Saturday, April 4, 2015

One Thing We Must Address In Regards To Teh Police Run Amok

Some have observed that the cops in the US have lost their collective shit over the last several...

...presidential administrations.

Far from promoting law and order, many cops have become the shock troops for the multinationals, for the american filth, the rich.

There's a touch of reform that must take place. Start with firing, then jailing, 95% of them and starting over, with appropriate training, and unions beholden to the actual needs of the actual cops, not a union leadership beholden only to their own political ambitions and positions and the rich cocks their lips are grafted to.

All of this is by way of introducing one truly vital reform.

There is a thought, that has become all too common in public discourse, that is so, so annoyingly wrong, has bothered me for quite some time, and must be fixed first. I was reminded of it today in this AD post about some San Francisco cops walking the unemployment line. The money shot?:

Furminger himself also texted a civilian his own address with the title: “White power family.”
Civilian.

Cops have long taken to referring to non-cops as 'civilians', to separate themselves, puff 'em up a little. The usage has become common.

Fuck that noise.

Cops are civil authorities. Part of civil society. They do not enforce, interpret, deal with in any way, 'martial' (military) law. When martial law is declared, it is enforced by military personnel, and civil niceties, like trials and rights, kinda fall by the wayside. Kinda the opposite of how cops are supposed to be. When cops forget that they are not part of civil society, or claim to be outside civil society, it makes it so much easier for them (and for too many cops this was already too goddamn easy) to become the terrorists of Ferguson, of New York City, of Albuquerque, of Maricopa County.

The police must be educated as to who they are, and who they serve. They are civilians, they serve civil law in the general society. If this is not step one, I say then, not expecting disagreement, that it is well within the top two.

Thoughts?

Friday, April 3, 2015

Dear Klan Christians - Imma 'Specially Talking To Tom Cotton, Senator (R. - The Shallow End Of The Gene Pool)

So, the new strawman is "why do gays care so much about a pizza joint in Indiana when ahem 

brown people

are allowed to walk without chains on them execute the Fabulous Folk.

Dear Apocalyptic Snotfondlers,

To all those asking why we care about gay rights in America but don't do enough or care about teh LGBT in Muslim countries;

Why do you want to drag us down instead of showing them a way up? You hate the shining city on the hill? You're making the Baby Reagan cry - are all'y'all traitors? (Yes. The answer is yes. Jus' sayin'.)

And 2.) we do care, and we don't/are unable to do enough, to help the gay communities in foreign countries, you are correct on that point, but why should they/would they even listen, much less cooperate, when psychotic xenophobic 'Murkin xtian bloodthirsty monsters keep encouraging bombing of those countries?*

Please to be kindly jamming a pound of powder down your collective piehole and a match up your collective ass the next time you wish to shoot your mouth off.

Hugs, kisses, and 480V of sphincter-stretching fury,

paleo


UPDATE: Those pizza inbreds, whose self-righteous fury at teh Gheys gave them the strength to close shop only after 24 hours of stiff resistance to making The New Peach-Fishers Supreme® have pulled in over $500 large from GoFundMe and probably a whole lot of devout people who can't afford it (no snark, I wish religion did not exist, but it does, and there are people, who though I believe they are misguided a bit of a whole much, take comfort in it, but then fall prey to the scum, priests, pastors, who use their fears and uncertainty to a devastating effect and a lifestyle of high class hookers, ground coarse horseradish {What, y'all bunch of Meanderthals? I love it and need it, hell, I'd get an IV if it could flow through the veins appropriately, and it can be hard to find where some dumbass heathen hasn't added sugar or mayo and should therefore be hit with a wrecking ball sharpened to 13,500 pounds} and hot-n-cold running scotch).
This fucking thing was a grift, enabled by Fox and Glennda Beck's Channel 'O Reverse Peristalsis, and the bastards (along with priests, pastors, everyone at Fox, and Becky) need to go to prison and now.

UPDATE ZWEI: Matthew Hagee, miraculous progeny of the man whose genitalia have retreated, visibly, to his chin, John Hagee, was present at the birth of a new strawman, that gay marriage will destroy sillyvisation now, as two men cannot procreate without some mind bogglingly expensive surgery, and two women cannot procreate without casting away their humanity and self-esteem and submitting to Matthew Hagee. Let's unpack this just a bit.

So, if gay marriage is legal, everyone will turn gay. No more bebbies.

Phew. How to answer...

No.

A.) I love everyone who I don't hate, and yet, being straight, I don't especially want to pitch or catch to a man. And so what. As I've pointed out, Imma tragically in love with my wife, and so generally don't want to pitch or catch to anyone who ain'tn't my wife.

Part the second:
We are not going to have kids. Not. Plenty of reasons, but one of the biggest is BY CHOICE WE WON'T HAVE KIDS. St. Hagee, does that invalidate my marriage? Seriously. Is my marriage lesser to yours (and if your wife is not glowingly pregnant right now, you are a worthless failure as a spokesman for xtian marriage)? And if your answer to that question is yes, what is your stomach lining made of that it can contain that much bile and I hope your stay in the resthome isn't too long after Sweetie gets done reasoning, enthusiastically, and incorporating sweeping arm gestures, with you.

Dickweed. 

Thursday, February 19, 2015

Music To Drink Whiskey By (Slapping Your Wife On The Ass Optional But Recommended)

I am certain that everyone who reads my crap, who's musically plugged-in, especially one particular undead bastard, has heard of these cats.

I hadn't until yesterday. I am old. Please shoot me now.

I want to think, as a local example, Rockford Mules, or, historically/nationally, Rossington-Collins. Anyhow, this is much nifty dirty boogie. (And the first video, especially, is a damn stitch!)

The Sheepdogs



Tuesday, February 17, 2015

A Bit Of paleo History

Anyone reading this blog can tell I'm not exactly right. So Imma share a few stories of my past with the understanding that, as part of my biography, they make absolute sense.

I went to college at the University of Wisconsin - Eau Claire, known for damn near not a damn thing except for the Footbridge over the Chippewa River, which at the time was known to have the coldest recorded temperature in the contiguous United States. Fucking yay. I also peed off it after a particularly usual night at the bars and got yelled at by a cop who refused to shake my hand after he let me go and I wanted to start a religion in his honor.




















I'm crossing the bridge one day, 1989 maybe?, on my way to my apartment in the college ghetto, when I met with some lady, walking a St. Bernard, crossing the bridge in the other direction.

"Hey, Cujo!" says paleo, and kneels down to collect smooches from a dog larger than he.

Says the lady, "I have to say,"
Says I, "Ja?"
Says she, "You are the first caucasian person who has ever called my dog 'Cujo'."
Says I, "Ah."
Expounds she, "Do you know who usually calls this dog 'Cujo'?"
Queries I, "No?"
Filibusters she, "People. Of color."
Stutters I, "Ah. Good. Um. Ok. I, have to go, um, anywhere, really."


I'd Be This Pissed If I Had No Drinking Water, Too




















The next little vignette is again set in Eau Claire, in 1994. I was sharing an apartment with a co-worker (and part-time paleo-chauffeur - see the rest of this sentence), still in the college ghetto, (I was young, footloose, fancy free, and sans driver's license), in a bit of a hellhole (I was also pretty broke, see 'sans driver's license'). I, of course, believe in ghosts. And Bigfoots. UFOs. Giorgio Tsoukalos. My roommate/co-worker was several years younger, seriously crazy, a bit mentally slow perhaps, whether due to illness or the fact that he had a brutal upbringing I'm not certain, and while not religious, very superstitious.

I was cool with the day we came home after a typical 9+ hour workday and found our shower on, with the water still hot. Little weird, lot unlikely, but harmless and kinda neat. Randy didn't really puzzle it out the way I did (if we had left it on in the morning, how the hell was there hot water) and didn't particularly care. Not so one evening.

We were watching TV and the answering machine beeped. (Ask your parents, kids.) The phone had been silent. Huh. Randy got up and played the message. The tape rewound for quite a while. What came out at first seemed like white noise, but then we could make out the sounds of a TV. Shortly we heard our voices, the conversation we'd been having 10 minutes prior. The answering machine had turned on the memo function (again, kids, ask your never mind) and recorded us for the length of the tape. I got shivers and wondered about the possibility of creating a television show about hunting ghosts. Randy, being more superstitious and far more decisive, yanked the machine and any cords that remained attached off the table and sent it off the balcony out to the street.


Two Crashed Trains In A Couple Days. Are You Kidding Me?!?



















Last story. This ain'tn't particularly freaky, but goes under the category of "What In Blazes".

In 1992, myself and two college buddies, Big Larry and Lil' Larry, went to Larry's parent's home in Hayward, WI, about February. We went to Cable on Saturday to go cross-country skiing on the Birkebeiner trail, and then winter camping in the Kissick Swamp Wildlife Area.

Please understand, by winter camping... Well, at this point in our camping careers we were prepared, having gone from the surplus maggot bag to proper 70 below winter bags, and, luckily, this time, brought a tent. (This was not always the case... Bright.) We brought assorted cuts of meat to roast over a campfire, enough meat to turn sweat to cholesterol and urine to orange-ish, ummm, urine. Gathered wood, then gathered some wood. We were concerned about temperatures that night so we gathered a little more wood. Took down a dead tree. And 19 live trees. Squirrels nests. Blair witch hangie thingies.



















We settled down after a while, three in a tent, warm, well fed, (there was beer buried under the coals for the morning for a touch of fun). At some point in the middle the night, freezing rain sealed us in the tent (to be gleefully borked off in the AM). 

This was pre-cellphone era, and I've never toted a watch too much, so I can't swear by the time, but it was still the middle of the night, the freezing rain had stopped but it was still some time to dawn. Lil' Larry woke us. After the obligatory "What the fuck?" from Big Larry and "Is there coffee?" from paleo, Lil' Larry shushed us. As fog cleared, I heard, we heard, the sounds of a helicopter, doing what sounded to be a sweep of maybe a mile wide, and heading in our direction. The sound continued to move, back and forth and slowly coming closer, for maybe 10 minutes, then stopped. 

Inside the tent, we obviously saw nothing, but as it approached our curiosity grew. Middle of the night, we were not thinking other than, helicopter. And when the sound of blades abruptly stopped, we thought 'no helicopter' and went the hell back to bed.(z) It was with the light of dawn that we realized, hey, 'that sumbitch just stopped', and 'yeah, we're not in the middle of British Columbia, but we're pretty damn isolated. What in the hell was all that?!?'

Questions, comments, scathing rebuttals?

(z) Our usual rule for camping - first one up goes the fuck back to sleep, unless it's paleo, cuz he's just going to make coffee anyhow.

Saturday, February 14, 2015

This May Be The Only Way I Would Enthusiastically Vote For Hillary Clinton

This requires a brief setup.

In Raw Story this morning, it was reported that the au-ful-teurs who made the beloved-in-baptist-Mississippi Twilight-fucking-fanfic-mormon-BDSM epic Fifty Shades Of Grey will be making a film based on BEEENNGHHAAZZZI.

Friend of teh blog Big Bad Bald Bastard (srsly, read him now. He's a wonderful writer and annoyingly prolific) posted in comments
Relativity Media will be teaming up with 50 Shades of Grey
producer Dana Brunetti on what will be the second film in production
about the September 11, 2012 attack on the United States consulate in
Benghazi,
 
Let me guess, just in time for the 2016 Presidential election! Both films will probably have a scene in which Hilary asks, "What does it matter?" completely out of context.
I was inspired to put on my screenwriter's helmet, a lovely shade of tinfoil, with beerholders, and create this little script.


Scene. The Oval Office. The bust of Lincoln is not present, although white dust and granules where it was give some clue to its disposition. In its place, an Ehrlenmeyer flask filled with fetuses. The door from the Chief of Staff's Office slams open and Bill Clinton runs into the room

Bill
: "Honey? Mrs. President?"

President Hillary Clinton's head rises from between the legs of an african-american muslim liberal jewish woman, named Fidel, with a Wellesley Masters of Soviet Film Studies

HRC:
"Who is she now?"

Bill, almost giggling: "The North Koreans have teamed up with the CDC and nuked the SEC championship game. Over 65,000 southern baptists have been turned to pencil lead!"

HRC, sinks back down: "What nomnom does it slozzle matter?nomnomnomnom..."

and scene.

If they film that (and I get credit, bicthes), I will not only overjoyingly vote for Hillary, adding all the local cemeteries, but I'll start donating paychecks.

Jus' sayin'.

Tuesday, February 3, 2015

A Rather Hostile Post On Religion

I don't usually wade too deep into the religion wars, save those occasions where I can mock useless motherfuckers who desperately need to suck on a tailpipe. Joel Osteen. Pope Benny the Inquisitor (1). Zombie Falwell. Can't-Believe-The-Douchemule-Is-Still-Animate Robertson. I have made the point that while I believe in too many random weirdnesses to consider myself an atheist, any organized religion is an evil, devoid of morals, never more than a complicated grift. All of them. Destroyers of the human state, that of being inquisitive, creative, thinking, social creatures. At best they are authoritarian cocksuckers, at their worst, record-breaking killers. Stuff.

Today, however, for whatever syzygy has taken place, I am rather cross with the Roman Empire for going about things half-assed, and starving their kitty-cats.

Arkansas. State Motto, 'Why?'. (h/t Raw Story)
You genuinely heartless rodent molesters. Yeah, I know it's Arkansas and all, one state sharing 21 chromosomes and 19 teeth. 

"paleo, you're shocked? This behaviour belied even your already low expectations of the goddamn south?"

Truthfully, no. It is for those good, god-fearing parishioners, who gave the mother an envelope of clippings stating that her son was already burning, that I sometimes wish there was a hell. You pissants deserve each other, and to judge by the number of recessive genes creeping out here and there, y'all know it, too. I award you one diesel exhaust pipe and a couple million sets of breathing masks.

This Willfully Ignorant Kneebiter doesn't even try to hide the grift. (h/t Raw Story)
Ken Ham. The Encyclopedia of American Loons has a good breakdown, but I must disagree strongly with some of his diagnosis, where he calls Ham an '(unintentional) con artist.' Nor do I think Kenny is especially stupid. 

Oh, he's certainly not going to be the next Nobel Nominee in, say, anything, but this ongoing episode shows the whole damn thing as a grift, and rather successful. Ken Ham, I award you your very own martyr's spit, book of Kwik Trip matches (only the highest quality for such a task), and a lot of THHN wire that I need to take the insulation off of before I turn in the copper.

If you deluded hatemongers want to play politics, pay taxes. (h/t RightWingWatch)
Nuff said. I award the cretin a 1976 Ford Granada, cerulean but somewhat rusty, and an inoperable garage door.

While I don't expect any of these lizard bastards to take advantage of the generosity and the deep pondering that went into the administration of this contest and the trophies given. I can hope. Because I really, really, hate these societal vampires.

One more, brand new to me, and obviously there are details yet to be, ummm, detailed, but taking this at face value, my only question is 'Where is the nearest megachurch?'. (h/t Raw Story)

I really, really, re-a-a-a-l-l-y detest these peckerwoods.

(1) I'm not sure if I'm ashamed, or surprised, if I'm being buffaloed, or if I'm actually reading him right, but I'm inclined to like Francis. Yeah, he's made no progress on any minute advance in Vatican policies from the 40, 50, 80, whatever number of bloodthirsty criminals preceded him, they are still as medievally misanthropic as ever. But I give him credit for seemingly being genuine about living up to the vow of poverty, and big props for infuriating the USCCB and especially Burke's demotion. If he were to start defrocking diddlers en masse and turning over records of the 'penitents' to local DAs, I'd willingly shake his hand.

Thursday, January 29, 2015

Jumping, Well, Hopping, Well, Maybe Vaguely Moving Up And Down For Joy!

In the middle of a stupid work week, but...

paleo (and paleobrother) have tickets for Rush at Xcel Centre (May 12)!!



paleo (and Sweetie) have tickets for Weird Al at Mystic Casino (July 3)!!



Sweetie says I owe her

















Um.