Threatening

Although I seldom go out of doors without a hat of some kind, I don’t wear baseball caps because a.) I’m not a baseball player, b.) they’re uncomfortable in hot weather (synthetic material makes me perspire), c.) I’m not eight years old and d.) I’m not a farmer.

However, if it turns out that wearing one of these foul things “triggers” the political sect whom I hate and despise, I might break with a lifelong tradition.

I’ve always been just ornery enough that when someone tells me not to do something, and that thing seems quite innocuous, then I’m driven to do it.   And if the forbidder is a total whackjob, the urge simply intensifies.

I just wish “MAGA” was printed on a fedora or decent straw Panama hat… if anyone knows of such a thing, I’ll wear it.

And as for someone threatening me with violence for wearing the blessed thing… it is, as the kids say, to LOL.

The King Is Dead

One wonders what King Gillette would think of his company’s current manifestation of anti-masculinity:

A new short film released by the shaving brand dedicates itself to tackling toxic masculinity in a video that relies more on berating men for not living up to the standards of feminists than selling razors.

Knowing but a little of what King Gillette was like, and knowing how many years of toil and financial hardship he endured to get his disposable razor blade to the market, I think he’d probably burn the whole fucking thing to the ground, and I’d be handing him the cans of gasoline.

In the grand scheme of things, I’d be one of the men refusing to buy Gillette products in protest at their foolishness.  But the truth of the matter is that I haven’t used a Gillette product in well over a quarter of a century, simply because I refuse to spend about $5 for a blade which lasts me less than a week*.  (Good old safety singles or bargain-priced Trac II blades for me;  and if I run out, I use a straight, or “cutthroat” razor without a qualm.)

As for Gillette’s parent company, Proctor & Gamble:  I have suffered untold toiletry privations at their hands, the miserable Cincinnati MFCS bastards:  brand “extensions” which end up replacing much-loved products, only to see said extensions later withdrawn, meaning that I have to find replacements for products I’ve used sometimes for decades.  Try to find, in supermarkets or drugstores anywhere, Old Spice Original Fresh Stick deodorant with the the light blue label — not the anti-perspirant variant, which smells like cat piss.  I’ve been using Old Spice Fresh sticks for well over fifty years, and now I’m forced to buy them online in packs of 24 because they are nowhere to be found otherwise.  And if that supply dries up, I’ll stop using deodorant altogether, because every other male deodorant on the market nowadays smells like an attractant for homosexual prostitutes during Fleet Week.)

To use Gillette’s line on P&G:  50 years of unswerving loyalty is “the best a man can get”, you incompetent fuckers.  Too bad it means nothing to you.

A pox on all of them.  I can’t wait for “woke” to become “choke”, and may they burn in the fires of toiletry hell.


*En passant:  I once tried one of those 5-blade things — a disposable — just for the hell of it, and it felt like someone was dragging the hair out of my face with sandpaper.

Talk About Ugly

My many rants about the shittiness of modern architecture are by now a fixture of this weblog, and I see no reason why I should end them anytime soon.  Take a look at Britain’s Ugliest Buildings, and tell me why I shouldn’t pray for a series of Muslim assholes piloting airliners on one final mission for Allah, with these dungheaps as targets.

My least favorite (and it was a tough decision, let me tell you) is the so-called “Walkie-Talkie” building, not because of its inherent ugliness — it would actually work quite well in a more modern city e.g. Abu Dhabi — but because of the violence it has done to the skyline of one of my favorite cities in the world, viz.:

Somebody hide the TNT, willya?

No Shit, She-Lock

You have to be utterly self-absorbed and narcissistic to post something like this:

Apparently some things are too much, even for the French, and I can see why.  Fucking hell, I’ve seen more demure clothing on the midnight shift during Fleet Week.  From now on, every new edition of the dictionary will feature this woman’s picture under “Trashy”, and rightly so.

And of course, every bloody barracks-room lawyer is going to whine that the Louvre’s rules (note the capitalization, idiot) technically allow any outfits, even one like hers inside the building.  Yeah, fine, and I’m quite aware that the museum isn’t a church too.

But:  let’s hear it for the Louvre guard who didn’t want the priceless works of art inside his building sullied by this whore I mean “influencer”.  (Oh yeah, she has X thousand “followers” and groupies, so that excuses everything.  Not.)

Of course, she is Australian so it’s understandable that she would have no class, manners or sense of decorum, but that just makes me all the more satisfied that someone would actually step up and say, “Non!”

There should be more of that.  A lot more.

Kicking Down Fences

I read this article via Insty a few days back, and it’s stayed with me ever since because it’s becoming an increasingly-familiar feeling:

Would you feel comfortable wearing a MAGA hat? Or would you worry you might get assaulted?

The Democrats are now embracing “democratic socialism.” Their activists are dressing up in hoods and masks and terrorizing citizens.

But we’re not supposed to complain about it. It’s getting dangerous to speak your mind. Dangerous to your career, and even to your safety.

I worry about how free America still will be in six years because the Democrats… they’ve got an agenda. They want to narrow the range of acceptable opinions. To cow us, restrict us, make us scared to speak. From day to day, Americans are getting bullied, browbeaten, and herded like sheep. The Democrats are driving us into the narrow, reeking pen of political correctness. Its fences are constantly moving, and in only one direction. They are closing in on us.

Here’s what worries me about this.  I don’t worry about being assaulted for wearing some kind of “offensive” clothing.  I don’t worry that my car will be keyed because I have an NRA/TSRA decal on the back window.  I don’t worry about being screamed at or spat upon because of [insert Lefty outrage here].

I don’t worry about any of that.  I worry about how I’ll react to any of the above.

I don’t want to beat the shit out of some snotty punk screaming insults into my face, or break someone’s hand when they’ve just keyed my car.  And if some Pantifa asswipe comes at me with a bike lock or pickax handle, I sure as hell don’t want to shoot the little prick in the face.

But I might well do any or all of that — and then have to face the legal consequences.

It’s all very well to say, “Oh, but you were in the right:  you were justified in responding to [whatever just happened to you].”  I might be in the right, but there will still be a mountain of legal crap to be endured, lawyer’s fees and all that nonsense.  It’s like having a car accident when the other guy ran the red light:  he’s in the wrong, but you’re still the one with a wrecked car.

That said:  I think these little Lefty shits need to face up to something:  it’s all very well to play these little games, but I don’t think they realize that our patience may be great, but it’s not limitless.

It’s only a question of time.

But in the meantime, I find excuses not to go to Austin, even though I have close friends there I want to visit, because Austin TX is Loony Lefty Central.  I sometimes worry about that NRA sticker getting me a bad Uber review from a passenger (I’m a  “five-star” driver, which has its privileges).  I worry about some SJW waiter spitting in my food after overhearing my dinner-table conversation.  And those are just the things that trouble me off the top of my head.

As the linked article suggests, they and all the other little micro-terrorisms are all fences.  And I’m starting to resent them.  Greatly.