Because I like to bring comfort to those in distress, How To Avoid Tears And Pretentious Agonising: 

And at this terribly difficult time, for some, do spare a thought for this tightly-wound progressive gentleman, presumably now trembling at the prospect of some Trumpian Sturmabteilung. Oh, and this madam here, the editor-in-chief of Mother Jones. The one rendered distraught by a flight attendant’s courtesy and its ominous implications for the future of the world.

Update, via the comments:

Writing in the Guardian, the left-leaning novelist Francine Prose is not, I fear, taking recent developments well: 

Following the above, those unhinged leanings really kick into gear, with the inevitable mentions of Hitler, Stalin, dictatorship, people thrown from helicopters, and “the imprisonment and execution of those who disagree.” A feverish, dystopian drama in which, one assumes, Ms Prose anticipates a starring role.

Consider this a post-election open thread. Share ye links and bicker.

Lifted from the previous post, an excruciatingly obtuse discussion about wangs and women’s changing rooms. In which the very patient Warren Smith attempts to tease sense from a self-styled ‘Harris voter’.

Again, I say obtuse, but it’s more a matter of practised dishonesty:

Responding to the exchange above, Rafi adds, not unfairly, 

Mr Harris Voter does seem to be struggling with some very basic realities. Things that we, as a society, used to understand.

For seekers of the erotic and forbidden:

Consider this an open thread.

I’ll start the ball rolling with an excruciatingly obtuse discussion about wangs and women’s changing rooms. I say obtuse, but it’s more a matter of practised dishonesty.

Share ye links and bicker.

Suboptimal scenario. || Evolved for smartphones. || How to make a simple thing needlessly complicated, parts 1, 2, and 3. || Bedtime snacks. || Large objects. || Incoming. || Incoming 2. || For recreational purposes. || Pyramid building redux. Previously. || Mortal remains. || Hallucinate in mud, 1969. || There was smoke, some shouting. || Meanwhile, in Japan. || Autoerotic scenes. || Fly repellent? || At last, toe shoes. || Paranormal furniture and uncanny bangings, 1983. || Parking is hard. || For the children, you say? || How to stretch your daughter. || I’d say bullet dodged. || Gloopiness. Previously. || Malayan leaf frog. || Questions from 1964: “Is Wales rife with witchcraft?” || Furniture for “even the most delicate female.” || Flesh-eating bees make meat honey. || It’s good to polish those language skills.

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For newcomers, some items from the archives: 

A Failure To Affirm.

Romantic complications of a very modern kind.

It’s Trivial When The Victim Is Someone Who Isn’t Me.

Habitual car theft is a “victimless” crime, says Nora the socialist.

The Thrill Of Word-Policing.

Assistant professor wants to censor the “violent” language of astronomy.

Consider this an open thread. Share ye links and bicker.

A tightly-wound progressive gentleman offers lifestyle advice:

It all sounds terribly exciting.

Leftist shares his plan if Trump wins this election. This is a whole new level of delusion… pic.twitter.com/BYYqVAL8T9

— Amala Ekpunobi (@amalaekpunobi) October 26, 2024

Update, via the comments:

Martin D adds, not unfairly, 

Ah, yes, but there’s a sweet role to play, a self-flattering psychodrama to enact. Or as Mr Muldoon puts it, 

And regarding the prospect of Our Betters being forced into some terrified silence, Eagle quips,

That was, I think, the bit that really strained credulity. The idea that Agitated Chappie and his radical comrades could ever inhibit their compulsion to announce their own superiority at every opportunity. It was a stretch, even compared to the implication that the streets would soon be patrolled by some Trumpian Sturmabteilung.

Because you chose the Hades Funeral Service. || All-terrain bed. || Hey, it’s a job. || Somewhat bigger than expected. || Slimline solution. || Nommy-nommy-nom. || Down on the farm. (h/t, Mark) || Minimal effort detected. || Close enough. || Ladies, look away now. || Ladies, look away now 2. || Answers on a postcard, please. || The unspanked pass the time. || The progressive retail experience, parts 589 and 590. (h/t, Julia) || The progressive dining experience, part 38. || But his “intention has always been to promote understanding,” obviously. || The path to manhood. || Scrambled maps. || Gameplay. || “What’s wrong with it?” || The thrill of women’s basketball. || Rufus and Harriet. || An excess of flexibility. || She found where he was storing his trauma. || And finally, first-timers find out.

To be notified of new posts, you can follow me on X / Twitter.

To enable extra commenting options – including @username mentions, upvotes, and live notifications – scroll down to the black ‘Meta’ box at the very bottom of the page and click register. It’s free and quite painless.

Or, His Unbeaten Ass. 

Yesterday, at UC Berkeley, that fiefdom of Our Betters, detransitioner and “former trans kid” Chloe Cole invited students to discuss the realities of sexual transition, a procedure she very much regrets.

However, expressing regret, or doubt of any kind, is apparently an outrage, a wickedness to be punished. And hence the grinning chap seen below, the one expressing himself via the medium of tomato juice:

Today at a @tpusastudents tabling event at UC Berkeley with Chloe Cole and Harrison Tinsley, this individual threw a full bottle of tomato juice all over the TPUSA chapter members, staff, and their table. @Harrisontinz @ChoooCole

VC: @uhneti pic.twitter.com/CTWd4rfpsm

— Turning Point USA (@TPUSA) October 23, 2024

“I’m not touching you,” says he. “I’m grabbing your phone.” 

Update, via the comments:

EmC asks, not unreasonably,

I would guess that if you attempt it, even politely – at least, at Berkeley, that great seat of reason – you risk being assaulted by a spiteful, emotionally incontinent misfit. One clearly accustomed to impunity.

And that’s rather the thing, isn’t it?

If, for instance, I were considering whether to amuse myself by flinging tomato juice over people and over their computers and whatever, while grinning with satisfaction, I’d expect a not insignificant likelihood of consequently being punched in the face. This expectation is important.

The risk of being punched, vigorously, is important. It inhibits quite a lot of recreational malice.

And the assumption of being able to behave badly, malevolently, with impunity, as seen above, and as seen repeatedly and quite vividly here, is not, to my eye, progress.

Readers will, I think, recall this eye-widening altercation, shared in the Ephemera of October 11, between a laid-back driver and a rather wound-up cyclist. The latter being a candidate, as Mags put it, for the title of World’s Most Annoying Human Being:

Average cyclist interaction in Utah. pic.twitter.com/od5i6a9dSX

— Dr Manhattva (@Manhattva) October 9, 2024

If you haven’t seen the exchange above, I do recommend watching it, if only as an instructional tale. Or a test of your own self-restraint. In the video, the cyclist, the aptly named Mr Peacock, goes out of his way to generate conflict, repeatedly, then descends into some paranoid fantasy, in which he is somehow both the hero and the victim. His fabulist construals of what is happening are quite remarkable. 

As I said at the time,

The drama resulted in Mr Peacock, our high-maintenance cyclist, receiving a $160 fine for disorderly conduct, and the driver, Mr Kempton, initially being given a citation for passing too closely, which would have resulted in a $130 fine, based solely on the cyclist’s claims. This was subsequently dropped after reviewing the driver’s dashcam footage, which tells a different story.

Readers will, I suspect, note the almost comical difference in attitude. Mr Chill meets Mr Head-Full-Of-Crazy-Beans. In the video linked above, Mr Kempton, our low-key driver, says that he feels sorry for the cyclist being cited for disorderly conduct, despite his dishonesty and irrational behaviour, and even though at the time Mr Kempton felt in some danger. As one might when confronted by someone belligerent and neurotic, a raving fantasist.

Well, happily, Dicentra has brought us a second video, showing Mr Peacock’s exchange with the police officer. Again, it may offer both instruction and some amusement:

Y’all remember that Park City Karen cyclist that picked on that kid?

Enjoy this cinematic masterpiece. Nature is healing.pic.twitter.com/mj6SxeL4wA

— 𝕏ANDER GEOGRAPHIC | ᴛᴏᴜᴄʜᴇʀ ᴏꜰ ɢʀᴀꜱꜱ🏕️ (@actionxander) October 21, 2024

“Oh, come on, man,” says Mr Peacock. “I was the victim here.”

And as before, almost every breath is a lie.

Also, open thread. Share ye links and bicker.

A small point, but with a bigger point lurking behind it:

I think there’s obviously a lot of truth to the idea that kids benefit from having desirable behavior modeled for them, but the demand to have it appear in media is a cheap substitute for the much more difficult thing that actually works https://t.co/fsgKMLao5s

— wanye (@wanyeburkett) October 20, 2024

As a child, I wasn’t interested in books and TV programmes that centred on children my own age. In fact, juvenile characters, supposedly there to be identified with, were generally distracting and off-putting, if not downright annoying, a thing that broke the spell. A phenomenon known to some as The Wesley Crusher Effect.

I remember being interested in astronauts, adventurers, superheroes or whatever. But being represented, in the ham-fisted modern sense, wasn’t an obvious factor. As noted in the thread linked above, the whole point of the exercise was to inhabit the minds of people who aren’t you, and whose circumstances therefore seem much more exciting.

As to the larger point – the much more difficult thing – it does rather suggest a parental lapse of some significance.