Category: Two-Minute Hate

Disgusting People

Stomach, Sick To

Bad News, Modernism, Two-Minute Hate

This article, and the pathology it describes, fills me with all the negatives:  disgust, horror, loathing, hatred and the burning desire to lay about these people with a barbed-wire-wrapped cricket bat.

Which is surprising, because for the last twenty years or so, American girls have been raised from birth to be premium dating fodder, primed from the first whiff of puberty to be Available for Sex on Saturday Night. So why are they being ghosted in droves? Abandoned and left to die alone, clutching their pets and Warren for President signs?
You’d think these girls would be experts at snagging a mate. Years of sex ed, birth control pills, and permission to date early and often with no judgement from the grownups should have guaranteed they’d have suitors dangling from their every finger, lines outside the door, dates every night, so many engagement rings shoved under their noses they’d be blinded by the shimmering sight of all those diamonds nestled against black velvet.
What happened?

Read the whole article, but only if you have a strong stomach.

An entire generation — maybe even two — will have been corrupted almost beyond redemption.

Cuts Both Ways, Assholes

Media Assholes, Politics, Resistance, Two-Minute Hate

Apparently, we conservatives are Beyond The Pale.  Saith Jennifer Rubin:

There is no way to “understand” MAGA voters, nor is there is any possibility of reaching political agreement with them. They are beyond the bounds of rational political debate.

Hey, Jen:  substitute “socialist voters” for “MAGA voters”, and you’ll have an idea of what we think of you lot.  The only thing you need to understand about us is that we hate your putrid political philosophy and your criminal voting practices.

And then some other Lenin-lickspittle chimes in with:

There is no longer any reason to try to “understand” these people. Nor should there be any compunction about doing whatever we can to read them out of American politics…

…by any means available, you mean?

Noted.

Amazing Coincidence

Good Stuff, Mocking Furriners, Muzzies

First, Iran’s largest ship mysteriously catches fire and is destroyed, and then a large oil refinery near Teheran mysteriously catches fire.

[T]he head of the company in charge of the refinery reportedly told Iranian state TV the possibility of sabotage had been ruled out.

He put it down to a “technical” issue. No doubt, the same technical issue which blew up their frigate.  And yeah, rather admit to a technical issue than saying it was sabotage.

If I were a paranoid Iranian mullah, however, I’d suspect that the Izzies have been up to their old tricks.

We’ll know that’s the case when President Braindead or his lickspittle State Department condemns the “accidents” for no apparent reason.

No More A Refugee

Boomershoot, Disaster, Two-Minute Hate

Yesterday we got news that our apartment is nearly finished, having had to be rebuilt from the studs up following that burst water main during the Big Freeze back in February.

Yes, we’ve been living in a hotel room since then.  But now, there’s light at the end of the tunnel, so to speak, and we’ll be able to move back into our place over the next week or so…

…which is when I’ll be at Boomershoot.

Think kind thoughts and say a few good words for New Wife, as she struggles to rebuild the nest without me.

But before anyone gets any strange ideas, you have to know this about her:  she lives for this kind of thing, and I don’t.  In fact, I am the worst possible person during a move:  I rage at stuff, I slam fingers in doors, I drop boxes, I kick stuff, I throw things into the pool out of frustration — all that, because of one of my life’s guiding principles:

I refuse to take any shit from inanimate objects.

She, however, is the complete opposite:  nothing makes her happier than organizing stuff.  So she’s going to be puttering around, re-packing kitchen cabinets, hanging clothes, singing happy songs and bossing the movers around — yes, I’ll be arranging for a moving company to move all the heavy stuff from the garage back into the apartment (a distance of a few feet only, but there are doors to wrangle the sofas and beds through — and when they don’t go, that’s precisely when I see red, descend into rage and start to break things).

Had I not invested so much into Boomershoot already, I’d have canceled it — but it’s too late for that at this point, so there it is.