InstaPunk Returns

So Yeah. There’s a hole in the bathroom ceiling. When it rains  we put down buckets and towels. You got a problem with that?  We call it nouveau pauvre . And we’re fine with it. Fun, in fact. There comes a time in a thinking man’s life when he asks himself how would I describe the story of my life? How do you count up the wins and losses? Did you win? Did you lose? Are you happy? Are you sad?  Did you make any difference by being here all these years? Any major regrets? Guilty thoughts? Un-atoned sins? Things you did you never ever thought you would do? You know what? I have a hole in the bathroom roof and I have no regrets, no guilt, no twisting pains in my soul. But I am worried about how to care for my wife and stepdaughter during the next godawfully terrible year that awaits us. I am an old man, but in some curious way I am still an innocent. My wife just said, “as innocent as Clint Eastwood.” The easy way out for old white guys has always been this: He did it his way. I didn’t. F

 Breitbart’s Ad Bonanza What the world is seeing every day. Every day on Breitbart. What you’re not seeing. What the uniforms really look like: And yeah, it’s no joke. Here’s the story, courtesy of   The Indianapolis Star . Those NBA bun-hugging shorts of the 1980s? They were dreadful.   The singlets high schools wrestlers pull on? Downright ugly. Women's beach volleyball uniforms? They leave too little to the imagination, given all the jumping they do. But none of these — or any other sports uniforms — hold a candle to the  new uniforms of a Colombia women's cycling team , Instituto Distrital de Recreación y Deporte-Bogotá Humana-San Mateo — Solgar that is backed by Bogotá's District Institute of Recreation and Sport, the University San Mateo, Solgar Vitamins and supported by the Colombian Cycling Federation. The women revealed the "kits," as they're called, this past weekend during the Tour of Tuscany in Italy. When photos hit social media, people were outr

  All right. Won’t be any surprise. I always gave women their due, I thought, when it came to singing. I loved Piaf, Ella, Doris Day, Lena Horne, Billie Holliday, Ronnie, Janis Joplin, Whitney Houston to a point, you know, all the good ones, even Martha Tilton. I even made excuses for the also-rans, Grace Slick, Stevie Nicks, Pat Benetar, the Heart sisters, Janet Jackson, Diana Ross, and even Roberta Flack, who broke my heart with two songs and was never heard from again. (No. Find your own links.) But when it came to opera I knew nothing. Nothingk. My wife and I grappled with the great Pagliacci-Domingo debate. One’s too this, one’s too that. Nessun Doooormat. Blah blah blah. Until the day she brought up Maria Callas.  Well, I knew all about her. Nice beak. Onassis castaway? Opera? Wasn’t she that? Who’d want Jackie? I mean, really. Eurotrash. And Pat said, “Have you ever actually listened to her?” Well, no. I stopped listening to sopranos when WFLN kept talking about Joan Sutherland

It’s not that they’re smart, though some of them are. Smart or not, they all do this, every time. 1. They go nuclear right away. “I forgot to take out the trash? Sorry.” “You always never ever ALWAYS…!!!!!!!!” 2. When you introduce logic or any kind of defense of what just happened they leave the room very ostentatiously, taking hostage witnesses with them. “What you always say” being the Parthian shot. “God. Shit,” they add as they slam the door.  3. They pretend later they didn’t say the nasty things they’d said, or they were just upset. And you fall for the whole act, every time. Well, you must have done something wrong. Where I’m exempt. In 16 years of marriage, during which I’ve written hundreds of thousands of words a year , I’ve never said anything nasty about my wife. Although, at times, I have like my Episcopalian General Confession, “Done things I ought not to have done, or left undone things I ought to have done.” None of which included adultery, strip clubs, gambling, girl

This woman is disgusting. So are most of us. Genuine atheists and those in denial, too. No intention of making fun here. No irony on my mind. It’s not just the Roe activists. It’s not racial. It’s everyone.  Let me set the scene. I’m sitting listening right now to 60s soul. Not just the stars but the frisbeeing slew of .45 records that made people believe, more than MLK, that here were voices who knew more about love than white people, whose burr of voice rolled through bedrooms and rustled curtains with something dark, delicious, and ineffable. The picture up top makes that a joke. Okay.  Yes, it’s a form of ethnic, even eugenic suicide, passionately believed in. But it’s hardly an anomaly. It’s everyone in the world. I have smelled the earthen, living, smell of the black nurses who looked after my wasted, blank, white grandmother. It wasn’t sexual. I was still a kid. I knew they were helping her keep living. Though in my teens, I did once kiss the cheek of the one who had done the mo

 I thought I could do this for a while. I really can’t. All I have of the Baby White House. Kill your babies. The Future will thank you for the lesson.

 Is Nothing Sacred to Republicans? He was a great man. But you can’t pick your descendants. You see, this happened sometime last night and early this morning.  There is death and then a murder of crows. T’was ever so. By great good happenstance, the final act of revolting destruction was witnessed by Edith Zaplowski, the gap-toothed waitress Joe Biden immortalized in his winsome New Yorker profile a couple presidential runs ago. She recognized the driver of the tractor that dumped the crushed remains of the Rodney statue at the Thomas Capano Memorial Landfill, just off the Brandywine Extension from Bear, DE. Not only that, she had a Polaroid of the presidential blasphemer immediately after his dismount from the crushing machine. It was crumpled but recognizable. Edith  is now searching for the camera she used. She’s sure she safetied it somewhere.  Congressman Schiff had been present at a Biden family luau celebrating the end of inflation and immediately phoned the Attorney-General, Me

Trump wasn’t even the one who started the unpleasantries for a change.  Dunn, or whoever’s really in charge these days, put a flea in FJB’S ear to mock Donald Trump using the term ULTRA-MAGA and then the MAGA King. Here’s the behind-the scenes story of how it supposedly happened. Go ahead. Start the soundtrack for this painting. Quoting from the article linked above: “Liberal, Democratic Party-aligned strategists, pollsters, and think tank experts spent six months coming up with the “ultra MAGA” label that President Joe Biden has begun to deploy against Republicans ahead of a difficult midterm election. The  Washington Post  reported  Friday: Biden’s attempt to appropriate the “MAGA” brand as a political attack was hardly accidental. It arose from a six-month research project to find the best way to target Republicans, helmed by Biden adviser Anita Dunn and by the Center for American Progress Action Fund, a liberal group. The polling and focus group research by Hart Research and the G

Can’t help thinking, Barbie is more than a doll. She’s an eternal icon. I’ve never thought all women had to fit some plastic mold, but I read about the latest attempt by Mattel to pander to new ❄️🙍🏽🤬🤮🧒❄️ constituencies, and I thought why not? If it makes them feel better about themselves, go for it. Though I did wonder why anyone could expect a 60-something year old doll named Barbie to be dragged into it. I found the main graphic for the new line. I mean, how realistic is that? Then I remembered seeing just a day or two ago that 60-something Madonna is actually having her own self reconfigured as a CGI earth mother of some sort, and I thought maybe all this re-imaging business is more important than I’d realized.  So I took a closer look at the Mattel advertising graphic and thought, “Hmm. Seems barely a start to me. They’ve hit a couple of bases, but they also left a lot on the table. I decided to try my own hand at doing better. [ Viewing tip : If you click image files to see