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Month: March 2022
Today’s Earworm
Amateur Hour
Oh gawd, it’s that time when everyone has to wear Teh Green, affect stupid Oirish accents while singing the revolting “Wild Irish Rose”, and drink vast quantities of Guinness.
In other words: watch out on the roads, because there are going to be a whole lot of amateur drunks out there.
Worse still, because St. Paodrioiaich’s Day falls in a Thursday, the whole nonsense may be carried over till tomorrow night.
Update: Oy.
Facing Up To Reality
Boy, it’s all very well to have those Green Dreams of making us all free of Evil Oil&GasCorp International, but when someone punches you in the nose and says, “No more oil!” you’d have to be completely stupid to keep on with the foolishness. Take Germany, for example:
Germany is considering reopening some of its decommissioned coal power plants in the hopes of getting a handle on its ongoing energy crisis. The reopening of shuttered plants is seen as an option as the country struggles to ween itself off of its addiction to Russian fossil fuels.
However:
However, the RWE head was keen to emphasise that no U-turn on the phasing out of fossil fuels was occurring, and that the stop-gap measures being suggested did not represent a rollback of the country’s climate change plans.
“It’s not a backwards roll, but at most a step aside for a limited time,” the energy Tsar said.
Uh huh. Till the next crisis, when they’ll have to step aside again, and again, and again, when that back-and-forth is going to resemble a country two-step dance competition.
Morons. And lest we forget, most of their problem is being caused by their panicked overreaction to the Fukushima meltdown and the resulting knee-jerk shutdown of all their own nuke power plants. Morons times two.
I thought Germans were supposed to be pragmatic and logical, but clearly I’ve been misinformed.
Waste Of Time
Prompted by several men of my acquaintance, I succumbed to the hype and watched the Reacher show on Amazon’s “Prime” channel yesterday — yeah, unto the entire first season so nobody could accuse me of missing the good part or the ending, or whatever.
What. Bullshit.
Apart from an insanely-ridiculous plot with more holes than a mesh facemark, the entire premise of the show (stolen wholesale from the Then Came Bronson TV series of 1969-70, only with ultra- violence added) is at about comic-book level, i.e. aimed at the nine-year-old boy mentality.
Loner comes to town, finds rampant injustice, fights against it (literally), kills everyone, wins in the end. Clint Eastwood’s Pale Rider did it better and more convincingly, in two hours.
I am getting so sick of people fighting in movies, landing what would be crippling blows in real life, only to jump back into the fray and land equally-devastating blows on the opponent.
Pro tip: when someone is head-butted in the face, the result is a broken nose, broken jaw, broken cheekbone (or all the above), and temporary befuddlement if not outright unconsciousness. In almost every fight scene in this foul waste of time, the fighters would land not one, but several head-butts on each other, with seemingly no ill effects on either. Even worse, after the fight was over, nobody showed any ill-effects — no bruising, no fractures, nada.
In one risible fight, Our Hero Reacher gets hit not once but seven times in the ribs with a crowbar. I hate to spoil the secret, but one blow in the ribs with a crowbar is Game Over — broken ribs, punctured lungs, organ damage — and trying to block the blow with a forearm ends with a broken arm. And worse, when we see him later (in a predictable sex scene which made me howl with laughter, so awkwardly was it staged), there were absolutely no signs of him having been in mortal combat but a few minutes earlier.
I also think the Desert Eagle was loaded with .22 LR bullets, so little did it recoil. Please.
Finally, the casting. Uh huh: a 6’5″ musclebound protagonist with a steely stare? Shrimpy dwarf Tom Cruise was more convincing in the movie version, because at least he could hide in a crowd if he had to. This man-mountain would stand out on Muscle Beach in L.A.
One-dimensional: the character, the plot, the bad guys, everything. Oh, and answer me this: mid-summer in a small town in Georgia, and nobody’s perspiring outdoors?
This show is quite possibly the worst thing I’ve ever seen on TV, and any future series is going to be roundly ignored, with prejudice.
Fun With The Bureaucracy
British mother worries that her incel loser son may be dangerous, and reports him to the rozzers under the Prevent Terrorism thing.
Rozzers, of course, are doubtless too busy chasing down racists and other hurtful people on Twitter, so they sit on it.
Incel Boy gets his shotgun license and shotgun back because rozzers did nothing to stop him getting one. (Added stupidity: it had previously been revoked and his shotgun taken away after Incel Boy assaulted a couple in a park the year before.)
Incel Boy takes newly-reissued shotgun, then shoots and kills his mother and three other people, as well as a three-year-old girl.
In the only good news of the day, Incel Boy eats his shotgun muzzle before the rozzers can arrive.
Needless to say, there will be no consequences for this atrocity for the incompetent assholes in the bureaucracy — okay, maybe a note in their HR docket, but not the public stoning that one would expect and enjoy.
Anytime Democrats and other associated filth start blathering about “commonsense” gun laws, remember this tragic incident.