candidate: she has to distance herself from Biden’s policies, whose popularity ratings fall somewhere between chlamydia and bestiality.  That’s a tricky tightrope to walk, but she absolutely MUST do it.

So how did Sophocles Harris start her disjointed mess of an answer?  “There is not a thing that comes to mind…”      

And at that moment, at Trump HQ, a top aide turned and yelled over his shoulder, “Cut that video, slap on an ‘I’m Donald Trump and I approve this message’ at the end, and air-drop it into heavy rotation in every battleground state immediately!”

When she taped an interview with the execrable Stephen Colbert later that same day, she still hadn’t come up with a passable answer for that question.  His variation on it was roughly, “How would you be a different president than Biden?”  And she started out with, “First of all, I’m not Joe Biden.”

And the entire land echoed with a million leftists simultaneously and violently face-palming themselves.

She also gave an interview to Howard Stern, for some reason.  On the upside, Stern is an unhinged, perverted crank, so he’s right in the sweet spot of her demographic.  On the downside, he recently said that he doesn’t just hate Trump, he hates anyone who votes for him.  In other words, he basically called half the country “deplorables.”  And you know how well that works in politics.

During the interview, Stern was a real voice of reason, claiming that “the sun’s literally going to go out” if Trump wins in November.  And if there is such a thing as a Pyrrhic compliment, he gave one to Kamala: “Yes, I’m voting for you, but I would also vote for that wall over there, rather than [Trump].” 

Ringing endorsement there, Howie: Kamala Harris and a wall would do an equally good job as  president.  I’ve got to give that one a grudging, “Fact check: true.”   

Finally, for the part of the electorate who finds Howard Stern too highbrow for their tastes, Kamala went on some sleazy sex podcast called “Call Her Daddy.”  I’d never heard of it – because I was raised right, and am not impressed by graphic vulgarity.  (Plus I’m old enough to admit that that kind of talk strikes me as extra gross coming from females.  Call me sexist if you must.) 

I could only think of two discussion topics that might make Kamala a good fit on that podcast: 1. The host could grill her on what techniques she used on Willie Brown to get her political career started in California. 2. They could talk about the many wonders of abortion.

They did talk about abortion a lot.  Because, surprise!  The sex podcaster with the sexual ethics of an alley cat in heat is a fervent abortion enthusiast.  (Unexpectedly!)

The low point was when the host asked her a set-up lefty question to the effect of, “Can you think of ANY law that restricts what men can do with their bodies?”  And the cackle appeared, along with the predictably brain-dead answer: NO! 

And for the thousandth time, I asked myself the question that is on everyone’s mind: How can this imbecile have any chance of getting elected president?!

No one should have to explain this, to anyone older than around 8, but here goes:  Laws regulating abortion aren’t aimed at restricting what women can do with their bodies—only the bodies of the baby they are carrying.  (Spoiler alert, for when you take 7th grade biology: a baby has different DNA from her mother, which is true about NO part of any mother’s body, ever, anywhere.) 

Besides, just about EVERY law restricts what men can do with their bodies!  A few target men exclusively or almost so (coercing participation in the draft during times of war; laws against rape, the vast majority of which apply primarily to men), but nearly all laws affect men as well as women. 

My fists are part of my body, and I cannot use them to punch irritating leftists in the face, no matter how much they may deserve it.  The same goes for my feet, my elbows and my knees.  And don’t get me started on my skull, which in addition to sheltering my national treasure of a brain, is excellent for delivering head-butts to deserving morons.

And yet, many laws prevent me from doing so, no matter how loudly I chant, “My forehead, my choice!” or “Keep your laws off of my cranium!”

White collar crimes are also done with the body – signing fraudulent checks, conning people with your mouth/voice – as are petty crimes like pickpocketing. 

And any crime with a jail sentence as a potential outcome – i.e. nearly all of them – necessarily restricts what men (and women) can do with their bodies, since it dictates where your body can reside, when you can exercise or eat and etc. 

So Kamala’s interviewers were sycophants, or dullards, or both.  And still she has gone 0-for-8 in interviews, demonstrating an uncommon knack for metaphorically screwing the rhetorical pooch in every situation.

We cannot allow this empty pantsuit of a candidate to get elected! 

One final note: Katie’s improvement has continued, and she will likely get out of the hospital this weekend. (Yes!)  Emily is safely in California for a short visit, and Karen and I will still be able to head to Maine and then Vermont on Sunday, to enjoy the company of some old friends, and of God’s creation, in the form of fall leaves around Lake Champlain.    

I won’t have a column on Monday, but I’ll be back at it when I get home.  Have a great weekend, everybody!

Hamas delenda est!

Riding Out the Storm, & What is Wrong With Leftist Men? (posted 10/9/24)

First, I’ve got a quick update on my family during this tumultuous week.  Katie continues to improve in the hospital in Denver, and my wife continues to crush her role as loving and supportive mom with her. 

However, my youngest daughter was booked to fly from her school in the storm’s path to CA on Thursday, for a long-planned visit with some of the friends she’d met in Boulder in the summer.  But since the winds in Orlando during her scheduled take-off were predicted to be out of the northeast at 110 mph, those plans had to change. 

So she flew to Denver yesterday, surprising Katie in her hospital room, in a moment that Karen caught on a video that is so sweet that I can’t share it with you for fear it will give you Type 2 diabetes.  She will spend a few days with sis and mom, before flying on to CA, where the only potentially troubling weather condition is chances of feces-and-dirty-syringe tumbleweeds blowing across the runways.

So Cassie the Wonder Dog and I are going to be hunkered down in stately Simpson manor during the storm.  Luckily for us – though our hearts go out to those in Tampa and the middle of the state – it looks like we are far enough north that we should be spared the worst of the damage, and may even get away with just a short power outage. 

Oddly enough, Karen and I were scheduled to fly to Maine on Friday, from where we were going to drive to Vermont with an old grad school buddy and his wife, to see some fall colors and decompress.  Those plans are up in the air, since my Friday flight was cancelled, and my wife is now trying to re-book so that she can fly straight there from Denver, and I can try to get up there to meet her on Saturday.

Thankfully, I’ve got political shenanigans to write about, to keep my mind off of the storms outside.  

First, when I saw some clips from the Vance/Walz debate, I came across a moment that I hadn’t noticed.  The moderator asked Walz a rare, pointed question, about that time when he told the compelling story of his being in Hong Kong when the Chicoms started murdering free-speech advocates in Tiananmen Square.  (You don’t have to ask which side Wolz was on, sadly.) 

Except that he was in Nebraska then, and only arrived in Hong Kong several months later.

Walz tried to take a page out of Harris’ Big Book of Debate Tactics, and blather.  I’m not sure why it didn’t work for him like it did for his running mate.  Perhaps because he’s neither non-white or a female, which have both been very useful for Kamala. 

She used her gender to get her first important jobs in California politics, and as a political shield to miraculously cover and compensate for her manifest unfitness for high office.  And MSM figures have lined up to point out how all criticism of her is sexist and therefore illegitimate.

She’s basically a vagician, is what I’m saying.  And hapless Tim Walz is not. 

He began his answer with a variation of Que Mala’s “I was raised in the middle class” gambit.  To wit: “I grew up in small, rural Nebraska, [in a] town of 400.  A town that you rode your bike with your buddies ‘til the streetlights come on.  And I’m proud of that service.”

He meandered on for several hundred words without approaching an actual answer (a la Kamala), and the moderator actually followed up, pointing out that he hadn’t answered the question.  Whereupon he melted down into one of the worst moments in a very weak debate for him.

But I initially overlooked that first part.  He referred to riding bikes around in a small town to some sort of “service,” of which he seems inordinately proud?!

I’m used to politicians fluffing up their resumes, and Wolz is certainly expert in that skill.  He’s bragged about serving as a teacher and a coach, serving in the National Guard – right up until that would have involved serving in a war zone, at which point he severed himself from that particular service – and serving in Congress and the MN’s governor’s office.

But if riding bikes around small Midwestern towns until the streetlights came on constitutes “service,” I may have to nominate myself for a whole raft of medals.  Because I served six or seven summer terms on a three-speed Schwinn (for which I’d like a Congressional Medal of Honor), which also involved many skinned knees and various bruises (three Purple Hearts, please). 

I also dispatched many pop bottles and cans with a pellet gun.  So I think that at least a bronze star and an infantry sharpshooter badge are in order. 

But I never completed the requirements to become a Command Sergeant Major, and I never stood beside a skinny Chinese hero while the tanks of a murderous socialist dictatorship bore down on him. 

Then again, neither did Tim Walz.  (And as Tampon Tim will tell you, one man’s socialism is just another man’s, “You die now beneath tread of tank, enemy of state!!”) 

Walz is as phony as Kamala’s stories about her deprived childhood.  (“We had to burn mom and dad’s PhD diplomas to keep warm in the harsh Montreal winters, and I had to steal chicken nuggets from my childhood McDonald’s job, just to keep the family from starving!”) 

And only a non-binary far-leftist with fluid pronouns could mistake Walz for a traditional Midwestern male.  Because dressing up an off-putting socialist in a ball cap, flannel shirt and coach’s whistle doesn’t make him an alpha male.  It just makes for a hilarious costume for him to wear at Halloween.

Speaking of caricatures of authentic masculinity, I can’t be the only one who’s noticed the Democrats’ recent weird dysfunctionality on the subject of men and masculinity, can I?

The most flamboyant examples are the many deeply confused trans and trans-adjacent eccentrics in their ranks. They seem to love themselves some gender dysmorphia sufferers, from Biden giving an interview to obnoxious Dylan Mulvaney (a 27-year-old male who identifies as a 13-year-old girl), to Richard/Rachel Levine (a 60-something divorced father who identifies as Captain Kangaroo’s more successful sister, Admiral Kangaroo), to Sam Brinton (the bald guy with garish lipstick in a job involving nukes, but who identifies as a serial luggage thief).    

But it’s not just that.  They’ve also had great difficulty putting forward male candidates whom average voters might consider to be regular men.  And I’m not talking about Mayor Pete, who disappeared for months of maternity leave after not having a baby. 

I’m talking about effete candidates like Beto “Beta” O’Rourke and Ken-Doll Newsom, as well as the afore-mentioned Tim Walz, who has to be the only volunteer football coach in America who also has an unhealthy fascination with putting tampons in boys’ bathrooms and starting transgender clubs in local high schools. 

(For a guy who obsessively threw around the word “weird” about Trump and Vance, he would be well advised to grab a Shakespeare concordance and search for the phrase “doth protest too much.”)

Which brings us to perhaps the oddest of an odd bunch: Doug Emhoff, the “second gentleman” who aspires to be the first gentleman, despite being no kind of gentleman at all.      

Our laughably corrupt mainstream media has been trying mightily to portray Emhoff as an admirable figure and – maybe even a heavier lift? – as a wildly attractive man. 

I’m not making that up. Leftist WaPo columnist Catherine Rampell wrote a glowing opinion piece in which she called Emhoff the “embodiment…of modern female fantasy,” and a “progressive sex symbol.”   She doesn’t dwell exclusively on his appearance – her main argument seems to be that she’s turned on by a man who “prioritize[s] his wife’s ambition over his own.” 

But then again, she does call him “a hunk” and a “dreamboat,” and suggests that Ryan Gosling should “move over,” because here comes Fabio Emhoff.  (Okay, I made up the “Fabio” part.  But that’s the ONLY part I made up.)

I’ll admit it: I am the last one who should criticize anyone else’s looks.  I broke my nose multiple times in high school.  I’m what they call an Illinois 6 (and that translates to a Florida 3) at BEST.  I’ve never heard the whisper of multiple female undergarments simultaneously dropping to the floor because I enter a room.

But look at 30 seconds of any recent interview of Doug Emhoff.  Listen to his voice; note his affect; take in his visage.

If THAT guy is a “hunk,” I’m Brad Pitt’s ruggedly handsome cousin. 

And while I’m too much of a classy and refined gentleman to ask female friends what kind of libidinal effect they experience when looking at Doug Emhoff, I’d be willing to bet that “severe v*ginal dryness” would appear on the medal stand of their responses. 

Perhaps I’ve said too much.  Maybe his strong character makes up for any less-than-optimal physical characteristics.

Annnnnnndddd… NOPE!   His first marriage ended because he impregnated a nanny who taught at their children’s school.  Which is not exactly first-ballot “Great Husband Hall of Fame” material. 

But it gets worse, because nobody has been able to find any trace of the child.  The most likely conclusion is that the baby was aborted, and unnamed sources report that Emhoff paid the nanny a six-figure settlement and got her to sign a non-disclosure agreement. 

(Remember that time when Trump paid Stormy Daniels and had her sign a NDA – with no pregnancy or abortions involved – and the left wanted to imprison and possibly execute him for it?)     

But hey, everybody makes mistakes, and maybe the nanny-banging was a one-time—

NOPE.  Because the story recently came out that he was at the Cannes film festival in 2012 when he saw his girlfriend talking to a valet.  So he slapped her in the face so hard that it spun her around. As one apparently does, if one is a progressive sex symbol.

I mean, how else is she going to learn not to talk to valets?  

Seriously though, what is wrong with these people?  And what is wrong with the media who cover for them and fawn over them?         

If it’s not Nina Burleigh offering to service Bill Clinton just for keeping abortion legal, it’s Catherine Rampell writing a heavy-breathing “50 Shades of Gross” article about the dreamboat nanny-banger.  “He supports women!”  (Yes.  Because after you slap them so hard, you’ve got to support them with both hands so that they don’t fall down, and make a scene on the red carpet.) 

“He supports abortion!”  Yes.  The guy whose nanny has an extremely inconvenient pregnancy is a big abortion fan.  UNEXPECTEDLY! 

After watching Maxine Waters, Nancy Pelosi, Hillary and Kamala, et. al., I know that the powerful leftist women in the Democrat party are pretty terrible.

But their men might be worse!

Hamas delenda est!

On the Anniversary of 10/7, Terrorists Try to Replace Leaders Faster than the IDF Can Kill Them (posted 10/7/24)

Once again, events are happening too fast for me to keep up with.  The presidential campaigns are accelerating, the polls remain tight, and FEMA’s relief efforts in the wake of Helene are being badly bungled, in keeping with Biden-Harris’ sterling record over the last four years.

Meanwhile, my oldest daughter remains in the hospital in Denver – she’s making progress and doing well, and thanks for your continued prayers — and now it’s my youngest daughter’s turn to be in the path of a second storm in as many weeks.  Thankfully she’s on the Atlantic coast, and so Milton will likely be a tropical storm rather than a hurricane by the time it reaches her campus. 

Additionally, I’ve noticed a moment in the Vance-Walz debate that I’d over-looked before, and I also need to take some well-deserved shots at Que Mala’s beta-boy role-model husband, Doug Emhoff. 

But I’m going to have to save all that for a Wednesday column, because today is the anniversary of the evil attacks on Israel last October, and attention must be paid.

Regular readers know that I’m a big fan of Israel’s approach over the last several months: they’re ignoring Biden and the Democrats’ advice and input – everywhere and at all times a wise move! – and they’ve been pursuing terrorists with the wrath of an Old Testament God.  (Some might even say THE Old Testament God.) 

I admire the way they’ve minimized civilian casualties, achieving a civilians-to-enemy-combatants-killed ratio far lower than in any war in all of history, including the ones we’ve waged during our own country’s history. 

And I love the way they’ve mixed traditional arms and operations with high-tech tweaks, psychological warfare, and hilarious, intelligence-aided trickery to take out the top levels of Hamas and Hezbollah.  The latest details came out in a story this weekend, explaining how the weapons geeks in Israel had wired the explosive pagers such that an authentication message appeared on the screens of those pagers that didn’t detonate in pockets.

The authentication process to read the page required the users to touch two different buttons on both sides of the pagers, which meant that many of the terrorists who received the page had both of their hands mangled or blown off, along with being blinded if they were holding the pager close to their faces when they pressed those buttons. 

It’s almost enough to make you feel sorry for them, until you remember who they are, and what they did to end up holding those pagers in the first place.  

The frequency of Israel’s successes is making it hard to keep up with the latest news.  I remember that during the Iraq war, we made a deck of cards featuring the 52 top scumbags in Saddam’s regime.  As our forces advanced, we started taking playing cards off the table.

That wouldn’t work for Israel, though, because they’d be changing out cards faster than a casino trying to cool off a gambler on a hot streak at the blackjack table.  In just two air strikes – the one that took out Nasrallah and his deputies and the one the week before that – they wiped out the equivalent of three entire suits of cards.      

Each day I come across a story about the latest Hezbollah boss to assume rubble temperature.  These guys are dropping like old Soviet commies in the Reagan era.  We try to set up a phone call with Achmed Brezhnev, only to find out that he’s been replaced with Muhammad Andropov, and before Tony Blinken can catch a flight over to kiss his butt, he’s replaced by Hassan Chernenko. 

Last Wednesday, Israel located Khider al-Shaebia, the terrorist responsible for the rocket attack on 7/27 that killed 12 Druze children playing soccer.  Apparently al-Shaebia wasn’t carrying a detonating pager in his pocket on 9/17, because he didn’t get turned into the Queen of al-Shaebia that day.  So the IDF had to eliminate him the old-fashioned way: with an airstrike. 

The latest head of Hezbollah was Hashem Safi Al-Din, who enjoyed a tenure of 7 days in office before experiencing rapid molecular disassembly last Friday, courtesy of an IDF air strike.  Several of his likely successor candidates are high-ranking members of the Islamic Revolutionary Guard Corps (IRGC).

Fortunately, they were gathered around Al-Din when the clock struck Boom!     

At this point, I’d love to be a fly on the shell-pocked wall, observing a bunch of the remaining, twitchy Hezbo commanders meeting to decide the next leader.  I don’t know how they do that in the first place.  It’s not like they’ve got a phone chain they can use.  And I’m guessing that emails or zoom calls are out, too.

But however they put the word out, they somehow end up cowering around a folding table with one leg missing under a half-collapsed parking garage down a rubble-strewn alley.  I’m picturing it goes something like this:

Weird Beard #1: You’ve probably already heard that Muhammad Abdul Aziz was killed by the Jewish pig-dogs. 

Weird Beard #2:  Oh no!   How’d they get him?  Exploding pager?  Exploding radio?

WB#1:  Poisoned hummus.  (One guy starts spitting violently.)  What are you doing?

Spitting Guy:  I just ate some hummus. 

WB#3:  We ALL just ate hummus.  The Jews haven’t poisoned all the hummus in Lebanon.

WB#2:  Are you sure?  

(They all look at each other uncertainly.) 

WB#4:  I thought Muhammad Abdul Aziz got killed when his scooter exploded.

WB#1:  No, that was Abdul Aziz Muhammad.  He died last Thursday.  We’re talking about Muhammad Abdul Aziz.  He was halfway through a romantic dinner with his goat bride when he pitched down face-first in his bowl of hummus.

WB#5:  I thought he was blown up when he knelt on an explosive prayer rug?

WB#6:  No, that was Mohammad Aziz Abdul, last Friday.  The hummus thing was this Monday.

WB#2:  Are you sure?  Because I thought—

WB#1:  Okay look.  For the last time, here’s the rundown:

A week ago Friday, Hassan Nasrallah got a building dropped on him, along with a half-dozen other Nasrallah cousins and brothers, two of his brother’s-in-law, and his father-in-law.

On Saturday, Muhammad Suleiman was named as his replacement.  When he went to his brother Abdul Suleiman’s house on Sunday to announce the good news, a ring doorbell that the Jews had installed two months ago blew his head off. 

Abdul became the leader, but on Wednesday he used a q-tip that Mossad had coated with napalm, and his head caught fire.

Hassan Suleiman was elected on Thursday, but on Saturday he found—

WB#5 (snapping his fingers and pointing): The kosher cobra in the toilet!

WB#1 (sighing): Yes, the cobra in the toilet.  Then Hassan Abdul took over, and he stayed in his house until Wednesday, when someone slipped a copy of the Beirut Post under his front door.

(The men in the circle looked at each other.) 

WB#3: Self-igniting newspaper?

WB#4: Poisoned newsprint ink?

WB#6: Oh, I know!  The paper had the transcript of a Kamala Harris interview, and halfway through reading it he shot himself in the head because he couldn’t stand it any more?          

WB#1 (shaking his head):  Exploding eyeglasses, courtesy of Shin Bet Optometrists.

Then it was Abdul Aziz Muhammad on the scooter on Thursday, then Muhammad Aziz Abdul with the detonating prayer rug last Friday, then Muhammad Abdul Aziz with the poison hummus on Monday.

WB#2:  So now who’s up? 

Everyone looks at everybody else, then most of them stare at their sandals, or at the ceiling, or out into the alley, whistling softly.

WB#1 (pulling out a bunch of straws, snapping one off, then mixing them up and holding his hand out with their ends sticking out) Everybody pick one.

They all choose with shaking hands, and Muhammad Muhammad Aziz pulls the short one.  He sighs deeply, while everyone bows their head to him and calls him “Sheik.” 

MMA: Great.  Let me ask one favor though.  Whatever you do, when you are setting up the seating chart for my funeral, don’t seat my goat wife anywhere near my goat mistress.  They do not get along, and I don’t want trouble.    

And, scene. 

On this somber anniversary, I wish fitful sleep, haunted dreams and swift justice for the Iranian government, Hezbollah, Hamas and the Houthis.  For the Israelis, I wish good luck and good hunting, and the return of the remaining hostages.

Hamas delenda est!