I have to say that for an armchair commentator and pundit like me, there’s not much to write about at the moment — I’m really bored with politics — which is why the posts on this here back porch have recently been mostly about cars, boobs, guns and a little bit of art.
Not, as one Reader told me, that this is necessarily A Bad Thing, especially when it comes to the classics:
1935 SS (later Jaguar) 90 Airline
And just for the hell of it, a different take on the venerable Ruger 10/22: a twin-gun mount with a Gatling-style actuator and two 25-round mags:
John Atkinson Grimshaw — Boar Lane, Leeds
I would respectfully suggest that all the above are desirable, for different reasons.
Ah yes, ’twas that time of year when Perv City could live up to its reputation:
On Sunday night, during Carnival celebrations, five people – including a young girl – were shot around 9.30pm.
And no, that’s not Rebel Wilson.
Would I want to go there?
“Hot needles” and “scrotum” come to mind…
How are the mighty fallen:
A leading Bruce Springsteen fanzine has announced it will cease publication after 43 years because the artist’s fanbase became disillusioned by unaffordable concert tickets.
Backstreets magazine said both its editorial staff and fans had become ‘dispirited’ and ‘downhearted’ after prices for some tickets to the artist’s 2023 arena tour reached $4,000 each last year.
‘These are concerts that we can hardly afford; that many of our readers cannot afford; and that a good portion of our readership has lost interest in as a result.’
Springsteen’s humble beginnings in New Jersey and the relatability of his music once earned him the reputation of being ‘the voice of the working man’.
In his early years, Springsteen played at any bar in which he could make money. He earned the nickname the Boss because he would collect and distribute gig money among band members, Andrew Delahunty, the author of the Oxford Dictionary of Nicknames, told the BBC in 2009.
Mark Kemp of Rolling Stone magazine once described Springsteen as ‘a working-class hero: a plainspoken visionary and a sincere romantic whose insights into everyday lives – especially in America’s small-town heartland – have earned comparisons to John Steinbeck and Woody Guthrie.’
Yeah, well now he’s just a woke dollar-chasing asshole, like so many of his ilk.
I never cared for his tuneless bellow anyway, so I have no dog in this fight. But these people need to be brought back down to earth by the people who were actually responsible for their success. Nowadays, their success seems to be driven by those bloodless fucks at TicketMaster, and a pox on them too.
Am I the last man to discover the excellent War Factories series on the Eeeewww Choob?
If you haven’t watched it, kiss your weekend goodbye, as I did last weekend.
You can thank me later.
There’s also the sulky-looking and acerbic Alexandra Churchill to be seen occasionally. She really, really hates the Nazis from the 1940s — and who can blame her?
Oh, and she’s definitely not related to WSC:
If this is the New Breed of Lady Historians, bring it on.
Via the Knuckledragger, I see this little exercise:
Get Taylor Swift front row seats, or buy this instead
Given that I would rather be boiled in oil than have to sit through a Taylor Swift concert, never mind caught at a distance where I would be sprayed by her saliva as she mimes her way through her dreadful repertoire, it’s an interesting thought:
What’s a decent way to blow $11,000 (!) instead of a front-row ticket in Hell?
The guidelines are: assume that you have no debts to pay off, and that the eleven grand is just to be spent on yourself. What would give you the greatest satisfaction or enjoyment? (Be as silly as you want; one of the suggestions in the article was to buy yourself a pallet of Arizona Iced Tea — which for me, by the way, would be only marginally less horrible than the aforementioned concert ticket.)
You can choose to spend it on just one thing, or on several.
Your suggestions in Comments; my choices will be below the fold.
For some reason, this story made me feel good today:
RONNIE O’SULLIVAN says he is a ‘snooker fake’ who should not be playing.
The Rocket is bidding to extend his record of seven UK Championships after beating Matthew Stevens in round one yesterday. But O’Sullivan, 47 next month, said: “I shouldn’t even be playing at my age. I don’t take it too seriously. I find it all quite funny really. I have a bit of an impostor syndrome. I felt happier when I had that run of losing five finals. But when I started winning tournaments again I didn’t really feel I deserved it. It felt like a plot to allow me to do it, and I felt like a fake.”
“When I won the worlds again in May I didn’t feel great about it. I am feeling flat to be honest with you and don’t want to play snooker at the moment. I don’t play much and really don’t care. I mainly keep coming because it’s something to do.”
Easy to say when you’re the greatest snooker player of all time. But I love his honesty.
Here’s Ronnie not caring… yeah, it’s four hours long, but then again, it’s absolutely incredible. Watch it tonight, for a Friday Night Movie; or you can watch the first 15 minutes for the opening frame, and then the last few frames.