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…
2028
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.
Ontogeny recapitulates philogeny. There’s an intensely contemporary reason for taking a close look at Scientology. The Swamp is so huge it seems like the Borg. But what are the stripped down essentials of the Borg? Here’s a look at a laboratory example, a microcosm if you will. In the interests of full disclosure, I did encounter Scientology back in the weird year of 1968. I was in Boston, got scooped in to a “Dianetics” exercise, and got speedily thrown out for having too much “charge” to participate. The one in charge was blond, bland to the point of creepy, and I almost (but not quite) succeeded in making him lose his temper. In further interests of disclosure, I spent years on Facebook, debating Trump-haters. They did lose their tempers. But they also exhibited the exact same repetition of Talking Points the lefties (and Scientologists) employ. Exact. Same. Words. How I made the cult connection. Overview Like it says. Troublemaker. Destroy Utterly Horror Show Squared More ... More
Everybody rushed in after the fact to be first with the goods on how Trump pulled off the biggest electoral upset in modern presidential history. I was already ahead of them though. I had been covering the political briar patch with a steady diary approach for four presidential election cycles, both terms of W, the meteoric rise and weird re-election of Barack Obama, and of course the first flutterings of the Republican country club riot over replacing him. I had three blogs to draw from over that time, and a couple+ books out of it, including one demonstrating that I had Obama figured out long before even his fiercest beltway critics caught on. Here’s another relevant book . I recognized the unique potential of Trump to win the whole thing early, in June of 2014. I could prove it. Why has it taken me this long to do my own book about the most spectacular politician of all our lifetimes? Two reasons. I didn’t realize I had produced so much material about Trump, the blog in whic
As you work your way through the links here, don’t be shy. Get ‘Click Happy.’ Even on pics. FIGHTING BACK ONE FILE AT A TIME … How bad has it gotten? I uploaded this video from the old Instapunk at YouTube an hour ago. It has already been removed for violating YT Community Standards. There’s a pdf version, just published, of the post from Instapunk.com the video above was created for. Nobody censored it 15 years ago. Back then, it was unquestioningly covered as freedom of expression. Here’s my pdf file of ‘ The Goosestep Enigma ’. This was by no means the most controversial post or graphic included in Instapunk’s 2,000+++ posts over the years. Now I’m going back in time to make pdf versions of the key parts of that website, meaning the most comical, controversial, reflective, insightful, and graphically provocative. But why reinvent the wheel. It’s all still there, isn’t it? The sad fact is that the truly huge resource called Instapunk.com is facing a ticking clock. The original site
Cover of U.K. Edition, 1991 Manuscript Submission, The Boomer Bible It is time to republish The Boomer Bible. The book is more relevant to the body politic now than it was even when it was first published. Your instructions call for complete manuscript submission. Here that is, in three forms, plus a depth backgrounder: The Boomer Bible (Full screen view available, May load slowly) http://TheBoomerBible.com (Three testaments including LIVE Intercolumn Reference) The Boomer Bible (physical hard copy; Amazon sells them as they periodically acquire them) The Boomer Bible Website (The original archived background site, not originated by the author but by students of the book) The book also has its own Wikipedia Page . My cv . The Boomer Bible is officially out of print, no longer offered for sale by the original publisher, who offered the book for nearly 30 years, selling out the the original 88,000-copy print run before withdrawing the title. The rights have therefore reverted to
Funny as hell and deadly serious Let me begin on a note we can all agree on. There is a time in our teen lives when we imprint on popular music. What we were listening to during the dramatic changes in our bodies, social lives, and aspirational identities stays with us, regardless of what we come to value and treasure later in life. Everyone has those certain songs that are foundational chords in their lives, and they respond physically to even a few notes of the recordings that gave rise to their libidos and, well, self . Two not unrelated things. This is a constant and nothing new. There are Sinatra imprints, Elvis, Beach Boys, Dylan, Motown, Beatles, Stones, Who, Doors, Bowie, Joni Mitchell, Judy Collins, Pink Floyd, James Taylor, Michael Jackson, Phil Collins, James Brown, Rick James, Springsteen, Metallica, and on and on and on imprints. (Apologies to the imprinters in Country, Disco, Jazz, and Blondie/Madonna Pop, have my own chords there too.) I never judge those. We just all
Another has-been life ruined beyond repair. Trump Curse writ large. Rosie O’Donnell still can’t get over the fact that Trump won the Republican nomination in 2016 by blowing off Megyn Kelly’s gotcha question about his mean tweets to women, using her as the completely understandable punchline. Millions of men, and even some women, said to themselves, “I would do that too.” She’s a sad case. But this latest outburst got me to thinking. Maybe I’ve been unfair to The Donald myself over the years. With my wife and others, I’ve taken the position that I admire Trump as a President and would-be savior of the Republic. I’ve also said I wouldn’t have him in my house for dinner. Or, less pompously, that I have never had any desire to meet him in person. I have fought strenuously for his political life and fortunes. No one can deny that. But I also fought for George W and Mitt Romney (as I had done for McCain, whom I genuinely despised) when they were running. Didn’t want to meet them eit
2028
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