I have to admit to a secret addiction: watching the election results of November 2016, most especially this half-hour summary.
Watch as the presenters manfully try to suppress their growing dismay at the inevitability of God-Emperor Trump’s election, and giggle like a little girl at the “We’ve lost but I don’t have the balls to tell you that!” speech of Hillary Bitch Clinton’s
lickspittle weasel campaign manager, John Podesta.
Of course, there are other wonderful videos to watch, and as a public service I’ve added a couple more, for your delectation:
“Trump Can’t Win” — a retrospective gloatfest
Liberal assholes’ stunned meltdown — “Get your abortions now!”, “This was a Whitelash!”, “You’re awake, by the way; you’re not having a terrible, terrible dream,” etc.
Enjoy, enjoy… and feel free to add your own links in Comments.
In days of old, when footballers were simple sportsmen and not the millionaire malcontents they are today, their WAGs (wives and girlfriends) were likewise a completely different sort to their modern-day counterparts.
You see, dating or being married to a footballer carried no special cachet back then — even if the footballer was famous or especially talented, the salaries were modest even by standards of the time. So if one sees photos of, say, the WAGs of the English team which won the World Cup in 1966, they look like… well, like ordinary housewives:
Nowadays, of course, footballers are paid astronomical sums of money, and consequently they attract, shall we say, a different kind of woman (as seen by a companion pic of England’s 2018 national team’s WAGs):
I’m not saying that there’s anything wrong with this situation — women have always been attracted to famous and wealthy men — it’s just that nowadays, the rich and famous men have a lot more choices, and therefore the quality of the goods on offer has improved.
Although I have to say that “quality”, if applied to the 2018 WAGs, is a polite euphemism. To me, most of them look like they’re off to the docks to work Fleet Week. But that’s just another factoid which helps answer the question: “Why do men play professional football?”
Yesterday’s post about Royal Ascot should have appeared today, but I screwed up the scheduling thingy. So instead of that, you’ll just have to be content with more pictures of my latest
stalking obsession schoolboy-type crush, Carol Vorderman. First, a few older ones:
…followed by some of more recent vintage:
Outstanding [sic]. I actually think I prefer her as a brunette, but the blonde probably makes it easier to hide the gray — because Ms. Vorderman is currently about 57 years old.
Over at Day By Day, Chris Muir is holding his annual fundraiser. Please go over there and make a contribution. I’d hate my first-thing-in-the-morning read to disappear through lack of $$. Plus, Chris is one of the better (if not the best) of the online political satirists, and excellence should be rewarded.
From Reader Jason S: “You said you’d post pics of the last day’s racing at Chester, but didn’t. WTF?”
I forgot. That said, the ladies remained true to form (i.e. quite un-Aintree-like):
That said, there’s always gonna be an exception:
I’ll never understand women. The dress is sorta-okay (by Modern Brit standards) in that it’s only somewhat ugly — one hip-high slit would have been sexy; two make it slutty. But FFS, why those ugly-ass shoes?
And one last comment (in an email): “Is it just me, are are all the women in these race day pics on the plain side?”
It’s not just you. The reason that some British chicks seem gorgeous is that they’re rare by comparison with the average — the average being plain -> ugly. This is not my observation, but that of a (female, and not American) friend.
Having convincingly defeated all the others to win the Premier League in 2016/17, my beloved Chelsea FC had a lackluster season in 2017/18:
However, the Blues did redeem themselves last Saturday by beating the foul Manchester United 1-0 in the F.A. Cup Final (and the match wasn’t even that close; Chelsea could easily have won 3-0).
So bite me, Mancunian scum.