Month: September 2024

Thoughts On #2

Elections, Freaks & Loonies, Psychos

After the second assassination attempt on Donald Trump, I’m led to ask a few questions.

If this was a serious attempt, why use an AK-47 (or SKS –there seems to be some confusion here*)?  I’m a huge fan of the old Commie rifles, but it’s common knowledge that even scoped, neither is a serious “sniper” rifle.  Hell, I wouldn’t use it past 200 yards, and I’m what could charitably called a “practiced” shooter with both the AK and SKS.

Which leads me to the next question.

Was this Routh guy just some deranged asswipe who wanted to kill Trump in principle, but like many nutcases, had little idea of how to accomplish such a thing?  (I’m kinda leaning towards this scenario, by the way, because serious shooters never let their gun barrel poke out into plain view.)

Also in my mind:  at what point, if ever, is the Secret Service going to get serious about protecting Trump?  Supposedly, some eagle-eyed agent spotted Routh’s rifle barrel sticking through the fence, and the SS agent then opened fire on his position (but not hitting him surprise surprise).  (Hell, at least this time, unlike in the previous attempt, they didn’t wait for the dickhead to start shooting before trying to suppress him.)  Frankly, I’m starting to have serious doubts about their capability to protect Trump — which leads to the final, and most disturbing question.

Is there actually a conspiracy to assassinate Trump?  I’m not going to get involved in who might be part of a conspiracy because I don’t know enough about the situation or the people who might be part of it.

Here’s what I do know:  if there’s a third assassination attempt on Donald Trump, then it will take a great deal to persuade me, in the words of Auric Goldfinger, that this is not an enemy action.  Once again, as to who the enemy is, I have no idea but many suspicions.

Right now, however, I have absolutely no doubt as to what is causing these deranged assholes like Ryan Routh and the late Thomas Crooks to act the way they are, and it can be found in the words of Hillary Clinton, Barack Obama, Joe Biden and Kamala Harris along with all their lickspittle colleagues in Congress and the media, words which describe Trump as being “a danger to democracy”, a “dictator”, and so on.  (And I’m not the only one who believes this.)

If you keep on watering the ground, in other words, it’s an absolute certainty that some shoots [sic] are going to spring up.

*In terms of details about this business, the “fog of war” is a clear blue sky by comparison.  See here for a series of contradictory statements.

Kicking Against The Pricks

Eco-Crap, Resistance, Watermelons

The title of this post is an old English idiom, and it refers to rebelling against authority.  It was a common theme expressed to me as a schoolboy, and were it still in use, or in use in the U.S. at all, it would no doubt still be used against me.

I mistrust and dislike most authority figures, and always have.

In the old days, of course, it was largely political institutions and their acolytes (cops, etc.), but in recent times that’s grown to include busybody scolds such as the Climate Hysterics.

Which makes the following story all the more delicious.

An Irish pub has won plaudits for its devastating reply to a local tourist centre after it told them off for using a traditional peat fire. 

JJ Houghs Singing Pub, in Banagher, Ireland posted a picture to their Facebook page of two customers innocently enjoying the first turf fire of the season on Friday.

But local tourist centre Working Holiday Ireland was not happy about the use of turf (also called peat) as fuel and decided to publicly reprimand the owners of the 250-year-old pub.

In the comment section, they said: ‘I see you’re burning turf?! Carbon footprint guys…’

The response from JJ Houghs was immediate, and savage:

‘It’s how we heat the pub. Looking at your page you rely on tourists from abroad coming to Ireland correct? How do they get here? They hardly swam.

‘How would you quantify and compare the emissions of a Boeing 747 to a small turf fire. How do your guests get around Ireland when they arrive, do they walk?

‘I also see by your page you promote Dunnes Stores, who have 138 stores in Ireland and abroad, do you query their carbon footprint? When your guests are here do you check their clothing to ensure they aren’t made of synthetic polyester, a byproduct of petroleum? Did you write your critique of my turf fire on a phone or laptop? Both of which were developed and are powered by fossil fuel technology. 

‘Maybe think before criticising a small family run pub’s turf fire. Maybe call in some day and I’ll give you my carbon footprint up your hole.’

If ever I get to Ireland, I shall go to the Singing Pub and drink and eat excessively, because they are a place after my own heart and deserve my (and everybody else’s) support.

And to hell with these simpering, self-righteous assholes who have set themselves up as Guardians of the Galaxy, or something.  A pox on them all, the interfering killjoys and wokescolds.

Worth Watching

Africa, Drive Time

I watched the last episode of The Grand Tour  on Prime last night, and I loved it, but not just for the antics of the three buffoons themselves.

I have often stated that if I could choose an African country to live in (and assuming that it wasn’t a frigging death trap — I know, that’s a big condition), I would unreservedly choose Zimbabwe, and specifically eastern Zimbabwe.

To call it beautiful qualifies as the understatement of the year, because it is about as close to Eden as one could imagine:  wonderful climate, interesting not to say spectacular scenery, and for some reason the locals are not the angry assholes so common in the rest of the country — perhaps because the place is so magnificent.

And if you watch One For The Road, you’ll see all that in the first quarter-hour of the show.  Even the cynical Clarkson is impressed by the scenery.  Once the trio climbs out of the semi-coastal zone, the countryside becomes the real Africa:  dry, hard and inhospitable.  But for that first hundred or so miles, as they leave the incomparable Nyangani district, is to witness Paradise.

My only regret is that they trio took the northerly route, through the festering cesspit of Harare (the capital) rather than via Bulwayo to the south, and the incredible Matopo Hills, en route to the Victoria Falls and, eventually, northern Botswana.

Anyway, I told you all that so I could play a familiar game.  As it happened, the three Brits chose their cars according to only one criterion:  which car would you like to take on that trip, under the condition that you’ve always wanted to own one, but never have.  Clarkson chose the chronically-unreliable but wonderful Lancia Monte Carlo (!):

May picked the Triumph Stag (with its terrible Triumph engine rather than the more-reliable Rover V8):

…while Hammond picked a Ford Capri:

Unsurprisingly, all were cars of their youth:  1970s-era, at a time when young men dream of their ideal cars, but can’t afford to buy them.

So, gentle Readers, after you’ve watched the show and seen the terrain over which the three Top Gear / Grand Tour men had to drive, my question to you all is:

“What dream car of your youth would you choose for the trip?”

Assume that, like Clarkson et al., you’d have a support team accompanying you, so feel free to pick anything, no matter how apparently impractical.

My only condition is that like the Grand Tour team, you’d have to cover the 1,300-mile distance in only four days, as they did — and include a trip on a ferry down Lake Kariba, as they did.  One’s normal choice of, say, an F40 Land Cruiser or Series 1 Land Rover would not be ideal, because you’d have to cane it on the tarred roads in order to make the deadline, and Land Cruisers / Rovers are not known for their ability to cane anything except your kidneys as they bounce all over the place.

No;  in the spirit of One For The Road, you have to pick a dream sports car of your youth for your trip.

Feel free to indulge yourselves.

Now:  I’ve closed Comments for this post, because you’ll need time to get to watch the show (which you need to do to get into the spirit of the game).  Next Saturday (Sept 21), I’ll set up a post wherein everyone can state their choice for the trip.

News Roundup

Bad News

And speaking of getting shafted:


...if you can’t stop him by letting him be assassinated, stop him by fixing the vote.

In Industrial Labor News:


...bad news: production is going to dry up; good news: it’s production of the 737 Max.


…wait;  I thought that everyone wanted these Duracell cars.

Time for some news of The Great Cultural Assimilation Project©:


...where are they getting the money to pay the lawyers?  I think we should be told.


...it’s almost to the point where this is no longer news.

In Global Economic News:


...are we absolutely SURE this guy wasn’t born somewhere in the U.S.?


...LOL just wait till they see their ROI.
#AfricaWinsAgain

From the Department of Education:


...keyword:  Missouri.  Again.  It must be something in the water, there in the Show-Me state.


...keyword:  California.  Of COURSE it was going to be on film.

Still talking about sex:


...this study endorsed by wankers the world over.


...newsflash:  famous rock musicians are renowned for their monogamous behavior.


...I can actually see her point.
#Talaighlagh

And in mercifully-link-free 

   

And sauntering down :


...of course, the old girl needs those tight clothes to keep the Jello-bits from wobbling around.

And still on the same old bint:


...wait, what?  Let’s see the correction:


...okay, that’s a little better.

And on that bit of Fake News, we end this roundup.

Fresh Bastardy

Qantas, Two-Minute Hate

Reader CDM sent me some fresh news about the World’s Absolutely Worst Airline (that would be Australia’s Qantas).  The story’s too long and complicated for me to summarize properly, but the executive conclusion is that Qantarse fucked up their prices on First Class tickets;  then when they discovered the oopsie, offered the affected passengers a pretty good deal in compensation, but never followed through and instead ended  up charging one family over a hundred grand (!) for the privilege of flying Business Class — i.e. charging them full First prices for Business tickets.

Of course, this being Qantas, nobody in charge knew what the fuck was going on and they pretty much made it all up as they went along — with the predictable goat rodeo outcomes that we have come to expect from the World’s Absolutely Worst Airline.

I of course will never be in the same situation, having sworn a blood oath never to fly on Qantas, ever (background stories here, here and here for new Readers or Older Readers Who May Have Forgotten.  Oh, and here’s my response to one of their risible marketing efforts).  Not even if the only choice is flying Qantas or swimming over.

Qantarse delenda est.

Doing The Right Thing

Good Stuff, LGBTOSTFU, Resistance

Here’s some news that cheered me up over the weekend:

A girls’ field hockey team from Dighton-Rehoboth (D-R) Regional High School in Massachusetts has forfeited a planned game on September 17th because their opponent, Somerset-Berkley, has a male on their team.
Dighton-Rehoboth cited its new policy, approved on June 25, that allows players and/or coaches to opt out of competitions if the opposing team includes a member of the opposite sex.

And they’re aware of the consequences:

“We understand this forfeit will impact our chances for a league championship and possibly playoff eligibility, but we remain hopeful that other schools consider following suit to achieve safety and promote fair competition for female athletes.”

I actually know a lot about this topic.

You see, back in high school I played for the 1st XI hockey team for most of my time there — I was reasonably skilled but the fastest runner on the team, and speed made up for a lot of shortcomings.

Just for the hell of it, the coach arranged for a match against two girls’ high schools on consecutive Sundays, played on our field.  Both were considered top in the field, perennial competitors for the girls’ area championship.  We, in contrast, were no more than mediocre (we only had forty-odd boys to draw from, as most of the school played rugby).

So we approached the first match with some trepidation, because of course we’d never played against girls.

After the first five minutes we realized that our opposition was hopelessly outclassed.  We were faster, more skilled and more game-savvy, and we scored three goals in the space of a few minutes.  Thereafter we decided that we would only run backwards, and the flow of goals slowed to only a couple by half-time.

At that point, the respective coaches decided to split us up, five each of either gender per side (the goalies were irrelevant).

Only then did everyone start enjoying themselves, but even then we boys had a tacit agreement to slow down and make most of our passes to the girls (“to” not “at”, you bad people) rather than just playing to win.

And it was great fun.  But make no mistake, there was absolutely no comparison between the sexes.  Had we boys not altered the format and played like we were playing one of our bitter rivals, there’s no telling how badly we would have beaten the girls.

So I can tell you that having even one boy playing on a girl’s team is going to make a huge difference, especially if that boy plays aggressively, like the boy in the linked article did.  (Shame on him, by the way.  Even at my advanced age, I’d love to play against him and show him what real –but quite legal — aggression is like when you have it inflicted on you*.)

Some things cannot be changed, no matter how many “valid” arguments are made in favor of the change.

And good for the folks at Dighton-Rehoboth for acknowledging that fact.

*That’s a tale for another time, but someone remind me to tell the story of Kim And The Beauty Queen some day.