Being the continuation of InstaPunk and InstaPunk Rules
Guess I’m the last one who’s fighting back with nunchucks…
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YEAH. THE VP DEBATE
You have no idea. This is all an apotheosis for me. The Joke meme has captured me. Like, you know, I know there will be Democrats out there and vociferating about how good Walz did in appropriate ethnic accents.
Defending Kamala was always a loser. Bathos is hell.
And they think this POS is on their side. They do.
Actually this is called projection. Here’s the real basis of Tim Walz. A banjo-banging would-be wise man who claimed Minnesota children were “above average.”
Keep watching, rolling over to the next vid too. Keillor is a Walz… uh huh.
Older, fatter, meltier…
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My very first blog, Gloves Off, contained a spirited defense of the ones we used to call Ladies. All gone now except for the ones still motoring onward with walkers and cute hair with no cosmetic surgery. They were mostly mothers. Not all. I have memories none of you can match — my own mother, Addie and Adelaide, Mildred Conklin, Gwendolyn Fennessy, Emma Jones, Rosa Riggs, Joy Coleman, Sis Hine, Isabel Johnson… The one named Isabel used to own our house before we did. She was a D.O., meaning an osteopath, and she helped my mother after that horrible car accident in 1956, when Katie the Irish Setter went for help and nobody helped.
Doctor Isabel had an antique shop. She knew about a place up to the right of her house where they had buried the first black naval officer in America. I bought gifts for my mother at her shop. Saved up. Four dollars for one thing one time. I still remember her severe bun, spry frame, and the Jeepster in her way up there driveway. And I forgot all about Gordie. Another great woman. Loved her. From Canada, crumpled face, married to Biff the mystery writer/accountant, members of “The Elder Youth Group” just up the road from the Hine Quarters mansion and across the road from Betsy Allen, the horrific woman with the killer German Shepherds who nearly killed mine.
Yes. I do know about good women. And bad women too.
Page 81 to 100. About great Women. Amazon.
All dead now. No great women anymore. (Except for the NIMH, aka Not In Matriarchal Horde, handled elsewhere.)
Which leaves us with men. Who are all (well, way way most) voting with Trump. Why?
Hmmmm. Men. The ones who keep everything running. Ladies. You’re pretty sure you’re running things now. With your License to Kill you don’t need us anymore. True? False.
You need the Bad Boys when the pubescent hormones kick in and your minds stop working. You ovulate and want to become pregnant and then you want to kill the product of your conjugation. The high moral plateau occupied by the Superior Sex. Is 30 million dead enough? No no no no…
The rest of it is bullshit too.
The Debate. Got it. Back to real stuff. The Dems are thinking Vance is the wrong guy for VP. What if they’re wrong about that? What if?
You think women don’t watch horror movies. The way they never stay in the truck, hit once with a mortal weapon and immediately drop it, and then ‘Run, run, run’ until they fall down and get their throats slashed and their bodies posed?
Like in Swimming events. And, uh, boxing. BOXING? When did women get so dumb? Years and years and years of movies showing tiny Asian women kicking the ass of big white men. DOES NOT HAPPEN.
So I’m working on a post about the female heroes. Still stockpiling posts they’ve given us who know and fight and live for western civilization, which also happens to include a deference for human life.
Amazing stuff. That wasn’t a debate. It was a mild, polite, almost friendly execution. Republicans gave it some thought. Don’t chase Walz into the weeds. That would make you look mean.
Made me think of this…
Cold? Yeah?
Why? Because it’s my favorite movie, that’s why.
Why? You be the judge…
I’m sorry. Belong to the subset of men who can kill. To keep other people alive. When they come for me, as they eventually will, I’ll be a hard one to take. Why? I have absolutely no interest in my interlocutors. They’re fence posts to me.
UPDATE 2/9/25: The promised post about admirable women is up. It’s called The New NIMH.
Happy Independence Day No. 250! I’m planning to do my part for the year-long celebration of the still remarkable birth of the United States of America. Just starting to realize that the number of us who remember the last big anniversary in 1976 is getting smaller every day. Why I have some special ideas about focusing on the moment of transition, that is the tick of the clock last night when the 249th year became the 250th. A kind of time capsule that may be buried now but dug up later to see who were way back when you were still as young as you think you are now. My credentials for the job. Quite a few actually, but the most important one today is that I was a working participant in the official Bicentennial celebrations back when I was still young. I wrote a post about it almost 10 years ago, ancient history in today’s 24/7 chronometer dial. In honor of the ones no longer with us from that time, I dug up the old post from the Wayback Machine and put it back together here a...
This is cross-posted from a confidential site I use to communicate with an old friend on matters more concerned with writing than this one normally is. Sometimes the two sites intersect in unexpected ways. (e.g., See The French Hurry-Up from Feb ‘26.) This does seem an appropriate follow-up to my most recent IPR post. Up to you what you make of it… Inevitably, another major commitment of my time called Instapunk Returns will occasionally stick its nose into the doings here. Working on both, I’m sometimes forced to ask myself how I got from Point A to Point XXX as I seem to have done yesterday at IPR. Specifically, how did I manage to get from here… Yes, I did ‘Shapes’ at graduation, but we all learned our ABCs too. …to here ? The concluding flourish of my latest IPR screed, Thoughts on Foul Language I put the Little Red Hen Nursery School in the same context with the song abcdefu because we all have an important personal timeline with respect to the alphabet. My...
The last group photo I’m a part of that’s still in my possession. My sister’s wedding in the late1990’s, with me and my mother in attendance, here in Salem. I don’t get out much anymore. Haven’t for a long time. If I didn’t take pictures of myself, nobody would, or could, anymore. I don’t give them the chance. Why in recent years I’ve made a point of doing an official birthday selfie, to keep track of the wear and tear of the years and see if the falling apart process is gaining speed. This year was not a good year for hair. That much I’ll tell you. But here’s the Official 74th Birthday Selfie I took on Friday. Not as young as I used to be. I hadn’t really shown this pic to anyone, but imagine my surprise when I received a gift yesterday by parcel delivery from a young lady I helped raise who will always be close to my heart. She and I hadn’t spoken about the Rolling Stones in years, but somehow she must have divined I’d been thinking of them, because here’s what she ordered sent ...
If you’ve never seen an Asylum production of their “Saving the World from Imminent Destruction” series, you’re excused from this post. The rest of us already know the basics. A once prominent, now disgraced scientist (often Sam Baldwin, but not always) is minding his own business making a living income and trying to mend his struggling family life when he notices that something is seriously amiss in the cosmos. Gravity isn’t working quite right. Or all the birds seem to be migrating at the same time. Or some local pond suddenly ejaculates a pillar of lava. You know. The warning knell of an extinction-level catastrophe. Meanwhile, where are the kids? They were supposed to be home by now. He calls his ex-wife. She doesn’t know where they are. He calls an old colleague at the agency in DC where nobody else will take his calls anymore. In a whisper, the colleague tells him the experts in charge haven’t noticed anything to worry about cosmologically speaking. This far in, we already know wh...
Lewis Hamilton wins Seventh World Championship at Formula 1 Grand Prix in Turkey: A stunning drive from Mercedes’ Lewis Hamilton in the Turkish Grand Prix gave him his 10th victory of the season – and, more crucially, saw him claim the seventh drivers’ title of his career, to equal the record of Michael Schumacher, as Racing Point’s Sergio Perez and Ferrari’s Sebastian Vettel completed the podium after a thrilling race in Istanbul. Hamilton had started the race in sixth, risen to third midway through the first lap and then dropped back to sixth by the end of Lap 1 after an error at Turn 9. But a decision to change his intermediate tyres just once saw Hamilton drive a masterful race to claim victory by over 25 seconds from Perez. The win alone was enough to claim championship #7, but it was even more assured after a disastrous race for Valtteri Bottas - the only man who could have stopped Hamilton winning the title today - who spun six times en route to a P14 finish.
The big historical questions of “What will happen?” are usually best settled in hindsight. The biggest questions generally concern whether or not some historical catastrophe was inevitable or not. The American Civil War. World War I. World War II. Meticulous historians, back when we had them, have given us answers to those three in particular. Yes, yes, and yes. The one that bears the strongest resemblance to our current turning point is our own American Civil War. The young constitutional republic had been born with a deadly contradiction at the heart of its founding documents, the Declaration of Independence, the Constitution, and the Bill of Rights. The reason for the contradiction was political compromise needed to secure sufficient nationwide support for the adoption of the Constitution. Slavery was a ticking time bomb from 1789 on. Eventually there would have to be a reckoning. Was actual warfare inevitable though? Yes. North and South were unified by their shar...
A cartoon stolen from ****ing Alarmy, who always watermark their stuff There comes a time when you realize some critical cultural variable has reached the kind of tipping point that transforms into chaos. I recently realized one of these tipping points has been reached when the streaming services, desperate for new product in the vacuum left by their failed woke productions, suddenly dumped a bunch of theatrical releases and straight to video movies from the years 2023 and 2024 on their platforms. I watch a lot of movies on streaming services, but I quickly learned not to watch anything dated ‘23 or ‘24. Too much gender confusion nonsense, too much (un)veiled lefty politicking about this and that, but most of all, way way too much foul language. I’d long had a rule that more than 10 F-bombs in 5 minutes was a signal to bail from any movie. Now I knew that this low bar couldn’t be met by the overwhelming majority of movies from the past few years. I’m not a prig. I probably hold ...
The CHYOS Club (Pronounced kīos, abbreviated ‘kos, meaning MR ) American Illuminati? We’ve all heard the legends of secret societies. The Renaissance story of the ‘Illuminati’ who rule the world as gray eminences behind the scenes is a legend unsupported by facts or, at any rate, evidence. We also know of outright hoaxes widely believed in, like the Priory of Sion made famous by admittedly fictitious Dan Brown novels and movies. But we also know that there are secret societies at every level of elite life. Who hasn’t heard dark whispers of Yale’s Skull & Bones, numbering the Bushes and John Kerry as members? At the international level, the Freemasons are a proven fact, even if their Illuminati-like influence is only widely believed in the UK, with its historical paranoia about Scotland, where freemasonry re-emerges as a follow-on to the Knights Templar. Great fun, mostly. Who doesn’t thrill to news about Bill schmoozing in the dark at the Bilderberger Group? Conspiracy? All t...
The Valley of the Jerseyikes When you’ve decided to your own satisfaction that life doesn’t end with physical death, what have you got to worry about? That probably depends on where you come down on the age-old questions about ghosts. Do they exist? Are they a possible fate of troubled souls after they’ve shuffled off this mortal coil or been yanked out of it too suddenly? What if you expire peacefully and find yourself waking up in the attic of your own house, somehow tethered to it with no watch you can trust to keep track of time? I know I’ve stopped wearing a watch at all, like almost all of you out there. Are we taking some kind of risk that we’ll miss the departure signal for the trip to the other side? One side effect of getting old and not liking most of what’s on teevee is that you wind up watching too many paranormal shows, which have the virtue of no politics, no gratuitous sex scenes, and extended stretches of restful watching with almost nothing happening on screen. ...
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