Beyond Redemption

Amid all the breast-beating about how the recent floods have ravaged Venice boo hoo, with the mayor thereof (of course) blaming “climate change” for the disaster, the fact remains that in a nation where corruption is not just systemic but endemic, Venice stands apart from all the other cities as being the poster-boy for corruption.

The mayor of Venice has blamed climate change for the disaster but there was also anger among Venetians yesterday at the corruption which has held up a flood barrier project.

Just so we’re all clear about this, the phrase missing from that last sentence is: “…which has held up a flood barrier project for the last thirty years.”  The plans have been in place, the funding more or less allocated (if such a thing can happen in Italy, given their perpetual state of near-bankruptcy), but… nothing has happened, as bureaucrats argue and wrangle, projects are started then canceled, service providers arrive then leave, and in general, the whole thing resembles a typical Italian cock-up.

I remember arriving at Rome’s Da Vinci Airport dying for a pee, only to find that the men’s toilets at the Arrivals gate were “non operativo“.  I later discovered that the toilets had been “non operativo” for close to a year.  And this, by the way, in a place where reservations clerks faced with irate passengers simply switch off their terminals and go have a cup of coffee until said passengers have given up and left.

A Brit friend who was involved in a project with the Italian Army was even more dismissive.

“I have to say, their uniforms are magnificent — they look like they were each personally tailored by Versace.”
“How’s their organization and operational readiness?”
“Oh God…they have neither.  Christ help them if they’re ever faced with a real military problem.” 

So the Venetian imbroglio  doesn’t surprise me one little bit.  And this is why I say simply, fuck ’em.  Let their poxy city sink under the waves, and let the tourism dollars dry up (except from the most hardy of souls).

To coin a phrase:  let Venice sink.

Cultural Diversity

Let’s set the scene, here.  You and a bunch of your buddies go out to a nightclub in a foreign country — let’s call it Western Europe — and start doing what you always wanted to do with a bunch of women Back Home but couldn’t because the women’s brothers and cousins have no sense of humor and are likely to cut your nuts off.  Now these “foreign” women are not only dressed like whores but also seem to have no brothers and cousins whatsoever.  But for some reason, they get upset with being pawed, fingered and squeezed without giving permission (go figure, right?).  So they call the club bouncers and you get tossed out on the street because you’re acting like oafish animals.

Do you think, “Hmmm… maybe this isn’t the way to do things here.  Perhaps we ought to change our behavior somewhat.”  Of course you don’t — because, as it happens, you’re a bunch of oafish animals.  (And let’s take a wild guess at this point, and assume that Back Home is nowhere close to Western Europe.)

So what you do is return to the same nightclub and demand to be let back in and when refused entry, you try scaling the fences and getting in that way — you know, like you used to do Back Home.  The bouncers, for some reason, aren’t having any of this and toss you back out onto the street.

Whereupon you and your oafish buddies pull out a couple machetes (that you just happened to have about your person) and attack the bouncers.

No doubt, when these pricks are eventually captured it’ll be all about the pore starvin migrants and asylum seekers, and some asswipe German judge will rule that the bouncers were actually to blame.

And when the German people get upset about this, they’ll be labeled “rightwingers”…

Good Question

The old Second Amendment joke used to be:  “If you ban our guns, can we at least carry swords?”

Over in Spain, where handgun purchases are strictly controlled, the local (actually imported ) scumbags have taken that to heart:

A massive machete brawl that broke out between rival Pakistani gangs on Tuesday night in Barcelona has left one man dead and two others badly injured.
Local reports say that up to 30 men from two groups of rival Pakistani gangs were involved in the street fight where weapons like machetes, knives, and baseball bats were used.

And before we think it’s sectarian (Sunni vs Shia, etc.) violence, allow me to reassure you that it’s the traditional  cause of street mayhem:

Police also said that they’re looking into whether the two rival groups had set up the brawl to settle scores that are a part of a drug-related turf war.

I once had an argument with an anti-gun advocate who suggested that knives etc. are better than guns because of the lowered risk of collateral damage.  Clearly, he had never actually seen a fight between machete (panga) gangs;  but I had, back in South Africa.  Absolutely all the participants were horribly injured and a few bled to death before the cops and ambulances arrived.

Nasty things, machetes [puke warning].

Here’s a sample, from Cold Steel:

Brrr… I think I’d rather take my chances with guns, thankee.

Halloween Diversity

From the annals of “countries whose policies we should emulate” (say the socialists), let’s take Sweden.

Or maybe not.

Police fear that Black Ax, an international criminal organization based out of Nigeria, is beginning to gain a foothold in Uppsala after already establishing itself in cities like Stockholm, Gothenburg, and Malmö, SVT Nyheter reports.
“They are mainly involved in human trafficking,” says Uppsala police spokesperson, Jale Poljarevius.
“They are holding women hostage, and through voodoo, they are tricking them into believing they will end up badly if they leave the job. But they are also involved in selling cocaine and heroin,” Poljarevius added.

Maybe I missed something, but before Sweden started importing people and their cultures from other countries, was this kind of stuff a problem for them?

Asking for a friend.

Tripping Up

So BritPrince Rufus Castratus and his wife Caring-Slut head off to Africa to do Noble Things, said things including but not limited to hugging Black chilluns, waving their own baby around, and giving inspiring speeches to Third-World Yoot, telling them not to despair but to strive to achieve the kinds of things otherwise only available to people born into noble families, or married into them, or to those of inherited wealth.

The problem, though, is that the African Adventure was supposed to be a giant PR stunt to assuage the storm of opprobrium which burst out when the Royal Ginger addressed a climate-scold conference, telling everyone to lower their carbon footprint, when in fact he’d swanned over to the conference on a series of filthy, polluting private jets.

And the African Adventure certainly started out that way for them;  adoring crowds at every stop, lickspittle Press reports and millions of cute baby pics everywhere.


Because of royalty (his) and celebrity (hers), a certain amount of security would be needed because Africa, and (forgive the unconscious racism) there is no such thing as an “armored SUV” anywhere on the Darkie Continent except as owned by various criminal thugs of the Mugabe stripe who (quite sensibly) were not going to hand over their armored vehicles and leave themselves vulnerable to, well, the rest of Africa.

So the BritGov arranged for a few of these rhino-trucks to be flown over to Darkest Africa, creating in their wake a carbon footprint equivalent to the Krakatoa eruption (some slight exaggeration, but that’s the leitmotif  of the International Climate Fear Set, isn’t it?).  Needless to say, all the Perpetually Indignants are beside themselves with fury.

I kinda feel sorry for His Gingerness.  He’s tried so hard to Do The Right Thing (as defined by his Hollywood slutwife):  announced that they’re only going to have two children because social responsibility;  given up birdshooting, boozing, foxhunting, eating meat, carousing and all the other stuff which made him lovable, and gone pretty much Full Woke (and we all know what perils lie there).

And that’s the problem right there.  If you’re going to set yourselves up as the Duke and Duchess of Wokeshire, you’re always going to fuck up disastrously in some way or another no matter what you do, just because of the nature of your job (such as it is) and the minefield that is wokedom.

Stop to eat some local delicacy at a roadside vendor?  Don’t you know that the animal which gave up its testicles for you is on the U.N. Endangered Species List?
Attend a tribal dance festival, put on some of the dancers’ duds and join in the dance?  OMG that cultural appropriation is SO disrespectful!
Watch your cousin ride in some equestrian competition?  Don’t you KNOW how much the horses suffer?
And so on.

There’s a simple solution to all of this for old Harry:

  • ditch the slutwife, keep the kid (and I have some support for this)
  • start doing again all the things he used to enjoy before the Mulatto Actress Infatuation (boozing, bonking blondes, birdshooting, driving fast cars, doing all four of those things at the same time,  etc.)
  • tell the whiny wokescolds to fuck off — he’s a Royal, FFS, and he doesn’t need anyone’s approval to do anything

But he’s never going to go there, is he?  Because in terms of becoming King of Britishland, his brother (and his  expanding brood) has relegated Rufus pretty much to the 2nd XI, inheritance-wise;  and without being the Woke Prince, therefore, all he would have left to do is open supermarkets, attend formal balls, go to church with Granny, and hand out the trophies at the Upper Twittering Boys Athletics competition.

Just like all the other minor royals, in other words.

But at least he’d get his balls back.