Here’s Why

For all those folks who have given me guff about having the Chinkvirus vaccine, here’s the deal:

I want to travel again, and soon.  If having the fucking jab means I get to travel again without having to “self-isolate” or any of that nonsense upon arrival, here’s my arm.  Ditto New Wife, who feels as I do.
Corollary #1:  New Wife is suffering from Extreme Grandchild Deprivation.  By the time she can travel to see and hold them (all for the first time), it will be in June.  Rule #1:  never get in Nana’s way when it comes to grandkids.
Corollary #2:  Somehow, some way, I want to get Over There so I can shoot birds with my friend Mr. Free Market later this year / before I die (whichever is appropriate).  As Britishland is in the grips of profound Chinkvirus hysteria, a vaccination certificate may alleviate their silliness and give me a fighting chance.

I’m sick and tired of having to wear a stupid, ineffective face condom.  Anything that allows me to tell the Mask Stasi Karens to fuck off is welcome in my body.

Given my lifestyle and health, the odds of me dying from Chinkvirus anyway have always been breathtakingly slim.  The vaccine isn’t for me;  it’s for everybody else.

I don’t give any credence to how the vaccination program is just another government trap to do something or other to me.  I heard all those whines when they decided to put fluoride into the public water supply .  Not one of those fears proved to be worth a damn back then, and this one is going to be the same.

All of which says one simple thing:  I’m not telling everyone to get the Chinkvirus shot;  nor am I telling anyone not to get the poxy [sic]  jab.  I’m letting everyone make their own decision, for their own reasons and their own purposes.

Kindly allow me to do the same.  I’ve taken far greater risks with my life before.

And if it ends up killing me rather than saving me, them’s the breaks.

Backwards

In 1985, I came to New York City for the first time.  I remember the almost unimaginable expectations I had:  the Big Apple, “If I can make it here”, and all that.

Of course, I arrived in the middle of a garbage strike, so the streets were filthy, mountains of trash bags were on every street, and rats the size of fox terriers roamed the streets like packs of hyenas, in broad daylight.

I remember being hustled on every block by someone, not asking but demanding that I buy their cheap tat of dubious origin, and every shop along the street was proclaiming that they had to sell sell sell all their merchandise NOW! because they were losing their lease.  (A total lie, like so much about New York.)

Then I went to the Lower East Side.

I was forcibly reminded of all this yesterday morning, when I saw this front page pic:

…and the accompanying article:

It’s been six months since the mayor promised to pump more money into the city’s street-cleaning efforts. And the trash problem has only gotten worse.
De Blasio in September announced initiatives to reallocate Sanitation Department funding to bolster litter-basket pickups in communities hit hardest during the pandemic, including Bushwick in Brooklyn. But according to the official mayoral report of “acceptably clean city streets,” street cleanliness there plummeted to 33.3 percent in January, compared with 86.1 percent the month before.
The same neighborhood scored 95.4 percent a year ago.

But this post isn’t about New York fucken City.  It’s about the whole country.

NYFC Mayor Bill de Blasio is quite clearly the most Marxist of all elected officials in the United States (residents of San Francisco, Portland and Seattle may quibble), and it is quite clear that what he is doing as mayor is just a microcosm of what his fellow Marxists are attempting to do all over the country.

They’re taking us back into the Third World.

Anyone who has ever spent any time in Third World countries will know that one of the most obvious manifestations of Third Worldliness is the amounts of trash that people there just toss out into the streets and out of car windows;  and when you travel through the countryside, fences will be plastered with plastic bags and other trash blown against the wire by wind.

Here’s Los Angeles:

…and San Francisco:

…Chicago:

 …and Philadelphia:

I could go on, but you get my point.

Let’s look at other aspects of the Third World… such as their elections.

In the main, Third World elections are corrupt, whether through the actual process or whether by fraud, suppression of the “incorrect” vote or denying impartial monitoring of the process.

Oh look, it’s Detroit in November 2020:

Here’s another example of blocking observers from checking the counting process:

Oh wait, that’s not Detroit;  it’s Nigeria.  I was distracted by the razor wire atop the wall.

Does any of this ring any bells?

A new report on the vast expansion of mail-in ballots in the 2020 election is set to spark new concerns among some Republicans who back former President Donald Trump’s charge that some states went too far to change the rules — illegally.
Among the three “key takeaways” cited was this: “28 States changed their policy to make it easier to use a mail ballot.”
As a result, it added, “For the first time ever, more people voted early with a mail ballot or in-person than filled out a ballot at the polls on Election Day.”

Of course, the typical Third World mantra about elections is, “One Man.  One Vote.  One Time.”

So here’s the U.S. version:

It would be an understatement to describe H.R. 1 as a radical assault on American democracy, federalism, and free speech. It is actually several radical left-wing wish lists stuffed into a single 791-page sausage casing. It would override hundreds of state laws governing the orderly conduct of elections, federalize control of voting and elections to a degree without precedent in American history, end two centuries of state power to draw congressional districts, turn the Federal Elections Commission into a partisan weapon, and massively burden political speech against the government while offering government handouts to congressional campaigns and campus activists.

And that’s the opinion of the National Review, surely the most ineffectual and milquetoast collection of conservatives around.

And finally, let’s consider the corruption through nepotism that is a fact of life in the Third World — and now in the U.S. as well:

During his long senatorial career, Joe Biden cast himself as an everyman, “Amtrak Joe,” known for taking the train daily to Washington, D.C., from his home in Delaware. The image he sought to create was one of a simple legislator independent of the usual corrupting influences pols face.
In truth, Joe Biden knows those influences all too well. He heads up a family of wealthy lobbyists and political operatives who have spent decades trading on his last name.
In Profiles in Corruption, Peter Schweizer points out that the Biden family’s wealth “depends on Joe Biden’s political influence and involves no less than five family members: Joe’s son Hunter, daughter Ashley, brothers James and Frank, and sister Valerie.”

It’s taken the Left some time to effect their change of the United States, surely the first among First World nations, into a Third World state.

But here we are.

And now, if you’ll excuse me, I’m off to the range.

Choices, Earlier

With all the brouhaha surrounding the Ginger Prince’s choice of bride and concomitant embarrassment of The Oprah Interview, allow me to highlight a couple of his earlier long-time girlfriends:

 

I can’t help thinking that either of the above would have been better choices.  But that’s not all.

See, in the old days, the royals didn’t so much find soulmates as diplomatic alliances, arranged by the respective families.  So had the Saxe-Coburg-Gotha-Windsors followed established precedent, the Royal Ginger would now be hitched to any one of the following, for example:

Princess Alexandra of Luxembourg:

…although I think this multilingual diplomat would have been way over the Royal Ginger’s intellectual punching weight.

Princess Elisabeth von Thur und Taxis:

She’s older than Harry, but then so is Duchess Whinge.

Princess Theodora of Greece and Denmark:

The last is actually related to the current Prince Philip, Duke of Edinburgh, but the royals have never let that kind of thing get in the way.  And she’s also an actress, so maybe that would have given her the inside track.

And had Harry wanted to be all woke ‘n stuff and marry outside the Ango-Saxon tent, there was always an outside chance of an arrangement with Princess Sirivannavari Nariratana of Thailand:

“Princess Siri” would cause all sorts of problems with Apple People nowadays, which just adds to the fun.

In any event, I can’t help but think that hitching up with any of the above would have had a better outcome for old Harry than what he’s tied to now.  And I’m fairly sure the other members of the Britishland Royal Family would agree with me.

FIFO

While waiting for my Chinkvirus jab yesterday at CVS, this Mexican woman came up to the pharmacist — a Chinese immigrant, as it happened — and started trying to tell him her problems with her Rx script, and also asked where could she find some product or other.

She could not speak a word of English.  When he asked her for her birth date so he could pull up her Rx record, she just stared at him blankly.  Then she repeated everything she’d said earlier, as though this was going to change everything.

Amazingly, the pharmacist actually made some sense of the second part of her speech, and said, “Aisle Number 8”, which was met with the same blank stare as before.

Then she started to get angry, and began her little speech again, only louder and irritably, whereupon he said, loudly, “ID?”

That she understood, and groveled around in her Mexican purse (a.k.a. a well-used plastic Fiesta shopping bag), then handed it to him.  He looked up her record — gawd knows what would have ensued had it been a fake ID or something — and shrugged.  “You can’t pick these up yet;  it’s too soon.”

Well, if “Aisle Number 8” was beyond her, that little explanation wasn’t going to fly.  So she grabbed her ID card from his hand, and stormed out of the store.

If immigrants to this country want to take a wild guess as to why they aren’t welcomed with open arms, this would be Exhibit #1.  What got me was not just this fool’s inability to speak English, but her testy attitude when the pharmacist couldn’t speak Spanish.  You would think that before coming to deal with a problem, she’d at least bother to learn a few English words to help her get her point across, but noooo.

What really got up my nose was that the pharmacist — also an immigrant — spoke excellent English;  he’d had to learn it in his mid-twenties when he came over fro China and enrolled at University of Texas to get his degree (as I learned when I was chatting to him afterwards).  In other words, he’d not only learned a foreign language but an entirely different alphabet, and earned a medical degree in that same language.  No doubt at some point he’s going to get a corporate reprimand for his lack of customer service skills.

I know that he probably moonlights as an agent of the ChiCom Party, but I’m still on his side.

And I am even more determined not to bother to learn Spanish (something I’ve been idly considering over the past few months).  Fukkem, and FIFO.

Shot

New Wife and I had our anti-Chinkvirus shots yesterday.  Here’s my proof:

Now I want to have it silk-screened onto a couple white t-shirts, with the following statement:

Enough is enough with this timorous foolishness.