Bit of a hard sell
I saw this image used as a thumbnail for an article. Took me ages to find the full size version to show you.
Okay, yeah, I emphasized the glow a leeeetle bit, but it’s obvious they’re going for the Holy Sacred Democrat thing. I guess she wouldn’t oblige by speechifying in front of a halo-like object.
Stand by. We’re going to see a lot of this in the coming year.
December 15, 2015 — 11:03 pm
Comments: 9
Only his hairdresser knows for sure…
Heh. I’d forgotten this pitcher. I did it years ago. There’s a story that goes with the wolverine.
Trump’s remarks about Muslim immigration are making them go howling batshit boo-boo over here. Worse than the US. If you haven’t checked out the UK papers today, do so. Then read the comments section.
We’re headed for civil war, folks. I’m telling you.
Meanwhile, we’re going to a concert tomorrow night. Might be back late. Might not. Band’s even older than we are and we all need our forty winks.
December 9, 2015 — 10:21 pm
Comments: 9
Trump make beardy Paul Ryan sad :(
Really, can we have a moratorium on the phrase “this is not who we are“…? Dunno about you, but my knee-jerk goes, “don’t tell ME who I am!”
But I don’t want to talk about that. I want to talk about Paul Ryan’s beard.
I like it.
I’ve long been an advocate of facial hair in politics.
See here. And, um, here. But not so much here.
Exit question: better not hurt Muslim feelings or they’ll go radical, is an awful lot like better have dinner on the table at six or you’ll get a fat lip. Isn’t it?
December 8, 2015 — 8:09 pm
Comments: 9
do YOU believe in fairies?
I’ve unfollowed so many people on FaceBook lately, all the news I get any more is local For Sale and some beer I like.
The prevailing opinion seems to be that terrorism happens when the West doesn’t lurv Muslims hard enough. God, how do I know so many stupid people?
The worst are the committed Christians, quoting scripture and arranging visas. Christians, deliberately importing Muslims. Some fucking crusade this is turning out to be.
No, actually, the worst are the Imagine-singin’ hippie-types. They have a do-you-believe-in-fairies? attitude to the whole thing: it’s not enough that they believe. Any time even one cynical bastard out there says he doesn’t like Muslims, a terrorist is born.
I don’t like Jehovah’s Witnesses, and nobody’s getting on my tits about it.
November 18, 2015 — 10:50 pm
Comments: 17
oh, HELL no!
This just hit my inbucket. Ten bucks gets you early access on Steam.
I could be wrong. This could be super clever and funny. But if that adorable chibi is supposed to be Hillary! Clinton, I’m thinking…not.
November 17, 2015 — 10:36 pm
Comments: 11
No. More. TEDDYBEARS.
Within 24 hours, the people of Paris had jammed the blood donation centers and within 48, Hollande launched massive bombing attacks on IS targets. Give them their due; that was just right.
But, holy shit, when I saw the soft toys and the candlelight vigils roll out (especially across the US) before the bodies were even cold, I wanted to punch something. And don’t get me started on social media.
I understand people want to do something, and there ain’t much you can do from thousands of miles away. But that display of mawkishness, the déjà vu of useless gestures…honest to god, if the first thing you felt after the attack on Paris was sadness and not blazing anger, we’ve got a problem.
November 16, 2015 — 11:26 pm
Comments: 28
Remember, remember
Happy November 5, y’all. As I’ve explained in years past, Sussex takes its Bonfire Night very, very seriously. So seriously, in fact, that a single night won’t do it. The villages across the county take turns hosting bonfires, parades and fireworks right through the Fall, from September to December.
Somebody out there observed it tonight, though. I’m not sure which village. ‘Twas a dark and stormy night and we thought at first we were hearing thunder, but we could just make out a flash of fireworks far away on the horizon. The finale, though — holy shit, that rumbled through the earth like the apocalypse. I hope nobody got blowed up for real.
It’s a hoot that Anonymous has adopted Guy Fawkes. It’s never smart to dabble in somebody else’s civil war, and Fawkes was all about knocking over the Protestant government and replacing it with a Catholic one. Bonfire Night is written into law as a celebration of hatin’ on the Catholics. Thusly:
‘An Acte for a publique Thancksgiving to Almighty God everie yeere of the Fifte day of November’ ‘be held in a perpetual Remembrance’ and that the day be ‘a holiday for ever in thankfulness to God for the deliverance and detestation of the Papists’.
Heh. Lub dat spellynge.
If you ever have the chance to interrogate a Fawkes-mask-wearing anarcho-trustafundian, ask him why he loves the Pope so.
p.s. The identity of the year’s effigies is always a closely guarded secret. Lewes (site of the largest celebration, as it was site of the most Protestant martyrs) has six of them. One is usually the Pope. Another this year looks to be David Cameron with a pig’s head.
November 5, 2015 — 9:17 pm
Comments: 16
Fog.
We’ve been socked in with fog the last few days. The UK generally and our little corner particularly. We don’t get that many super foggy days after all, and I love walking around in it. Sheep and seagulls rise up out of it like another, solider fog.
Not nice if you’re waiting at Heathrow, though.
Speaking of fog, we don’t really know what’s going on in Europe generally and Germany specifically. Official news reports show us a Germany willing to take 20 thousand but not fifty thousand ‘refugees’; half a million but not two million. We haven’t yet seen a Germany that asks, “why must we take any?”
On the other hand, there are rumors that the news is being heavily sanitized for our protection. Reports of violence and arson and much-larger-than-reported marches are squeaking out onto the web.
But maybe it’s nothing, after all. It’s hard to overstate how brow-beaten Germany has been with the ‘don’t be Nazis’ message for the last two or three generations. Young Germans sometimes seem maddeningly passive and soft.
The internet is letting me down here. I had hoped, by now, we would be better positioned to bypass the legacy media on the important stories.
November 3, 2015 — 8:38 pm
Comments: 22
Heh.
So when Karl Marx died — I know this is kind of hard to believe — they didn’t just shove him in a state-funded hole or cremate him and sprinkle his ashes over the Working Man’s Club. No, his friend Engels paid for him to have a big poncey tomb in the froo-froo Highgate Cemetery.
By the 1970s, there were no more burials in Highgate and, somehow or other, that meant no money was coming in. Surely a complete coincidence that the whole cemetery — but especially Marx’s tomb — fell into disrepair just about then and was picked apart by vandals. Now, here’s where it gets really weird — it turns out, groundskeepers won’t do their thing for free. You have to give them, like, money to look after stuff.
So a cooperative took over the running of the place in the Nineties (the Nineteen Nineties, remember them?) and began charging to see Marx’s tomb, with the moneys going to maintenance.
I guess the core of Marx’s philosophy must be: everything is free and nobody gets paid, because the little Marxlets are upset to fork out £4 to make the pilgrimage.
Not sure what is funnier: the guy who’s pissed at the fee because lately he’s doubled sales (a typo, surely) of his Marxist newspaper, so he knows people are super stoked about Communism. Or the picture of all those kidlets taking snapshots of the great man’s tomb with their i-Phones.
Thanks awfully to iamfelix for sending me a link to the article.
October 28, 2015 — 11:16 pm
Comments: 6
let ‘er rip
Dear Auntie Weasel,
I’d like to make fun of Chelsea Clinton, but somehow it just feels wrong. Like, she can’t help who her parents are, can she? Do we have any evidence she’s as much a piece of shit as her mama and daddy?
Signed,
Feels Wrong, I Say
Dear Feels,
It was an idyllic summer’s day on Martha’s Vineyard when a young Chelsea Clinton appeared unexpectedly in the kitchen of the luxury holiday home where the First Family were staying.
“Do you know who I am?” she asked, when Pierre Chauvet refused her request for fried chicken in place of the gourmet fish dish he was preparing.
“Of course I knew who she was,” laughed Mr Chauvet. “But fish is all I had.”
Chelsea, who was 13 at the time, eventually got her own way.
October 21, 2015 — 7:14 pm
Comments: 6