I have to admit, when I saw the “Dark Brandon” poster, I thought it was an inspired tongue-in-cheek satire from the Babylon Bee:
The real Biden can’t even rise to an occasion.
That said, if it means that the gloves are going to come off and his minions (FBI, DOJ, ATF etc.) are going to go Full Totalitarian on us…
If you’ll excuse me, it’s time for a little range session.
Brought to you by:
And the news will be only a little worse than a root canal (if that’s the name for that particular position; I’m kinda out of touch).
…big deal; pretty much everyone at the FBI could be busted for that.
From the Dept. Of The Blindingly Obvious:
…oh please: Ukraine is more desirable than New York or California.
…one more time, with feeling:
…chances of a school shooting in that county: <0
…if you ignore the “fascist” (which is just shorthand for “someone we don’t like”), we’re left with “White Nationalist”. The GOP isn’t even that.
…not to beat this dead hooker any more, but this wouldn’t have happened with nukes. You idiots.
…and then there are those like Your Grumpy Editor, who was never sweet on them to begin with.
…an inspired example of “community policing” — what happens when cops don’t do their duty. Local U.S. police forces, nota bene.
…when asked for a comment, Zeus said simply, “My bad, I missed.”
…and I’d like to wring this little Colorado cocksucker’s neck, but no doubt someone’s going to have a problem with this.
…the article is about HHS, but I’ve edited the headline to make it more all-purpose. Feel free to point out where I’m wrong.
And in link-free INSIGNIFICA:
…actually sorta btdt, no names, no pain.
…wait: Shania Twain is 56???
Now that’s news, if there ever was.
I had been pondering a post about songstress Olivia Newton-John for a couple days, when in one of those “synchronicity” moments I read about her death from cancer at age 73.
I never cared much for her music — that breathy Oz soprano does nothing for me — and I’ll always remember Alun Jones’s stinging first line of a review of the syrupy “I Honestly Love You” in Melody Maker: “…and I honestly think Olivia Newton-John is a cabbage.”
And I would agree, except for the lovely Magic and the astonishing Xanadu which, despite the nauseating 80’s disco feel, actually shows that the girl had a decent voice — the concluding ascendo to the final top note is absolutely breathtaking.
The reason for me thinking about her, incidentally, is that Magic was my weekend earworm.
R.I.P., Sheila.
We have a 3-for-1 series of quotes today:
From former Hong Kong governor Sir John Cowperthwaite, talking about his refusal to let his government collect data from the population:
“If I let them compute those statistics, they’ll want to use them for planning.”
From Eric Erickson, speaking about the BidenReich and the latest example of its bastardy:
“They don’t care about your privacy. They don’t care about your gun rights. They don’t care about congressional laws that prohibit the formation of a gun registry. They want to be able to target and harass gun owners.”
Mencken’s reminder:
“The only good bureaucrat is one with a pistol to his head. Put it in his hand and it’s goodbye to the Bill of Rights.”
Never more true than it is today.
I remember a story told to me once about a British bishop who was given a residence which happened to be in the middle of a golf course. As it turned out, the property was unfenced, which ordinarily wouldn’t have been an issue, except that the bishop owned a black Labrador pup and club regulations banned all dogs from the course.
So, in the best British manner, they made the dog a member of the club, which resolved the issue.
I was reminded of this story when I saw this article, with the exquisite headline:
Guinness-guzzling Shetland pony BANNED from pub just one week after being made mayor
The story goes:
Council bosses have banned the Guinness-loving horse from The Drum Inn, in Cockington, after he was given his special title at a ceremony held on July 23.
The honour was granted in response to an online campaign to elect him to the post following the death of previous mayor Don Mills.
Despite his job title, Patrick, a Miniature Shetland, is now in trouble, as a planning enforcement officer told the pub they need planning permission for him to be allowed to graze in the pub garden.
This is easily the most British story ever, in that it combines love of animals, eccentricity and humorless, bullying officialdom all in a single tale.
The only thing that would make it a perfect story would be if Patrick were to bite the pissy little planning enforcement officer in the ass the next time he ventured into the pub.
