Month: April 2020

News Roundup

Bad News

Again with the pithy commenth, but mostly aimed at you-know-who:


…how about: NOTHING.  To paraphrase someone:  every single thing that comes out of their collective mouth is a lie, including “and” and “the”.  As I’ve said many times before on this website:  China is and will always be our enemy.  And I’d put money on this shit having started in a ChiCom bioweapons lab.

But there are counter-opinions:

It’s NOT racist to say China’s vile markets are to blame for coronavirus and they MUST ban them — and an even better opinion:

“Everything fucking generates from them and their filthy markets” — bat soup and raw snake gizzards, anyone?  And speaking of Chinese menu items:


…that’s got to be the most endangered animal on the planet:  a cat owned by a Chinese family.  And while on the topic of Chinese food:


…but they don’t, do they?  They eat slop on rice:  “slop” being defined as dead anything that walks, swims, flies or slithers.  They aren’t even civilized enough to eat with forks, FFS, relying on prehistoric tools like straight sticks, and spoons designed to make you spill when drinking from them.  Tablecloths?  Maybe in high-class American restaurants, otherwise straight off wooden tabletops that still hold a year’s worth of food spillage and associated bacteria and viruses.  Fucking primitive assholes.


…how dare the U.S. stand up against espionage, copyright infringement, computer virus infestation, Wuhan flu pandemics and cheap shit that falls apart soon after purchase?


…can’t be true.  We all know that Communists, and Chinese Communists especially, have such a high regard for human life. [/New York Times]

Generational Take

Entertainment

The Divine Sarah’s younger boy Marshall (a younger Millennial) takes on the Millennials in general, and Marvel comics in particular:

You got be f**king kidding me.
Marvel, gender-swapping and race-changing existing characters doesn’t count as doing something new. Granting, seeing what you do with new characters, I guess this is an improvement.
Besides the coming funeral plans for comic shops thanks to the senseless murder by Marvel comics and its weapon of pure woke, this brings into focus the purpose of my post today, because I haven’t given away the dirty little secret about these comics, and I think it’s appropriate to do a short history lesson, and turn back the clock a bit.

Read it, and chuckle.  He had me at “The blood sucking, flying albino with a bad 90’s Goth outfit is the most believable character in your roster.”

Note to Marshall:   let Mum edit yer stuff for grammar before publishing.

News Roundup

Bad News

Follow the pictures to avoid the commentary:


…revolution to begin in 3…2…1…


…nobody cares what you think, fuckface.  Our civil rights aren’t dependent on your opinion.


…oh, right… a tattoo of Harry Potter or Dumbledore, whose characters helped earn you untold billions in cash, would be “weird” — but “Semper Stulta” (which would be true, in your case, considering your actual tattoo) isn’t.

  and… 

…these two articles are not related.


…after which he tried to sell the Brooklyn Bridge to some guy from Iowa.


…what, all that solar- and wind-powered shit not working for you Brits?

And speaking of global warming in Britishland:

Incentive And Compromise

Funny Stuff, Men & Women

How would you like to own a house like this one, set in 1,100 acres of the gorgeous Wiltshire countryside:

According to its Wikipedia entry:

The grounds of the house are noted for their re-established wildlife, including fallow deer.  The grounds are also noted as one of the top game bird shooting venues in the country:  The Field  magazine voted it one of the UK’s ten top venues for pheasant shooting.

Sounds all very pleasant, doesn’t it?  As it happens, Ashcombe House belongs to movie director Guy Ritchie (of Lock Stock and Snatch fame), who came into ownership of the place as part of his divorce settlement from Madonna.

Which leads me to this question — posed to me originally by The Fiend Englishman — and, I think, it’s really a difficult one:

Would you sleep with Madonna for a couple-three years (as Ritchie did) if you knew that at the end of it all, you’d come to possess this fantastic estate?

Just so we’re clear on the topic, though:  we’re not talking about this Madonna:

…nor even this Madonna:

No, we’re talking about this Madonna:

Now before everyone runs screaming from the room, I should point out (as did The Englishman) that along the way, you would probably have learned more than a few revolting naughty bedroom tricks which may (repeat may ) have made the eventual ownership of Ashcombe House a little less unpleasant;  and indeed, Ritchie seems to have escaped more-or-less unscathed from his years-long encounter with Madge, along with possession of both his venereal health and his genitalia (which I admit thinking would have been a long shot in both cases).

So, Gentle Readers:  a magnificent estate with lots of prime birdshooting, in exchange for a few years of plunging into Madame Grotesque’s well-trodden pudenda?  Or is no real estate worth that sacrifice?

Your thoughts, in Comments.