Category: Two-Minute Hate

Disgusting People

Adding The Years

Two-Minute Hate

I hardly ever read the insufferable, whiny Liz Jones (former editor of some girls’ magazine, now columnist for the Daily Mail and a lifelong Train Smash Woman), but this article’s headline caught my eye, and I found myself nodding in agreement.

Shouty headlines on Friday morning proclaimed: ‘Couple of glasses a night shortens life by two years! Much more than four bottles a week can lop off five years!’
By that count, I should have died four years ago.

I think I can count on one hand the number of times I’ve really needed a drink (as opposed to just wanting one), but I’m with Liz this time.

I have always wondered about the veracity of these scare stories, thinking, well, what if your wine glasses are really small?

As Loyal Readers know well, I don’t believe any of these shitty studies and / or scare stories anymore, because all you have to do is wait a couple months, and another study will come out and completely contradict the earlier one. Most of the time, they’ve all been written by scolds and busybodies who want to tell us how to live our lives — and by the way, when did every fucking thing become a matter of public health?

And Miz Jones surely has a point with this thought:

And I cannot help wondering why everyone wants to prolong a life that will inevitably be joyless, as if this were our only ambition.
There’s nothing to look forward to at the end of the day. No point sitting on a terrace with a beautiful view as, with no stem in your hand, all that’s left to do is fiddle with your phone. No reason to crave the interval during a play; I tend to slope off home at half-time, the prospect of Act Two too tedious without bubbles.
There’s no point winning an award or getting married or getting out of bed on Christmas morning. I’m generally asleep by nine, as there’s nothing to do. Nothing to dull the loss of a parent or child. Nothing to hold.

Here’s the thing: speaking for myself, I don’t need any of those reasons to have a drink, not a single one. But I can quite understand why someone else would want or need a drink on those occasions — whether out of joy, sorrow, or just wanting to relax.

As I said, it’s a rare occasion indeed when I agree with Liz Jones; but on this occasion, despite her irritating demeanor, I find myself in full agreement with her sentiment towards these tools: just leave me the hell alone and quit trying to scare me into living my life the way you want me to.

Scary stories are supposed to frighten children into better behavior. And by trying that tactic on adults, it reveals exactly what these “public health” Nazis think we are.

Fuck them all. Time for a healthy breakfast:

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Babes And Sucklings? Fuck ‘Em

Business, Two-Minute Hate

One of the most irritating and destructive Biblical statements is that innocence breeds strength — “Out of the mouths of babes and sucklings…” etc. No. What you get out of the mouths of babes and sucklings is meaningless, uninformed babble at best, and sociopathic speech at worst.

As Loyal Readers know, I don’t have a FaecesBook account, so I don’t really have a personal dog in the current fight about how Zuckerberg’s little toy has been turned into an open-top mine of personal data for others to play with. (Click on that link at yer own risk: I nearly had a coronary when I read it.)

All I have to say is: this is the kind of thing you get when teenagers create multi-billion dollar companies without adult supervision:

They don’t have a fucking clue what they’re getting into, or the eventual consequences of their actions. (Or they do, and they’re amoral little fuckers like Mark Zuckerberg.)

And speaking of kids with guns: the day I support the idea that callow adolescents (like these children) get to dictate public policy and Constitutional amendments, is the day y’all need to ship me off to Senility Central. You have my full permission, given in advance.

…And Louder Still

Behind Enemy Lines, Two-Minute Hate

Here’s another little snippet which caused me to go cross-eyed momentarily:

The number of coffee shops in Britain is set to overtake pubs by the year 2030, according to industry research.
Some three coffee shops are opening every day adding an extra 21 a week serving up lattes and cappuccinos.
By contrast between 21 and 25 pubs are closing every week, with many turned into homes and convenience stores.
Fhe switch from lager to latte means that the number of UK coffee shops has increased from 10,000 in 2007 to 24,000 today.
At the same time, the traditional pub is suffering with the total down from around 75,000 in the 1970s to around 47,000 today.

Oy. It’s enough to make me want to crawl into a corner and whimper like a little girl. Then again, there may still be a little of the bulldog spirit left:

I mean, I love coffee. But it’s a morning drink — or at least, an after-dinner choice. But nothing beats a good pub. Here’s one that I visited with The Englishman, because the King’s Arms was just too far away for our thirst, and it was a case of “Stand aside, Coffee; this is a job for BEER.”

No doubt it will be gone by the time I get back Over There.

Somebody hide the pills.

 

 

Better Late Than Never

Two-Minute Hate

“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.

Quid Pro Quo

Two-Minute Hate

“There is something deeply perverse about using children to promote a political agenda.”  (Ben Shapiro, talking about kindergartners being used in anti-gun / gun control demonstrations.)

I hope that all those folks who are bitching about children being “used” to further an anti-gun agenda have the same kind of revulsion when they see something like this:

And just a reminder, before the SHTF in Comments:  I hate abortion with a passion — if there were a single aspect of the human condition I could fix, this would be it — but I also hate children being used as props. It’s immoral, and that’s the beginning and the end of it.

Terrorists And Their Organizations

Two-Minute Hate

To paraphrase one of our DFW morning drive-time radio hosts, every time a Democrat politician opens his mouth, there’s a 99% chance of asshole.

Such is the case with CTGov Dannell Malloy, who suggests that the NRA has become a terrorist organization. How so?

“They act, quite frankly, in some cases as a terrorist organization. You want to make safer guns? We will boycott your company. That’s who they are. That’s what they do.”

I guess this liberal tool has forgotten how the Left has called for boycotts of companies and their products who endorse or support activities that the Left finds repugnant. [list of 2,000 such instances omitted]  So this is what passes for “terrorism” in this idiot’s mind?

But that’s not the main point of this post. This is.

So, Governor Asshole of Connecticut: I’m a member of the NRA. Am I a terrorist, by your definition? 

Fuck you. When I was in the Army, we were fighting terrorists — real terrorists who planted landmines on country roads and massacred whole villages —  long before it became cool to do so. Hell, we were doing that while you were still a glint in your Daddy’s drunken eye, you little pissant. So again, fuck you; and fuck your facile little clever-dick sound-bites.

We now return to our regular programming. Oh wait: this is our regular programming.

Carry on.