Policy Change

I think most Readers have enjoyed the occasional tottypic and pics of old movie stars that have appeared on these pages over the years.

However, these many years have also seen me in a constant battle with the legal copyright hucksters, who have hounded me over the (inadvertent) abridgement of their clients’ copyright (or so they claim — I’ve never seen any actual proof that they do indeed represent said photographers).  All this despite the obvious fact that I’m not using the pics to make a buck.

As I once tried to explain to one of these cocksuckers:  if I were using these “copyrighted” pics to make, say, a coffee table book — in other words, as part of a commercial venture — then I’d indeed either take the pics out or pay some kind of royalty fee.

I write novels, so I know exactly that works.

Over the years, I’ve also had various of my essays pilfered and posted in toto on some forum, blog or website — think Pussification and Let Africa Sink, among several — and my response was not to Go To The Lawyers, but just to write to the said pilferers and ask them to take it down.  Some did, some didn’t.

So I know how that goes.

But in my advanced age, I’m sick of it all:  the hectoring letters, the threats to take me to court, all the usual bullshit lawyers throw at you when they want to compel you to do something or stop doing something.  It’s gone on for long enough, and frankly, the game is no longer worth the candle.

They’ve won.

After this weekend, there will no longer be any pics on this website unless I took them myself, or pics of guns or cars — which strangely, nobody seems to care about.

No Classic Beauties, no random totty, no links to newspaper reports of the activities of these creatures, nothing.  It’s been fun, harmless fun, but now it’s over.

And the assholes at Copytrack (a German company) and Higsby and Associates (a California company) can go and fuck themselves.

News Summary


...let’s hear it for the Serbs:  classy as always.


...next thing you know, he’ll be wanting to exclude them from voting, the racist bastard.


...like anyone should care what this self-aggrandizing little turd does with his worthless life.


...can’t imagine why anyone would be fixated on this ghastly woman, but there’s no accounting for taste, is there?


...I think they just got lazy and re-published their warning from the 1970s.


...it’s always good to have a priceless historical artifact reduced to an exercise in cock counting.  Next up:  a count of “going in unto” (i.e. shagging) mentions in the Old Testament.


...wave goodbye to that little revenue stream, BritGov.  I’m just surprised it took him so long to say so long.


...let’s face it, the man is a god.


...probably easier than just deporting all Muslims, but it’s their party after all.


...I would be extremely surprised if the combined IQs of these two debaters rose as high as 60.


...as always, the old “putting the merchandise in the window” saying comes to mind.  However, let’s examine the evidence:

 

And not all the weight gain went to her superstructure, either:

I should point out that this totty’s latest album is entitled Dirty Blonde, which seems about right.

And that’s the news.

Worthy Substitute

Hmmmm… for about the cost of a new Honda SUV, you could have this beast instead:

1965 Chevrolet Biscayne Station Wagon

Lemme see:  a bench seat, four-on-the-floor, that fine Chevelle 402 engine, a tow hitch and a bobbing head thingy on the dashboard…

Are you kidding me?

Yea I know, the Biscayne (in all its incarnations) handles like a barge, uses gasoline faster than you can throw it out the window in 5-gallon cans, and has steering that can charitably be called “vague”;  to mention just some of the objections that will be hurled at me in Comments, no doubt.

Don’t care about any of that.  It’s frigging wonderful:  a vision of mid-60s excess, a manly (family-manly?) vehicle that today would stop traffic (for all sorts of reasons) as I went about my daily business of chugging around north Texas as I visit the range, the supermarket and local bookstores.  And I do believe it has space to carry all my guns to a Schutzenfest — in itself, no small thing to be sure.

Maybe it’s a Good Thing that I didn’t win the lottery last Wednesday night [sob], because otherwise I’d be talking to a guy in Yucaipa CA right at this very moment.

Different Kind Of Island

Following on from yesterday’s post about that island off Miami, here’s an alternative:

As a former city boy, I have to say that I wouldn’t be averse to this kind of setup — just not in NYfC.  The thought of restaurants and stores being just an elevator ride away… yeah, I could do it.

And as for the inevitable “privacy” complaints:  acceptance of its loss is just part of the compromise one makes when deciding to live downtown.

Thursday Landscape

The Red Lion, Lincoln Ave, Chicago

Best Brit food in the city.  Fish & chips, meat pies, cottage pie, Welsh rarebit… the works.  Also decent beer:  ales and bitter.  When I lived there, we’d go to the Lion about twice a month for dinner.

The pub burned down several years ago, but it was rebuilt and, I’m told, is even better since the rebuild.  It’s located in rather a shitty area, but it’s a block or so up from the Biograph Theater, and the alley next door is where the cops wasted John Dillinger after he’d seen Manhattan Melodrama.

I’d call before going there, just in case it’s since closed — I have no idea how the Covid lockdown affected it.