ENOUGH double entendres

An army of 9-year-olds.

An army of 9-year-olds.

I haven’t posted for a while. Chalk it up to disgust. I’ve been forced to confront the fact that even the conservative new media are little more than 9 year olds addicted to fart and dick jokes. How easy was it to distract them from the ongoing dismantlement of the greatest nation in history? Give them a source of endless double entendres about a licentious minor league politico surnamed Weiner.

Drudge Report headlines about Anthony Weiner’s mayoral campaign:

  • Weiner Plunges In
  • Shrinkage
  • Weiner Sticks It Out
  • Campaign Now Working Short Staffed
  • Weiner’s Wife Gets the Short End of the Stick

Ha ha ha. While Detroit crashes, the president denies there are any scandals, and the MSM prepares to anoint the Bitch of Benghazi with political sainthood Hollywood style.

From Hot Air: Collapse: Weiner goes limp in new post-scandal poll

Yeah, that Allahpundit is a savvy wit, n’est-ce pas? And the usual semi-literate crew from Breitbart. Clever as a fourth-grader asking you to pull his finger in the boy’s room. What a sense of mission they inherited from the martyr Andrew….

From Breitbart: Wiener blows off Pelosi; New Yorkers Don’t Want Weiner to Pull Out

Good lord. Sick of it, I transferred my attention to a place where the writing is always good, always literate, mostly clean, and only occasionally lunatic: National Review Online. Now I’m using them to catch up on subjects I probably should have been commenting on. These are all excellent pieces, well written and argued, and I encourage you to read every word of every one.

National Review Articles

Goldberg: Bending the Trayvon Martin Tragedy to Fit
A good summary of what happened, how, and why it should rankle.

Hanson: Needed: A Tragic Hero
With one spectacular omission, an inspired view of the contemporary political scene from the viewpoint of anti-liberals.

Cooke: Ashamed of Patriotism
A reminder of who the moral relativists are.

Beito: The New Deal Witch Hunt
Some history all but a few of us have forgotten.

Sowell: The Tragedy of Isolation
Thomas Sowell. More about him later.

Prager: How Liberalism Makes It Easier to Sin
Oh, you were a little bit interested in the ramifications of the Wiener scandal? Here you go. No dirty jokes.

Fund: Get Ready for the All-Hail-Hillary Movies
Diane Lane as Hillary? Does that pass the laugh test? And a few other historical facts that don’t either.

Stuttaford: Our Climate-Change Cathedral
Global Warming in a longer historical context than the faithful would be comfortable with. Predictions of such nonsense as far back as the early 19th century. Enjoy.

Charen: What Happened to the Monica Lewinsky Standard? oops.
More Weiner. We’re so sad the Clintons are pissed.

Goldberg: Cynic-in-Chief
Jonah Goldberg. The smartest dilettante since me. (I only say that because I’m older and therefore came earlier.)

Krauthammer: Stein’s Law
Tour de Force of the art of the essay. Detroit screwed down to an aphorism.

Murdock: Fight Liberal Word Games
A neglected voice. Deroy Murdock sees clearly.

Williamson: The Plantation Theory
Language a lot of us have been careless with. Check your own conscience and reasoning.

Goldberg: The Real Helen Thomas
I thought I was good at the killing’em without actually laying a glove on’em game. This is the masterpiece of the art.

Hanson: Facing Facts about Race
Treading in the dangerous waters that sucked under yours truly and John Derbyshire, Victor Davis Hanson is brave, honest, and doomed.

Hanson: Untruth at The New Yorker
(followup to previous) I said doomed. Here’s what happens.

Lowry: Suicide by Government
Lowry has a clean, forthright style. See how it contrasts with the actual history of Detroit.

And for extra credit, a brief collection of beautifully brief essays by the best of us all, Thomas Sowell. If you don’t read anything else, read these:

Is This Still America?
Who Is Racist?
The Left’s Central Delusion
Academia’s Unexamined Assumptions

Read, read, read. What I’ve been doing. Granted there’s no dish on Christie vs. Paul, immigration, or defunding ObamaCare. I’ll get to that. But the content above can help get your mind right for discussing those things in their proper context.

Darkness. Some of us know how to move in it.

Darkness. Some of us know how to move in it.

Two Victims (not counting us)

Hoodies are cool. Unless they get you killed. So maybe don't wear one if you don't want to get killed. An idea I had. But what do I know?

Hoodies are cool. Unless they get you killed. So maybe don’t wear one if you don’t want to get killed. An idea I had. But what do I know?

What a mess. No celebrating here. One life snuffed out. One life turned into a hell to its last breath. Two dumb young’uns who made a series of dumb decisions that resulted in death. Sad all round. Can’t stand the hyped up post-mortem coverage of the verdict any more than I could stand the mountains of media and political whoring that led to this night.

The participants are congratulating themselves on the victory of the legal system. Fine. But the legal system is powerless against the real villains in this case. The race hustlers who made a sad, sorry local fatality into a national obsession that amounts to incitement to riot. Who will prosecute NBC, MSNBC, CNN, Fox, or the president of the United States for inflaming racial relations in a completely cynical and unnecessary way — just to promote a race narrative that was obsolete before the current administration made it the be-all defense of every screw-up, failure, and corrupt act by the federal government?

Disgust. And sorrow. That’s all I’m feeling right now. How about you?

Sarah Palin for President

People keep looking for the next Reagan. She's already here.

People keep looking for the next Reagan. She’s already here.

I’m not waiting. The future of America is no longer about winning the next election. I no longer care about electoral math. I’m back with my punks. It’s about leaving a record, for the ones who will come later. (Lake, help me with a chapter and verse citation.)

Five months into the second Obama term, I am officially and unequivocally endorsing Sarah Palin for the presidency of the United States. It’s not a protest vote. She’s ready. None of her leading opponents has any experience at all, unless you count Joe Biden’s fake legal and political career or Hillary’s oddly transgender cuckold career as First Lady and the stooge of Benghazi — always, always screwed with never a clue about what was really going on. Meaning what? She’s the piano-legged dud we thought she was way back when Bill denied an affair with Gennifer Flowers. She got smarter somehow along the way? uh, no. Still an over-educated fool, perpetually the last to know anything.

Palin is different. Where Hillary is studied, coached, and dull, Palin is lightning. She doesn’t lecture her audiences; she electrifies them. Her ongoing political commentary has always been witty, to the point, and true. When attacked, she strikes back as venomously as a rattlesnake. Her political endorsements and followups have been more effective than those of multi-term U.S. senators. What nobody wants to acknowledge. She’s a natural.

So it’s time for her to leave the Republican Party and make her own party. Even if she loses, the results are the best possible hope for the future of this doomed country. Don’t forget that Goldwater’s crushing defeat paved the way for Reagan’s landslide. At some point, women — the tsunami of American traitors to the whole concept of individual liberty framed by the constitution — will eventually be disgusted by the totalitarian compulsion to tar an honorable mother of five as a whore, an idiot, a tool of special interests, and the inbred halfwit cow who calved a retard in proof of the ideological inferiority of all conservative values.

Bring it on. I didn’t think anyone could withstand such constant, unrelenting, sexually sadistic abuse. But I was wrong. Palin can. She’s the ultimate feminist nightmare. The woman who’s so self-confident she just doesn’t care how hard you try to demean her. To her it’s just proof of how limp your dick is (or how dried up your snatch). She takes the punishment and keeps taking it until it’s time to make a deadly point. Reminds me of Ali in Zaire, leaning against the ropes for round after round after round while the supposedly smartest pundits keep predicting his imminent doom, until, oops, he wins by a knockout.

Wake up, lefty Viagrans! She does not care. Talk about hate-fucking (yeah, you Maher)? Palin could hate-fuck you to death and show up pristinely beautiful at the next Tea Party rally in the hometown of your alma mater. Right. She’d kill the crowd even in Ithaca, New York.

Here’s the truth. She wouldn’t attract so much horrifyingly sexist abuse if she weren’t so dangerous a leader of the conservative opposition. Why she needs to be the leader of the next generation of Americans who don’t wish to be victims. Nobody else has that credential.

Remember. I'm the first to say she's the one we need. It will take everyone else much much much longer.

Remember. I’m the first to say she’s the one we need. It will take everyone else much much longer.

Hey. Give it a shot. Tell me who else can fight for us like Boudica. Nobody but this extraordinary woman.

P.S. Lake came through. As usual. Here’s a YouTube link to the chapter he quoted. If I had more belief in WordPress, I’d make the video show up here. Can’t do it. If you can, tell me how.

Happy Independence Day, everyone. Not trying to be ironic. It just sounds like that.

The reading:

Time for Three Parties

Clockwise from top: Big, Bigger, and Go Screw Yourself.

Clockwise from top: Big, Bigger, and Go Screw Yourself.

When everything is really falling apart, it’s a clarifying experience. We can’t save the republic. What’s left is giving a good account of ourselves during the downfall.

Why I can now commit to a three party system. The three can now be, and should be permanently branded as, 1) the Party of Big Government, 2) the Party of Even Bigger Government, and 3) the Party of Screw the Government and the Horse it Rode in on.

Pick your affiliations.

Feel free to discuss.

Golden Anniversary

She was the biggest in the world then.

She was the biggest in the world then.

No, not the usual sort. Not the kind you automatically remember. More the WTF kind, suddenly recalled by accident, by date and a declining skill at arithmetic. So here goes…

It was 50 years ago today that I boarded the Cunard liner Queen Elizabeth in New York bound for Cherbourg, France. (No, not QE2. The real one.)

I was a week away from being 10 years old. I remember arriving at the dock and wondering where the water was. All I could see was an endless black wall. Oh. That was the side of the largest ocean liner ever built. I kid you not. The ultimate missing the forest for the one really big tree moment.

The America I left that day is gone. Long and completely gone. Contrary to what you may have been taught, it was in many ways a lovely place. What with political correctness, the NSA, and the general collapse of Christian civilization, I can’t speak of that place without putting myself on a list today.

But if anyone’s curious, I might be induced to risk a description…

Though I suspect most of you already think you know. Which is the chief liability of being an Internet dilettante. You know all kinds of stuff you heard of once, in passing, and almost everything you know just ain’t so.

P.S. So Tim called my bluff. He wants a description. I’ll work on one specific to this entry, but in the interim I offer this post from my own blog archives a decade ago. Skip down to the boldfaced subhead titled “Dear Philosoraptor.” Read it, respond, and then I’ll know how to frame a more relevant reminiscence. Is that fair?

My Turn

It's bad when someone is hurt.

It’s bad when someone is hurt.

We do the every day and we are happy. The every day changes and we are not happy. The Boss is cross and breakfast is not when breakfast is or the dinner or anything else. Mommy sleeps and is still and the Boss stops us from touching her. We are sitting on our haunches and the Boss says lie down. There are no treats. There is the every day you know and today is every day until the every day is the no day again.

Wag. Lie down. Lie down get up lie down. Grrr. Mommy is less still and she sleeps more. The Boss is more tired and he sleeps not so much. He does not touch so much. We touch if we can.

We do the every day. Every day. We are happy. Wag. We lie down.

An Invitation to MADA

Deerhound people know that deerhounds aren't really like greyhounds.

Deerhound people know that deerhounds aren’t really like greyhounds.

My wife wants me to write an ad for this site at MADA, which is the Middle Atlantic Deerhound Association. I’ve been flummoxed, to be honest. Somehow I see lots of Obama stickers on Volvo and Subaru SUVs.

This is a deerhound site but not really. And I’m thinking that the political content here is not going to sit well with a lot of the people who devote chunks of their lives to deerhounds.

I mean, not every post even contains a deerhound photograph, let alone topic.

In fact, I think a lot depends on what people, including you faithful readers, think deerhounds are.

For example, All deerhounds DO look alike. Watch the linked video to see how true that is. Much more than greyhounds do. And greyhounds are a big part of how most of us arrived at deerhounds. We started with greyhound rescues, pure and simple. Why I’m thinking the deerhound crowd won’t like Deerhound Diary. The story of greyhounds is the story of Oppression by the Man, including tattoos in the ears. Canine Holocaust in service to the capitalist enterprise of dog racing.

I’ve been there too. We still have Molly, and I’m still grieving for Patrick, Andrew, and Sonny. We’ve done the transfers from foster parents to us in mall parking lots, and there’s nothing like the feeling you get the first time a track greyhound can climb the stairs to your bedroom.

When I confessed my fascination with deerhounds, my wife repeated what she had heard, that deerhounds are simply bigger, hairier greyhounds, and just as comfortably dumb. As she had dutifully learned from the pervasive sighthound propaganda.

But now we’ve had two. The first was Psmith. Who changed all the rules. Monstrously destructive as a puppy, which he was for three years, then progressively a kind of mystic Scot, remote, gravely affectionate, and kind. We lost him prematurely, at the age of six, to the bloat.

Losing him hurt so much I was prepared to go without another. My wife knew better. She found another breeder, another litter, and went through an admission process worse than what applicants to Stanford and Harvard go through. The result was Raebert.

Who looks, predictably, almost exactly like Psmith but bigger, and couldn’t be any more different in terms of personality and character.

Why there’s this site. He’s the smartest dog I ever had, and I’ve had two scarily smart German Shepherds. His breeder was smug when she told us, “my deerhounds aren’t dumb.” Jesus. What an understatement. Life with Raebert is a constant battle of wits, and he wins almost as much as I do. But he wins in the end anyway. I’ll explain more of that as we go, but what I’m thinking about right now is the assumption embedded in the astonishing “how much they all look alike” meme.

They’re all utter individuals. As are we. Which is a thing I’m thinking the progressives, for all their avowed tolerance, keep forgetting. All conservatives are bigoted idiots. All black people must be loyal liberal Democrats or they’re Uncle Toms. All women must be hard left feminists or they hate their own sex. All deerhounds are friendly dopes we need to protect because they can’t protect anybody. Which does nothing to explain THIS image:

Fast on the draw...

Fast on the draw…

Deerhounds may be greyhounds in some respects, but they are also Scots and very far away from greyhound couch potato propaganda, which greyhounds also are in my experience. Deerhounds can be smart, brave, cunning, manipulative, piercingly understanding, not to mention mischievous jokers, and they are one of the best proofs of the infinite diversity of creation I have ever witnessed. We also love each other as only two total sonsofbitches can.

Raebert was never trained to shake hands. HE initiates. He needs to hold hands.

Raebert was never trained to shake hands. HE initiates. He needs to hold hands.

That would be my pitch to MADA. And come to think of it, to all of you. This site begs to differ. And at times our eyes turn to blue fire, relict of the heather.

Guessing my wife won’t think this is a good ad…

What exactly is it we think a direwolf was?

You know. One more Scottish danger.

You know. One more Scottish danger.

Raebert? Maybe. I’ve seen that in him. The ultimate of ultimates. If you’ve never seen it, good luck to you. I spend my time trying to understand the savagery in all of us. Maybe you should spend some time trying to understand me.

The Top Ten Sports Movies

Boxing movies almost all suck.

Boxing movies almost all suck.

Revisiting a tired question.

Welcome to SportsNation! On Friday, we’re chatting sports movies with Ray Didinger, co-author of the new book “The Ultimate Book of Sports Movies.”

Didinger, along with Glen Macnow, tried to answer the question of which movie is better, “Field of Dreams,” “Bull Durham,” “Hoosiers,” “Raging Bull” or “Rocky”? Those last three were their top three, in alphabetical order (they reveal their ranking in their book). The duo watched over 300 movies, grading them and coming up with a top 100

Actually, none of these is in my Top Ten. Didinger/MacNow believe somehow that Rocky is the best sports movie ever made. Total bullcrap. It’s not even close to being the best boxing movie ever made. (In fact, it may be the worst of the genre.) There’s nothing realistic about the ring scenes at all. Both fighters would have been dead by the end of the fifth round.

Field of Dreams and Bull Durham also don’t belong on any list of good movies, let alone great sports movies. Costner’s overwritten, artificially inserted soliloquy citing the crack of the bat and the smell of pussy kills Bull Durham dead the moment it occurs. And Field of Dreams in its static nostalgia is more a cremation than a celebration of baseball.

Truth is, there aren’t a hundred great sports movies. There are just a few. Here are ten:

10. The Replacements. Almost all football movies are sentimental, inaccurate garbage pretending to be truth. This one is just fun. I’d probably have put Major League in this spot, but there’s no other football movie worth mentioning.

9. Stroke of Genius. The story of Bobby Jones, played by Jim Caviezel. A man pitted against himself. Insight into genius and its penalties.

8. Mystery, Alaska. Yeah, I know. Everybody loves Slap Shot as best hockey movie. Sorry. This one is less slap stick and more hockey.

7. Sea Biscuit. Great history, great performances by everyone involved. Only a couple of inaccuracies. (War Admiral wasn’t huge, and Sea Biscuit had a fine thoroughbred pedigree.) Still, a stirring movie you can watch more than once.

6. Coach Carter. Not about winning the championship. About winning in life. No other movie about basketball compares.

5. Pastime. It’s about baseball and baseball players. The best ever. Proof? The real-life major leaguers who played cameo roles. Nothing splashy. Just true.

4. The Greatest Game Ever Played. Yeah, golf is a sport. And one American finally put our country on a map that used to be limited to the British Isles. Excellent movie.

3. Senna. Formula 1 car racing. A documentary. Riveting as any fictional drama you’ve ever seen.

2. Secretariat. More history, well told. One of the greatest sporting achievements ever.

1. Ali. Boxing should be easier to get right than baseball, football, hockey, or basketball. Turns out it isn’t. The only movie ever that got it right. The Liston, Terrell, and Foreman fights are not only accurate historically, they’re viscerally, violently compelling. The rest of the movie is absorbing too, as befits its landmark subject.

I’d do Honorable Mentions, but I think I’ll leave that to you all. Have fun with your sharpshooting.

P.S. In the interest of full disclosure, an excerpt from a text message I sent to my good friend Josh today:

All I have to do is battle through the fatigue… Saw the movie Ali today. Like a time machine for me and the sensual realization of the only Mailer book I ever liked. He was ringside at Ali-Foreman in Zaire (which I watched live on HBO in B school after an exam and have written about). Mailer said the sheer sound of Foreman’s body punches in the first round was terrifying. He didn’t believe Ali could survive the round or if he did survive the round he might not survive the fight with his life. The movie captured that terror perfectly. It was torture watching round after round of rope a dope: body blow, body blow, body blow, body blow… with everyone in Ali’s corner screaming, “Get off the ropes!” Because nobody can take that prolonged a beating from such a punching machine. And then, suddenly, the lights that had seemed doused in Ali’s eyes flashed back on and here he came, off the ropes, resurrected, dancing (dancing!) and slugging like a predator who’s finally seen the opening he was waiting for. It took only a few moments and the best punch was the one not thrown, which Ali pulled back as Foreman was hitting the canvas. I will never forget it. Me and my B-school buddies practically cheered the roof off the apartment we were in. But the neighbors didn’t complain. They were cheering too.

Time machine.

All I have to do is battle through the fatigue. What Michael Mann was saying in his movie. For years, Ali had to stand against the ropes and just take it from the U.S. government AND the Nation of Islam. No wonder he won the Rumble in the Jungle. He’d had all the training anyone could ever expect to get.

Me too.

P.P.S. The missus watched the Ali-Foreman fight in the movie before the On-Demand timing expired. What did she say? “Good God. I get it.” Meaning everything I’ve said about Ali over the years. Just as she’s gradually gotten my love of the Stones. Slowly but surely, she begins to understand that I’m not arbitrary (or wrong) in my admirations.

Trash (probably NSFW)

Rule of what? Oh yeah. Pussy.

Rule of what? Oh yeah. Pussy.

There’s really nothing left. The people in charge are all trash. You know who they are. We do what we want, whenever we want. You don’t like it? Screw you. NSA observation? What have you got to hide?

How about my privacy? Should I specify? No. But I will. You don’t get to know what I look up at Google or where I go with GPS. None of your business. What is my business? Ah. I’ll let you in on the secret, just this once.

The Clintons. Big Bill is, was, allowed to commit perjury. We loved him for it. Which makes us trash too.

Maybe that’s when it all ended. After that came Hillary, who was also trash. She lied her ass off about understanding a husband who screwed teenagers and raped campaign assets. No reason to believe anything she ever said afterward. No wonder Benghazi was a treacherous, tragic farce.

Then came Obama. Who just lied and lied and lied until anyone with any sense would have thrown up, but nobody had any sense and so we’re stuck with the worst president the U.S. ever had. When no one can believe anything you say, there’s no more freedom. You’re just the unpredictable psycho in charge, like the chief gangster in Escape from New York.

Really enjoyed the new IRS director’s report on how the tax kids did nothing wrong, no matter how hard he tried to find out otherwise.

The same way I loved The FBI director’s inability to remember anything about any investigation of anything.

And Eric Holder’s insistence that he’s never done anything to interfere with the freedom of the press. Hell, everyone knows the press is sick to death of being free.

And don’t forget the War on Women, recently won by the Planned Parenthood, er, Obama electoral victory in 2012. Because women have to be free to screw their brains out and flush away the consequences right up to the last minute. Because, you know, women are morally superior to every living being who doesn’t have a penis. Why it’s so important for them to show their penis-free crotches to everyone via Facebook, texted images, and TMZ.

Trash? Do any of you even know what it is? It’s people who don’t have values but poses, foul mouths, fancied privileges, and exorbitant appetites. Michelle? Anybody? Barack? Everybody? The mentality of me, me, me, me, me is nothing but trash when you’ve asked millions to spend hundreds of millions to put you in charge. Especially when you refuse to take responsibility for absolutely anything that happens on your watch. Trash.

What’s the practical adult result?

It’s that we now have a record and an outcome, a fatal one. The end of the rule of law. An administration that enforces laws it likes and ignores laws it doesn’t. Like an arbitrary, angry girlfriend.

Which is the ultimate corruption. It no longer matters what laws are passed. The ones the Obama Gang don’t like just don’t matter at all. So why should the Congress pass anything? No reason at all.

Meaning what? We have a president who’s little more than, well, what he always was, let’s face it, a stupid trophy wife. If only he had her balls. He can telephone Lebron but not Putin. More French-tongue than shark-bite. The republic is dead. When Rome killed its republic, the Empire was born. In our case, the republic dies, with all its liberties, just in time to get overrun immediately by a wave of barbarians who’ve been waiting for the pouting pussy we now have as president.

Somebody characterized it as the Second Carter term. I think that understates it. I still don’t think Carter 1) wanted to kill the United States, or 2) thought hanging around with Hollywood and NBA royalty was the whole point of being president.

So now we’re just a joke. Gives us new aspirations to pursue, right? We can become the Greeks of the new age of China. Slave architects, technologists, and entertainers.

It’ll be fun, right? Until they piss on our climate control fantasies… unless the Pussy-in-Chief is willing to lap that up too. Who knows what he’s already learned from the FLOTUS flow?