So, dear reader, I wrote this massive thing called Weekend at Joey’s which was a fictitious interview I did with Joe Biden.  It was a pretty vicious take-down of the President using entirely his own unedited quotations.  It attempted to do the press’s job for them (since they have totally abdicated their journalistic duties and become nothing more than the propaganda wing of the democratic party.  It addressed the egregious cover-up and gaslighting about the President’s incompetence and dementia.  As this fake interview goes on, it’s made increasingly clear that Joe Biden is, in fact, dead, and has been so since shortly before taking office.  At one point in the interview, the president’s mandible just falls off, and a couple of aids have to come in and reattach it.

But recent developments have totally taken the proverbial wind out of that piece’s sails.

Which, on the one hand, sucks because I did spend a lot of time on it.  On the other hand, at least now the gaslighting has ended and anyone with even half a brain knows that the President of the United States is non compos mentis and has been so for some time.

Unfortunately, another dark suspicion many of us had prior to the recent Presidential Debate has been confirmed in brutal and undeniable fashion: democrats and the main-stream media (but I repeat myself) are decidedly anti-American and cannot be trusted.  They are so blinded by hate that they worry almost exclusively about keeping Trump out of office at all costs, through and including destroying the country.

We’ve all been seeing the same thing for years now, but now that plausible deniability is off the table, the entire democrat apparatus along with their apparatchiks in the media, are acting as if they suddenly found out something was wrong.  I, along with the rest of the sentient American public, are not buying the gape-mouthed pearl-clutching “oh-we-had-no-idea-things-were-this-bad” horseshit.

Faced with a total loss of credibility even among Trump-hating democrats, the media panicked and blamed the White House Press Secretary, the woefully ill-equipped diversity hire Karine Jean-Pierre and her staff of professional liars for “having misled the press for years” about President Biden’s incompetence.  Again, the public is not buying this bongwash.  Even the day before Debatageddon, KJP was blaming all the myriad footage of President Biden falling on his ass whist trying to ride a bike, falling up various staircases, drifting off so badly in outdoor meetings that he forgets where he is and starts walking into the woods, shitting his pants at the Vatican, trying to shake hands with people who are not there, shitting his pants in Normandy, falling on his face at the Air Force Academy graduation, et cetera, ad nauseum, as “cheap fakes” created by “extremist MAGA republicans (which, what the fuck does “cheap fakes” even mean?  Did she mean deep fakes?  It doesn’t matter: now we all know exactly nothing was faked: it’s all horrifically real.

The Biden Crime Family has circled the wagons, blaming non-Biden staff members for poor debate prep,  with Jill and Hunter greatly restricting access to the president by non-family staff (look for significant staff resignations this coming week).   Hunter has begun attending all high-level meetings with his zombie father, and Jill is asserting  control of the re-elect campaign.  They are insisting that there is NO chance Joe’s going to drop out of the race.  In his disastrous interview with George Stephanopoulos on Friday night, Joe said he would not drop out of the race unless “The Lord Almighty comes down and tells me that.”  So look for the President to be struck by lightning or swallowed by a sinkhole or some other Act of God in the next week.

The most troubling aspect of all of this is the reason why the democrats are melting down: they’ve been watching all the same footage we have for the last several years, but they chose to ignore/not report it.  Until it became obvious that Big Don is going to return to the Presidency.  They seemed not to have the slightest care that a senile old man who can’t finish a simple sentence about Medicare has the nuclear codes.  That someone you wouldn’t even let drive your old beat-up car is, presently, running the world.  Even today, their sole area of concern is that Joe can’t beat Trump.  Their only goal now is to scramble to find someone else to run in the election, not to assume the responsibilities of the president immediately.

This week will be interesting.  If Biden holds on and refuses to step down by the end of the week, he has to run.  But democratic congressmen are saying their first order of business when they return to session tomorrow is figuring out the best path forward.  There are no good ways forward, but the knives are out on all sides.

Poopy Joe has a live press conference on Thursday with NATO leaders, his first live and unscripted appearance since the disastrous debate.  If he’s still in office on Friday morning, the dems are stuck with him.  If he quits before Friday, the dems are stuck with diversity-hire Kamala, the only politician in the country with more dismal approval ratings than the President’s.

On a personal note, I’ve been dealing with close relatives with dementia for years now, and I’ve seen the damage that can be done when a family becomes so scared of a dementia patient that they’d rather just go along and pretend there’s not a problem.  In the meantime, multiple families destroyed, money thrown away.  When the paterfamilias is demented yet still allowed to make decisions and attempt to defy reality and not abdicate their position, disaster is sure to follow.

Two things I’ve learned about dementia patients: 1) they have zero insight into their condition and thus see no need for them to step down from anything (like giving up their driver’s licenses, living alone, etc), and 2) Dementia doesn’t get better.  Ever.  At best, there are good days and bad days.  But we can’t really afford to have a president who has bad days.  Nor can we afford to have a president who is only functional (functional here being defined as vaguely conscious and tangentially aware of What’s Going On) between 10:00 and 16:00.

Not for nothing, but Jill Biden is perhaps the worst wife to have ever wifed.  She should be not just ashamed of her conduct regarding Joe, she should be as disgusted as the rest of us are.  It’s your job to protect your spouse when they get sick, not to exploit them into the grave for your own money and power.  Talk about toxic femininity.  She’s just a disgusting human.

I’ve heard some dem talking heads suddenly suggesting that “it’s time to start playing chess.”  Now it’s time?  Here’s the problem with old democrats and the chess analogy: it is impossible to play, let alone win at chess when each particular piece has its own agenda and schedule and priorities and will never even consider sacrificing themselves to win the match.  As pissed off as the dems are about the Supreme Court and Roe v Wade being overturned, et cetera, none of these problems would exist for them if Ruth Bader Ginsberg had taken her party’s advice and stepped down during the Obama administration.  Another liberal judge would have been appointed.  But she refused to step down and died under the Trump administration.  And the rest is history.  But the democratic ego doesn’t seem to consider any cause beyond their immediate enrichment or empowerment, and seem to have serious problems “taking one for the team.”  They will never let go of power once they’ve taken it.

This is far and away the most fascinating political period in my lifetime.  We’re talking Shakespearian-level drama and intrigue…with Jill Biden cast clearly as Lady MacBeth, natch.  Friends are making a big deal out of House of the Dragon right now, but honestly, I quit watching this week: Game of Thrones is a huge snooze compared to what’s going on in the Season Finale of The United States.  And I am so here for it.

N.P.: “Too Good At Raising Hell” – The Struts

Happy Independence Day, dear American reader!

N.P.: “Surfin’ Bird” – Sodom

The best way to gain control of the most intelligent and powerful species on the planet would be to completely divide them from the love within themselves.  As soon as they are old enough to begin creating an understanding of who they are, force them into a system that teaches them that it is wrong to be yourself if yourself is different from what is accepted as normal.  Confuse them about their own biological makeup so that they think that permanently altering their body is the answer to happiness.  Require their daily attendance at an institution that makes them focus only on the information that is provided.  Make them attend that institution from age 5 until adulthood, and repeatedly test them on the information so that it becomes their truth.  Give them an explanation to everything so that they never have to make their own assumptions of the world.  Scold them and humiliate them if they suggest an opinion that opposes that of their authorities.  Keep reminding them of how cruel their ancestors were to each other in the past and broadcast how cruel they are to each other in the present.  Only show them tragedies on the news so that they live in fear and think the worst of one another.  Convince them that their species used to be that of an incognizant wild animal.  Make them think that their very existence is so incredibly random that they lack purpose and struggle to make sense of a creator.  Tell them that their kind is as smart as they’ve ever been so that they don’t question the integrity of the system that they’re in.  Provide them idols with artificial beauty and use them as examples of what it is to look perfect so that they’re never content with their own appearance and can’t help but to compare themselves amongst each other.

N.P.: “King Without a Kingdom” – Sonia Leigh, Rob the Man

Time has truly spun out of control for me, dear reader.  Okay, maybe not “spun out of control” exactly…more like sped up dramatically.  I’m not exaggerating when I say that weeks now seem to be the length of days, and pass with the same rapidity as days used to pass.  Months seem like weeks used to, and entire years seem to pass as quickly as months used to.

I find this temporal trend quite alarming.

N.P.: “Millennium” – Killing Joke

Either I’m going mad or there is a definite conspiracy afoot in the world, a conspiracy of fatness and blindness, backed up by a sinister mindless kind of reasoning …. ~ HST

I am legitimately confused by a whole helluva lot when it comes to American society today.  Most of it, really.  Then there are certain things I am completely disgusted by when it comes to American Society today.  I am unfortunately both confused and disgusted by the cowardliness and pusillanimity  that has spread across this once badass land.

I could here list some of the things I’ve seen this week and go off on some screed about all the different ways the behavior of my fellow Americans has become unacceptably vaginal, but I won’t let myself.  Instead I’ll just focus on one particularly pathetic topic: the alleged squatting crisis.

First of all, fuck you: what crisis?  There is no crisis.  Why would there be a crisis of squatting?  The only way that would be possible is if more than one American came home to find someone else in their house and didn’t know what to do.  And if this is actually the case, it  is a massive and absolutely shameful problem.

Suddenly some people seem significantly more worried about “squatters’ rights” than their own rights.    Holy shit.  What’s going on with these people?  These so-called Americans?  What happened to balls, and hubris?    What happened to just doing what needs to be done without having to first consider the legal ramifications like some old lady?

I do have some sympathy…after all we’re living in a reality where the federal government has intentionally flooded the country with criminals and then began prosecuting citizens for defending themselves.

But whatever sympathy I may have quickly dissipates because fuck this government.  And that’s kind of the point.  The American public, at least half of them, have been educated right out of the ability to question and even resent the government, and instead they revere the government and its officials almost as parents, upon which they are dependents.  “Can’t make my own decisions anymore…gotta wait to hear what the government says.”  Well, fuck that.    Absolutely fuck that, sans lube or any pretense of foreplay.  Do my fellow Americans not remember that “when government fear the people, there is freedom.  When people fear the government, there is tyranny”?  When I was working in the state prison, there was a saying that was very popular with the corrections officers: “I’d rather be judged by 12 than carried by six.”  I shouldn’t have to explicate this, but apparently to the present crappy crop of Americans, it’s necessary:  if you feel like your life, family, well-being, or way of life is being threatened, immediately eliminate the threat by any and all means necessary, and legal consequences be damned: better to spend the next year in court testifying to a jury that they would have done the exact same thing you did than to not have the opportunity to defend yourself in court because you are dead due to failure to shoot back, you didn’t know what to do, et cetera.  In other words, I’m going to do whatever I think I need to do to protect myself and my family, and the law can go fuck itself.

I guess the real issue undergirding all of this ridiculousness for me is the absolutely pitiful learned helplessness and dependence on the fucking government for basic decision making.  People seemed to lose all balls at some point during the bullshit COVID lockdowns.  Which is a huge, nightmarish topic to get in to.  So we’re going to have to shortcut for the sake of time.  Brace yourself:

The current US government does NOT have your best interests in mind.  In fact, I believe the present administration and its woke supporters are decidedly anti-American.  They are certainly anti-white and anti-male.  And I suspect (and sincerely hope) they will hang for their crimes.  I’m thinking something like Mr. and Mrs. Mussolini, being machine-gunned and then hanged upside down would be appropriate for the entirety of the current administration.

Look…this isn’t complicated.  If someone comes into your home uninvited while you are home, shoot them.  If someone comes into your home uninvited while you are out, come home and shoot them.  And if someone comes into your home uninvited while you and your family are away on vacation, shoot them as soon as you get home.  If you are silly enough not to own multiple firearms, then use whatever is on-hand to destroy the unwanted presence.  That these simple rules are no longer  innate and instinctual in much of the current U.S. populace is both disheartening and alarming.

And I’m not talking out of turn…in 2006, I came home to my shitty apartment to find three dudes inside my home, with a chair under the front door knob to block my entrance.  I was completely alone and unarmed.  The second I saw the chair under the door, I started kicking my way in, which probably took three seconds.   Within five seconds of kicking in the door, the threat had been eliminated, never to return.

If you are away and come home to discover some shitbag pretending they live there, your first reaction should not be to consult a lawyer – you’re first reaction should be to click the safety off on your AR.  They can sue you all you want after they’re dead.  And they can deliver your summons or arrest you in your own house, not out in some shitty rented RV parked in front of what was apparently legally formally your house.

Post Script: There was recently a bullshitty meme question that popped up in my feed, which asked, “If someone broke into your house and took whatever was on top of your fridge, what would they get?”

My answer: “Shot.”

And I got a bunch of shit about it, exclusively from liberal white women whining and lecturing about the value of property versus the value of human life.  One even sent a follow up meme which basically asked what I’d do if someone messed with my dog.  My response was the same: lethal gunfire.  I was then hit with outrage and indignation: “You are literally saying a dog’s life is more valuable than a human life.”  Of course, I corrected her: “That is not at all what I’m saying.  I’m saying my dog’s life is more valuable than some shitbag’s life…no question, no hesitation.”

The truth is I would open up the guns on  somebody who tried to take the ashes from the bottom of my bar-b-que.  And I find it strange and pathetic that not everybody thinks this way.

Sack up, America.

N.P.: “God’s Gonna Cut You Down” – Black Rebel Motorcycle Club

I was reading a post from one of my hippie friends bitching about “fake, made-up holidays.”  I’ve heard similarly dim people speak derisively about “Hallmark Holidays.”  What twaddle.

Rather than spend the next half hour hurling invective at this stupidity like Zeus hurls lightning bolts at mortals, I will instead rhetorically ask the questions I would as this person if she was here.

First, define your terms: what is a fake or made-up holiday?  I guess most importantly, what is your definition of “made up”?  Can you give me an example of a fake holiday?  Now give me an example of a real (non-fake) holiday.  What exactly is the difference between the two?

This type of world view truly baffles me.  What sort of myopic historical perspective must one have to think that…Jesus.  Okay, look: all holidays are made up.  How the fuck else do you think they came to be?  Like certain holidays always existed in the Empyrion and when the guys sat down to create the first calendar, they said to themselves, “Okay…the only rules are 12 months, 52 weeks, and 12 months…seven days a week…other than that, go nuts.  Oh wait…we can’t forget about the holidays…we have this list of holidays given to us from On High…so these holidays have to celebrated on these specific days.  But other than that, go nuts.”

Listen, Sunshine: all the holidays, like all of the calendars, like time itself, are made-up.

N.P.: “Cinnamon Girl” – Jeff Russo, Noah Hawley

This should come as no surprise to you, loyal and attentive reader: people annoy the shit out of me.  And that’s never been more true than right now.  This present batch of brats is the absolute worst.  And, as usual, the problem stems from linguistics.  Okay, maybe it doesn’t actually stem from linguistics, but people’s linguistics are alarmingly accurate barometers of the bullshit that ails them.  Among Gen Z, there is a grotesque tendency, not necessarily toward simple hyperbole, but to a rather overdramatic framing of their completely ordinary and mundane existences to try to…I don’t know…make themselves sound significantly more interesting than the reality of their mundane existences warrants.

Perfect.  The first thing that comes to mind is the one I most frequently have to endure, happening virtually anytime I leave the Safehouse and interact with someone (usually female), or when I pick up the phone.  For the last several years, anytime I’ve been asked to something totally banal (like sign a form, press a button, or write my address), once I’ve done it, I’m told it was “perfect.”  But they usually say it like, “Puuuur-fict!”  But it wasn’t perfect.  I simply signed something.  And my signature (especially if it was on some sort of tablet or phone) was anything but “perfect.”  It was likely a mess.  They usually come out looking like a fucked cardiograph.  Doesn’t matter: I’ll be told it was “perfect.”  I was a doctor’s office recently, and I had to sign several forms, and then make a next appointment.  After each signature (there were 4 or 5), the chick that was telling me to sign said, “perfect.”  After the first couple, I start really fucking things up, I was drawing little middle fingers, and signing my name as Turd Ferguson and stuff.  Didn’t matter: still “perfect.”  Mindlessly attributing superlatives of perfection to imperfect things pissed me off.  I blame the last two generations of Americans who grew up with participation awards and not keeping score in baseball games and all that horseshit.  “Perfect” is not the worst offender, but certainly the most frequently deployed.

Rescue.  This one’s been bugging me for a couple of decades, now.  When I first heard it, a friend told me he and his lady had rescued a dog.  That’s fucking awesome, I thought to myself, having no one else to think to.  It was so awesome, I decided to share the thought with my friend: “That’s fucking awesome,” I told him.  “Tell me what happened.” Life, at the time, had become unsustainably mundane, and I remember a thought that kept picking at my mind during this period: “I am no longer impressed by anything.”  So to hear a story of valor and courage in a first-hand account of how my friend had committed an act (or acts, perhaps) of heroism to rescue a puppy from certain death was  potentially enough to jar me out of my malaise.  I braced myself excitedly for the tale.

“Oh nothing…we saw him on the shelter’s website the night before, and went and picked him up the next morning.”

Um…what?  You “went and picked him up?”

My disappointment grew so quickly it  turned into disgust.

Kick in the front door of a burning building, a fully engulfed house, and selflessly run headlong into the flames while trying to listen to the dog’s cries for help, finding the dog, picking it up, and running back through the flames and outside to safety…that is a rescue.

Drive down to Mexico, fight the police, engage in a gun battle with cartel sicarios, grab the cartel’s pet chihuahua, escape back up to the States…that is a rescue.

Join a tactical team on a midnight raid on a supermax prison cellblock that’s been taken over by gangs to find and retrieve the golden retriever puppy that was taken from the prison’s Puppy Program by the most vicious gang that’s threatening to decapitate and eat the puppy if their demand for 147 pepperoni pizzas isn’t met…that is a rescue.

Even if you wanted to call adopting a dog from a shelter a “rescue,” it had damn well better involve rushing into the kill room and snatching away the dog in 5-point restraint, strapped to an execution table with some sadistic, dog-hating shelter worker hovering menacingly over the thing, ready to bring a raised death-hammer down on the shivering dog’s head.  And if that wasn’t the case, you didn’t “rescue” shit!  You ran a pleasant errand…that’s it.

I recently technically “rescued” a puppy.  From a shelter.  No gun battles, no burning buildings, no supermax prisons…there wasn’t a bit of rescue involved: I had to drive to a tacky strip-mall, meet up with the Croc™-wearing teenager who had been fostering this weird creature, pay the shelter a couple hundred bucks, and that was that.

Survivor.  I might piss a few people off with this one, but I don’t care…I’m sure you’ll survive.  The problem is then you won’t shut up about it.  First, though, a caveat: this has absolutely nothing to do with people who have actually survived acutely life-threatening events, e.g., Hamas attack on a kibbutz, a plane crash, a night in December on Donner Pass without shelter, a pogrom, a deadly volcanic eruption on the Pacific island where you’re vacationing, your parachute failing to open, etc.  A few years ago I would have included “Pandemic” in the list, but, like most of the English language, the meaning of that term has been changed and watered down for reasons too dark to contemplate while sober: while Covid may have been technically a  pandemic, it was a big pink titty compared to actual species-threatening pandemics, like the Plague, the original strains of Ebola, etc.  Call me old-fashioned, but you can’t say you “survived” a pandemic unless there are actual corpses in the street.  But never mind all that.  Here’s my point, if there is one: there are a hell of a lot of people running around these days claiming to be survivors of things that could never kill them, or claiming to have survived something catastrophe that 9 out of 10 people will experience during their lifetimes.  The first level of this issue, to me, is simple: people claiming to have done something special by “surviving” something that, sure, could have killed you, but it could have killed everybody else just the same.  And they’re not calling themselves survivors.  Then you have this group of people who have all, say, had cancer and “survived,” but these people over here want credit and recognition, while the majority of people in the group don’t feel the need to talk about their cancer survival and would rather just get on with their lives.  The second level of this issue is what happens to the credit seekers: they become completely identified as a victim.  A victim who survived, sure, but a victim nonetheless.  I’m thinking of a particular cancer survivor I know.  She was diagnosed with cancer, got chemo, and survived.  And how proud and happy we all were of her.  But that was ten years ago, and not only has she not yet shut up about it, but she has done nothing else with her life.  She still, after all this time, is running around “sharing her story” of cancer survival to anyone who will sit still long enough to listen.    Though she didn’t have a hell of lot to talk about before the cancer, her entire identity has been completely wrapped up in talking about cancer.  At this point, at least in my head, she has become cancer.  She has become the walking, talking, pissing and moaning, annoying incarnation of cancer.  There were a few years after she had survived the cancer that many of her family and friends took to referring to her with unkind nicknames, each of which seemed to utilize “cancer” as a first name, e.g., Cancer Squirrel (for her tendency to stash food throughout the house), Cancer Witch (because she did weird shit with altars and candles and shit throughout her treatment, et cetera, until the modifier became the name, and people just started referring to her as The Cancer, i.e., ‘Aw shit…here comes The Cancer.”  Which, I believe, was the exact opposite of what her carcinogenic ass was shooting for.

Anyway, the point is that I know at least half a dozen cancer survivors…only one of them is worried about getting credit for it.  And she looks like an ass.  I have “survived” similarly dire medical threats, and I didn’t say shit about it.  And the people I see how have “survived” the same thing who won’t shut about it are not held in very good esteem in my head.  In fact, I frequently mentally label them as “pussies.”  You survived: congratulations.  Now get busy living.

Journey and Brand.  Life is not a journey.  But even if you insist on considering it as such, you must accept, then, that everyone’s on a journey.  Your journey, though I’m sure unique, is likely not any more special than anyone else’s.  Sure, the variables and details will be very different, but overall, all journeys are quite similar…rather like the story arcs of screenplays: all different characters and plots, but all basically the same three-act story.  Sure, your journey might be more difficult or interesting than some people’s, but chances are your “journey” is a big pink titty compared to what other people have gone/are going through.   Your weight loss is not a journey.  Incidentally, you probably don’t have a brand.  If you’re Stephen King and you write best-selling horror books, you have a brand.  If you’re Ronald McDonald and you sell billions and billions of delicious hamburgers to the entire planet, you have a brand.  If you’re a barista or cosmetologist or working at the Vans Outlet, and you have an Insta, you probably don’t really have a brand.  As with all of the terms mentioned supra, I submit they are all used purely for self-aggrandizement.  To try to pretend one’s existence is far more important or significant than it really is.

I’m not bitching about this just to bitch, dear reader.  Our generation was responsible for grotesque abuse of “awesome.”  Which was all fine and fun until the day I saw something that was quite literally awesome and I had no words to describe it.  I couldn’t use “awesome” because that word had been so inappropriately used to describe things as mundane as getting high score on a video game.  Such exaggerations lead to a desensitization to truly significant events or conditions, ultimately devaluing the meaning and impact of our words.

N.P.: “Beautiful Dangerous” – Slash, Fergie

Yesterday started off well enough, but things  devolved quickly in the afternoon when I tried to something that should not have been complicated yet seemed to be beyond my abilities.  I started around noon, and by 1:30, I had made a hard turn toward whiskey for fortitude as my battle with tech quickly escalated into war.  There was a lot of cussing, dear reader…a lot of fuck words…and in the end, I lost.  At least I lost yesterday.
Today might be different.  Presently ingesting prophylactic whiskey.  We’ll see.  Fingers crossed, etc.
Also, absolutely fuck technology that doesn’t work as it should.

Quote of the Week (by someone other than me): “I hope someone else shows up, otherwise one of us is going to have to cut up a kid.”

I find that recorded or form-lettered apologies for inconvenience do exactly nothing to change the fact that I have been, and even now, still, remain inconvenienced.

N.P.: “Hey There Cowgirl” – Palm Springsteen