Screwing Up The Brand (2)

Following on from yesterday’s post about Stella Artois peeing in their own soup comes yet another example of marketing silliness:

Country star Luke Combs has apologized for appearing with Confederate flags, saying he is now aware of how painful that flag is.

Ummm Luke, bubba:  the Confederate flag may be painful to some, but it is not painful to your audience.

And just so we’re clear on the concept:  that “audience” would be the folks who buy your albums, attend your concerts and wear your T-shirts;  and in a pure head count they probably outnumber the flag-hating weenies by 25,000 : 1.

Now I don’t know if continuing to display the Stars and Bars at your concerts would disenchant folks in the crowd — just in passing, I bet your next concert will reveal an absolute sea of Confederate flags in the audience — but I’m pretty sure that a whole bunch of your fans are going to be mightily pissed off that you took a knee towards the Politically-Correct Set.

And the problem with doing that is that these woke bastards are never satisfied, especially after you do it once.  Expect your lyrics to come under scrutiny from now on:  references to cheating women will be labeled “gender-hatred”, singing about booze will be considered as encouraging alcoholism, and forget your pickup truck, that gas-guzzling ozone-destroying monster.

And if a country singer can’t sing about love, booze and trucks, there’s fuck-all left for him to sing about.


Oh, and a postscript:  just wait till the vegans see this pic…

I should also point out that until I wrote this post, I’d never heard of Luke Combs.

Favorites

Some rabbi has written out a reasoned response to the Chinkvirus vaccination issue, and lists his thirty-one reasons why he is refusing to get the jab.

Others would have confined themselves to five, or ten — but he’s a rabbi so he had to go into excruciating detail.  (My Tribe Readers will know exactly what I’m talking about.)

Your job, should you choose to accept it, is to read his list and pick your top three reasons (assuming you agree with some, disagree with others, as I do).

No need to cut & paste the whole thing;  I’ll do a quick tally and show the winner, giving three points for your first choice, two for the second and so on.

I won’t count my choices in the total, but this was my absolute favorite, his #15:

Those who raise concerns about this medical treatment are being bullied, slandered, mocked, censored, ostracized, threatened, and fired from their jobs. This includes medical professionals who have science-based concerns about the drug and caregivers who have witnessed people under their charge suffering horrible reactions and death shortly after being injected. When the establishment is purging good people who risk everything simply to raise concerns about a new medical treatment — even if they don’t outright oppose it — I will trust these brave people over the establishment every time. I cannot think of a single similar case in history when truth and morality turned out to be on the side of the establishment.

As anyone who knows me well can tell you:  the more I am nagged, bullied or coerced into doing something, the less likely I am to do it, to an exponential degree.

Bravo, Rabbi.

Gloom

Blogging has always been fun.  It’s fairly easy for me to write about, well, anything, and when all else fails, there’s always this:

…this:

…or this:

In these times, however — the times that try men’s souls (to coin a phrase) — there seems little incentive to pass comment about what just happened to us, and what is likely to happen to us.  All I feel is sullen rage, resentment and a burning desire to bite the head off a rattlesnake.

I wish sometimes that I could be a Lefty, and take to the streets, burn shit down and in general act like a 10-year-old child;  but I can’t do that.  The very thought of causing destruction to innocent people’s property, or beating people up in the streets, or doing any of that crap that the Left are so fond of doing when they feel aggrieved — well, I’m not going to do any of it.  Futile gestures are not my thing.

But at the same time, I feel like I’m living in some kind of hellish limbo.  I know, this is no doubt how the Left felt after Hillary Clinton lost;  but the difference is that while Trump was never going to put homosexuals into concentration camps, or overturn Roe v. Wade, or start deporting people en masse, there is every reason to suspect that the new crop of Lefties really are going to raise our taxes, try to confiscate our guns, muzzle our voices and fuck up our economy under the guise of “saving the planet” or some such bullshit.

So please forgive me if over the next few days or so the quality of this blog seems to head downhill, wherein I seem to be just mailing it in instead of giving it the gas.

Normal service will resume shortly, probably with even more invective and loathing than before.  Right now, however, I just feel like tying George Soros to a chair and beating him to death with a baseball bat.

And I may just reconfigure this blog somewhat, with a new, less self-pitying name.  Watch this space, and content yourself with this thought:

Technically Speaking

 

The Whore Of The Bronx may have a point, for once:

Rep. Alexandria Ocasio-Cortez (D-NY) on Tuesday declared that “sex work is work”

We need to examine her statement a little.  Let’s postulate that “work” is something you do that you’d rather not do with strangers, for money.

Which sounds like every job I’ve ever had in my entire life.

Wokey Pokey

Seen at C.W.’s place a while back, this:

You would have to have a heart of stone not to laugh hysterically.  “Diverse rolodex” ?

By the way:  the only “beautiful and diverse” thing is an actual rainbow.  As a social construct, diversity is unnatural and doomed to failure, but we’ll let the Loonies find that out all by themselves.

As for the title of this post, I have coined it to describe the death process that is intrinsic to Insty’s “Get Woke, Go Broke” expression.  So when some organization starts going into the crapper as a result of wokism, we’ll call it “doing the wokey pokey”.

It’s a happy little dance… well, for us, anyway.