Being the continuation of InstaPunk and InstaPunk Rules
Hands Across the Water, Hands Across the Sea
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People say the left has no heart. This is very far from the truth. They are full of love and empathy for everybody but the evil ones among us, and they are very Old Testament in their conceptions of Justice. They believe absolutely in the Death Penalty and Hell forever after, except for the ones who get oppressed by the evil ones for their color, ethnicity, gender choices, sexual promiscuity and perversity, body odors, excretory preferences, criminal propensities and other mental illnesses, and every form of weakness except being too small to live anywhere but inside a woman’s body, to which they have no right at all. With the exceptions noted, they love absolutely everybody equally, especially people who work for the government and famous rich people who agree with them about all of the above.
Everybody acts like this is so hard to understand. It isn’t. It’s simple. You just have to have an eye for it. Know how to look for their heart and when they’re wearing it prominently on their sleeve.
A tableau that should, and will, bring tears to your eyes before the end of this post.
See? That’s why we at the Instapunk Times have taken the extraordinary step of expanding our reach to include a news division capable of covering and understanding the aspects of the non-MAGA population only a specialized kind of discernment can appreciate properly. To this end, we have recently acquired the struggling multimedia outlet called Brightbelt News.
A brave voice in the wilderness with a touching story all its own, covered Below the Fold.
Yes, you can learn more about Brightbelt later, but for now all you need to get you started is their maiden post at IPR. Which is in their capable hands, from here to the end.
The Politics of Martyrdom and Verse Vīsa
The Charlie Kirk Hoax, as it will one day be known, is the most cynical ploy yet by a Trump oligarchy intent on imposing fascism on the United States and the rest of the world too. Who could imagine they’d be willing to sacrifice one of their own to deal a deadly blow to the forces of wisdom and light who oppose them? Imagination doesn’t matter when you have a rifle in an open carry state. In the state of Utah something violent happened last week, and depending on your political human values, what happened was either a cold-blooded assassination of a hero or a harsh but overdue levying of Social Justice on a dangerous fascist.
Regardless of how you see it and express yourself about it personally, the result was creation of a martyr for the cause of autocratic oppression of the ordinary people across the country. The parades and speeches in support of the new martyr began immediately, but then eerily parallel act of political violence occurred, receiving huge coverage of its own.
The power of MAGA was applied to the crisis of a dissenting and irreverent voice. The response was a death blow not to a lone human body but to a whole American institution.
This one of those cases where the perilous spark ignites a fa larger fire than anyone could have thought possible. The Senior Senator from New York took a stand of mythic scale against the totalitarian oppression of free speech to an American who wasn’t even in the country without papers. Here’s how it went:
He meant every word. The way he always does.
Then, as happens in American life, all hell broke loose. The victim of the indecent assault on his freedom chose to fight back.
SCOOP: Multiple news outlets are reporting that ABC has pulled the Jimmy Kimmel late night show from its broadcast lineup indefinitely, beginning tonight. What no other source has reported is Kimmel’s response to the allegation that he knowingly lied about the motive of the Sept 10 assassination.
“No one has even talked to me about this,” he said. “The fact is that this has nothing to do with what I said on TV last night. I say shit. We all do. but I get singled out. This is the most glaring example of the Trump administration’s installational racism, which I have long been a victim of going back to when I was a pioneer as a biracial entertainer before no one else was. You know what I’m saying?”
“It’s stone hardcore racism is what it is,” he said. The angry host continued his rant, calling out the involvement of surly white supremacist health clubs located near the ABC studio, as well the devious machinations of failed (and envious) biracial entertainer Vanilla Ice, who was on the show once and stole one of Jimmy’s basketball trophies.
“I’m going to get me that lawyer, you know the one, where the glove don’t fit. I know exactly what we’ll tell that jury. If the Frame don’t fit, you must, uh, quit trying to convict me. My man Jussie says it’ll be a cinch to get off with the right reporters on the case.”
When Kimmel took time out to catch his breath, a personal assistant volunteered that the talk show star was already booked to appear on The View with “that Sunny Hostin, Whoopi, and that old Jewish lady.”
From across the room, Kimmel shouted, “I’ll knock their socks off. You’ll see. You got that?”
Yes, we got it and now you got it too. Can’t wait for the Kimmel-Hostin hookup. He looks eager…
Now the game is afoot for real. Overnight, infusions of cash and ready volunteers put in place the first step,of a step of state funeral for the Jimmy Kimmel Show. A casket filled with the precious videotaped episodes of the show were put on display in a flag-draped casket and hundreds verging on a thousand mourners passed through the Capitol Rotunda to,pay their respects for the Death of Democracy.
One cynically conceived Republican martyr had just been outshine by a far bigger martyr worth many hundreds of millions of dollars for decades to come.
Sooner or later, they all came to honor the fallen standard of a nation. Pelosi, Schumer,
a bunch of the others too, whether they’d been able to don their dashikis or not.
Incredibly moving and newsworthy for all the alphabet cameramen in the audience.
What happens next is, as the old adage goes, in the lap of the DNC.
This is a DEVELOPING STORY…
Below the Fold…
As promised some background information on the Brightbelt News Divison. It was launched yewrs ago by an incredibly talented video editor named Pamela Key, who found herself oppressed and abused, both personally and professionally by the ruling patriarchy of the Breitbarf Website and Import-Export Company.
As working conditions grew worse, Key ceased to be permitted to write any copy on her own but identifying pronouns of speakers. She was required to record interviews from streaming broadcasts and then employ company technology to transcribe the words into Breitbarf Internet posts, intended Key believed, to be read by no one ever. Her pay was reduced repeatedly until she was actually forced to live in a storage area behind the editorial offices.
This is a photographic memento of that sorry period in her life.
Then she managed to make a physical escape by signing a contract with a major GOP donor who was so infatuated with her feral social behaviors that he underwrote her own journalistic endeavor called Brightbelt News.
She continued to work at Breitbarf to maintain her access to wire copy and Rolodexes of like-minded dissident journalists. All came crashing to a halt some months into the project when her sponsor ran off to Borneo with a lycanthropic boy from Brentwood.
Now it’s time to turn the page again. Here is our once and future Brightbelt editor.
The great news is that many of her former correspondents are still available to work with her. One day at a time. We’ll have to see how it all goes. Just like the oh-so promising martyrdom of Jimmy Kimmel. Perhaps Brightbelt can even be a bridge between the starkly divisive media world of the past and the ‘both sides now’ approach of reshaping the truth in ways pleasing to everybody…
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...
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 ...
This is what I call an omnibus post. That is, it will contain many links to what I have published here and elsewhere previously. Not going to apologize for that. I don’t mind asking you to read a variety of approaches to the same gigantic topic. It’s a tooic so big we’ve all become accustomed (or trained ourselves) to deal with it only in pieces. But the pieces are all part of a larger whole that has grave consequences for the cukture as a whole. A great many people aren’t going to like what I have to say here, but it’s time it was said. I won’t be mincing words. If you feel like contending with specific points I am making, you’re well advised to read what’s at the links before you cut yourself the easy break of dismissing this post as irrational or wrongheaded or over-generalized. It isn’t. It just won’t be popular. A word about the word ‘general’ as it used in vernacular expressions like ”in general” or “generally speaking.” We all do generalize, mostly without acknowledging that whe...
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...
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. ...
Invocation of Nemesis by the Summoners Click on Rosie. Thought I’d get this part out of the way right up front. I’m reminded of Oscar Wilde’s famous quip about the upper class British sport of fox hunting: “The unspeakable in pursuit of the inedible.” As it happens, I’m working on two different posts at the same time this morning. This one and another one about the sad PR plight by the unfortunate middle child of the three worst First Ladies in American history. . What the posts have in common is that the dominating element of both stories is a function of female psychology and can only be understood in those terms. There’s also the irony that Wilde’s jibe can be applied with some justice to both predator and prey in the two posts. Because I’m going to admit at the outset what most of the MAGA faithful won’t. You are right that Donald Trump is responsible for much of the imminent danger we are facing as a nation. Without his arrival on the political scene 11 years ago, the...
Minimalism has been a periodic ideal of modern and post-modern esthetics. Purely arbitrary, of course, though not without possibilities and even infinities of its own. For example, there are those who regard Haiku as a sort of supreme test of the poet, since poetry is commonly defined as the best words in the best order. This leaves the door open for imagining that there is an absolute minimum definable for capturing profound truth in the fewest of the best words in the least of the best order. In Haiku there must be 17 syllables, some reference to a season (ensuring universality I guess), and a prohibition against rhyme to prevent cheating (another guess). What if this definition of the minimum is wrong? What if there’s some way to reach great truths in less than 17 syllables? In less than a single word even? And, gasp, in less than a single letter on the page? Impossible? Well, why the hell not? I propose that the graphic above is a poem, subject to meaningful exploration, inte...
You see. What they don’t see. The atheist view. The Dawkins view. He is not responsible for explaining how parameciums got here, only how parameciums became the Vatican. Except he doesn’t put it that way. His job is the childishly simple task of explaining how the Law of Entropy (all things fall apart, the only law any scientist accepts) somehow gives us Shakespeare, Blake, and Tilden, the author of the King James Bible. Evolutionists think they’re not responsible for how life came to be. Did you know that? Whole different question to them. Not their job. All that sky out there? Billions of stars. Irrelevant. Galapagos Island. Moths with changing wings. That’s the job of the Blind Watchmaker. Why he is smarter than God and a critic of his work. Well, I’m asking you all to forget the partitioning off of the heavens. And everything else you have to forget to believe there’s no meaning in life. Life. To me, the funniest thing about the evolutionary spiels is how they always argue fo...
…and a weird dose of nostalgia, as for something half remembered. What did you do for your Memorial Day remembrances? We watched the laying of the wreath at the Tomb of the Unknowns and the President’s speech. The audience was large, and the people there looked amazingly normal. Attentive and respectful. The way our parents taught us to be at solemn events. We heard the fireworks begin after dark and put the Thundershirt on our terrier Tommy, who isn’t entirely sure that fireworks aren’t an approaching thunderstorm. All we needed of that timeless ritual, since we’ve both been to many such occasions, including the field a mile away where the Salem event is always held. It was only at bedtime that I tried something new. In my constant search for background sounds that facilitate the hours of sleep I get before the inevitable wee hours summons to the keyboard, I try different things, usually intended to be monotonous and therefore soporific. British crime documentary series are...
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