A Wokester Slap-Fest at the Oscars (posted 3/30/22)

Oh, come on!  You’ve got to be Schumer-ing me!

One day after I say that I’ve got to write two columns in one week to try to catch up on my leftist-skewering, we have THOSE Oscars?   Now I might have to write 3 columns in one week.  At this pace, I’ll just keep falling farther and farther behind on my appointed rounds of mockery.

But I’m an Ameri-can, not an Ameri-can’t.  So here goes Part 2 of 3:

Does anyone else remember when the Oscars was just a bunch of insufferable BACKslapping? 

Well, this year’s ceremonies apparently started out the same way.  (Of course I didn’t watch them live. Because I’ve got a life to lead over here.) 

Three untalented non-entities hosted, since the obnoxious prickliness of the wokesters in charge have driven off any reasonably well-known or competent hosts.  And within the first minute or two, those dopes launched a political attack on the 70% of the country who supports Florida’s anti-child grooming bill, by rolling out the lame, “Gay, gay, gay, gay, gay!” joke.   

Which provoked the latest example of why Ron DeSantis and his staff are four standard deviations better than their detractors on the dullard left.  His press secretary tweeted out that painfully unfunny joke, followed by this perfect, sarcastic slap down: “Florida will never recover from this.”

Well played!

The Will Smith slap is the most surprising thing I’ve ever seen on tv.  If I had been watching the Oscars live, I think I would have thought it was some kind of a gag.

But even though I heard about it the way all of you did — a day late, and framed as a real incident – I am still flummoxed by it. 

Because as little as I follow Hollywood, the only thing I know about Jada Pinkett is that she has publicly flaunted her “open marriage” with Will Smith.  That term is also very confusing to me.  On first blush – and if Pinkett could blush at such things, she would be a very different person than she is – a woman pursuing that kind of “marriage” would appear to be what the Romans called a plain ol’ “meretrix.”  (Look it up. And you’re welcome.)  

Now I may be just a humble roving correspondent from the 19th century, but as I understand marriage, the “closed” part is not some minutiae in the fine print: it’s pretty much the core of the thing.  When I took my vows 33 years ago last week, I remember saying something like, “… for richer or poorer, in sickness and in health, forsaking all others, being faithful only to you….”  

But maybe in the topsy turvy world of Hollywood and the lefty elite, everything is upside down and arse-backwards.  Women are men, intolerance is tolerance, so maybe marriage can be “open?” 

The mind reels.  What’s the Hollywood definition of a threesome?  It must contain at least four people?  What is their definition of faithfulness?  Banging Pete Davidson on Instagram? 

So I watch, mouth agape, as Smith stalks up to Chris Rock and slaps him – kudos to Rock for behaving more professionally than most would have been able to do in that situation – and then stomps back to his seat.  The commentators talked about how he was just “defending his wife’s honor.” 

Huh?  I guess she is technically his “wife.” But her “honor?”  Really?

When Rock is appropriately shocked by this, Smith shouts out, “Keep my wife’s name out yo friending mouth!”

And once again I was confused.  Could “having a woman’s name in your mouth” be some kind of Hollywood sex slang that I’ve never heard?  As in, a guy is in a crowded bar, bragging to his buddies, “I just spent the whole weekend with” – and here he elbows his closest friend and gives him a Belushi-an raised eyebrow – “Jada Pinkett’s name in my mouth, if you know what I mean?”

And then everybody in the bar says, “Yeah, us too.”

But no.  Will Smith is actually at least pretending to be angry at Chris Rock for mentioning Pinkett’s name in a harmless joke. 

Can I possibly have that right?  After her serial affairs, an MC mentioning her name is beyond the pale for Will Smith?

The saddest part of the whole fiasco is watching Will Smith when Rock tells the very mild joke.  He smiles broadly, obviously understanding the joke… until he glances at the bald harpie he’s with, and sees the soul-shriveling scowl on her unfaithful face.  And then he has to pretend to wear the pants in the relationship, and stomp up onto the stage and slap Chris Rock.

But this is Cautious Optimism, and I’m going to look on the bright side.  It’s a good thing I wasn’t writing jokes for the Oscar presenters, because as I was watching this unfold, one occurred to me. 

It takes a little set up.  The producers of these kinds of award shows hate to have any open seats in the auditorium when the camera is panning the crowd, so they hire some nobodies to dress nicely and wait in the wings.  Whenever anyone in the crowd leaves to go to the bathroom or something, one of these people – called “seat fillers” – temporarily takes their seat, so the cameras will always see a full house.

I would have loaded my joke on John Travolta’s teleprompter, and then fled the scene. 

Can you imagine Will Smith’s reaction if, when he started forward to receive his Best Actor Oscar an hour after slapping Rock for even mentioning Pinkett’s name, Travolta read out, “Will Smith is coming to the stage now, and I’m sure he won’t mind if we provide a” – and here Travolta would give a leer and the “Belushi brow” – a ‘seat filler’ to take his place!”

If Smith was willing to slap Rock for saying his wife’s name, what would he have done if Travolta suggested that his wife’s seat was going to be filled the minute Smith left her side?  If you know what I mean.

So let’s review what we’ve learned in the last week:

Saying that we’ll respond to chemical weapons attacks “in kind,” does NOT mean that we’ll respond with chemical weapons.

Saying that our soldiers will soon go to Ukraine really means that they’ll soon go to Poland.

Saying that, “For God’s sake, [Putin] must not remain in power!” does NOT mean that we’re going to remove Putin from power.

A “don’t say gay” bill is a bill that does NOT contain either of those three words (Even though hordes of leftist morons are chanting that word all over the country, as if they are meretrices working a niche market advertising their wares when the fleet is in port.) 

And here’s what we already knew:

Trans women are not women.

Open marriage is not marriage. 

And the Oscars are not worth watching.

It’s been a long 13 years, and it’s only been 61 weeks.

A Supreme Court Nominee is Stumped, but a Regular Woman is Not a Vet, but Still Knows What a Dog is (posted 3/28/22)

As you faithful readers know – if you’ve read my columns and the responses to them – I’m often praised as a once-in-a-century combination of wit and wisdom, a modern day Pitt the Elder, and a man among men.

Okay, that’s a very loose translation.  But most people’s feedback is pretty kind.  The one common critique of my columns, though, is pretty consistent: they’re too long.

So about 10 days ago, I made a little “Ides of March resolution,” as one commonly does this time of year, to pare things down, and start writing shorter pieces.

And then — because Man plans, and God laughs – we have the last week, a week so full of fertile ground for comic and caustic commentary that dozens of columns could be written about it, while barely scratching the surface.

Biden takes a trip to Europe.  (A dozen Hope and Crosby road movies contained less raw comedic potential than that.) Que Mala also visits Europe. (A dozen 3 Stooges movies contained—well, you know.)  Supreme Court hearings on a far-left nominee feature her being asked reasonable questions, prompting Spartacus Booker to out-Spartacus himself, and the rest of the MSM to react as if she were being flayed alive by the Spanish Inquisition. 

And that’s not to mention the story of the angry mom who read excerpts from a sex book that the school board wanted the kids to read, in the middle of a school board meeting.  (Hilarity ensued.) Or the story of the vomiting Oklahoma Dem congressional candidate ending her campaign.  (She’ll be missed.)  Or the story of pretend GA governor Stacey Abrams appearing as the pretend President of Earth in a Star Trek episode. (Yikes.) 

So what’s an incorrigible smart-arse to do? 

Write two, shorter columns this week, I guess.  Here’s part 1:

I like to collect perfectly stated thoughts.  Here are a few examples, from past columns:

  • When fascist Ken Doll Fidel Trudeau was spouting some lefty claptrap and other pols were interrupting, an anonymous critic of his said, “Let him explain.  He’s not good at this.” 
  • After the first bloody day of Shiloh, a fatigued Sherman visited Grant’s tent, saying, “We’ve had the devil’s own day, haven’t we?” Grant’s perfect response: “Yes. Lick ‘em tomorrow, though.”
  • A video shot by an unseen black guy showed an angry woman with a baseball bat screaming threats and starting to cross a street toward another woman she was arguing with.  When the other woman displayed a pistol, the first woman immediately shut up and retreated, and the unseen videographer repeated, “Ooh, that iron get ya mind right!”

This week’s gender confusion – expressed at a swim meet, and also during the SC hearings – provided another great line. 

A British lady was watching an NCAA swim meet where a dude calling himself “Lia” Thomas destroyed a bunch of female swimmers in a women’s swimming competition.  She was making the obvious point that Thomas was a man, while a young woke-ster guy beclowned himself by debating the issue. 

The best he could do was to challenge her by saying, “Are you a biologist?”

“Oh my god,” my new heroine said, “I’m not a vet, but I know what a dog is!”

Somebody crochet that onto a throw pillow! 

And then give it to Ketanji Brown Jackson, because she resorted to the same idiotic line during questioning.  When asked if she could define what a woman is, she also said, “I’m not a biologist.” 

Ugh.  First, these numbskulls don’t even realize that their attempt at an evasive answer undercuts their ridiculous idea that gender isn’t real.  Because if a biologist can say what a woman is… gender is obviously real.

Adam Carolla occasionally plays a little game on his podcast, after he’s heard a particularly stupid statement from a politician or celebrity.  The game is called, “Stupid or Liar?” and it involves trying to determine whether said pol is the former or the latter.

In the case of Ketanji – worst Nancy Drew mystery ever, by the way – she’s obviously lying.    

What’s even more laughable is watching the MSM and Dems (but I repeat myself) lose their Schumer over the GOP questioning of Brown-Jackson.  They screeched that every line of questioning the GOP employed was illegitimate, character assassination and (of course) racist. 

So what were some of those questions?  Did they ask about whether she drank beers in high school, or wrote mean things in her peers’ high school yearbook?  Did they even bring up my assertion that she sexually assaulted me when we were in high school together? 

And before you can ask, I don’t want to talk about the traumatic details.  Suffice it to say that to this very day, I’m deathly afraid of flying in an airplane, for some reason.  The mental anguish was also so severe that I can’t remember what year it happened, or what city or state we were in, or who else might have been there.  

But it did happen!  Believe all victims, people!

Where was I? 

Oh yeah.  The outlandish GOP questions.

They asked questions about her past judicial rulings.  (The nerve!) They asked about her judicial philosophy.  (How dare they?!)

Even the inquiry about how to define a woman was not some irrelevant gotcha question.  Dozens of cases working their way through the courts involve that suddenly (and irrationally!) contentious issue. 

Title 9 cases that affect millions of people in colleges all over the country rely on a clear definition of women.  Sexual harassment and civil rights cases, affirmative action cases and federal programs that create financial set-asides for women-owned businesses, trans-rights and gay rights and educational curricula cases – all presuppose a clear definition of what women are. 

In a sane world, such a question would be laughed out of the courtroom.  But in our world today, it’s a vitally important, litmus-test question.

And when a candidate for the highest court dissembles on that question so lamely?

To paraphrase that smart British lady, I’m not a hunter, but I know what a duck is.

Stay tuned for Part 2, later this week…

Avenatti/ Pretend President of Earth Stacey Abrams, 2024!

An Engagement, + Lefties Get Gender & Gas Prices wrong (posted 3/21/22)

The Cautious Optimism Roving Correspondent for Affairs (and Stuff) – CORCA – surveys personal and national goings-on:

I’ve got a bit of personal news before I dive into another week of elite lefties doing their best to keep making things worse for our country. 

Last week a young man proposed to my oldest daughter.  Frequent readers of this column may remember her as the nurse who saved a child’s life in November… because I may have mentioned that. Several dozen times. 

The week before he proposed, he met with my wife and I (without my daughter’s knowledge) to ask our permission to propose to my daughter.  And because — in addition to being known as a “Man of Ice Cream, Man of Principle” — I am also known as “Man From the 19th Century,” that was a wise move on his part. 

It has been daunting to be the father of daughters in this century.  You pray for them from the day they’re born, and when it comes to prospective mates, you start with your wish list.  “I hope he’s a Christian, and conservative, and appreciates Johnny Cash and football and a well-struck 3-wood, and has a solid trade and just enough education to not be turned into a moron, and some handyman skills and will be a great father to my grandkids.”  

Then you spend a couple of decades watching a little tv and some social media, and teaching at a university, and you’re tempted to start lowering the bar.  Until by the time she’s a young woman, you’re just hoping that her guy identifies as a male, isn’t a furry, and doesn’t vote Democrat. 

And, if push comes to shove, you end up imagining introducing him to people by saying, “This is my gender-fluid, furry son-in-law.”  (Because I’ve got to draw the line somewhere, even when desperate!)    

Thankfully, this young man seems okay.   And when I shook his hand and then drew him in for a hug, and whispered that if he mistreats my daughter I’m going to descend on him with the vengeful fury of an Old Testament God, he managed not to turn and flee from the house.

So we’re off to a good start.

Speaking of problematic gender news, I really feel sorry for women lately.  Because they are getting hammered by the progressives who never stop virtue signaling about having their backs!

First the greatest female Olympic athlete in history turns out to be a man named Jenner.  Then the greatest female collegiate swimmer happens to be a man named Thomas.  

And now, one of the leading contenders for Woman of the Year is–  Well, you see where this is going. Cue Austin Powers: “She’s a man, baby!”

The person in question is our Assistant Secretary for Health, and is called “Rachel.”  But if you’ve seen any pictures, this is not the “Jennifer Aniston at the height of her powers” kind of Rachel.  (And this Rachel’s haircut is never going to spark a copycat craze among fashionable young women.)

The way things are going, in about 2 years the Mother of the Year will be a father, the matriarchy will be run by patriarchs, the WNBA will be the “NBA 2,” (at least the scoring will go up.), and the leading cause of death among women will be testicular cancer.   

We have lost our freaking minds!  

Speaking of which, I’m sure you caught the ludicrous White House effort to get their political message out by coaching up a bunch of Tik Tok “influencers” to be spokes-weirdos for them.

There is a LOT wrong in that sentence. 

First, I don’t trust any platform that is owned by the Chicom-adjacent, and can properly spell neither “Tick” nor “Tock.”  Both of which, I’ve confirmed through research, are one syllable words, and thus not particularly hard to spell.  (Unlike the dozen variations of “Vladimir” that I’ve recently learned make up 78% of all male names in Ukraine and Russia, for one example.)

Second, these vapid little oddballs shouldn’t be able to influence anybody.  They’re barely smarter than AOC!  In a sane world, “influencers” would be people like Shakespeare, or George Washington, or CO.  Or – sure, I won’t let false modesty keep me from saying it – like me.

But I shouldn’t be too hard on the TikTok dullards, especially when you consider the recent arguments made by the professional leftist politicians.

Take the issue of high gas prices.  In the last week, two high-profile Dems have advanced two of the dumbest possible reasons to explain the price hike.

First up was Grandma Squanto, who proved yet again that she is a few feathers short of a headdress  (#wemustneverstopmockingher), by rolling out the tired old canard that the problem is that the oil companies are just greedy. 

In one, incredibly simplistic sense, that is true.  Companies always want higher profits, the same way you or I want higher salaries, or Lizzie Warren wants more wampum for her beaver pelts. 

In fact, it’s an axiom of leftist theology that corporations are always and forever driven by greed.

But if that’s the case, her position refutes itself.  If companies are always driven by greed, why weren’t gas prices this high last fall, or last spring, or when Trump was president?  Why do greedy corporations seem to only start gouging people when incompetent leftists control the government?

The obvious answer is that Biden’s policies of slashing the supply of oil and natural gas – killing pipelines, forbidding exploration on federal lands, tying up drilling in Gordian knots of regulations, slow-walking permits on previously leased ground – is doing what decreased supply always does: increasing prices.

Enter Hacky Psaki, with an equally stupid answer.  When questioned by Jacqui Heinrich about why Brandon isn’t open to allowing oil companies to produce more oil in America, the Ginger Prevaricator said that,“There are 9000 approved oil leases that oil companies are not tapping into currently.  So I would ask them that question.”

When various reporters asked some oil company spokespeople that question, they provided logical answers, including that many of the leases are on land that has been tested and found to be dry holes, that finding oil on leased land often means pushing ahead to get a permit to drill, which Dem politicians have promised to make as difficult and time-consuming as possible, etc.

But forget all of that.  You don’t need more than a tiny bit of common sense to see that Psaki’s implication is ridiculous.  She’s suggesting that the oil companies are sitting on 9000 productive leases that they could start drilling on tomorrow, but they’re not doing it.

Presumably because they don’t want explosive showers of Texas tea to spray gobs and gobs of icky money all over themselves?  

And instead, they’re asking for access to even more leases… which they will then sit on, while not drilling them either, I guess?

Ugh.  Put Warren’s and Psaki’s “explanations” together, and you get a double-barreled blast of stupid: the greedy oil companies are super-greedy, but they didn’t act on their greed until Joe Biden got into office, and now they’re gouging people with high prices on oil, while they’re sitting on 9000 leases that would allow them to get much more oil to gouge people with… but they’re stubbornly refusing to enrich themselves by drilling more. 

Out of extreme greed.  

Okay, we get it: The redskin and the red head are not exactly a dynamic duo of insight.

But one leading Dem came heartbreakingly close to the truth last week, and it’s the DCCC Chair whose name I only learned last week:  Sean Patrick “Mijo” Maloney.

During his comments at a retreat in Philly, Maloney ran through a litany of negative perceptions the voters have about Democrats, ending with the correct interpretation: “The problem is not the voters.  The problem is us.”

Yes!  Exactly! 

But just when I had a glimmer of hope, just when I thought I’d found that unicorn horn in a haystack – a rational, insightful Dem – I read on. 

And cue the sad trombone, because after accurately diagnosing the disease, Maloney prescribed a big ol’ dose of cyanide as the treatment, saying that Dems must “embrace Biden’s style.”

That’s not a typo.  Mijo said of Biden – and I swear that each of these sentences are actual quotes, “He is that person that in many ways we need to become.  If there’s a kid with a stutter, the president’s going to fall all over him.  If there’s a cop or a firefighter who had a tough time, Joe Biden’s going to wrap his arm around him.”

Let’s break that down: First, we are all on our way to becoming what Joe Biden is today, in the sense that Biden came from the dust, and when he died several years ago, he returned to the dust, as will we all.

And yes, there’s a good chance that if a stuttering kid gets near Biden, he’ll likely fall on that kid.  But that’s not a good thing.  It’s a mortifying experience that will likely add night terrors and PTSD to that kid’s list of problems.

And if any cops or firefighters have had a hard time, it’s likely because of Biden’s “defund the police” and “arsonists are just peaceful protestors” policies.  And the only ones Biden will put his arms around are adolescent girls, or adult women, or the wives of other men called to the podium.  THOSE, he’ll put his arms around.

And then he’ll sniff their hair, and make all of us shudder.

So close, Mijo!

It’s been a long 4 years and it’s only been 60 weeks.

The Dems are in Trouble, & Biden’s Favorite Rap Song (posted 3/14/22)

The Cautious Optimism Roving Correspondent for Affairs (and Stuff) – CORCA – surveys our political landscape:

In my pre-emptive defense, I wrote this column after watching a weekend’s worth of Ukrainian bravery and suffering, and an impromptu but thorough taste-testing of several varieties of Bourbon and Scotch that were in my house.  (For those of you scoring at home, Four Roses is in the lead so far.)

So read on at your own risk, I guess.       

To the untrained eye, the Democrats may seem to be in a spot of trouble lately. 

After a decade-long year of runaway deficits and inflation, an unprecedented border implosion, exploding crime rates and the Afghanistan debacle, they were already ill-prepared for Putin to invade Ukraine, even after Brandon invited him to invade Ukraine – as long as it’s only a minor incursion.

Before you know it — bingo, bango, bongo (hat tip to Jamie) — Putin invades.   

Biden immediately signs a top-secret order activating Operation Decapitated Chickens, which apparently involves getting all of the cabinet members together so they can run around the Oval Office shrieking in panic, knocking over the furniture and bashing into each other, until they finally drop, exhausted, onto a carpet befouled with a noxious mix of arterial spray, death spasms and terrible ideology.

So, done and done.

When a secret service detail broke into the room, knocked the sawdust out of Biden’s third-rate cranium and reattached it to his decomposing corpse, he then shuffled out into the sunlight, squinting the squint of the damned, and began conducting foreign policy.

First, he warned Putin that he’s going to be receiving a strongly worded letter of disapproval, as soon as Biden can find his trusty old Underwood typewriter, a tin of typewriter key oil, and a ream of foolscap. And believe you him, he may be typing so angrily that all of the keys will repeatedly get stuck together in a big clump right above the paper, but he’ll still be sending that outraged missive before Putin can say “Jack Robinson.”

[I interrupt this column to announce that I’ll be submitting the previous paragraph for consideration in the “Most Old-Timey Terms Crammed into a Single Paragraph in 2022” competition.  Vote early and often.]

Second, Brandon pulled General “Thoroughly Modern” Millie out of an “Understanding Toxic Masculinity and White Rage” seminar being led by Bradley/Chelsea Manning to ask for his advice.  Millie shrugged and said we could send the Ukrainians some Javelins. 

When the prez asked what good a bunch of pointy sticks that they throw in the Olympics will do against Russian tanks, General Vanilli explained what an anti-tank missile is. 

After a short nap and some jello, Biden said, “That sounds pretty good, Colonel Mustard. When should we send those?” 

And Donald Trump, who had been watching with his hands on his hips from right outside the Oval Office window, shouted, “A month ago, when I said to, Joe! Worst so-called President ever!!”

Third, Biden announced that we were immediately placing heavy sanctions on all of Russia’s exports… but we would not stop buying Russian oil, which is their only significant export. 

After four days of outrage, and after all other countries had stopped buying Russian oil, Biden announced that he had gotten all of our allies to stop buying Russian oil four days ago, and that he would now lead the way by declaring that we will no longer buy Russian oil.  Starttinnnggg…. NOW!

Fourth, Biden’s SecDef – or maybe it was Mayor Pete, freshly returned to the office after delivering a baby by C-section and solving the supply chain crisis – held a press conference.  When he was asked whether the US would greenlight the Poles sending fighter planes to the Ukrainians, he said, “Yes.  That’s a greenlight.”

Then, four days later (I am not making this up), after the Poles offered to send their planes to our air base in Germany for transfer to Ukraine, our SecDef – or, to be fair, possibly Mayor Pete – said, “Homina homina homina… No.  We hate that idea.”

When some confused reporter said, “But you just said four days ago that you were all for sending planes to Ukraine.”

The Secretary of Pointless Paternity Leave then stammered, “Oh, did you say ‘planes to Ukraine’?  The president thought you said, ‘Insane in the Membrane.’  Which is his all-time favorite Cypress Hill song.”

The reporters all looked at each other, confused.  “First, that is a terrible song.  Second, there is no way in hell that Biden knows that song.”  Another reporter piped up, “You thought we were asking the President to greenlight his favorite rap song?”

Before the flop-sweating bureaucrat could answer, the late president stumbled into the room.   Once an aide helped him get untangled from the blue curtain, he shuffled to the podium and winked at the SecDef, whose name he could almost remember.  “What’s up, Champ?”

A reporter said, “We were just asking why you reversed yourself on sending planes to Ukraine.”

Biden said, “No, no, c’mon man.  I said we were sending Claire Danes to the Great Plains.  Her flight lands in Minot in half an hour.” 

More confusion in the press corps.  One reporter began, “Why would you send Claire Da—” before another spoke over her.  “We thought that you thought we were asking about your favorite rap song.”

“What? No! Why would I think ‘99 Problems’ had anything to do with Putin’s invasion?”

And total, confused silence descended on the room.

Biden looked at his sweating SecDef, then back at the discombobulated MSM stooges, plus Peter Doocy.  He coughed, and said, “You know the thing… ‘If you’re having girl problems, I feel bad for you son?’”

Doocy looked away in embarrassment.  Biden turned to his mouthpiece, who looked like he might resign on the spot.  “C’mon, fat, sing with me.  ‘I got 99 problems and Jill ain’t one!”  He raised his hand in the air.  “’Hit me!’”

The SecDef looked like he was about to pull an Abby Broyles.  (See my last column.)  But he tentatively stepped forward and lightly gave Biden five, which sent the centenarian doofus pinwheeling backwards and off the podium.

The nearest Secret Service guy leapt toward Joey Gaffes while speaking urgently into his wrist mic:  “Flatline is down!  I repeat, Flatline is down!” 

Brian Stelter then shrieked, “Does this mean Comma-la is president?!” and fainted dead away.

And, scene. 

Wait a minute.  Did I say that the Dems seem to be in a little trouble “to the untrained” eye?

Scratch that.  To EVERY eye that isn’t clouded over with severe glaucoma, or that hasn’t been instinctively gouged out when its owner inadvertently came face-to-face with Hillary without her makeup on, or Rashida Tlaib or Maxine Waters with their makeup on.

But don’t fret.  Because a brain trust of congressional Dems and other lefty big brains met in Philly this past weekend to strategize a way out of their current dilemma. 

I know this because I read a story in Hot Air about it, and learned several things.  For example, did you know that the chairman of the DCCC is Representative Sean Patrick Maloney?  Judging from the DCCC’s performance over the last year, I assumed the chairman was Bozo, or AOC, or Mao. 

But nope.  It’s Sean Patrick Maloney.  Who apparently doesn’t realize that a name that sounds that Irish is a liability in the far-left identity-politics swamp of today’s Democrat party. 

That’s why Robert Francis Brendan “Faith-and-Begorrah” Murphy-O’Rourke picked the fake-Hispanic nickname “Beto.” 

So as a public service to the poor guy, let me publicly suggest that he quickly — “andale andale!  arriba arriba!” — snag himself a Hispanic moniker.

Anyway, “Mijo” Maloney – you’re welcome, Sean Patrick! – said that the Dems’ main focus should be to talk like real people and not – and I am quoting here – “sound like a jerk.”

You know you’re in trouble when a professional politician from your own side tells you that you need to tone down your innately stratospheric jerk quotient.  

Observers took Mijo’s warning to be a shot at the loony left-wing fringe who are ruining everything for the extreme far-left wingers who are trying to control the party by posing as everyday far-left wingers.

But Rep. Pramila “Apu” Jayapal (D-Kremlin) was having none of that.  She thinks that the voters are just dying for more of the bloated fiscal train-wreck/ruinously utopian socialist spending of the ironically and cruelly named “Build Back Better” agenda. 

But she knows that even the initials “BBB” are now so tainted that the Better Business Bureau has to change its name ASAP, lest it become SOL and then DOA. 

Her response?  Let’s just not say its name.

I’m not kidding.  Here is her actual quote: “It’s like Voldemort. We just don’t say those words. But we continue to work on the pieces of the legislation.”

For those of you who missed the Harry Potter craze, Voldemort is a cosmic antagonist so hideously evil that people hesitate to even say his name.

So let’s recap.  The Biden mal-administration has stumbled from one disaster to another, and now has approval ratings hovering just above Vladimir Putin and just below untreatable genital warts. 

And the best campaign slogan that nationally elected Democrats have come up with is, “We sound like jerks, and we can’t even say the name of our flagship policy because it is so similar to a pop-culture Satan-figure.  Vote for us!”  

It’s been a long four years, and it’s only been 59 weeks.

Avenatti/ “Mijo” McBlarney Stone, 2024!

I Get Biblical About Political Follies (posted 3/7/22)

As all mortal men, I’m often tempted to take the low road, while the better angels of my nature pull me toward the high road.

An example of the former: as I contemplate the nature of our political opposition, I am tempted to write another vomit-themed column.    

As you may remember, in my column before the state of the union, I wrote an appreciation of Oklahoma Dem House candidate Abby Broyles, who made what I think we can all agree is an unorthodox campaign stop recently. 

By which I mean that she attended a Valentine’s Day sleep-over with a bunch of middle-school girls, where she got drunk, made some catty comments about some of the girls’ appearance and Hispanic ethnicity, and then vomited in their shoes.

I know what you are thinking: this gal sounds like a long day, but she would still be a good choice to bring some energy to Biden’s 2024 ticket, once he throws Que Mala under the bus. 

And you’re not wrong. 

That’s the kind of column I might write, were I to give in to temptations to take the low road.  

But – as is said by every pol who gets caught in a humiliatingly revealing scandal – that’s not who I am.  Instead, I’m going to take the highest of roads, and apply a Biblical analogy. 

As today’s text, I’m taking a verse from Proverbs: “As a dog returns to its vomit, so a fool returns to his folly.” 

(See what I did there?  Some of you were primed to be offended by my crassness, but then I went all Old Testament on you.) 

Now I’m no Thomas Aquinas, but I think today’s Scripture can obviously be applied to today’s Democrat party, who are continually proving that they are incapable of learning from their mistakes.

Exhibit A comes from today’s foreign policy headlines: only a short time after Donald Trump had made America an energy exporter by incentivizing fracking, oil exploring and drilling, Brandon took office and reversed course.  In 12 short months, gas prices went through the roof, and we were once again reduced to begging the miscreants in Russia and the Middle East to sell us more oil. 

This is what we call the,“Honey, Rusty has upchucked on the Welcome Mat again!” stage.

But before you can grab some paper towels and water, your senile grandpa tells Putin that if he invades Ukraine, grandpa will grab some crayons and compose a strongly worded letter of protest.

So… Putin invades Ukraine.  (I know: this is a complicated analogy.  But stay with me.)  

Now the Dems have a dilemma.  They can strengthen the worst people in the world – Putin, Iran, maybe Venezuela? – by buying their oil, thus buying Putin missiles that he can fire into apartment complexes, grade schools, and Holocaust memorials. 

This is the part where Rusty slinks ever closer to the Welcome Mat, sniffing and looking guilty.

Or – and this might just be crazy enough to work – the Dems could listen to a few sane Republicans and most of the American public, admit they were foolish to strangle our fossil fuel industry, and reverse course. 

Which would constitute whacking Rusty with a rolled-up newspaper and cleaning up the mess.

This is obviously the right course.  Surely they won’t wear Ukrainian flag lapel pins and emote over video of fleeing refugees while buying millions of dollars’ worth of oil from Putin every da—

Annnnnnd… Rusty is muzzle-deep in last night’s kibble again.

Or consider Exhibit B, from the domestic policy front.

Just a few short months ago, the national Dem avant-garde were pushing on all fronts to defund the police.  They wanted social workers and reparations and no cash bail and “the first $950 you shoplift is free!”  policies. 

That yakking sound you’ve heard for the last year is the skyrocketing cases of burglary, assault and murder, along with the sound of footfalls and revving U-haul engines sounding a stampede away from blue cities. 

Because this is an election year, our shameless Cadaver in Chief had to wobble to the SOTU podium and mumble, “Sssslution znotdefundpleece.  Zzz FUND pleece.” 

Which, if you had engaged your “dementia-to-English” translation app, came out, “The solution is not to defund the police – it’s to FUND the police!”

But the Left hasn’t turned from its folly.  It’s just waiting until after the election, giving the side-eye to the steaming pile of its pro-crime policies that are currently soaking into the living room carpet.  And if the voters don’t grab it by the collar and drag it to the back yard, the Dems will be putting the “bone” in “bon appetite” once again.    

Our progressive elites have been feeding on a steady diet of Karl Marx, Saul Alinsky, and Bernie Sanders, and that stuff will make you sick.  Our job is to keep them from forcing our country back to their folly, and allowing them to regurgitate their same failed policies, all over again.   

To close out today’s Bible drill, the most obvious allusions in the news today have to be related to the mini-apocalypse happening in Ukraine.  It’s hard to contemplate the four horsemen from Revelation – conquest, war, famine and death – without thinking about Putin’s terrible attack on Ukraine. 

But for those of you who caught our vice president’s recent radio interview, you may be aware of the apocryphal verses describing the fifth horseman: “And long after the four horsemen had ridden by, behold I saw a fifth horse, wandering, lame, and piteous.  This foul beast’s name was Stupidity, and Que Mala rode with him!”

During that interview, Harris was asked to explain the conflict “in layman’s terms for people who don’t understand what’s going on and how can this directly affect the people of the United States?” by some goof who goes by the name “Headkrack.”

Apparently Meshach and Abednego were out sick that day.   (Boom!  That’s from “Obscure Old Testament References for 2000,” Alex.) 

The VP apparently translated that request as, “please explain this to a toddler with a severe learning disability.” 

Because she answered speaking very slowly, starting with, “So, Ukraine is a country in Europe.  It exists next to another country called Russia…”

Which leads to my third and final Biblical quotation:

“Jesus wept.”

It’s been a long four years, and it’s only been 58 weeks.

Biden Gives his First SOTU, and America Weeps (posted 3/2/22)

Well, Joey Gaffes has spoken, and a nation mourns, with millions wearing ashes today.

As bad as the speech was, I’m not sure I understand that last gesture—

Wait.  A Catholic friend has just informed me that today is Ash Wednesday. 

Come to think of it, I saw a pic on Cautious Optimism yesterday of IL Gov Pritzker, and I now realize that yesterday was Fat Tuesday.  So it’s all starting to make sense.

Anyway, back to the Slur of the Union.   

Of course the president struggled to produce words in coherent sequences.  As is his wont.

A few examples:

“You can’t build a wall high enough to keep out… a… a… a… a vaccine… the vaccine can STOP the spread of these diseases.”

Okay.

“Putin may circle Kiev with tanks, but he’ll never gain the hearts and souls of the Iranian people.”

To which many Iranians scratched their heads and said, “Why would Putin be concerned with gaining our hearts and souls?”  

Meanwhile, Ukrainians just shook their heads.

Watching the Dems applauding even that obviously blown line was pretty entertaining.

“…and a pound of Ukrainian people. The proud, proud people, pound for pound, ready to fight with every inch of er-nergy they have…”

You’ve got to give Biden this much: he’s a real ball of er-nergy.   And it’s a cliché because it’s true:  a pound of Ukrainians are worth an ounce of cure.   And if we’re in for a penny of Ukrainians, we’re in for a pound of Ukranians.   

Or something.  

“It’s time to see the… th… what used to be called Rust Belt BECOME the the the home of of of significant manufacturing…”

It’s just a childhood stutter, people.  

Re-appearing in his late hundreds.

But it wasn’t all just an assault on English grammar and syntax.  There were also assaults on common sense, and truth, and rationality.

Biden spent what felt like 6 months touting his Build Back Better bill… with Joe Manchin sitting right there!  That bill is deader than Julius Caesar.  It’s almost as dead as Biden himself (RIP), and everyone in the room knew it. 

And don’t forget the very odd moment when Pelosi, seemingly attempting a smile but producing that strange, rictus grin of hers, stood up for no reason, and spent a full 30 seconds… Rubbing. Her. Knuckles. Together. 

Not clapping, or palming her forehead, or any other vaguely human gesture.  Just rubbing her knuckles together.   And maybe it was just the way I was watching the screen through my hand — with my fingers spread a tiny bit apart, the way I watch all horror movies – but I swear I saw a fine rain of dusty powder – or maybe it was powdery dust – falling from those hideously scraping knuckles.

And Biden was talking about, “burn pits in Iran and Afghanistan… meant to incinerate the waste of war.”  So it wasn’t like she was responding to an applause line.  Unless the ancient Egyptians used burn pits as a part of their pagan celebrations, and she was feeling nostalgic.

The scene was surreal.  The only rational response to the sight of Biden’s animated corpse yammering about burn pits, and then the specter of Imhotep Pelosi standing behind him and rubbing her dessicated forelimbs together would be to shout, “AIEEE!  The mummy rises!  Chase it back to its crypt and kill it with fire!!!”

But everyone just sat there, half of the chamber even applauding!  Yikes!

The normally feckless GOP even had a few reasonable reactions.  They stood and applauded, with a few chanting, “Build the Wall!,” when Brandon was audacious enough to say that we should “secure our border and fix the immigration system.”

And Lauren Boebert responded to Biden referencing “flag-draped coffins,” by shouting out, “13 of them!” 

That was an interesting moment, because initially many Dems gasped and kind of booed, and I was reminded of the time a GOP pol shouted out, “You lie!” during an Obama speech, at a moment when he was obviously lying.

The reaction then was nuclear, with the talking heads outraged for days, filling the airwaves with apocalyptic outrage about the end of civility, and what an unprecedented breech of decorum that was.  But there has been only a very muted response today to Boebert’s impromptu outburst.

I think that’s for two reasons:  1. Even such dullards as the MSM Dem-sympathizers know that Biden’s botched Afghanistan withdrawal and the resulting 13 US military casualties is such a toxic subject with voters that they dare not bring it up.  

2. After Pelosi ostentatiously tore up Trump’s speech on the podium, something like a shouted comment seems almost genteel by comparison.

The speech ended with Biden pumping his fist and saying, “Go get him!” 

Which caused the audience members who were still awake to look at each other in confusion.  Who is he talking about?  Putin?  Joe Manchin?  Joe Rogan? 

But I think the answer was obvious: Corn Pop.  We must go get Corn Pop, and take him out behind the gym, and beat the hell out of him.  C’mon man!

I’ve said it before, and I’ll say it again: I’m just glad that Joe Biden wasn’t alive to hear that sad, sad speech.

It’s been a long 4 years, and it’s only been 57 weeks.

Biden’s Missed Opportunity, a Bust of Lenin, & a Dem Pol Vomits on her Shoes. Literally. (posted 2/28/22)

The Cautious Optimism Roving Correspondent for Affairs (and Stuff) – CORCA – is on the road, and posting a column late.

I’ve spent the last four days traveling to see an old grad school buddy in Phoenix, so I’ve only been able to catch bits and pieces of the news amid some cool desert hikes and taking a tour of Frank Lloyd Wright’s Taliesin West architectural studio/compound.

As I’ve been trying to keep up on Ukraine and rooting for the Ukrainians, I find myself looking back on the past year, partially with relief, despite the damage from a year of the Biden administration.  As he took office, I was dreading the idea that he was going to get credit for all kinds of things that he didn’t deserve, especially since the sycophantic MSM couldn’t wait to be rid of Trump, and lavish praise on their guy.

And that’s how it should logically have gone.  He had an amazing opportunity handed to him on a silver platter – vaccines that minimize covid hospitalizations and death, low inflation, a first-ever state of energy independence, and an economy that had been artificially repressed b/c of a pandemic, and so was poised for a barn-burning fiscal comeback.  

It was a classic case of being born on third base and getting credit for having hit a triple.  All Biden had to do was stand there like a barely animated corpse – his strong suit! — and not do anything to prevent the nascent rebound that was sure to happen.

But he could not pull that off.  In the immortal words of Obama, saying the only wise thing he ever said, “Never underestimate Joe’s ability to f*** things up.”

I’m a big enough man to admit that I did underestimate that, and I now stand corrected. 

Not only did Joey Gaffes screw all of that up: he found new things to screw up.  The loons on the far left of his party have given him one chance after another to have his own Sister Soulja moment – an opportunity to stand against their loopiest desires, and therefore put himself on the side of the vast majority of Americans. 

They want to defund cops and release career criminals without bail while their own cities are being destroyed by those criminals.  They want to support a dude swimming as a woman and crushing all of the actual women swimmers, which regular people (and a lot of his feminist base) reject.  Even though these would be easy wins for a competent politician, Biden can’t take the W.

And even when he does something that most Americans would support – pulling out of Afghanistan – he finds the stupidest way possible to do it: he pulls out the soldiers while leaving the baggage train and civilians behind, and then begging our caveman enemies to allow them to get out.

And now, the call from the 1980s that Obama let go to voice mail has finally come through: Reagan’s warning about being firm with the Russians arrived.  But Joe was weekending in Delaware, and when he got back to the White House, he mistook the phone for the remote control again, and during an attempt to put on Matlock, he erased all of his calls.

A day later, he told Putin that he’d be facing some super serious sanctions if he invaded Ukraine.  I mean, if it was a big invasion.  Obviously, if it was a minor incursion, there would be a strongly worded letter to follow. 

So imagine his surprise when he woke up from a nap to see a scene on tv with a bunch of bombs falling and civilians running around screaming, “Давайте підемо Брендон.”

Which, as you Ukranian speakers know, means, “Let’s go Brandon!” in Ukranian

Continuing a trend that will not surprise anyone who has been paying attention to our European betters in the UN, the EU, the WHO, etc.  the European elites have fared no better in preparing for Putin’s latest gambit than they did in preparing for covid, or an influx of third world immigrants, or panzers coming down through the Ardennes.   

How can that be, you ask?  After being outsmarted by Xi and rolled over by Hitler and driven into a fetal ball by the USSR, how could they not be ready for Putin’s old-school KGB tactics?

I think I may have found a clue, when I happened to catch a little top-shelf bloviating by a guy named Klaus Schwab. 

Though he has the name of a Bond villain, Schwab is also the top dog at the World Economic Forum in Davos – which, I feel compelled to note, could probably stand in for a bunch of central-casting Bond villains sitting around a long table in high-backed chairs, scheming nefariously.

Schwab was doing a Zoom call interview – reports that he was stroking a creepy white cat the whole time are unconfirmed — while sitting in what looked like either his office or home office or library.  I had to look twice at what was on one of the bookshelves behind him.

But, and I am not making this up, just over his left shoulder was a bust of mass-murdering commie sociopath V.I. Lenin!

How does that happen?!  Schwab has to know that even if – deep in the hidden recesses of his shriveled little soul — he idolizes leftist, slave state dictators, you CAN’T let people know that.  How does he even buy and display a bust of Lenin in his own private home, let alone leave it there for all the world to see when he’s about to be on camera?   

I didn’t think it was possible for anyone to display his moral shortcomings to the world during a Zoom call any more egregiously than Jeffrey Toobin (D, CNN) did.  But almost inconceivably, Schwab found a way! 

I’d rather be caught on camera pulling a Toobin, with a bust of a busty woman’s bust on my bookcase, than to be posing in front of a bust of that bloodthirsty ghoul!

Finally, in this time of world-wide threats and stress and invasions and incursions, it’s sometimes nice to be reminded of the small, human-scale stories that really bring home the nature of the big political brains that we are going to be facing off against in November. 

Which brings me to 32-year-old Oklahoma Democrat House candidate Abby Broyles.  Ms. Broyles took time off from campaigning to attend a Valentine’s Day weekend sleepover for a bunch of middle-school girls.

I don’t know why.

While there, she became intoxicated – as I’m sure I would, were I forced to spend a Valentine’s Day sleepover with a bunch of middle-school girls – and allegedly “berated several of the children and vomited in a hamper.”

When the story first came out, Broyles denied it.  But then video was released that showed her… you guessed it… berating several children and vomiting in a hamper.

In her defense, she also insulted one girl’s acne, disparaged another’s Hispanic ethnicity, and also vomited in one of the girls’ shoes. 

Wait – that’s not a defense of her at all.  In fact, those details only make things worse.

Nevermind.

I’ve heard the euphemistic saying, “vomiting on your shoes” before, usually connected to the idea of someone screwing up some task in an unbelievably bad way. 

As in, “AOC tried to explain supply side economics, but that was a real ‘vomiting on your shoes’ situation.”

Or, “Joe Biden tried to answer a reasonable question in a press conference, and by the time he stuttered to a close, there was much vomit on many shoes.”

Or, “I was at LAX departures when I rounded a corner and bumped into Maxine Waters just as she was taking her mask off.  Naturally, I vomited on my shoes.”

But this lady brought the cliché to life.  And for that, I think she is a perfect choice to represent the Dems on the big ticket next time around.  So…

Avenatti/Vomiting-into-Middle-Schoolers’-Shoes Lady 2024

AOC Beclowns Herself & Dems Advise Biden on Turning Things Around (posted 2/21/22)

Amidst the grim news this week – Trudeau demonstrates a taste for excessive force against peaceful protestors; Putin may or may not invade Ukraine, but our prez sent Que Mala to Europe, so… take that, Vlad! – I enjoyed the lighter side of a couple of Dems floundering.

Let’s start with everyone’s favorite ex-bartender, AOC, who decided that she’d like to go a couple of rounds on Twitter with Ted Cruz, and got royally spanked.  (Which, if that had happened more often when she was 4 or 5, she may not have turned into the entitled ignoramus she has so obviously become.)

First she posted a video of herself dancing with some other activist, and tweeted that “Ted Cruz could never.”  In light of her previous idiotic tweet to the effect that GOP pols only snipe at her because they want to date her, several posters quickly made the obvious and funny response: it looks like AOC has a crush on Ted Cruz.

But Cruz proved once again that he’s a metaphorical Triple Crown winner compared to the none-too-bright little filly that is AOC.

And that’s not a horse joke about her teeth.  Because I’m too classy for that.

(Also, because if I were to make a horse joke about AOC , it would involve the idea that every time conservatives propose a policy to stop the damage that far left Dems are doing, she votes, “Neigh.”)

Anyway, Cruz’s response was only two words, but they were well-chosen.  Because in her video, the three nobodies around her were masked up, while AOC was bare-faced.

Cruz ignored the jab, and went for the jugular: “Nice mask.”

In round 2, Cruz used her words against her.  He posted a series of tweets from a year ago, in which he had claimed that the Dems wanted to give some covid relief funds, along with other taxpayer money, to illegal aliens, along with an avalanche of tweets from Dems and their MSM water-carriers calling him a liar and a racist, and saying that his claims were baseless slander.

And then he posted AOC’s clueless short video from this week, in which she proudly bragged that she had “fought hoof and mouth” to help “huge amounts” of illegals in her district get federal Covid stimulus checks.

Sorry, that’s “tooth and nail,” not “hoof and mouth.”  Honest mistake.

On the one hand, if the twitter battle between AOC and Cruz were a fight, the refs would have stopped it in the first round. Because that contest is about as lopsided as the one between Brandon and Putin.  Or between Brandon and the voter in Iowa whom he called “fat.” 

Or between Brandon and the mop and bucket he mistook for Corn Pop, the last time he wondered into a White House broom closet. 

On the other hand, to paraphrase my anonymous Canadian hero’s comment about Fidel Trudeau, “Let her keep tweeting – she’s not good at it!”

My second-favorite read this week came from an NBC article that featured many panicked Dems giving advice to Biden on how to fix his administration’s myriad problems.   And it was just the kind of farcical, Keystone Commies cluster-schtup that you’d expect. 

According to the article, “Suggestions range from picking a handful of high-stakes fights with Republicans to elevating Cabinet secretaries to altering his inner circle by addition, subtraction or both.”

Brilliant!  Let’s pick an issue that is killing us in the polls and “pick a high-stakes fight with the GOP” about it.  Maybe we can call them out because they don’t want to let millions of illegals into the country, or defund the police, or teach our kids to hate our horrible, racist country.  That should turn things around!

I especially love the idea that the solution is for Biden to fire a few underlings.  One anonymous progressive said that canning a top aide like Ron Klain, “would send a signal to the public that Biden understands something has to change.” 

Then, in an actual quote that I can only attribute to what must be a crippling meth addiction, the goofy dope said, “Biden’s the star quarterback, and you can’t fire the star quarterback, so you start looking at the head coach and the offensive coordinator and the defensive coordinator.”

This genius obviously doesn’t know how analogies work.  Because if you have an actual star quarterback, why would you want to fire him?!

Can anyone hear, “Joe Biden” and “star quarterback” in the same sentence without doing a spit take, vomiting on their shoes, or face-palming themselves into a mild concussion? 

If Biden were a quarterback, he’d make Blaine Gabbert look like Tom Brady.  He’d walk down a line of cheerleaders, rubbing their shoulders, sniffing their hair, and creeping them out.

Then he’d walk onto the field… and straight into the other team’s defensive huddle.  When his own players pulled him to their side of the line, he’d gather them around, saying, “Okay, humble up.  I mean, Hubble Telescope.  You know… you know the thing!”

Ron Klain would say, “Do you mean “huddle up’?”

“That’s what I said, cuddle up. C’mon, man!”

Then he’d look at the laminated sheet of plays on his right forearm for an uncomfortably long time.  When someone finally cleared his throat, Biden would jump in surprise, then say, “Okay, I’ll have the Denver omelette with hash browns.”

“Sir, that’s not a play.”

“What?  Oh, okay.  Let’s go with Death of a Salesman.”

“That’s not a football play.”

“You’re being a wise guy with me, aren’t you?”

And, scene.

I hope the Dems keep this up.  Because half of the problem is Biden, and the other half is that their policies are a steaming pile of class envy and racial hatred, braised with hubris and served on a bed of economic illiteracy. 

And no amount of tossing minions under the bus is going to change that. 

On the other hand, to quote the immortal Curly Howard, “It can’t hoit.”

I’d suggest starting with Fauci.

It’s been a long four years, and it’s only been 55 weeks.

Heckling Trudeau, Hatchet-Wielding Criminal Earns a Bullet, & Kids Celebrate the End of Masking (posted 2/14/22)

Three quick stories today, and they’re all pretty positive.  Because even in the midst of this train wreck/dumpster fire/Hindenburg disaster of an administration, we’re all cautious optimists up in here.

First, I’d like to lavish a little praise on the Brits.

Sure, they’ve made a few mistakes through the years.  Dressing your troops in bright red coats and having them stand in straight lines in open fields while surrounded by woods crawling with Simpsons with Kentucky long rifles comes to mind.  (Do you want to lose a continent to a bunch of stubborn rustics with a little something I call grit?  Because THIS is how you lose a continent to a bunch of stubborn rustics with a little something I call grit.)

But one thing I’ve always admired about them is the way they let their prime ministers speak to parliament, surrounding by the other politicians who are allowed to holler and jeer at them. 

Compare that to our congress.  When Obama was giving a dishonest speech touting Obamacare and insisted that it would not force American taxpayers to foot the bill for the care of illegal immigrants, one GOP member called out, “You lie!”   (Spoiler alert: Obama was absolutely lying. Of course.)

And every Dem partisan and MSM empty head – but I repeat myself – began shrieking through the dresses that they’d pulled up over their heads, and ran for the nearest fainting couch.

Now I ask you, is that any way for a great country to behave?  Shouldn’t it be our right as free citizens to have our elected representatives mock and heckle our leaders when they are spouting dishonest nonsense?

Well, the Brits have answered “yes” to that question, and God bless ‘em. 

But I hadn’t realized until the past week that the Canadians have the same tradition.  But there was Blackface McSnowflake Trudeau in the Canadian parliament, being dressed down on his anti-scientific covid mandates and lockdowns by an opposition party lady.   

So Trudeau gets up to answer.  (And by the way, does that guy give off a Gavin Newsom, Ken Doll, smooth-plastic-genitalia-area vibe, or what?)  And within the first sentence, he’s already lying his hoser hindquarters off at full highway speed: “Mr. Speaker, every step of the way we’ve had Canadians’ backs by following the science.  By working closely–”

But by that point, my soul-mates in America’s Hat are scoffing loudly, and he turns around and sits down, pouting.

And then, in what has to be a top 5 political moment in the history of Canada – sure, I can’t name any of the other 4… because it’s Canada – the guy in charge tries to quiet the crowd so that the blow-dried castrato can resume his lying.

Above the chorus of mockery, a lone opposition voice can be heard above the others: “Let him answer – he’s not good at it!”

Perfect!  Those words have been echoing in my head for the last week, and if they don’t describe the elite lefties’ (in Canada and America) governance over the last 14 months, I don’t know what does.   

I’m always going to think of that whenever I see Biden sliding into incoherent word salad, or Que Mala stumbling over herself and then laughing maniacally, or AOC excreting inanities that shave IQ points off of anyone unfortunate enough to hear her: “Let them answer – They’re not good at it!” 

That should be our campaign theme for the next several elections, and yet another reason to defend  freedom of speech, and to NOT censor our opponents, whether in debates, or public speeches, or on their execrable talk shows and news networks. 

The more they explain themselves and their policies, the better off we are.

Because they are NOT good at it!

The second tale today is a feel-good crime story that comes to us out of Michigan, where a 32-year-old convicted sex offender named Aian Tracy was out among the public on February 10th.  (Apparently the hospital was having a sale on vowels when his mom was picking out a first name for this creep.)  

His last conviction was for third-degree criminal sexual conduct in 2015.  I’m not sure what that is exactly, but I’m going to go out on a limb and say that he should have been in jail for many years.  But he was given 5 years probation instead.  So yay, soft-on-crime justice system!

Fortunately for Michiganders from 2015 – 19, “Dick” Tracy couldn’t leave well enough alone and “violated the terms of his probation.”  Don’t know what that means either, but it got him 4 years in jail.  (I know: the original crime should have gotten him 10 years, at least.)

Anyway, he gets out and goes straight, never causing anyone any harm ever again.  The end.

HA!  I kid.

Because on February 10th he was doing something bad to a woman with two kids – the crime reporting is vague – and she called the cops.  When the cops arrived, he pulled out the hatchet he was carrying – as one does – and attacked the cops with it, wounding one in the neck before they shot him with what I can only hope was many, many bullets.  

Sadly, he died… at least 7 years too late.

I know what you are thinking, because I’m thinking it too:  What are we going to do about all of these hatchets?   Many of them doubtless ghost hatchets, bought in Indiana from shady, unlicensed hatchet dealers. They’re going crazy, with the unregulated whacking and the chopping. 

And don’t get me started on the scalping… no offense, Grandma Squanto Warren, but what about the scalping?  (#wemustneverstopmockingher).  

Who will introduce the long-overdue hatchet-control bill on the floor of the house?  Because I haven’t looked into it yet, but I’m quite sure that women and minorities are being hardest hit by the Tomahawk Scourge™

Oh, won’t someone think of the children?  The traumatized, hatchet-mangled children?!

Second, what does it take to be thrown in jail forever in this country? 

I mean, beside walking around inside a government building in a set of buffalo horns like a drunken tourist for half an hour?  Obviously that guy is what happens if Bin Laden and Dillinger’s ghosts identified as a living heterosexual couple and had a baby, so definitely throw the book at him. 

But for anyone other than him, how many repeated sex offenses and other felonies does it take?

On the bright side – I’m here at Cautious Optimism, people – if that creep had been in jail where he belonged, those cops wouldn’t have had the opportunity to shoot him dead. 

So let’s take our wins where we can get them.  And good riddance, Mr. Last of the Mohicans!

Finally a story that is at least a little bitter, but mostly sweet.  By now the data is in, and it’s clear that masking is basically “facial decoration” (according to the CDC!), and that kids in particular pay a high price for being masked, with no corresponding health benefits.

But the left is doing their best to hang on to mask mandates, with teacher union head – and all around terrible human – Randi Weingarten leading the way.  Democrat Boston Mayor Michelle Wu – as in, “Wooo, is she not smart!” – may have summarized it best, when she claimed that, “Kids want to keep masking!”

Now, for an alternative take from the real world, I give you this video of a Las Vegas elementary school classroom when the teacher announced that the mask mandate had been lifted: https://www.bizpacreview.com/2022/02/11/elementary-kids-dance-with-joy-hearing-the-end-of-mask-mandate-and-win-the-internet-1200113/

Man, does watching that video do my heart good!  I’ve watched it a dozen times, and I love everything about it.

I love the immediate, ear-piercing screams, and the spontaneous burst into applause and frenzy.  I love the way it recreates the Charlie Brown Christmas special, in which each kid has his or her own dance. 

The girl in the front starts doing jumping jacks, then transitions to hopping in place.  The boy on the right picks up his chair and looks like he might toss it through a window.  In the background one girl raises both hands over her head and sprints around the room shouting.

 One kid does some kind of Peewee Herman-esque move, one does the Dougie, and the girl in the sweat pants whips off her mask and starts twirling it over head, then starts some kind of swinging her hips and pointing at the sky with both hands thing. 

THAT’S how kids are supposed to act!  That’s what being young means. 

Not being bullied into following baseless orders that are justified only by the neurotic fears of totalitarian adults and the mania for control of totalitarian politicians.  And yes, I’m looking at you, Stacey Abrams, with a self-satisfied smile plastered over your unmasked, bowling-ball head, while you’re surrounded by a bunch of powerless kids who’ve been forced into masks.

The only way this video could have been any better is if — after the teacher’s final rhetorical question, “Is anybody excited?!” — she had said, “Let’s go Brandon!!” to the even more manic cheering of those adorable kids.  

Avenatti/ the ghost of Aian “Dick” Tracy, 2024!

Goodbye to an Old Car, Biden’s Creepy Caretakers, & the Perils of Quotas on the Supreme Court (posted 2/7/22)

Before I turn to our national challenges, I’d like to say a personal goodbye to an old car that is moving on from my life. 

About 10 years ago, I went to a car dealership to find a pickup to replace my 30-year-old Silverado.  My wife went along for the ride, and when the dealership didn’t have a suitable truck, I noticed a used, sleek, black BMW Z4 roadster on the lot.  I joke that that looked like a fine mid-life crisis car to me.

According to the universal law of wifely duties, my better half was supposed to follow the script, and mock me for my foolishness, and substitute her wisdom for my own whimsy, and steer me off the lot.

Instead, she suggested that I take a test drive.      

I was raised by great parents who were children during the Great Depression, plus I chose a profession that was never likely to bring a princely salary.  So I know better than to buy a new car, and have always opted to buy at least a 2-3 year old car and let the original owner take the butt-kicking on the depreciation. 

(I trust that my economic mentors Thomas Sowell, Milton Friedman and Christopher Silber would approve.)

But this car was 10 years old, and affordable, so I bought it. 

I’ve had a lot of fun with it over the last 9 years, and this week I took it out for a top-down ride around town with Cassie riding shotgun.  There are few things in life more fun than tooling around in a convertible on a sunny day, with a Wonder Dog holding her head into the wind with that blissful look dogs get during a ride.

As we arrived back home, my wife was getting the mail, and she told me to stop so she could get a picture of one happy canine.

The next day, a very expensive part broke (insert your own BMW joke here), and I just got the post-mortem from my mechanic: it doesn’t make financial sense to fix her, so I’m selling her to someone who wants a project. 

If I had known that that last ride in that car was going to be my LAST ride in that car, I couldn’t have picked a better one.  I’ve posted the pic my wife took on my page at Martinsimpsonwriting.com, if you’d like to share that bittersweet moment with me… 

Speaking of bittersweet, watching two bits of tv in the last week provided a sobering experience.

First up was Biden’s brief press availability, after which he repeated the gaffe that he can’t seem to stop making: he called on someone, saying, “They tell me I’m supposed to call on him first.” I’d find it less worrisome if he were listening to the voices in his head, rather than taking orders from some nameless flunky, like the slowest trainee on his first day behind the cash register! 

But then it got worse, when an off-camera female voice started telling everyone the conference was over, and ushered the reporters toward the exits, with a passive-aggressive, “Thank you… thank you…” 

Would any competent, in-control leader allow that?  For a subordinate to just decide that you’re done talking, and announce that you’re finished, and clear the room?  Would a husband or wife allow their spouse to announce, mid-story, that the dinner party is over, and your guests all have to beat it? 

Biden’s reaction was terrifying, considering his office: he looked vaguely disoriented, then plastered an empty grin on the front of his empty head, and just stared around the room at nothing until the feed was cut. 

That evening, as I was clearing some programs from the DVR, I caught a repeat segment of 60 Minutes about Tony Bennett’s final concert, with Lady Gaga, last summer. 

It turns out Bennett has advanced Alzheimers, which is always sad.  But it was fascinating how he came back to himself when the music started playing.  His near-catatonia and minimally responsive reactions disappeared, and he started singing along with the piano, ripping through a dozen songs without a mistake.   The concert itself was also moving, and for the same reason: when the band started playing, the old Bennett came back. 

I couldn’t help but think of watching Biden’s performance.  He’s got exactly the kind of diminished function – the flat affect, the stiff, minimal verbal ability — that Bennett has.  Except that Bennett has, buried within him, a real talent, and one that practically resurrects itself when the moment calls for it.

But Biden has no talent.  At the height of his powers – I know, there’s no way to read that phrase without it being sarcastic! – he was a vapid, backslapping political hack. 

Bennett has a kind of musical muscle-memory that is still there.  The only muscle memory Biden has is that of a peevish, thin-skinned jerk.  When he gets an even mildly pointed question, his vitriolic, inner bully resurfaces, and he calls the questioner fat, or an SOB, or challenges him to a fight or a pushup contest. 

If Jill really loved him, she should have put a stop to this two years ago, when he was flailing in the primaries, insulting voters, and fantasizing about Corn Pop, his own non-existent job as a truck driver, or the marching at Selma that he never did. 

Now we’re stuck with him, and one man’s diminished denouement has become a great nation’s tragic burden.

Another mistake of Biden’s – his ham-fisted declaration that his SC nomination will be an affirmative action pick – provoked an unintentionally revealing analysis from a Slate writer named Christina Cauterucci.

Partisan though she is, Cauterucci has to acknowledge that Biden’s roll-out was botched, in a brutal title and sub-title: “How Biden’s Vow to Name a Black Woman to the SC Backfired – A campaign promise has needlessly tokenized future nominees.”

She begins by pointing out that around ¾ of Americans (including an astonishing 54% of Dems!) reacted negatively to Biden’s statement that he had a racial and gender litmus test for his nominee.  That’s a heartening reaction, and while I’m a little surprised by it, I’m grateful.

But she can’t consider the simple virtue of that position; her ideology is too steeped in racial poison, so she has to explain away obvious implications, and distort the reality of the situation, while (of course) smearing conservatives.

She starts by reciting lefty shibboleths about the proper kind of racial discrimination: judges’ skin color should reflect the population’s, turnabout against white guys is fair play, etc.  She even quotes the least-bright current justice: “As Sonia Sotomayor once said, in a line that was ghoulishly twisted by the right, life as a woman of color offers a ‘richness of … experiences’ that brings great value to judicial decision-making.” 

Of course, that line wasn’t “ghoulishly twisted” by the right – it was accurately quoted. 

Unfortunately for the hard left, most people want judges to interpret the law, rather than following the standard m.o. of Sotomayor and activist leftist jurists, and re-making it according to their own political/ideological preferences. 

Cauterucci stumbled on, trying to excuse Biden’s gaffe.  She faulted his pledge only for being “overly candid,” and pre-emptively blamed conservatives, who she says will “tarnish” the nominee “as lesser,” simply because, “they will assume that anyone chosen in part for her gender and race will not be the best candidate on the merits.”

YES!  Of course they will.  But they won’t need to assume it; it will be the self-evident reality.  Because any time you favor or eliminate any candidate because of genitalia or skin tone, you are by definition not seeking the best-qualified candidate.

You may still end up with a very qualified person, but there will always be some doubt about her merit – that’s one of the terrible but unavoidable consequences of racial preferences.

But Cauterucci really gives the game away when she plaintively asks why Biden couldn’t have just kept his mouth shut.  (We feel your pain, Christina!)  Why couldn’t he have just picked a black woman “without the premature, identity-specific fanfare?”  Why did he have to position his nominee as “only best[ing] other black women for the role, rather than the entire pool of possible nominees?”

And then, in the ultimate self-own: “Wouldn’t she have been better served by the perception that Biden had also considered white men for the slot, and found them wanting in comparison?”

Ah, yes: the perception!

She isn’t arguing that Biden should not have established a blatantly discriminatory racial quota for his pick – only that he shouldn’t have been HONEST about doing so.

And there’s one of the left’s biggest liabilities, in a nutshell: to achieve their goals, they have to lie.

If they admitted that they want open borders and welfare benefits for illegals in exchange for their votes in perpetuity, they’d be rejected.

If they admitted that they want to confiscate the guns of law-abiding citizens, they’d be rejected.

If they admitted that they want high taxes, and high energy costs, and CRT in schools, and forced lock-downs and masking forever, they’d be rejected.   

Far be it from me to contradict Uncle Jesus, when He said that, “The Truth will set you free.” 

But for the hard left – anywhere outside the deep blue cities like SF, LA, NYC, Minneapolis, the bad Portland, etc. — the truth will cost them elections.

Hence their frustration with Biden, who committed the political version of a gaffe: he inadvertently told the truth.

And Slate can’t have that!

Finally, in yet another tragic story, Michael Avenatti has been convicted of yet another crime; this time, it was stealing from his client, Stormy Daniels. 

But don’t lose heart, CO nation!  I, for one, am not giving up on his prospects of rising to the top of his party’s ticket.  It’s not like terribly sleazy and dishonest behavior has kept past Dems from succeeding in politics.

And sure, Avenatti could get sentenced to as long as 20 years.  But if he gets a typical leftist prosecutor and judge, the DA will likely ask for 3 years, and the judge will sentence him to 18 months and a $10 fine.  He’ll be back on the streets – tan, fit and rested – in time for the primaries, where he’ll face Que Mala, Grandma Squanto, and a stage full of extremist deplorables. 

My money is still on the Creepy Porn Lawyer!   (Hat tip to Tucker.) 

Avenatti/ Any Female Minority Person with a Pulse, 2024