…And Louder Still

Here’s another little snippet which caused me to go cross-eyed momentarily:

The number of coffee shops in Britain is set to overtake pubs by the year 2030, according to industry research.
Some three coffee shops are opening every day adding an extra 21 a week serving up lattes and cappuccinos.
By contrast between 21 and 25 pubs are closing every week, with many turned into homes and convenience stores.
Fhe switch from lager to latte means that the number of UK coffee shops has increased from 10,000 in 2007 to 24,000 today.
At the same time, the traditional pub is suffering with the total down from around 75,000 in the 1970s to around 47,000 today.

Oy. It’s enough to make me want to crawl into a corner and whimper like a little girl. Then again, there may still be a little of the bulldog spirit left:

I mean, I love coffee. But it’s a morning drink — or at least, an after-dinner choice. But nothing beats a good pub. Here’s one that I visited with The Englishman, because the King’s Arms was just too far away for our thirst, and it was a case of “Stand aside, Coffee; this is a job for BEER.”

No doubt it will be gone by the time I get back Over There.

Somebody hide the pills.

 

 

Better Late Than Never

“But Teddy darling… what if I’m pregnant?”
“Don’t worry, Mary Jo: we’ll cross that bridge when we come to it.”

I see a movie has come out which tells the story of Swimmer Ted Kennedy’s disgraceful behavior in crashing his car into a river, then leaving the young female passenger to die.

I’m really glad this movie was made. Among his many other revolting activities (e.g. conspiring with the Soviets to undermine President Reagan), this is one story that should never be allowed to fade from the public memory, as Ted — surely the meanest and most despicable member of a mean and despicable family — should never be allowed to rest in peace, the fucking bastard.

Oh, and why do I call the Kennedys a mean and despicable family? Here’s their response to the release of “Chappaquiddick”:

“It’s bringing up all that same old Chappaquiddick scandal shit again.”

Lest we forget, the “same old Chappaquiddick scandal shit” involved an innocent woman trapped underwater in a car, drowning while Edward Fucking Kennedy was watching the bubbles float to the surface and pondering his political future.

I don’t know, nor do I want to know where this asshole is buried because I would be forever tempted to go and pour a bottle of Scotch over his grave — after first passing it through my kidneys, of course.

Quid Pro Quo

“There is something deeply perverse about using children to promote a political agenda.”  (Ben Shapiro, talking about kindergartners being used in anti-gun / gun control demonstrations.)

I hope that all those folks who are bitching about children being “used” to further an anti-gun agenda have the same kind of revulsion when they see something like this:

And just a reminder, before the SHTF in Comments:  I hate abortion with a passion — if there were a single aspect of the human condition I could fix, this would be it — but I also hate children being used as props. It’s immoral, and that’s the beginning and the end of it.

Terrorists And Their Organizations

To paraphrase one of our DFW morning drive-time radio hosts, every time a Democrat politician opens his mouth, there’s a 99% chance of asshole.

Such is the case with CTGov Dannell Malloy, who suggests that the NRA has become a terrorist organization. How so?

“They act, quite frankly, in some cases as a terrorist organization. You want to make safer guns? We will boycott your company. That’s who they are. That’s what they do.”

I guess this liberal tool has forgotten how the Left has called for boycotts of companies and their products who endorse or support activities that the Left finds repugnant. [list of 2,000 such instances omitted]  So this is what passes for “terrorism” in this idiot’s mind?

But that’s not the main point of this post. This is.

So, Governor Asshole of Connecticut: I’m a member of the NRA. Am I a terrorist, by your definition? 

Fuck you. When I was in the Army, we were fighting terrorists — real terrorists who planted landmines on country roads and massacred whole villages —  long before it became cool to do so. Hell, we were doing that while you were still a glint in your Daddy’s drunken eye, you little pissant. So again, fuck you; and fuck your facile little clever-dick sound-bites.

We now return to our regular programming. Oh wait: this is our regular programming.

Carry on.

 

Stupid Time

If you’re wondering why this post appeared earlier (or later) than you expected, it’s because you didn’t set your clocks forward.

Words cannot describe my dislike for the foolishness known as “Daylight Savings Time” (or, as Drew Carey [?] once described it, “Making yourself taller by cutting off your head, then standing on it”).

All the crap justifications for its creation (in the U.S., anyway) have been proven to be either false or else unknowable. Power savings, crisper vegetables (!), greater outdoor recreation: whatever was promised, it didn’t — and doesn’t — happen.

The only people who truly benefit from DST are retailers, who discovered that “increased” daylight hours caused more people to go shopping. (And of course, when Americans go shopping, they don’t walk across the street to the corner haberdashery, oh no: they get in their cars and zoom off en masse to the mall. So much for reducing power consumption.) So the Chambers of Commerce, naturally enough, are all over this silliness because dollars.

For the rest of us, it’s just a huge PITA — especially if, like me, you have a whole bunch of analog mechanical clocks in the house — and under the reign of Emperor Kim, the banning of DST will follow immediately after the Obama / Clinton / Pelosi / [insert your person of choice here] executions.

The Brits, by the way, are shackled to DST because in Scotland, the inhabitants really need the “extra” hour of daylight lest they become still more depressed and kill themselves in still-greater numbers. (Mr. Free Market suggests that instead of adding an hour, we subtract one to hasten this self-elimination process, but he’s still irritated that the British Army didn’t get to “finish the job” at Culloden, so we can ignore his fevered rantings for once.)

It seems as though at least one person at The Smithsonian agrees with me, not that I seek or need validation. And if The Donald wants to guarantee my vote in 2020, he’ll put an end to this crap by signing an Executive Order decreeing that the Federal Government will no longer observe DST (which, by the way, as the Chief Executive he is empowered to do). Besides, as any fule kno, time is malleable anyway.

Ripples

As Loyal Readers know, I have little truck with the doings of the Kardashian coven and their assorted sperm providers, and just ignore stories of their immoral and foul doings.

But every so often a headline will catch my attention en passant, just as a door handle will occasionally catch your sleeve as you’re walking through a doorway (with much the similar degree of irritation, I should add), and one such thing happened to me over the weekend. Here’s the headline:

Kylie Jenner, 20, proudly poses in a thong just one month after giving birth to Stormi

…Kylie being the daughter of matriarch Kris Kardashian Jenner and one-time Olympic hero Bruce (now “Caitlyn”) Jenner, and “Stormi”, of course, being the illiterate invented name the twenty-year-old single mother chose to inflict on her illegitimate daughter. (Just think of all the questionable behaviors contained in that single sentence, and you have an idea of why I think the entire Kardashian-Jenner clan members are such a pox on society.)

And that’s what caught my attention. Regardless of all that immoral foolishness, at some point in time, Caitlyn Jenner is going to be introduced to this baby girl as “Grandpa”. The implications of this event on a young girl’s mind are unfathomable — although no doubt the introduction will be screened on the Kardashian attention-whores’ TV show so we’ll all be witness to the occasion.

Another little burr on my attention noted that Bruce / Caitlyn is all butt-hurt that “she” hasn’t been allowed to meet his / her grandchild yet. Quelle surprise.

And yes, folks: that is the sound of loud hoofbeats thundering in your ears at this moment.