From bad to absolute worst:
Your suggestions (or experiences) in Comments.
I’ve always enjoyed Taki Theodoracopulos’s pet online project, Taki’s Magazine. I especially love the old Greek bastard’s own wicked articles, with all the name-dropping and gossip flavoring. Almost without exception too, the writers have been a type after my own heart: intelligent, educated, fearless and completely irreverent, they’re willing to tackle even the most fearsome of sacred cows.
Much less so were the morons who commented on the articles. Almost without exception, they were a bunch of ignorant assholes for whom no dire situation or event was not at least partially caused by the Jooos (especially, as Taki puts it, “(((the Rothschilds)))”) who are seated at the heart of the Great Jewish / Bilderberg / Katahdin / Illuminati Conspiracy (or some bullshit like that).
So Taki finally got sick of all those commentators’ illiterate and malicious doggerel, and took out the Comments section. Now, if you want to make a comment, you have to send Taki’s Mag an email with your comment, and they’ll publish them later in the week IF they feel the comment is worthy. I suspect that only about 0.05% of the emails will ever see the light of day: good.
At last, I can wholeheartedly endorse Taki’s Magazine because it’s excellent. Even David Cole and Pat Buchanan don’t get up my nose that much anymore (mostly because I only read those of their posts which cover topics I’m interested in). Even if I don’t agree with the rest of the Taki’s Mag articles — or even just parts thereof — I read them anyway, because regardless of my opinion, they’re pretty compelling reading.
Hell, Joe Bob Briggs alone makes visiting the website a fine experience; but to be honest, you could say that about almost all the writers. And that’s something I cannot say about any other online (or even Dead Tree) publication.
Enjoy.
“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.
Here’s a special post for London Mayor Sadiq Khan, whose response to the violent crime spree in his city is to ban knife carry.
No, I don’t own one of these lovely creatures, but I’m currently negotiating with a guy who might know how to make them. If I / he can get it to work, I might just sell them through this here website.
For the people for whom the above pic might cause fainting spells: these aren’t knives; they’re called “hammer drill bits”. It’s how you make a large hole in wood (with a hammer) when you don’t have an electric- or battery-powered drill handy. The coloring is purely cosmetic.
And if anyone knows where the originals came from (i.e. who makes them), let me know in Comments.
“Dear Dr. Kim:
“A couple weeks ago, I was out riding my bicycle (as part of my fitness regime). I was wearing a T-shirt and shorts because the weather was hot, and I didn’t want to sweat too much. I was about five miles from home, riding pretty fast when I took a corner on the gravel trail and my back wheel went out from under me. I hit the ground pretty hard and although I wasn’t seriously injured, I still got a massive case of “road rash” on my shoulder, biceps, forearm and calf muscle, all on the left side. I managed to limp home (the bike was pretty mangled) and cleaned up, then put antibiotic gel on the scrapes and covered each of them with a sterile dressing.
“The stinging and burning lasted for several days, and one evening I was lying there unable to sleep, when a thought came to me: I needed something to take my mind off the pain. The problem was that I couldn’t move much without pulling off the dressing, and I realized that I needed some mothering: not to be too graphic — and I hope you’ll forgive me for saying this — I wanted something like a blowjob to get the proper level of distraction.
“So I put out a couple of calls to some lady friends and outlined my need for a little nursing, some… shall we say “advanced” mothering. To cut a long story short [too late — Dr.K] , not ONE of these friends was the slightest bit interested in helping me out.
“Now my question: was I asking too much of my lady friends?”
— Road Rash, Atlanta
Dear Mr. Rash (Swedish, is it?):
Let me give you more than one answer, because you have some bigger issues than frigid girl friends.
In the first place: unless you’re training for a serious athletic event like the Tour de France, I see absolutely no need for anyone to ride a bicycle outdoors — especially when there are any number of stationary bikes to be had on eBay. Outside, there lies sunburn, heatstroke, traffic collisions, bugs, bitey pit bulls, excessive sweating and, as you discovered, a real possibility of injury from a simple fall.
Stop that shit. God invented air-conditioning — or maybe it was Westinghouse, I don’t remember — but regardless, you can get all the exercise you need without going outdoors and exposing yourself to the elements and/or automobile accidents, bitey pit bulls etc. You got off easy this time, so take it as a warning.
Now for your second issue, that of your so-called “lady friends” who won’t help you get through your pain. I find it a difficult one to address because back in my day, most men had any number of female acquaintances — let alone actual female friends — who would be only too willing to pop over for a little impromptu nursing if a man were to be ill or injured. Hell, I remember one time when even my cousin Stephanie… ah, never mind.
Your problem, you will be either glad or saddened to note, is not an uncommon one these days. Modern young women seem to have lost all sense of maternal feelings, probably because they’re “building careers”, “finding themselves” or else spending all their spare time looking at their bloody cell phones. Then when they reach the age of oh, thirty-two, they suddenly rediscover their maternal instinct, only it’s not for a wounded friend like yourself, but for an actual baby — which means you’ve lost out not just once (as a young man) but twice (as an older one).
Personally, I blame the godless feministicals, who have poisoned the minds of these young women and made them feel as though a blowjob is a privilege, to be grudgingly (if at all) doled out only as a reward for “good behavior” on a man’s part, e.g. buying them a diamond necklace for Valentine’s Day or paying to have their kitchen remodeled. This, when we all know that a BJ is more of a friendly gesture, carrying as it does no fear of pregnancy nor even excessive emotional attachment (if properly positioned).
What you need to do is to cut these women out of your life, ASAP. I have no idea where one finds a “normal” woman with mothering/nursing instincts — like I said, this seems to be a recent phenomenon and one outside my experience and expertise — but one thing’s for sure: the lady “friends” that you have are not true friends at all. (Although you can be sure that if they needed your ummm muscles, e.g. to help them move house or put up a heavy shelf, they’d be all over you like syrup on a pancake.) Ditch ’em, and good riddance.
Good luck with your recovery, and don’t forget to sell your bike — if it’s not too badly damaged, that is — and start exercising responsibly, indoors. That’s the important lesson, here.
— Dr. Kim
Anyone care to place a bet on how long this marriage will last, or how long it will take before Hubby has an affair?
…and I’ll also give 2-1 odds that the sex wasn’t that great, either.
Myself, I wouldn’t take any of those bets.
Of course, he might also be some pussified beta man who was prepared to wait for three (!!!) years to get laid, and still thinks that she’s within her rights to deny him sex now that they’re married.
If I were to let my imagination run riot, I could see other possibilities:
I’m also prepared to accept the power of “AND” in all the above scenarios, but I don’t think I’m too far off on any of them, though.