Sunday, July 17, 2016



The new Ghostbusters is out. For months, many so-called 'men' have been complaining about wrecked childhoods because cooterdust. Or whatever. Most of these so-called men lack personal experience with, ummm, well, really, women in general, much less mouth-to-ladybits communication. Also these so-called men are dipshits who should be encouraged to explore the effects of diesel tailpipes upon scuba mouthpieces. The original was quite funny, I had the T-shirt myself. But, it was not Young Frankenstein. Quit witcher dog-whistles, we know what you are saying, own it you punkass bitches.

While I was not enthused by the first trailer, the pieces that have leaked out have been better. I had been likely to see it. I don't know the actresses save Melissa McCarthy, and I'm not particularly a fan, she's ok, wevs. I enjoy light science fiction/comedy in general, including one of my all-time favorite films:

  • I. Loved. The Last Starfighter. I will go full DeathBlossom on anyone who disagrees, because they are failed at evolution. Always trust Centauri. 

Meteorologically speaking, Twister sucks on ice, but I'll watch it anytime I see it's on. Hell, I even rather enjoyed Evolution; bugger off.

Reviews so far have been basically, "If you're not expecting Citizen Kane, or even Candy Cane's First Lesbian Macramé Adventure, you'll have some fun. Don't overthink it, just enjoy it." So fine.

"But paleo, after saying it looks okay, you are saying that you had been likely to see it. Now you're not. Typical libtard cuck commie islamist elitist zionist fascist, uhhh, beta, respective vaginas, hah gotcha, Trump!" Well, oh Dweller In The Basement, the movie still looks fine. It's going to make the Netflix list, but:

Whilst waiting for Sweetie to get ready to go to the Co-op, I am watching The Mummy (w/ Brendan Frasier - again, as long as ya don't think too hard, enjoyable as all get out), and commercial breakage comes up. Oh, my, errr, it's ahhh, Ghostbusters tie-in, pizza, ohfuckfuckFUCK Papa John's, with the goddamn criminal filth Schnatter dressed in teh Beige Coveralls.

I realize, I do, that all marketing departments are useless gits, and given the job of promoting Citizen Kane, or Candy Cane Visits A KY Factory With Six Portable Generators And A Funk Band, would put out a line of action figures. And I'd buy the full Candy Cane Collection. The marketing team doesn't care about the movie, especially arthouse films like the Candy Cane series. The production team does not get too involved on the marketing end, other than direct promotion of the movie. Production holds no part in what I am about to say.

I cannot reward, in any way, any product, that would in any form, allow itself, either directly or indirectly, to be associated with a bloodthirsty monster like John Schnatter. If there is such a thing as universal justice, he would be in the first group up in the dock for crimes against humanity and the American worker. Fuck him, fuck his corporate board, fuck Peyton Manning. He needs to be in Supermax until he can be swept up and put in a dustbin.

And anyone who can stand his quasi-pizza needs a tastebud transplant. Jes' sayin'.

Monday, June 13, 2016

Posted With Several Damn Comments

I'm sick of it. So genuinely sick of it.

Innocents dead. Wasted. Perforated. Just out to have a good time, and because OMGWTFBBQBUTTSEX they had to die. People with families. Friends. Pets. Employers. Clubs. Dead. I have no connection except for being human, but I'm not sure I like that label too much anymore. Because humans suck. We suck. Virus with shoes indeed.

Churches celebrated yesterday. The death of gays, an awful lot of them Latino, at the hands of a brown guy, who could not be directly tied to Pat Robertson. They hallalujahed until they were hoarse.
The gun manufacturers ramped up the AR-15 lines again, they're going to sell a metric balls-ton of them in the next few days.
The republican candidate for president took credit for predicting this, then accused President Obama of, of course, another 'false-flag jihad taquito birthghazi.'

I wonder sometimes how these subhuman bastards sleep at night, and realize, with pain in my brain, that they sleep pretty well. There is death, beautiful, beautiful death, of people who ain't them. They sleep great. They have well oiled penis replacements tucked under their pillows or inside their shorts, and they sleep like babies.

(Disclaimer: Image is not mine, and I can't make out the artist. If anyone knows Imma happy to give him full credit, 7000pt. font and the contents of my wallet, 'cuz they's a whole buncha damn prophets. I apologize in advance about the contents of my wallet, mostly receipts, a few cigar wrappers, and a credit card of dubious provenance and dubiouser value.)

Sunday, May 8, 2016

In Which paleo Messes With Evil

Combination squirrel feeder/dog entertainment system.


Are We Pathetic Or Do We Just Need A Juicebox And A Nap

Fuck us. Genuinely.

Every country in the world, save us, should get together right now.

Have a nice spare rib dinner, with sauerkraut, sauteed cauliflower colliettes, and fresh salad, kale, radishes, scallions, and a basil-infused olive oil with strawberry-apple cider vinegar. Finish with a nice snifter of Amrut.

And then turn the surface of the United States to glass.

What may provoke paleo to continental annihilation this time?

  • Could it be Small Hands*? 
  • Berniebaggers? 
  • Sarah Palin swearin' on her lief that she will defeet Paul Ryan you betcha**?
  • Yet another revelation that Joe Paterno knowingly enabled Jerry Sandusky to rape an unknown number of prepubescent boys at Penn State, but now taking the timeline back to 1976?!?!
No. Actually, this morning's desire is due to television.

Newton Minow was early in describing TV as a vast wasteland - were he alive today, he'd be really, really, spectacularly old. Oh, and speechless. Because really, really, holy fucking old. TV in the United States may not take the actual prize, but we do suck. Nineteen Fondlings and Counting***. Jimmy Fallon. Seven different cake shows - 216 wedding shows - coming soon: The Divorce Show with Kim Davis. The entire TruTV network. We're no shrinking violets when it comes to digital quaalude.

But Imma thunkin' this is a new level.

After seeing the commercial, oh yes I did have to look up this broadcast venereal disease.
In “Arranged,” three couples from different cultural backgrounds have one thing in common – the belief in arranged marriages. From a young Romani gypsy couple in New York City, to a southern couple from the Bible belt, to a couple raised by traditional Eastern Indian parents living in Los Angeles – these brides and grooms don’t just marry each other, their unions include their entire family. Viewers will see each couple’s relationship from the lead-up to their weddings, to the several months after the reality of married life sinks in. 
Even though the marriages stemmed from the heart of their culture, the marital stakes are heightened as the couples do not have the level of intimacy common in most modern marriages. For some, it will be tough to give up their independence and their new roles as husband and wife prove to be more than they bargained for. Pregnancy scares, money concerns and over-protective parents will add even more stress to an already overwhelming situation. Viewers will learn compelling relationship advice as they watch these unique journeys and find out if these couples hold the key to a long-lasting marriage by being arranged.
Their description.


to the several months after the reality of married life sinks in? 

the marital stakes are heightened as the couples do not have the level of intimacy common in most modern marriages?

Viewers will learn compelling relationship advice as they watch these unique journeys and find out if these couples hold the key to a long-lasting marriage by being arranged.?

In a number of my kultursturm posts, I'd now pivot, I'd say let's ignore the unbelievable underlying fundamentalist religion crap, the control issues, the wild goddam misogyny, and attack a a prime mover if one seemed detectable. Nope.

The fundamentalist religion crap, the control issues, and the wild goddamn misogyny ARE THE PRIME MOVERS. Jesus H Christ playing piano at the Bunny Ranch, this is GENUINELY SICK.

The couples pushed together, undoubtedly at the behest of religious leaders, by cultish parents, do not have the level of intimacy as a couple who went out, willingly, to White Fucking Castle, and Jellystone park, and then figured out they own bad selves how to proceed. I know, what a stupid fucking notion. Couples holding the key to a long-lasting yada yada in an event they had no play in?

Children, and particularly in our society, young women, are not a commodity, to be traded or used as bargaining chips for family mergers. These young people will, must, have to, at some point, unless the new married couple is locked in Daddy-In-Law's basement, grow up, and they are soon going to, have to, must, do some self-evaluation.

And guess what. There's a serious chance they are going to be distinctly pissed off.
There is an equal chance they are going to be seriously broken.
There is a better than equal chance they are going to be both.
If the marriage survives, and I actually kind of hope it does, I'm a romantic, I believe in love, my wife walks on the ground I worship, it will be by dint of massive amounts of work, or unfathomable delusion.

So, yeah, the makers of this show? Find a nice, quiet, island. Google maps, your friend. Pack up, move there. Take up cannibalism.

 Again, we've been here. Nineteen Assaults and Counting. The show, in and of itself, is NOT the reason the United States needs to be leveled and the earth salted.

The commercial was for ARRANGED: S2.

*also Clapton's worst album, it sounded as if he difficulty with the solos
** I mean, go for it, you meth-addled plastic-surgery-addicted sociopath with a bright future of decaying in a rocking chair while Gargle argues with you and needs to keep plunging the blood in the shower
***so, that was on for what, 3 years, times average 22? episodes, times 39.42 people in the house, ummm, carry the pi, HOLY GODDAMNIT THAT SHOW WAS ON FOR 24,007 HOURS. GAHHH.

It's Alive! IT'S ALIVE!

Okey Dokey.


As pointed out by OBS in the previous comments (and now verified by me), Toyotas are apparently beasts - the truck moved 4 feet before anything useful was bent. It ended up being solely body work. And the car owner's insurance was current, so other than inconvenience and a near aneurysm, it's all good.

For me.

Now, I've received the police report. As of a few days ago (when the report was received), the other screwball has not been found. As far as the young lady, no, Imma not out her. But, the facts of the case:

  • 20 years old
  • 15 year old sister in the car
  • suspended license
  • hit and run/leaving the scene of the accident
  • underage drinking
  • DWI, with the sister in the car
Lady, I'm sorry that the dude beat you, I'm angry AS HELL you drove through yards in residential neighborhoods, pretty damn unhappy you hit my truck. Shocking, I expect. But shit, you've torched yourself, and you're still so damn young.

Please take the opportunity to realize that, hey, this is fucky, gotta fix it.

Wednesday, April 20, 2016

Ban the Pontiac Grand Am

So, this happened.

Monday, after work, I went out into my driveway to work on my boat, taking off the winter tarp and putting on the summer cover, getting the batteries in. As I worked outside, Jaxson, the 82# dogfood recycling machine, sunbathed on the driveway. I found that one of my batteries had spring a leak, and so halted work at that point, a smidge pissed, but wevs, I'll get another battery. C'mon, Jax, inside.
I left the main front door open, Sweetie would be home soon and Jax likes to look out the storm door.

About a half an hour later, as I am mixing the dogfood into the incredibly arcane mixture that Sweetie has decreed her boy get, Jax started raising a ruckus, but not like 'Mom's home!!1!eleventyone!' I looked out front.

There was a young(-ish? not sure) man out in my driveway. As I went to the door, I heard an engine rev, and the guy took off between my truck and my boat. 

A red car slammed, seriously, slammed, into my truck. Maybe 30 miles an hour and judging by the engine rev, accelerating.


The car backed off, tore ass out of my driveway, across a curb, a street, another curb, a lawn. I was grabbing my phone and memorizing the plates as the car disappeared. At this point, I was confuzzled and pissed. Called 911, reported as I went outside. Most of my immediate neighbors were on the way to my driveway. At least one other was on his phone, presumably 911-ing.

All the following photos are by Sweetie - I'll explain later in the post, but at this point I was a goddamn puddle, literally.

The approach:

Looking at these photos, regrettably, she did not get a good photo of the front of the truck, I'll update when I get home, but here's a close-up - the black bar is the frame.

I'm not a mechanic by any stretch, but I see I'm not hemorraghing fluids, so I suspect the truck will start and run. However, and this is why I should get a better picture of the truck, the tires are seriously askew, and while I'm not entirely sure, the whole front end looks, umm, offsies. I have internal concerns about the future of the vehicle, but it still needs to be appraised. (That story will be here shortly...)

The dude is the sweater is my neighbor, pointing at where my truck had been at the start.

Third party information, from other neighbors:
There seems to be some backstory. The neighbor above, with his wife, and others, had seen the occupants of the car, two women and a man, stop on our block, apparently arguing, and one woman and the man got out and were fistfighting on another neighbor's lawn. He was already on 911 for that. The fight seems to have ended, and only the woman returned to the car and she started driving off, he started walking off. She said something to him, and he opened her car door and started beating on her, then started running. She followed. Onto my lawn and etc. etc.etc.

While the cops were at my place a woman from a block down came to tell the cops that someone was chasing a man across lawns on her street and the man had stolen someone's bicycle and this is a kid intensive area and oh, it seems you already know about it. 

After my initial anger I'd said "and my dog was right there 30 minutes ago and" paleo was done. I went into quasi-freakout - my dog is my kid, you know, and I am famously bleeding heart commie-lib-stanian but if you hurt kids or animals your ticket should be punched, and if you hurt my dog/kid I'll do the punching. So other than telling the cop what I saw, Sweetie had come home, and she handled things. 

Aside: Not 10 minutes before this I'd asked Sweetie to pick me up a six pack, I'd worked hard on the boat, and she later said, "I thought you really needed that beer now, and maybe a bottle of Xanax, but if I gave you that beer at that point the cop would have been thoroughly convinced he'd gone to WhitetrashWood". My dog had been right there. I'd been on the boat. Fucking christ.

So, by 8pm, everything, including most of paleo, had calmed down. Dinner plans had changed from Southwestern style omelets to ham sandwiches. About 9, the neighbor stopped by, my phone was off, the police had called, they'd put an all-MN BOLO on the car, and picked her up (hammered) in Circle Pines, about 30 minutes away. The cop who handled my case went to pick her up and interviewed her, and of course she denied everything. He said we have three eyewitnesses who can identify you, I don't know who, no one Sweetie talked to said they'd had a good look, I didn't, the car windows were very tinted. But, in the lawn, he'd picked up a few plastic bitties, turned out to be press-on fingernails. He told her to hold out her hands and lo!, three missing pink press-on fingernails and she confessed.

As the man was initially running, he'd dropped something. His wallet. The neighbor above gave it to the cops and according to the lead cop his driver's license had him wearing the exact same hoodie we'd all described.

The driver was apparently unlicensed, the car was not hers. Unsure of the insurance situation. And we'd just changed insurance a couple weeks ago, but the State farm underwriters are apparently behind, so while we have insurance and have been assured we're covered, even if the deductible comes out of our pocket (again, unsure of the insurance situation of the car) (which will thoroughly infuriate me but infuriation is in my comfort zone), but they are scrambling with ours to get the 't's dotted so we can get the truck looked at, we're doing some scrambling but stuff happens. Arggh.

SO. Casualties. Again, I don't know, nor do I need to know, the backstory, but apparently she was seriously bruised. Whether from the beating or hitting a fucking pickup with a Grand Am I neither know nor care. She is facing DWI/Hit and Run and may face stronger charges based on trying to kill a guy. I don't know that he's been arrested yet, I'm certain as soon as he found out he'd lost his license he went underground. My truck? Uhhhh. Still need to have it looked at because of the underwriting stuff not being through yet, but I have, I believe legitimate, fears (IANAM) that it's gonna be a thing, and replacement value on a 5yr, 80k mile truck does not get me a new truck. My piece of mind? at the moment still queasy, this is a very diverse, friendly, family neighborhood, lot of kids, and this is certainly extraordinary, and Jax will not be on the driveway until paleo mellows the fuck out.

Anyhow, stuff.

Thursday, April 7, 2016

Who Is Qualified To Be President?

Okay, Imma blaming this one squarely on the goddamn Bernie Bros.

Senator Sanders claimed that Sec'y Clinton called him 'unqualified' in response to a Washington Post headline. One of his subcultures, who would be, in other election cycles, Naderites, or 'Dr. Jill Stein Or Bust', explodes with Clinton hatred.

But, Baby Jesus Christ at the Shrine Of The Six Foot Water Pipe, she never said that! 

The interviewer, Morning Intern-Killer, was fishing for her to say something like that and she didn't. So, now, is the Washington Post completely untrustworthy until it is? I have trouble keeping up with the daily party line.

She asked how he was going to shut down the banks, and while I completely agree with that goal and volunteer manacles and tumbrils, my plan involves violence, and tears, and lots of Vaseline. Also electric blenders. And other electric blenders for the tequila, as you really don't want to cross-contaminate a good margarita. What is Sen. Sanders' plan? 

I want free college tuition for the younger folks. My plan involves kangaroo courts, a sudden decrease in the population of Waltons, and a visible effect on the world's recycled copper market, so it is probably untenable. But what is Sen. Sanders' plan? 

I. Want. Single. Payer. Now. My plan involves a front-end loader, a JATO rocket, fourteen Hap-Kido masters, and a competency hearing before the World Court. They guard those JATO's like a son of a bitch. I, ummm, think. 

Please, Sen. Sanders, tell us the pissengutter plan. Tell us what you need us to do. And the next goddamn time I hear/read "Well, REVOLUTION!", I will fucking puke up my appendix.

I may be a savage old bastard socialist, but in my (near-)maturity, I don't have the time or extra energy for street theatre. I want to hear a fucking plan.

The Underpants Gnome theory (h/t Bob and Chez - Bubble Genius) doesn't work in the real world. The POTUS is not a dictator. I fucking love Sen. Sanders, (although I will be just fine with Sec'y Clinton) but c'mon, tell us what he intends to do because he ain't going to do it without us, and he is going to need one metric fuckton of work from us. He needs Democrats elected downballot, he'll need 70 Dem senators to get anything done (60 to beat the filibuster, but count on there being up to 10 or so worthless Blue Dogs), and he needs to flip 40-some seats in an unbelievably gerrymandered House and in the face of Republican Election fraud.

Sec'y Clinton, nothing in the previous paragraph does not apply to you. Give us a damn plan.

If we gotta be a goddam circular firing squad, could we at least point our vote-rifles outward?!?!