faith – Page 2 – Martin Simpson

Rosie and Jen Psaki Beclown Themselves Over the Minneapolis Killer (posted 9/1/25)

As usual, I wanted to talk about a range of subjects today, but the left has been pushing one particular topic hard for the last several days – the Catholic school shooting in Minneapolis – so even though I touched on it Friday, I feel duty-bound to point out the way the Dems are spinning it.

Although just about all national Dems and leftist talking heads are playing variations on the same few themes, I want to call out two of them for special attention. The first is that totally stable little minx, Rosie O’Donnell.

I was all set to really go after her, because right after the shooting, she put out an idiotic video claiming that the perp was, “a white guy, Republican, MAGA person… whaddya’ know… white supremacist.”

In her defense, she may have listened to Aaron Katersky, who mentioned that the killer had written Trump’s name on his guns, but not that he had said, “Kill Trump!” (Nice journalism there, Ay-Ay-Ron!) (Semi-obscure Key & Peele skit reference for $100.)

On the other hand, that’s really not much of a defense, because Rosie has been around long enough to know that you can’t trust any MSM liar as far as you can throw them. She’s been posting hateful rants about Trump and anyone who voted for him since she left America for Ireland 7 months ago, and her latest bit of dis-information was pretty much SOP for her.

Still, Rosie has her decent moments. First, unlike nearly all of the spineless narcissist celebrity leftists who always promise to leave the country if a Republican wins the White House, she actually had the guts to follow through and leave. (One more sign that Trump’s strategy to get undesirables to self-deport is working!)

Second, when she realized that the mentally ill Trump-hating killer was not a MAGA-loving Trump fan, she actually posted an apology. And as you know, an apology from a leftist who was wrong is as rare as an un-eaten comically oversized turkey leg in the Pritzker mansion.

Her apology is hard to watch. I mean, visually. She’s got this thing about shooting videos with the camera about six inches from her face. (The giant cold sore on her lip doesn’t help.) And as a middling-looking fella myself, I can say that she’s not got a face made for close-ups.

(If you’ve watched any of my videos on my site, you’ll notice that I shoot from a respectable three or more feet away – no close-ups! You’re welcome.)

But again, credit where credit is due. She actually says, “You were right. I did not do my due diligence before I made that emotional statement, and I said things about the shooter that were incorrect.” Though she couldn’t help taking a shot at the NRA for some reason, she did say, “The truth is I messed up, and when you mess up, you ‘fess up. I’m sorry. This is my apology video, and I hope it’s enough.”

My own pettiness and love of mockery tells me that hell no, it’s not enough. Not when the wrong conclusion she jumped to was the result of her habitual malice toward half of humanity.

But then Uncle Jesus is always nagging me about forgiveness, and leaving the judgment to Him. (The Guy won’t let up about that!) So I’ll just say that Rosie seems like such an unhappy person, and she’s not hurting any of us nearly as much as she’s hurting herself. I hope she can find some way to let go of all the bitterness she’s embracing.

Then again, if she takes stupid shots at me and mine, I’ll be counter-punching again. It’s like hitting my knee with that weird little hammer thing: I’ve gotta kick.

The second person I watched beclowning herself over the Minnesota killer is our favorite Ginger Prevaricator, Jen Psaki.

If you didn’t see her soliloquy on the topic on MSNBC – and you didn’t, because you’re well-adjusted, and have a life – you missed some actual tears, and a lot of pre-programmed, dishonest Dem talking points.

While she was close to crying several times – and I have no reason to believe that her emotions weren’t genuine – she quickly retreated into lefty agitprop. In an interview of Minneapolis mayor Jacob “small” Frey, she talked about the way conservatives are “weaponizing the details” of the murders, and asked him, “What do you do as a leader of your city to prevent details from being weaponized, and using this to blame something other than the guns?”

If she called “details” what they really are – facts – the goofiness of claiming that they are being “weaponized” would be more obvious.

Ideally, journalists should focus on finding and reporting the facts, and letting their audiences decide how to interpret them. Realistically, most journalists are just biased commentators producing opinion pieces. But even so, they could still make an effort to present multiple perspectives, even if they’ll ultimately lead viewers toward one of them.

But that’s not enough for Psaki. She presents her own foregone conclusion, which must not be challenged: the guns are the entire problem, full stop.

(Can you imagine playing the board game Clue with a leftist ideologue? In the leftist version, there’s no Colonel Mustard or Miss Scarlett, or anyone else. There are only the rooms where the crime took place, and the REAL culprits: the candlestick, dagger, lead pipe, revolver, rope or wrench.)

In a later monologue, Psaki said all of the quite parts out loud – “all that [conservatives] are offering is thoughts and prayers.” She accused them of spouting those “hollow words,” and then “attempt[ing] to shift the focus.” She said, “You’re already seeing narratives about how the shooter was trans, about how the shooter appeared to be anti-Trump and anti-Semitic….”

First she called them “details,” and now she calls them “narratives,” but they’re still just plain, old facts. The shooter WAS trans, and anti-Trump, and anti-Semitic.

But Psaki’s not psatisfied with that. She sneers that we’re “weaponizing the shooter’s identity to distract from what matters.”

And what matters is…wait for it…guns. Unexpectedly! (“Don’t give me that Professor Plum or Mrs. Peacock or the gender-confused grievance studies major,” psays Psaki, “what matters is clearly the assault revolver! Or possibly the assault lead pipe, or the assault rope.”)

But she can’t even keep her delusions straight, because one minute later, when she circles back (HA!) to talk about past mass killings, the first one she mentions is the May 2022 shooting in Buffalo. And here’s how she describes it: “A white supremacist committed a mass shooting at a supermarket in a predominately black neighborhood.”

Whoa there, psassy Psaki! I think you meant to say that a semi-automatic rifle and a shotgun committed a mass shooting, don’t you? Leave the irrelevant “details” and “narratives” about the white supremacist – who absolutely does NOT matter in the story – out of it!

After Psaki lambasted conservatives for “offering thoughts and prayers,” some snarky conservatives posted old tweets from Psaki after Steve Scalise was shot by a Bernie bro in 2017, in which she offered – you guessed it – her own “thoughts and prayers.”

But I’m a bigger person than that, and won’t pile on. (Stop laughing!) Instead, I’ll leave her hypocrisy to one side, and point to one glaring mistake, and one glaring lie in her argument.

The glaring mistake is one that Psaki and many other Dems (including Small Frey) make about religious people in general, and Christians in particular – that we believe that prayer will result in God intervening to stop all tragedies. (Even those who don’t explicitly say that clearly believe it, because otherwise why the mockery of thoughts and prayers? The implication is clearly that the fact that God didn’t prevent the Minnesota shooting proves that prayer is meaningless, or God doesn’t exist, or both.)

But I know a lot of Christians, and I don’t know any who believe that, especially if they’ve read even parts of the Bible. As far as we know, none of the apostles prayed to be crucified, beheaded, beaten to death or stoned for their faith, yet most of them were. Christ himself prayed a fairly famous prayer that a certain cup would pass from Him.

(Spoiler alert: that cup did NOT pass from him.)

As on many other theological topics, my dear, departed dad had good advice for me when I was a kid: pray like everything depends on God, and work like everything depends on you. And pack heat, use a two-handed shooting stance, and aim small, miss small.

Okay, I made that last part up. But the “pray and work” part is true. Because dad knew a few things.

The glaring lie is easier to prove. When Democrats scream about conservatives offering nothing else to stop gun violence other than thoughts and prayers, they are full of it, and they have to know it. Because for decades now, the GOP has offered many steps to decrease gun violence:

1. We always advocate harsh penalties and long jail sentences for committing crimes with a gun, and the Dems always oppose those. (One main reason why: several of the Dems’ pet identity groups – blacks, to a lesser extent Hispanics, and confused transgenders – disproportionately commit gun crimes. So enforcing harsh penalties for gun crimes is racist, or transphobic, or something.)

2. Conservatives regularly push for hiring armed security at schools, churches and other public venues, and the Dems usually oppose that.

3. Most conservatives support allowing teachers to voluntarily conceal-carry their guns at school – with proper vetting and training – and Dems always oppose that.

4. Conservatives also advocate hardening targets like schools and churches just as we do with sports stadiums, broadcast studios, and congress buildings: hiring armed security, screening people who want to enter, installing cameras and various locked doors and other barriers to entry, etc..

This last point is one “narrative” that the Dems have been particularly stubborn about. Instead of hardening targets, the lefties’ main “solutions,” have been to create “gun-free zones,” counting on an invisible barrier of self-righteous proclamations to deter hateful criminals from preying on defenseless victims.

(Spoiler alert: NOPE!)

Psaki actually bought into this delusion in her above-mentioned monologue. She cited reactions to earlier school shootings, mocking “the conversations about hardening the doors. As if doors were the reason we kept having mass shootings. It’s not about the doors!”

Of course not, Jen. It’s all about the candlestick!

I mean, the gun.

It’s especially hard to listen to people like Tim A-WOLz lambasting conservatives for doing nothing to stop last week’s shooting. Because in 2023, shortly after a different “transgender” Christophobe murdered a bunch of Christian kids at the Covenant School in Nashville, an association of independent schools and another association of Catholic schools sent requests to Wolz, asking for funding for greater security at Catholic and other non-public schools in his state.

While his office responded, acknowledging the issue along with receipt of the request, no money was forthcoming. In the meantime, Wolz did find the time and the funding to champion Minnesota’s self-congratulatory support for making “transgender” students feel welcome in public schools, including welcoming biological males into women’s bathrooms and showers.

On the bright side, if any of the girls traumatized by sick males in their locker room also happened to need a tampon, they could easily get one…by asking a male friend to bring one from the men’s bathroom, where Jazz Hands had put them.

Finally, I think it should be alarming to many of our Democrat friends to realize just how much they have in common with last week’s killer.

He hated Jews. (Check.) And Christians (Check.) And Trump. (Check.) He was decidedly untroubled by the idea of killing children. (I’m not saying that’s the exact same as the mindset over at Planned Parenthood. But I’m not saying that it’s wildly different, either.) And the killer’s scrawled, “Where is your God?” on his gun is not far from the Dems’ “What good are your thoughts and prayers?” mantra.

On the other hand, the killer did make one significant departure from Democrat orthodoxy. In his tortured journals, he wrote, “I’m tired of being trans. I wish I never brainwashed myself.”

I doubt that the Dems are going to put THAT in their 2028 convention platform.

But they should.

Hamas delenda est!

Transgender Fencers & Non-Violent Child Sacrifice (posted 4/16/25)

I’ll open today with the results from Monday’s “Moron of the Month” competition.

This one elicited a lot of great responses, including references to Joe Dirt and the Heatmeister, and many funny references to the shortcomings of all three contestants. And unlike last week’s nominations from the Eastern Division, when Lashes Crockett left the other nominees in the dust, this one was close.

Not counting the readers who said they couldn’t choose, or that it was a three-way tie, Elie “Fat Albert” Mystal took the dunce cap, with 18 votes, to corrupt Tania’s 13 and Griesa’s “Come and get me, I’m an enormous, unashamed, queer illegal!” 7-vote-winning strategy.

So Mystal advances from the Western division. I’ll hold off until toward the end of the month to choose the three nominees from both the Southern and Northern divisions, and then we’ll have a “Moron-off” among the Final Four.

Meanwhile, other boneheads have stepped forward to give me fodder for one of my traditional categories: “We Don’t Hate the Media Enough.”

The first example one comes from the story you probably heard about last week, in which a female fencer refused to compete against a male, and was disqualified for it.

The male, Redmond Sullivan –a violator of Simpson’s Rule of Life #146: Never trust someone with two last names – fenced last year as a male, and came in 29^th in his last competition. (I’m assuming that that was out of no more than 30 competitors, tops.) But when he switched to “female,” he won.

UNEXPECTEDLY!

Many media outlets called him a “transgender woman,” as well as “her” and “she.” Because of course they did. But the outlet that took the prize – I think it’s called “Sports Grail,” but that might just be the site that repeated this – used this headline: “Fencer disqualified after she refused to fence with someone she believed is transgender.”

Ugh. She doesn’t “believe” the dude to be “transgender.” She believes him to be a male. Because…wait for it… He’s. A. Male! You idiots!

(I would also have accepted the headline, “Fencer disqualified after she refused to fence with a male who wrongly claims to be transgender.”)

The next example comes to us from CBS. (UNEXPECTEDLY!) And it follows a pattern I saw many times in my teaching years.

Before they took my class, many of my students had been propagandized to believe that all indigenous peoples were noble proto-environmentalists, living in Edenic conditions of peace and love until the wicked Europeans invaded and colonized their lands, teaching them the evil ways of capitalism and the Judeo-Christian world view. So it was my job to teach them true things that they’d never heard of before.

Things like, “If we were to give the Black Hills back to the Indians who lived there before whitey showed up, should we give it to the Sioux, or to the tribe that the Sioux slaughtered and stole it from, or to the tribe from whom that tribe had stolen it, etc.?

And, “If the descendants of white southern Democrats who owned slaves should pay reparations, should the black Africans who captured those slaves in the interior of Africa and then took them to the coast and sold them to Arabs or Europeans also be forced to pay reparations? And speaking of the Arabs, how much should they pony up, since they took many more slaves than the Europeans did?”

Then I’d casually mention that Slavic people and the Welsh – who are both almost as white as Liz Warren (#wemustneverstopmockingher) – were actually some of the most enslaved people in olden times. The word “slave” comes from the word “slav,” and “Wales” and “Welsh” come from a Germanic root meaning “slave.” Anglo-Saxons in western England owned more slaves than those in eastern England, because the west was closer to Wales, where the welsh/slaves were conveniently nearby.

By that point, the more leftish among my students had either curled into a fetal ball and were crying, or else had turned into a toxic combination of Greta Thunberg and Cotton Mather, and stood pointing at me, and with blazing eyes, yelled, “How dare you? The white man lies!”

But enough about me, and my pedagogical fantastic-ness.

I was reminded of those classes when I saw CBS’ report on a recent discovery of an altar in Guatemala that dates back to Mayan times. The archaeologist who made the discovery reported that the bodies of three young children were found there, and concluded that the site had been used for child sacrifices.

Now CBS could have stopped right there. But then the network would be just “C.” But you can’t have CBS without the “BS.”

So they found an “expert” to parachute in and correct any impression that perhaps the altar builders might have had just a dusting of “bloodthirsty child murdering” along with all of their lovely, indigenous ways.

Enter Maria Belen Mendez – she has three accents over the vowels in her name, so you know that she’s super credible – who is identified as “an archaeologist who was not involved with the project” says that the nasty stuff at the altar was actually just a part of the native religion’s reverence for the sun and moon:

“[The child sacrifice] was a practice; it’s not that they were violent, it was their way of connecting with the celestial bodies.” (You hear similar claims about the Aztec festivals during which the mostly peaceful brown folks ripped the hearts out of their living victims, or beheaded them by the thousands, and then rolled the heads down the steps of their temples…. But only because they wanted to ensure a good harvest, you see.)

Ummm…. I’m no child-sacrifice-ologist, but I’m pretty sure that whatever else you might say about people who murdered toddlers on an altar, you can’t credibly say, “it’s not that they were violent…”

By the way, do you think these cultural apologists would EVER say, “It’s not that the torturers of the Spanish Inquisition were violent. They just REALLY wanted to find out who the heretics were.”

They would not.

And we don’t hate them enough.

Hamas delenda est!

Christmas, Losses, & Remembering My Dad (posted 12/13/24)

This column will be an unusual one.

Today my wife and I are heading down for my daughter Emily’s graduation from college on Saturday. We’ve got a four-bedroom Airbnb through Tuesday, and we’ll be joined by Katie and her husband, Karen’s two brothers, and one of my cousins. After the graduation, we’ll be having an early Christmas with Katie and Ryan, since they’ll be back in Denver and working on Christmas Day.

In other words, we’ll be making rather merry for the next four days, and I won’t be posting my usual column on Monday. But I’ve got some things on my mind that I thought I’d share before leaving town.

December is my favorite month of the year, and after the relief of Trump’s win last month, this has been an easier year than usual to get into the Christmas spirit.

We’ve got the tree and lights up, and last weekend we saw the town tree-lighting – with carolers, horse-drawn wagon rides and luminaries lining the streets – in an old hotel where Robert Frost spent his last winters, in one of our town’s oldest neighborhoods. The advent services at church have been great, and the weather has cooperated by giving us enough cold nights to justify having a few fires in the fireplace.

But I’m also reminded of the bittersweetness of the Christmas season for many, especially older people. The sweetness is obvious, especially for Christians, for whom the holiday marks the pivot-point of human history.

But the bitterness is there too, because for most of us Christmas is the most nostalgic of holidays, and nostalgia always combines happy remembrance with the ache of loss. If you had a reasonably happy childhood, some of your best memories invariably involve Christmastime and the traditions and people you loved, magnified through the rosy lens of your own innocence.

The older we get, the greater the chances that the holiday also carries bad memories of tragedies that happened around the holidays, the pain made sharper by the jarring confluence of a happy event – a birthday, an anniversary – with a devastating loss. After you’ve lived a while, you’ll inevitably have some poignantly empty chairs around your Christmas table.

I’m thinking about this now because tomorrow is both Emily’s graduation day, and the tenth anniversary of my dad’s death.

Ten years seems like a perfect amount of time to illustrate how strangely time works on us. By the time you’re middle aged, events from a decade ago alternately feel like they happened eight months ago, or in a different lifetime.

(It’s disorienting. I mean, I’d guess that Kurt Cobain died around 10 years ago, around the time when Joe Biden dropped out of the presidential race. But no. Cobain died thirty years ago, and Biden was still in the race 6 months ago!)

I think it was C.S. Lewis who cited this kind of alienating strangeness in the way we perceive time as, if not dispositive proof of the soul’s immortality, at least a persuasive indicator of it. He used the analogy that fish are not constantly surprised by the water they live in, but we are constantly surprised – fooled, and vexed, and startled – by our experience of time. We are created for immortality, and this current life hints at that fact constantly.

So on the one hand, I wish dad could be there to watch my astrophysicist daughter walk across that stage tomorrow. And on the other, I know that he will be. And that the only reason he’s not as proud of her as I am, is that it’s not possible for anyone else to be as proud of her as I am!

Okay, I said that this would be an unusual column, and I think I’ve delivered on that. So I’ll finish the same way.

I wrote a remembrance of my dad for Father’s Day in 2017, which now seems like 6 months ago. (See what I mean?) I’ve re-posted it on a couple of Father’s Days since then, and I’m happy to say that thinking of him these days brings back nothing but good feelings.

I’m reposting it here for one last time before retiring it for good. Whether you’re a newcomer to the CO site and haven’t seen it before, or you’re seeing it one more time, I hope that even though it’s not the least bit Christmas-y, it will help you to appreciate the time you’re able to spend with your family this Christmas.

From June, 2017:

“As this Father’s Day approaches, I’ve been thinking a lot about my dad. He died not long before Christmas in 2014, and time has been doing its work, to the point that thoughts of him have shifted over to a mix of many happy memories of him, to go along with the pain of his loss. I’m a father to two daughters, and have known hundreds of other fathers as friends, relatives, co-workers and acquaintances, and off the top of my head, I can’t think of anyone who carried out that role any better than my dad.

He was born into a family of four boys and four girls to working class parents in Illinois in the late 1930s. He married my mom not long after high school, and had me and my younger sister, and raised us while working at the Northern Illinois Gas Company, until he was forced into an early retirement at the age of 57 by injuries. He operated a variety of heavy equipment, and he took great pride in his work.

When I was little, I can remember him pointing out subdivisions or houses that he’d run services to, and whenever we’d pass a parking lot with heavy machinery, he’d brag that he could operate anything on that lot. My mom had to explain to an excited young me (at maybe age 5 or 6?) that no, she was not going to let dad scratch my back with his backhoe. (He’d assured me that he could do so, no problem.)

He was not perfect, as none of us are. He could be short-tempered and impatient, for example. But even then, he was the most unusual of people: he was a short-tempered man whom I never heard swear. Not once in my life. Not when he bounced a hammer off his thumb. Not when the Bears or the Cubs went O-for-a-month. Not when a Democrat got elected.

He used ridiculous euphemisms to avoid cursing – “son of a buck,” “dirty rip,” and the like – but as a grown man who rarely makes it across town in heavy traffic without dropping at least one trenchant Anglo-Saxonism at one of my many brain-dead fellow citizens who cannot seem to master a turn signal or figure out which lane is for passing, that’s almost more than I can comprehend.

People are freaking idiots all the time — I am too — and my dad was surrounded by them his entire life, but he never swore in front of his son!

In the summer of 2014 dad had cancer surgery that we initially thought had been successful. But a month or so later we found out that it had metastasized, and a month after that we learned that it would be fatal. I spent much of the fall of that year with my mom and dad in Tennessee, and I’ll always be grateful for that time. I recorded dad sharing a lot of memories from his life, and I saw the evidence of how many lives he had touched in the form of a steady stream of visitors who came to see him, and to see what they could do for him and for my mom.

He kept his sense of humor throughout his final illness. One of my cousins was visiting not too long before dad died. That cousin is known for sarcasm and smart-assery – even by Simpson standards – and he has some Scottish background on one side. Dad was sitting in a recliner and drifting in and out of the conversation, and the cousin was joking that he was going to try to learn the bagpipes. He promised (tongue-in-cheek) to play them at dad’s funeral.

Dad delivered his line with a perfectly dry tone: “That’s it. I’ve changed my mind. I’m not dying.”

Dad died on a Sunday evening, and he told me his last joke two days earlier. He and I had both been Chicago Bears fans for life, and the Bears really stunk in 2014. In the last couple of months in that season, they were on tv unusually often for a team that bad. On the final Thursday of dad’s life they were on Thursday Night Football, and dad and I watched from our dueling recliners. He was pretty heavily medicated and drowsed on and off; each time he woke up a bit, he’d ask me the score, and I’d report that the Bears were down by another touchdown or so, and he’d roll his eyes and make some comment before sliding back to sleep.

The next day, he asked me for a favor. He had been unable to make it to church for a while by then, but his church made each week’s services available on DVD for members who had been unable to make it on Sunday. Dad had several of those stored up to watch, and on that Friday, he asked if I could put a DVD in for him. He seemed a little drowsy, but I put in the DVD and handed him the remote, asking if he thought he could stay awake for the sermon.

“I’m not sure,” he said, “But I don’t want the last tv I ever watch to be that stinking Bears’ game last night.”

To end his good life, he died a good death. He had hospice care in his home, and my mom, my sister and brother-in-law and I spent some time with him every day in his final months. He had the chance to tell everyone he knew how much he loved them, and that he was ready to go, and he was solicitous of others at a time when most of us can focus only on ourselves. Because of great hospice workers and morphine (which by itself is proof to me that God exists, and that He loves us), he was able to die at home.

He slept for most of his final day. In the evening, mom and I arranged a schedule; I would stay up with him, and give him morphine twice, and then she would get up early and administer the morphine while I was sleeping in. She spoke to him the last time, kissing him and telling him that he had been a great father and husband, and that he could go. Then she went to bed, and I’m convinced that he passed before she fell asleep. I had some papers to grade, so I went down the hallway to get my computer, and brought it back to set up in the chair next to his. By the time I got the computer plugged in and checked on him, he was gone.

Ronald Lee Simpson was born on January 22, 1938, and died on December 14th, 2014. In between he lived a loving and generous life. I think it is hard for some people to come to faith in a loving heavenly Father if they have an abusive, or neglectful, or absent earthly father. I am a Christian because of both of my parents, but my path to God was made much easier by the example of a father’s love that I witnessed all my life.

I can’t wait to see him again.

I wish for you all that you have had a father like mine, or that you marry a father like mine, or that you are a father like mine. Happy Father’s Day!”

…and Merry (early) Christmas, everybody!

Our New England Trip, plus Biden Agrees to Debate and Butker Kicks Butt at Graduation (posted 5/20/24)

I’m back from our trip to New England, and a good time was had by all. We got to spend some time in Providence and Newport, RI, then in Cape Cod, and then in Amherst for my daughter’s graduation with a Master’s in Nursing.

The latter was a strange experience for an oldster like me, because she earned most of the degree online while working as a pediatric nurse in Denver, which doesn’t make sense to me. (The last semester involved a practicum at another Denver hospital which has a relationship with U Mass.) So when we got to town on Thursday afternoon, we all saw the campus for the first time.

We took some pics of my daughter and her husband in front of the College of Nursing building (which she’d never been in), and in front of other scenic spots on campus (which she’d never been to).

The next morning, as we arrived for the ceremony, I summoned up a fake tear and hugged my daughter, saying, “Where has the time gone? It seems like just yesterday when we drove you to campus for the first time.”

Because I’m a dad, and we tell dad jokes.

I had hoped that while we were in Massachusetts we might run into Grandma Squanto Warren, so I could do the tomahawk chop and hop around in a circle in an extremely authentic rain dance that I’ve been working on, but no such luck. (#wemustneverstopmockingher)

However, we did witness the next best thing, when the liberal white lady Dean of something or other started the graduation ceremony with a land acknowledgment.

If you’re lucky enough to not have experienced this leftist ritual, it’s when a very righteous liberal begins an event by paying lip service to the various indigenous people who once “owned” the land beneath the venue where the event is taking place.

It’s a quintessential lefty gesture, allowing them to stroke themselves and signal their virtue without actually doing anything substantive. Because I’ve noticed that these “acknowledgements” never end with, “…and so, we’re hereby donating the campus, its multi-billion-dollar endowment, and my own personal mansion to the Hekawi tribe.

“We hope this gesture makes up for the fact that our ancestors had smallpox and repeating rifles, while your ancestors were standing around with stone weapons and no immunity, like idiots.”

This particular lady said, “We are gathered here today on land that has been taken from the Pequot, the Wampanoag, the Pinta and the Santa Maria.” Or words to that effect. I wasn’t paying very close attention after I realized what she was doing.

I must have had a certain look on my face though, because my wife put her hand on my knee and inflicted a five-fingernail death-grip that would have brought a lesser man to tears. The look in her eyes said, “Don’t you dare boo, or make an arse of yourself. Our in-laws are here.”

So I leaned toward her, turned my head toward the big shot on stage, and so softly that only my wife could hear, said, “Boo! Boo, you hypocritical white lady phony land-acknowledging beeyotch! Boo!”

Because sometimes a man’s got to do what a man’s got to do. But I still need two functioning legs.

Anyway, it was a good trip, but it’s also good to be home. And while I was gone, I missed most of the news.

Except that Joe Biden shocked me by offering to debate Trump twice. I had been sure that he would never agree to a debate, on account of him presiding over an indefensibly terrible presidency, and also being deceased.

Pundits said that his taking the risky step – especially since Trump had given him an easy out by refusing to debate in the primaries – is a sign that the Biden team recognizes that he is losing. Which sounds plausible.

But his embalmers were smart to insist on a set of conditions that will help him: debating on one of the corrupt, in-the-bag MSM outlets that will do everything they can to protect him; allowing no live audience who would cheer or laugh at Trump’s jokes, and gasp and flee when Biden trips over a sandbag or loses control of his bowels; keeping RFK Jr. out so that there will be no non-senile Democrat alternative on stage.

I think Trump had boxed himself into a corner by saying that he’d debate Biden anytime and anywhere, so he couldn’t then negotiate any conditions without looking hesitant. But I hate to see us once again granting the ridiculously biased MSM control over yet another round of debates.

But the thing I’m most annoyed by is letting Biden pick an unprecedentedly early debate in June, two months before the Dem convention. I’ve said it before: having Biden on the ticket is our best chance to win, and we need to do whatever we can to keep him there. But if he does terribly in June, I expect the Dems to try to push him aside and sub in another candidate at their convention.

My favorite political event of the week is the left’s outrage at Harrison Butker’s speech at Benedictine College’s graduation, because of what it tells us about them.

Over the last decade or more, the NFL’s top brass and woke media commentators have shown us that it takes a lot to make them mad. NFL players can beat their girlfriends and be deadbeat fathers to children by baby-mamas all over the country, and the NFL can’t be bothered. Mediocre, racist QBs like Kapernick can slander America, white folks and football fans, and he’s beloved on the left.

A sapphic soccer “star” can denigrate the country, straight folks and God – then play terribly and tear an ACL in a light breeze – and she’s still a media darling. Obnoxious male narcissists can beat the tar out of female athletes and break female records, and the normally male-hating leftist establishment gushes over what brave “women” they are.

But Butker said a bunch of commonsense things – abortion is abortion, Pride Month is ridiculous, covid lockdowns were a mistake, DEI stinks – and a bunch of Catholic talk, at a Catholic school, to Catholics.

And THAT is what finally made the left furious.

As a wise man once said, on his daughter’s first (and last) day at her alma mater, “Boo! Boo, you hypocritical, phony beeyotches! Boo!”

Hamas delenda est!

Stupid Criminals, Lefty Atheists Tell Christians What Jesus Really Taught & Sunny Hostin Discovers She’s White, and Owes Reparations (posted 2/16/24)

There are a lot of stories to cover today, so let’s get started.

Right after Christmas 2022, Christopher Jason Hovis, 42, was arrested after he scared the hell out of a couple of children when he broke into their house in Decatur, Alabama and started stealing stuff. He was arrested shortly afterwards.

Even though he had a long criminal record, and even though this happened in Alabama, he was out of jail again by last week. I know what you’re thinking: the citizens of Alabama ought to demand better. They ought to insist that Hovis is put back in jail before he can commit another—

Oh no, wait. A homeowner took care of that particular problem last Saturday, when Hovis began kicking his way through a door of his house at 4:00 a.m. The homeowner got his pistol (because: Red State!) and called 911. Cops headed his way immediately.

But as the old saying goes, “When seconds count, the cops are only minutes away.” In this case, Hovis won the race between himself and the police, kicking his way into the house before officers arrived.

After he collected his prize — a traditional gunpowder greeting from the homeowner – a news story reports that Hovis celebrated his victory by “retreat[ing] outside, where he succumbed to his injuries.”

Yes! I can’t think of a better place for a would-be home invader to die than “outside.”

Since the story doesn’t mention another weapon, I’m assuming Hovis was unarmed, which would trigger many lefty crime-justifiers to caterwaul, “How could the homeowner shoot an unarmed man?!”

Clint Eastwood’s character in Unforgiven had the right answer, which I am paraphrasing: “He should have armed himself, if he was going to violently kick in the door of a gun-owner’s house.”

Roll tide!

If you watched the video I posted on Monday, you know that I cited CS Lewis in my thoughts about our current election cycle. But as much as I love his clear thinking about Christianity, I also really enjoy being lectured about my faith by non-Christian leftists who are 100% sure of what Jesus meant when he taught things that they imagine him teaching.

So I was in luck this week, when two theological giants shared their doctrinal wisdom with us all.

First up was Megan Rapinoe, the obnoxious, America-hating soccer player and professional malcontent. “Highlights” of her “career” include repeatedly dissing our national anthem, whining that female soccer players don’t get paid enough, and badly missing a penalty kick to kill the American team’s chances to advance in some meaningless tournament.

In her last game, while walking alone on the field – far away from whatever counts as “action” in a soccer game – she somehow managed to tear an Achilles tendon. Then, as soon as her career was over, she signed a letter opposing the “Protection of Girls and Women in Sports” Act, which would prevent men who pretend to be women from playing women’s sports.

Which tells you a lot about Rapinoe. She’s the special kind of jerk who would happily subject other female athletes to getting the crap kicked out of them by creepy male athletes, once she was safely retired.

After her injury, Rapinoe waxed theological: “If there was a God, this is proof that there isn’t, because this is f**ked up.”

Move over, St. Augustine and Thomas Aquinas, because mediocre Megan is rocking the exegesis!

Rapinoe appeared on a podcast this week and discussed how surprised she was by the blowback she received from Christians and non-Christians alike, most of whom thought that her hilarious injury seemed more like proof of God’s existence than the opposite.

She now says that “there is a special place in hell” for people who celebrated her karmic downfall. She also said, “Someone needs to check in on the Christians; they’re not okay. They also missed the whole joke.”

No, no, we got the joke. You’re an entitled little Christophobe who got wildly overpaid to play a boring game and spew hatred, and at the beginning of your last game ever, you blew out your Achilles while walking slowly in soft grass all alone.

That’s the funniest thing I’ve heard since Norm MacDonald passed away.

Not to be outdone by the sapphic Solomon, Rob Reiner was out pimping his upcoming “documentary” God and Country, which explains that politically active conservative Christians are actually voting in ways “completely antithetical to the teachings of Jesus.”

Because whenever I find myself thinking, “I wonder what Jesus would do in this situation?” I always like to consult a far-left celebrity like Rob Reiner.

And it turns out that the Gospel according to Rob teaches that we should abort babies until the moment of birth, enable addicted wretches to die in the streets and satanic doctors to castrate confused kids, and teach racial hatred and envy of people more successful than yourself. Also, Hamas isn’t so bad, and Death to America. Amen.

As we polite southerners like to say, “Bless your heart, Meathead.”

Speaking of meatheads, our vice president assures us that she is ready to serve, in the event that something happens (unexpectedly!) to Joe Biden.

As a rebuttal of Que Mala’s utterly unjustified self-confidence, check out the twitter video from Elsa Kurt, as she narrates Harris’ attempt to plug in an electric car at a photo op. (It’s several years old, but I just saw it for the first time.)

The VP stands beside the car holding the charging plug. An off-camera voice says, “Go ahead and plug in,” and she says, “Okay,” and then takes way too long to plug it in, as if she’s never used an appliance before.

Then she holds onto the plug for the rest of the multi-minute clip. She says, “There we go,” and the guy offscreen says, “And that’s it.”

And because I was wearing my conical wizard hat while watching and could read his thoughts, he spent the next agonizingly long minutes thinking, “Ok, you can let go now. Let go. Just ease your hand off. For the love of God, please don’t keep standing there and holding that thing!”

The actual dialogue, which I am not making up, goes like this:

Que Mala (QM): And there’s no sound, or fumes!

Off-camera Guy (OCG): There… there is nothing. And that’s all there is to it.

QM: And for all of us who are used to, to filling our tank, you usually can smell it and, and hear it, you can hear the guzzling.

Off-camera Guy’s Thoughts (OCGT): Guzzling? What? No. You can’t hear electricity!

QM (still holding the cord): How do I know it’s working? How would I know that?

OCGT: Not by the smell. Because electricity doesn’t have a smell. Unless it’s passing through the body of a condemned man sitting in an electric chair. Which is where I wish I was right now.

OCG (out loud): So typically, you’d use a card, and then (pointing at the bright green lights lit up on the charging station) this light would come on.

And this makes Kamala cackle like she always does when nothing is the least bit funny.

Good lord, how hard can this be? You’ve got a male plug and a female receptacle. You just plug the male into the fe—

Oh, wait a minute. I get it. Kamala is one of those leftists who can’t define what a woman is, and thinks that a man can become one. So… how can I put this delicately? A process that involves the meeting of male and female is not their strong suit.

But of all of the leftist elites, I would have thought that Que Mala would at least understand that process. Especially since it was her entry into politics, under the tutelage of Willie Brown.

Gotcha! I bet you didn’t know that THAT was what “tutelage” means, did you?

Wait a minute. As a professor, I tutored many, many college students. Could I have been doing it wrong, all of those years?

I mean, yes. YES! If Willie was doing it right, then I was definitely doing it wrong.

Luckily for me, since my Norwegian wife would rip me limb from limb (that’s in her viking DNA) if I had been “tutoring” college students the way Willie tutored Que Mala…

Finally, I can’t not mention the hilarious Sunny Hostin story from this last week.

The empty-headed race-baiter from the View has always prided herself for being half-black and half Puerto Rican, but when she appeared on a genealogy show last week, she found out that her ancestors were actually Spanish slave owners.

In fact, they’d only moved to Puerto Rico because slavery had started getting suppressed in Spain, so they took their slaves with them to the New World.

Now for you and me, that wouldn’t be devastating news. Because we’re not racist weirdos who think that we are responsible for the deeds of long-dead ancestors, either good or bad.

But Sunny is a dimwitted racial essentialist, and she’s argued that she and other “people of color” deserve reparations from the descendants of evil white slavers. So this was not good news.

She fidgeted and laughed very awkwardly, and stammered about how she never imagined she came from Spanish slaveholders! But she soon tried to philosophically distance herself from this horrible rebuke to her self-conception: “I guess it’s a fact of life… that this is how some people made their living… on the backs of others.”

Not “some people,” Sunny! YOU! You have been a privileged slaver, and now your shameful secret is out.

When Sunny got back to the View and talked about this awkward new knowledge, the irony was delicious. She talked about how painful it was to find out she was half white, and how her blonde and light-eyed mother and family members had always thought of themselves as “racially black and ethnically Hispanic,” for whatever that’s worth.

Spoiler alert: it’s not worth a lot.

Sunny tried to put the best face on things by trumpeting the fact that she’s 7% indigenous Puerto Rican. And the dullards in the View audience applauded. “Yay, non-whiteness! Hooray!”

And sure, 7% is a lot, when compared to the .00001% Cherokee in Grandma Squanto’s background. (#wemustneverstopmockingher)

But we’re not buying it, Whitey! You’ve pushed this stupid, racist and tribalist binary of oppressors and oppressed for your whole life, and now it’s come back to bite you on the arse. The lily-white arse!

I almost developed a tiny bit of respect for Sunny though, when she stuck to her guns after this revelation, telling the View audience, “I still believe in reparations!”

For a moment I thought that she deserved a little credit, and wondered how she was going to figure out how much reparation money she owed to minorities, and how she was going to go about paying that.

But nope! Right after saying that she believes in reparations, she said, “So all of you can stop texting me saying that I’m a white girl, and don’t deserve reparations.”

So for all of you who have asked the eternal question, “How dumb is Sunny Hostin?” you now have your answer.

She’s so dumb that even though she now knows that she’s a multi-millionaire descendent of slave holders, she STILL thinks poor white people with no connection to slavery should pay HER reparations!

Hamas delenda est!