Quote Of The Day

From Ace:

“Caring for the environment and animal welfare are laudable ends, but when pursuit of those ends jeopardizes the health, and in some cases the lives of human beings, then those objectives must be subordinated to the larger and more important goal of the improvement in the human condition.”

And if you disagree with that statement and are prepared to sacrifice the lives of your fellow human beings for your cause, then as far as I’m concerned you’ve lost the right for me to care about your survival.  It’s as simple as that.

12 Monkeys  was a fucking movie, not a how-to guide.

Spoilers

I am completely hostile towards people who seem to be unable to get on an airliner without either being drunk, or getting drunk on the flight, and causing trouble either way.  As with all things, as long as drunk people are quiet and keep their shit together, who cares?  But then you get this kind of situation:

As Kenny would say at Knuckledraggin:  straight up White trash, God bless ’em.

I can see the day coming when all flights are booze-free, and passengers suspected of being drunk (think:  breathalyzers before boarding) will be denied their flight.  Or, this may only happen in shithole places like Manchester UK or Las Vegas NV, which is where most of these incidents seem to arise.

Look:  nobody enjoys a relaxing pint of gin more than I do, so I feel a little sorry for people such as Mr. Free Market, who routinely get completely whacked when flying — especially on the very long ones such as UK – Hong Kong or Australia – anywhere — because frankly, it’s probably the best remedy for boredom.  But people like him may have to have their fun curtailed by louts such as the above prize pair, because at some point, a drunken asshole is going to pop the cabin door at 30,000 feet, with predictable consequences.

I have to say, by the way, that I myself always travel sober for the simple reason that the normal dehydration of flying + the dehydrating effect of booze has only one result: 

 

…so a ban on booze wouldn’t affect me at all.

But it’s always the few idiots who fuck things up for the many, isn’t it?

Storm In A Teacup

Good grief:  does the insanity of the Left know no bounds?  (That was a rhetorical question;  we all know it doesn’t).

A Brit Conservative politician appeared in a social media post holding a bag of Yorkshire Tea:

…whereupon the Loony Left went batshit (as is their wont), threatening boycotts and wanting the company to dieeeee!

Never mind that arch-Lefty Jeremy Corbyn also  posed with a bag of the same tea brand a couple years ago.

Note:  there were no calls from conservative Brits to boycott the brand back then, because that would have been stupid.

I wish these Lefty tools would grow the fuck up.  This bullshit of “if they don’t agree with us, they must be destroyed” is getting really tiresome.


On an unrelated note, I have to point out that Taylor’s Yorkshire Tea is outstanding.  New Wife drinks only the “Gold” variety:

..and downs about eight large cups thereof per day.  The difference between the Gold and most of the regular brands we get Over Here (e.g. Lipton’s) is enormous.  If you’re a tea drinker, give it a try — you’ll thank me for it.  (I don’t want to hear from the iced tea people;  this is not a discussion about that foul stuff.)

ULD Reminder

The deadline for entries to the ULD rifle draw is this Saturday (Feb 29).  Details are back here, for those who’ve been living on the planet Manhattan till now.

All entries postmarked after this date will be returned, so get things rolling if you still want to participate.

If anyone would like to contribute further to my Boomershoot expedition this year (ammo, travel costs, shooting shelter, etc.), feel free to do so.  Just send your check with “BS Fund” on the Memo line, and I will accept your contribution with thanks.

Under Water

As some may be aware, the Brits have been getting slammed by storm after storm after storm, bringing rain, floods, gales, more rain, more floods, more gales, and now… snow.

Even the stiff upper lip of Mr. Free Market is trembling, as witnessed by something he sent me yesterday:

Although I must say that the views on the FM estate are quite lovely:

Yeah,I know: according to the global warmists, snowfalls in Britain were supposed to be a thing of the past.  So who are you going to believe:  a bunch of watermelon alarmists and panic-stirring journalists [some overlap], or your own lying eyes?

“Dear Dr. Kim”

“Dear Dr. Kim:
I would like more variety in sex but my wife is only interested in vanilla sex – and not much of that.  We got married when we were 18 and inexperienced.  It was the first serious relationship for both of us.  We are 46 now with two grown-up daughters.  Now should be our time but my wife has no interest in sex.  I told her I want to improve our sex life but she says sex is the last thing on her mind.  She hates her breasts being touched. She says oral sex does nothing for her and will not even allow me to try.  I now get it from her once every six months.  She says she can take sex or leave it but it is killing my spirit.  What advice do you have for me?”

— Sex-Starved Monkey

Dear Starved:

I am usually against the modern strain of advice which urges youngins to move in together before they’re married so that they can see if they’re sexually compatible.  Then every so often I see a situation like yours, and that advice doesn’t seem so bad after all.

You didn’t say what your sex life was like right after you got married and before you had kids, but I’m willing to guess that it wasn’t that great to start off with.  But that’s all water under the bridge, so let’s see what you can do now in order to get your leg over a little more often.

My advice is to start a new hobby, a solitary one which takes you out of the house for extended periods of time each week — birdwatching, target shooting, maybe fishing, something of that nature.  Start doing that as soon as possible, and invite the Ice Queen to join you — in fact, insist on her joining you for at least the first few times.  She’ll get bored eventually, and will refuse to come along with you.

Then, and only  then, is when you can get yourself a mistress.  Under cover of your hobby, you’ll have time a-plenty to indulge yourself in carnal pleasures such as oral sex and breast stroking of the non-aquatic variety.  Believe it or not, many women of your age have sympathy for men such as you and will gladly help you out.  It’s called “friends with benefits” nowadays, and it is far preferable to spending time and money on hookers.  (Avoid that option like the plague, because that’s precisely one of the risks, of course.)

There’s only one word of caution I have for you.  You may fall in love with Miss Part-Time, or she with you, or both with each other.  At that point, it’s Grown-Up Time:  you may have to make the decision whether you want to leave the Ice Queen and turn Miss Part-Time into Miss Full-Time.  (Or, gawd forbid, into Mrs. Full-Time.  Don’t do that unless you want your lovely new sex life to disappear like snow on a hot summer’s day.  Learn from your mistakes.)

On the other hand, if you love the Ice Queen despite the no-sex thing, or don’t want to risk leaving the poor excuse of marriage that you have, or realize that you can live with twice-a-year crap sex, then don’t do any of what I just said.  Do what countless men in your predicament do all over the world, and watch lots of Internet porn while wanking yourself into insensibility.  Don’t feel guilty about it, either:  the male sex urge is undeniable and pretty much unstoppable.  I’m not saying you should flaunt that activity in front of the Ice Queen, of course — a gentleman should be discreet about this kind of thing — but if she does catch you in flagrante delicto, do not apologize.  The fault is hers, not yours.  (If she freaks out and says, “I can’t live with a pervert like you”, then take her up on her unspoken invitation.)

One last, and possibly unworthy thought.  Did it ever occur to you that the Ice Queen doesn’t have a problem with sex, but only sex with you?  Are you a slob, or a boor or anything like that?  If you are, then that may be your problem, and not a frigid wife.  If you are not that guy, your wife may not want sex with you because she’s getting it somewhere else.  (I personally doubt it, but it’s worth looking into.)

Good luck, and happy wanking.

— Dr. Kim


Normal disclaimer / obligatory warning for stupid people:

Dr. Kim isn’t a doctor, doesn’t play one on TV (but has been known to do so with unsuspecting women on an ad-hoc basis).  His advice should be taken with a metric tonne of salt and two metric tonnes of humor, and should be followed with extreme care.  Dr. Kim takes no responsibility for outcomes of separation, violence, divorce or strange diseases stemming from the adoption of his advice.