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Don’t Care

Anarchist thugs, BaconLettuceMayo, Law and Order, Marxists

O woe is Minneapolis:

If you want to know what the real-time self-destruction of a city looks like, Minneapolis offers the perfect model. This is no Detroit-esque collapse prompted by the degeneration of an industry-dependent metropolis. This is the willful push down the path of ruin of a city burgeoning with opportunity and rife with promises of the American Dream. It is suicide.
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Instead of looking to successful policies used to counter that crime wave—increasing the number and presence of law enforcement officers for several months—the Minneapolis City Council wants to do the exact opposite.
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For a far-left Minneapolis City Council at war with its police force and local citizens yet maintaining control due to leftist activism and special interests, the answer may be in the blind devotion to the radical belief of constantly burning and building into the unattainable utopia they so hubristically believe they can create.

Let the whole place lie in deserted ruins after riots, mayhem and fires have destroyed it;  they voted for it, they supported it, and now they’re going to get it — in Mencken terms — good and hard.

So much for “Minnesota nice”;  “Minnesota idiocy” would be more appropriate.  They don’t deserve our sympathy, our support or our best wishes, especially when you see this, and  bullshit like this happens.  I’d say “Fuck ’em”, but they’ve fucked themselves already.

Not Responsible

Crime, Men & Women

Courtesy of Britain’s ever-reliable Sun  newspaper, I see the following little activity has made the news:

A MILLIONAIRE businessman who attended Prince Harry’s wedding to Meghan Markle has been charged with sex offences.

Did he prowl the streets at night, grabbing women and violently raping them in alleyways?

The dad-of-four was allegedly inappropriately physical with employees — often young women working as PAs or receptionists.

Oh, that.  Well, let’s leave it to the courts to see if any of this eeevil “#MeToo” stuff actually happened, because I’m more interested in the fact that interest in this case was sparked by his attendance at Ginge and Whinge’s wedding.

Now as little time as I have for the Sussexes, I don’t think they can be held responsible for what their wedding “guests” get up to — and I emphasize the word because I have no doubt that neither the bride nor the groom actually invited Mr. Badfinger to the wedding;  rather, he was invited by their respective social secretaries / courtiers because he was a successful businessman.  In other words, the New Californians had nothing to do with his behavior afterwards.

I can sympathize with them, actually, because I know for a fact that after one of my weddings (shuddup), at least four (and maybe more) of my invited guests engaged in a little group sex at someone’s house after the reception.   And I personally invited all of them, but I certainly cannot be held responsible for their post-festivity fun ‘n games, can I?

I blame the “open bar” for all of it, myself.  I don’t know whether the accused (above) can use the same defense.

Quibbles

Drive Time

When you set yourself up as judges to discover the “Greatest Sports Car Of All Time“, you need to use a decent track for the test.  Which the guys at Road & Track  did, choosing the lovely Lime Rock Park circuit in northern Connecticut (which I’ve driven round a couple times before, once in a BMW 3-series, and again in a restored ’65 Mustang), and the track is perfect for the task (right-click to embiggen).

However, in such a competition you can always count on amateurs such as I to question the choices of the finalists.  Which in this case were:

  1. 1949 MG TC
  2. 1954 Mercedes-Benz 300SL
  3. 1965 Shelby 289 Cobra
  4. 1967 Porsche 911 S
  5. 1988 BMW M5
  6. 1995 McLaren F1
  7. 2001 Acura Integra Type R
  8. 2020 Mazda Miata MX-5

I have no problem whatsoever with the first four cars and the last car on the list:  all five are excellent choices, and are almost perfect sports cars.  Now for the bad news.

The Beemer M5 is a fine car — I once owned a “detuned” 525i myself — but by no stretch of the imagination could it ever be called a sports car, because it has four doors.  No.  Just… no.

Ditto the Acura.  I think that the selection committee for this exercise got carried away with engine performance which, need I remind anyone, might be a prerequisite for a track car or race car, but that’s not in the sporting tradition (as I once mentioned here and here ).

In similar vein, the MacLaren doesn’t belong here, just as the Porsche 918 or Ferrari 458 would be out of place in this company.

So scratch those three imposters from the list.  Which begs the question:  what three (actual) sports cars should take their place?

I don’t think that anyone would argue against the 1960s-era E-type Jaguar as my #1 choice for inclusion.

…even though its performance takes it perilously close to the “supercar” definition (and in its time, it certainly was).

No list of “Best Sports Cars” would be complete without at least one Ferrari (with the “supercar” reservation as above), and I think the 1960 Ferrari 250 California Spyder might pip all others –even the more modern ones — in the marque:

My third replacement would be the 1966 Alfa Romeo 1600 Spider Duetto:

Finally, as a concession to my Murkin Readers, I might be persuaded to substitute the 1965 Ford Mustang for one or the other of the cars — but while the Mustang is a undoubtedly fun car, I don’t think it’s really a sports car, when compared to the above.

Honorable mentions should also go to the 1959 Aston Martin DB4, the 1955 Ford T-bird, the Porsche 356, the Morgan (any year, although the Morgan is really just a perfected version of the MG TC), the Honda S2000 and the BMW 507.

 

If you go along with my rejection of the two 4-door models and the outright supercar, then which three cars (not necessarily listed here) would you substitute?

Two Down, Lots To Go

Friends and Family

Just thought I’d point out that today is New Wife’s second (!) wedding anniversary with Yours Truly.  All commentary about the burden she has to bear and her saintlike patience will be passed on.  (She doesn’t visit this place more than once or so a week, because she’s not interested in guns or politics.)

I am a lucky man.

Of Course They Will

Anarchist thugs, BaconLettuceMayo

Here we go:

More than 300 District of Columbia National Guardsmen will be in Washington this week to help support police officers patrolling protests scheduled by supporters of President Donald Trump this week.

“We have received confirmation that the D.C. National Guard will be assisting the Metropolitan Police Department, beginning tomorrow through the life cycle of this event,” Metropolitan Police Chief Robert Contee III told reporters at a press conference on Jan. 4.

National Guard personnel will be assisting police officers from Jan. 5 to 7 with crowd management and traffic control, freeing officers “to focus on anyone who’s intent on instigating, agitating, or participating in violence in our city,” he added.

Mayor Muriel Bowser, a Democrat, revealed she’d requested National Guard help in a Dec. 31 letter to District of Columbia National Guard Commanding General William Walker.

Bowser said guardsmen wouldn’t be armed and wouldn’t be involved in domestic surveillance, searches, or seizures of Americans.

Damn right they won’t be.  That would be un-Constitutional, not that the godless Socialists ever cared much about that.

As long as Mayor Trotsky keeps the Guard hanging around the inevitable crowd of Commie agitators (that would be the BLM / Pantifa ilk), there shouldn’t be any violence.  I’m not holding my breath.

I just wish I could be there.  I do plan on watching it on TV while I sharpen my M4 bayonet, whispering, “Soon, soon, my Precioussss…”

Captivated, Not Trapped

Entertainment

What a lovely surprise.

I just finished watching the Scandi-cop (set in Iceland) show Trapped on BezosTV, and it’s beyond-words excellent.  The characters are quite real:  they’re like people you meet everyday — no superhero dead shots, no Clinty-style fistfights, people blundering through tragedy and triumph with a complete absence of witty one-liners — in short, just about the way real people behave.   And speaking of real, the unlikely lead character is the bearlike  Icelander Ólafur Darri Ólafsson with a truly magnificent performance.

As usual with Scandi-dramas, the story is complicated, with plenty of sub-plots which all somehow tie together in the end, but very believably.  It’s a tiny town in Iceland, after all, and it’s not surprising that everyone is somehow connected.

Don’t get me started on the setting and the scenery:  I’m still shivering.

This is not a show to be missed.  I’m going to take a break before I watch the second season so I can savor every memory of the first.  It’s that good.