I’m trying to make this a five-column week, so I didn’t have time to respond to all of your kind words about yesterday’s column, but thank you all. I was especially glad that the narwhal references went over well.
A little bourbon had been consumed before that word popped into my mind, and sometimes the brownest of the brown liquors can cause me to over-estimate how well a running joke is going to play. But now I’m toying with the idea of starting every column with, “Where my narwhals at?”
Anyway, this is my third column in three days, and still I’m running like Tom Cruise across the roof of a skyscraper in Mission Impossible 17. Because lately there is both too much winning, and too much news.
So I still need to circle back – like Jen Psaki, only intelligently – to some recent stories.
Even though Trump blasting the Iranian nukes feels like it happened years ago, I’m still reveling in it. Israel’s accomplishment of taking out or crippling Iran’s proxies (Hezbollah, Hamas, Assad, and the Houthis) and then destroying their air defenses and systematically launching surprise attacks that decapitated their military leaders and scientists and heavily damaged their nuke sites was really amazing.
Then Trump’s surprise, bloodless strike to take out the rest of their nukes was another masterstroke. In a sane world, Bibi and Trump would be sharing a Nobel Peace prize. In this world, they’ll probably both be lucky if they aren’t impeached!
I saw a couple of good, funny posts about the Iranian mission shortly after it happened. One said, “Democrats are okay with Iran having a nuke. But they won’t let you have a gun.”
And the other said, “Now that Iran is out of business, there are only 3 Islamic countries with nukes left: Pakistan, France and the UK.”
Both, sadly, receive the designation of “Fact Check: true.”
The passage of the Big Beautiful Bill was necessary, and mostly a blessing, though it is still hard to tolerate how fiendishly difficult it is to pass an actually fiscally conservative bill that will cut our bloated federal government’s spending! (Sadly, the BBB isn’t that, though it does nibble at the edges at least.)
On the plus side, the extra funds for border enforcement are much needed and will pay big dividends, and the extension of the tax cuts will fend off economic damage that would likely have screwed us in the mid-terms. Enforcing work requirements for Medicaid and denying it to illegals are beneficial as well.
One other great aspect of the BBB passing: watching the impotent rage and pointless theatrics of the leftists, inside and outside of congress. Hakeem Jeffries’ marathon speech was probably the most Democrat thing to happen that week. It didn’t even rise to the level of sound and fury, signifying nothing. It was basically empty talking points and hypocrisy, signifying less than nothing.
The word coming out of Democrat circles was that Jeffries hadn’t let the other Dems know he was going to blather on for so long, so the smarter Dems were not happy. But that just provided an added bonus: watching Marcy Kaptur (D-Who Cares?) falling asleep behind him. (Which was also my strategy after Biden got elected: take a bunch of Benadryl and hope that when I wake up, Biden’s term will be over.)
The Dems had to get her out of there, so they replaced her with – I swear I’m not making this up – a male who thinks he’s a female, Tim/Sara McBride (D-‘oh!). Thus the lefties created a visual tableau that perfectly illustrated the bankruptcy of their party: an old woman put to sleep by their pointlessly droning leadership, followed by the walking embodiment of their gender lunacy.
Great optics, geniuses! If that little psychodrama doesn’t make it into a GOP ad for the mid-terms, we’re leaving money on the table.
Other Democrats continued to take the path most traveled, and unfortunately for them, it was strewn with rakes, which they kept jumping on with both feet. Because they have not learned the lesson of the boy who cried wolf. (Or as Tim McBride calls it, “the boy who’s really a girl who cried wolf.”) They could not just say that this is a bad bill, or point to its flaws.
They had to insist that it was the most cruel and evil bill they’d ever seen. AOC fought back tears and said that this “was one of the saddest days in modern American history.” Many warned that “millions will die because of this bill.”
Can they not anticipate this backfiring in a year or two, when nobody has died and the world didn’t end? As CO pointed out a few days ago, the predictions that Trump’s original tax cuts in 2017 would surely usher in another great depression are still accessible, and they have not aged well.
Speaking of not aging well, how about everybody’s favorite Nosferatu with scoliosis, Chuck Schumer, and his brilliant idea to scuttle the BBB? He insisted that the entire bill be read on the floor of the Senate, giving an impassioned speech about how it’s a crime against humanity to vote on a bill that no one has even been able to read.
Cut to Imhotep Pelosi, rising from her tomb and marching slowing out from beneath her pyramid, trailing burial wrappings all the way to Schumer’s senate office, where she broke the canopic jar containing her heart over his liver-spotted old head, while yelling at him about how he set her up. “Don’t you know that the most famous thing I ever said was telling the Senate that they’d have to pass the [Obamacare] bill so that you can find out what’s in it?”
One other good news story that I loved was U Penn’s bending the knee and admitting their defeat in the transgender wars, by stripping male athletes of the trophies they won in women’s competitions, and apologizing to the women and correcting their records.
It’s amazing to see how quickly the cultural dominance of the transgender fever has broken. Just a year or two ago, our universities, corporations and federal government were on a deranged jihad to cancel everybody who dared to say that biology exists. You couldn’t swing a dead, nonbinary cat in public without hitting a pride flag, and when our least qualified SCOTUS nominee confessed that she didn’t know what a woman is, everybody just laughed and gave her a lifetime appointment. (And how’s that working out for us?)
But now the shoe is on the other foot, and the genitalia are back in the proper locker rooms. SCOTUS has given “gender affirming” mutilations and chemical poisonings the kibosh, even as Ketanji Jean-Pierre yells from the men’s room, “I dissent! And why are these strange toilets on the wall?”
Even though sane gender rules have returned to our society, I anticipate a rough transitional period ahead, during which many of our young people – along with university administrators and leftist politicians – will need to re-learn how to distinguish between males and females. And because I am both a doctor (PhDs count!) and an Ameri-can, I have turned my considerable brainpower toward solving this vexing problem.
And my deep (some might even say heroic) modesty cannot prevent me from admitting that I’ve done it. I’ve come up with a test that I hope will one day be as famous as the Heimlich Maneuver, thus immortalizing my name in medical history. Like the Heimlich, my method is low-tech, simple and effective. And it doesn’t require expensive lab work, invasive cheek swabs, or embarrassing physical examinations.
I call it the SGCP™ – the Simpson Gender Confirmation Protocol™ — and I plan to give a presentation about it to the College of Medicine at Johns Hopkins this fall.
Here’s how it works: Before an Olympic event – or a sanctioned grade school, high school, college or professional athletic competition – all of the contestants who want to compete in the women’s division will line up in front of a SGCP™-certified test administrator.
Each administrator will be accompanied by an assistant who qualifies as a PWFE – Person With Functioning Eyes.
The PWFE will separate the would-be competitors who are obviously males into a separate line. Then the administrator will grab a clipboard and stand in front of each person in line. After recording each competitor’s name and date of birth on the clipboard, he will carry out the Simpson Gender Confirmation Protocol™ by administering a swift kick to the groin.
If the candidate falls to the ground and writhes around, praying for the sweet release of death for the longest, most agonizing minutes of his life, the administrator will check the box marked “physically intact.” If, on the other hand, the candidate just grunts, and continues staring at the administrator with crazy Dylan Mulvaney eyes, the administrator will check the box marked “previous bottom surgery.”
Either way, the candidates will be sent to intensive psychiatric treatment, and will be banned from women’s sports and women’s spaces. Problem solved, and you’re welcome.
Now if you’ll excuse me, I need to work on my acceptance speech for the Nobel Prize in Medicine.
So far all I’ve got is the last line (“Thank you for your attention to this matter.”) and a partial opening:
“We’ve all heard the cliché that you should never meet your heroes.
(Here I’ll dramatically pause while I look around the auditorium at the assembled dignitaries, picturing them in their underwear so I don’t get nervous.)
Nevertheless, the faculty at the Johns Hopkins College of Medicine met me in the fall of 2025…”
Hamas delenda est!
Martin Simpson 