Category: Wokism

Wokery Pokery

Wokism

Longtime Friend Mrs. Sorenson sends me this disturbing news via email (subject as above):

A mural designed as a tribute to shop staff who worked through the pandemic has been criticised because it “screams welcome to our white town”.
Driffield Town Council said the artwork depicted well-known personalities who worked at independent businesses.
However, some residents took to social media to point out it failed to represent anyone with disabilities or from ethnic minority backgrounds.

And yes, the mural’s personnel (actual people in the village) are whiter than my kitchen cupboards.

However, Mrs. Sor also points out the following (with supporting stats) with respect to the village’s population:

But hey… let’s not let awful stats ‘n stuff get in the way of Wokism, right?

Of Course It Was

Business, Two-Minute Hate, Wokism

As Insty puts it:

Shot:

Chaser:

Of course, the bank lied when the shit hit the fan and covered them 6″ deep, saying oh noes, they were talking about Flynn’s wife’s cards… like that makes any difference.

Fucking woke scumbags.  The State of Texas should ban government departments from doing business with Chase in Texas, and force them to close their fucking massive office in Plano and move to California.  Or maybe we the citizens should just…

Either way, they lose.  Assholes.

Note to Chase:  doing shit like this does more harm to your so-called “reputation” than anything your cardholders might do.

Fire This Asshole

Drive Time, Wokism

Last Sunday was the Pebble Beach Concours d’Elegance, whereby car enthusiasts converge on the famed golf course and drool over the various examples of automotive gorgeousity strewn around like a rich man’s carelessly-scattered diamonds on green velvet.

Here are a couple other examples:

Iso Rivolta:

Ferrari Pininfarina:

And all was well in the land, until this little Wokist twerp got in on the act:

Let’s get two things cleared up before we continue. The first is that while the Pebble Beach Concours d’Elegance is certainly far from the most momentous cultural event of the year, it is the most prestigious car show anywhere in the world. For a few days in late summer, the 18th fairway at the Pebble Beach golf course is the very highest point for any rich person who covets vintage cars, and the highest honor for any person working in the business of restoring classics.
The second is that Mercedes was not just a car company that was busy at work doing normal car stuff during the time in which Nazis were in power in Germany. Mercedes was an early and direct supporter of Adolf Hitler long before he took power, helping him out while he was still an outsider figure in Bavarian politics. When Hitler got out of prison in 1924, he got picked up in a Mercedes-Benz.

Ergo, says this girlyman, we should not have the 540K as the winner because it was driven by Nazis.  Here’s the car in question:

And then this:

This is exactly how this car is seen in this world of the mega-rich: an encapsulation of “the optimistic mood” of Germany in 1934. Let us ask: for whom was this an optimistic time, and who is the kind of person who looks back on that time now, remembering its icons for their … optimism? Rich people, that’s who.

Wow… wealth envy and oh-so laudable “anti-Nazi” sentiment all wrapped up in a neat little bundle.  Read the whole thing to get the RCOB that Longtime Reader Ken S. warned me I’d get, when he sent it to me yesterday.  And I did.

Even better is that the writer suffers from the usual hypocrisy of his ilk, in that he owns a… Volkswagen Beetle, surely the most Hitlerish of all German cars of the 1930s.

So just for the hell of it, feast your eyes on a couple other examples of this eeeevil car:

And to hell with this wokist revisionism.  Let’s just enjoy the automotive excellence.

Pity, though:  I used to enjoy reading Jalopnik.

Outcomes

CRT, Wokism

As I’ve often said, Marxism/Socialism/[whatever the Left calls it now] has always ignored the consequences of their stupid “philosophy in favor of its intentions.

Here’s a very interesting take on the whole CRT business, from someone who’s had to live with its consequences for over a decade:

The overarching truth is that an idea pushed South Africa to the brink. You guys know this idea, because it animates the sermons of critical race theorists trying to force you to take the knee and atone for your supposed sins. I am going to call it the Beautiful Idea, because it is beautiful in a way — but also dangerous.
The Beautiful Idea holds that all humans are born with identical gifts and should turn out to be clones of one another in a just society. Conversely, any situation in which disparity survives is in itself proof of injustice. This is the line promoted by CRT pundit Ibram X. Kendi, who blames all racial disparities on racist policies.

Read it all.

Then there’s this:

And here’s the ultimate outcome of such a philosophy:

And there ya go.  Now apply that to schools, universities, government departments, corporations and just about every other institution, and consider the inevitable outcomes.  To the Leftists, though, the outcomes are irrelevant, as long as the policies are noble and virtuous.

Now Accents?

Mocking Furriners, Snowflakes, Wokism

Great Cicero’s bleeding adenoids, have we come to this?

Linguist Dr Rob Drummond, who works at Manchester Met University, argued using accents for comedic effect in sitcoms like Fawlty Towers, where Andrew Sachs famously portrayed a clumsy Spanish waiter called Manuel, promotes ‘lazy stereotypes’ and can be ‘pretty damaging’.

Damaging to whom, exactly?

While my native accent is pure Johannesburg WASP (often mistaken for British in America, but never in Britishland), I love doing accents.  While some are not so good (my Texas twang fools absolutely nobody), my Indian-, French- and even German-accented English are all pretty good.  (Afrikaans-flavored English, of course, is second nature.)  My Scottish accent is passable outside the U.K., but nothing beats my Australian — I’ve fooled even native Aussies into thinking I was pure Ocker, and having armed myself with some Strine slang, it’s unbeatable.

And if I live somewhere for any lengthy period of time, the native accent is easy — when I lived in north Jersey, even some of my NJ buddies could be fooled when I called them up and asked in my best Hoboken Nasal, “Yo, howya dooin’?”

So now I can’t do accents anymore, in case someone is “damaged”?

Fuck that.