Reheated (59)
For newcomers, more items from the archives:
Tiny cakes are exploitative, demeaning and emotionally crippling. You didn’t know?
After telling us at length just how terrible and mind-warping these tiny fancies are, at least among women, Mr Seaton adds, “I don’t want to ban cupcakes.” And yet he feels it necessary to say this, as if banning miniature sponges would be an obvious thing to consider, the kind of thing one does. And after banning them in his own office.
Attention, world. Novelist Brigid Delaney wants a nicer flat.
You see, creative people, that’s people like Ms Delaney, must live in locales befitting their importance, not their budget. You, taxpayer, come hither. And bring your wallet. Creative people, being so creative, deserve nothing less than special treatment. I mean, you can’t expect a creative person to write at any old desk in any old room in any old part of town. What’s needed is a lifestyle at some other sucker’s expense.
The Guardian’s George Monbiot encounters the underclass. Things go badly wrong.
George believes in sharing, by which of course he means taking other people’s stuff. Yet he’s remarkably unprepared for that favour being returned. Say, by two burly chaps with neck tattoos and ill-tempered dogs. And as these burly chaps were members of a “marginalised group,” and therefore righteous by default, George was expecting noble savages. Alas, ‘twas not to be.
There’s more, should you crave it, in the greatest hits. Also, open thread.
The Guardian’s George Monbiot encounters the underclass. Things go badly wrong.
Actual lol.
Actual lol.
It does rather suggest a failure of, um, solidarity. And Mr Monbiot endures this indignity, while apparently learning nothing, and is then scolded at length by even more pious lefties for his alleged “racism” in daring to acknowledge the existence of thieving travellers with unattractive tendencies. For his insufficient observance of the ever-growing list of Things We Must Not Mention™.
One might almost feel sorry for him. Almost.
The Guardian’s George Monbiot encounters the underclass. Things go badly wrong.
So to be a good lefty Monbiot thinks he should have allowed himself to be robbed?
So to be a good lefty Monbiot thinks he should have allowed himself to be robbed?
He does skirt awfully close to that. He’s definitely upset that his “bourgeois instincts” – i.e., preferring not to be robbed or menaced or threatened with incineration – triumphed over his ludicrous and juvenile political ideology. That the ideology might be the problem, the thing to do away with, is, alas, a possibility that Mr Monbiot seems unable to process.
Why do these lefties have to wait to be robbed? Why must the well-off ones wait to be taxed? Lazy is what they are. What is stopping them from being more proactive? Take up a subsistence lifestyle and give all remaining money away. Say 40% to the street thugs and 60% to the government. Or whatever proportions to whichever they love the mostest.
Why do these lefties have to wait to be robbed?
It’s conceivable that Dear George finds the proletariat in general a bewildering phenomenon, certainly somewhat alien, and is shocked to find that its members don’t always, or often, correspond with the cartoon characters of his ongoing fantasy. Monbiot is, lest we forget, a noted alumnus of Stowe, an imposing boarding school in Buckinghamshire, where annual fees are a mere £36,000.
where annual fees are a mere £36,000
Though presumably a tad cheaper when George was a mere schoolboy (physically, that is. Intellectually maybe little has changed)
1 Cupcakes: Sigmund Freud famously quipped “Sometimes, a cupcake is just a cupcake.” **
Evidently, this is not one of those times. Cupcakes – like everything else – have a much deeper, darker meaning these days, discernible only to the woke.
** I made this up. Don’t try to find a URL.
2 Theft: In some 3rd world countries thieves are mobbed and beaten before police are called. The response is very much like what happens when someone spots a poisonous snake nearby.
3 Monbiot: “We had no idea how to handle them without offending our agonised liberal consciences. They saw this and exploited it ruthlessly. Eventually the police solved the problem for us….” Ah, the police! Useful for oppressing the Other when it suits you, eh George?
So to be a good lefty Monbiot thinks he should have allowed himself to be robbed?
And hey, let’s not forget this. Or indeed this.
And the values I see in cupcakes are of a demeaning, self-trivialising sort of hyper-femininity.
Cupcakes … but not this.
but not this.
[ Slides badly-Sellotaped bag of crisps along bar. ]
Also, open thread.
Lovely Bride and I purchased a new washer and dryer last week. We spent a great deal of time searching for machines that would fit down the basement stairs of our hundred-year-old house, which have a width just over 29 inches. The delivery men showed up on Wednesday, and promptly got stuck in the stairway.
“I swear to God, lads, I checked the measurements before I bought that thing!”
They chuckled good-naturedly and replied, “Not your fault, Mr. Squid. The listed measurements don’t include all the bits and bobs hanging off the machines. The dryer door is three-quarters of an inch proud of the front of the cabinet, and the vent and gas fitting off the back add another inch and a half. We have this problem almost every day.” So I had them drop the machines in the garage and go on their merry way.
My firm’s offices were closed on Friday, so I spent the morning tearing out the landing at the back door and rigging a block and tackle to pull the old units up and drop the new ones in. Pulling out a joist left me with a 29″x31″ hole, which was a quarter inch more than I needed! A 3-to-1 purchase made the weights quite manageable, and even the jaded eye of the Lovely Bride couldn’t help but be impressed at my engineering.
Unfortunately, the end of the joist that rests on the foundation wall was badly rotted by decades of damp, so I wound up tearing out and replacing four rotten joists, and rebuilding the landing and a two-step section of stairs. All that remains now is to find some sort of covering for the surfaces, as the old asbestos floor tiles are in no condition to re-use.
So I’m basically crippled from physical exertion now. How was everyone else’s weekend?
Lovely Bride and I purchased a new washer and dryer last week.
I’m so happy for you. There’s nothing quite like buying a new washing machine.
[ Fondles washing machine. ]
Ms Delaney states that Berlin is adding 30,000 residents every year. This is obviously a good thing but overlooks the fact that 90% of these new Germans are only interested in one book and are likely to be violently opposed to any others.
I feel for Mr Monbiot over his run in with the less-fortunate. Reminds me of a story I read years ago (some of your excellent readers may have a record of this and it may even have been on here in which case would the owner of the bar please republish it?) where I believe a young lady of pale complexion, convinced that the poor PoC in the world would welcome an enthusiastic and utterly committed-to-social-justice lass willing to devote her life to their welfare, volunteered to work among them.
Three months in she quit after discovering they weren’t saints at all. Indeed, IIRC, her views of the expected grateful were distinctly unflattering.
Honk.
https://twitter.com/TheRealDunairy/status/1285177151726260224
Omg, squid.
This is exactly why I never touch anything in my ancient (by California standards, 60 years) house.
Not really true, of course. In reality I spend most of my time buried in house innards. I’m supposed to be replacing a 40 year old U trap right now, instead of carousing with you heathens.
“White penises, white vaginas compromise your melanin”
“White penises, white vaginas compromise your melanin”
“I can no longer sit back and allow honky infiltration, honky indoctrination, honky subversion, and the international honky conspiracy to sap and impurify all of our precious bodily fluids.”
“White penises, white vaginas compromise your melanin”
Um…they *do* know that “white” people have/make melanin too?? Have they not heard of a suntan?? I’ve seen homeless caucasians living on the street in the summertime that are darker and have bigger dreds than these over-indulged loudmouths. I’ve seen blonde beach bunnies that are darker than some of these POC or BIPOC or whatever acronym they are going by these days.
We all have melanin – it’s a human pigment. Some make more than others. But we all have it.
I forget where I saw it – prolly linked here or at Insty, from Twitter – a video that had some woman going off on EEEEvil wypipo stealing POC melanin for sleep aid capsules.
Melatonin, melanin – same thing. Is that one of those Different Ways of Knowing I keep hearing about?
“White penises, white vaginas compromise your melanin”
BLM Nazi: “Black men! Black women! The kente cloth is calling you. The ancient and sacred symbol of your race since the beginning of time…”
Elwood: Melanin Nazis.
Jake: I hate melanin Nazis!
“Melatonin, melanin – same thing. Is that one of those Different Ways of Knowing I keep hearing about?”
It’s like confusing hydrocarbons and carbohydrates.
“We all have melanin”
Back in the Science Wars of the 1990’s I recall afro-centric cranks saying that melanin in the brain makes black people superior to all others in intellect, wisdom, and humanity. I’m sure that if you can find an afro-centric bookstore you will find books and pamphlets peddling this crackpottery.
I can’t even …
I can’t even …
Think of it as Equal Opportunity for Female Perverts. I remember reading Zombie’s reports on lunatic San Francisco events in which gay men (and just weird men) would get their jollies by waving their penises in public. This woman is just taking it a little farther than all the woke women who wear pussy hats.
The Banned Cupcakes.
Good band name.
Darleen: ’ I can’t even … ’
‘Gerrem on, love!’
And the values I see in cupcakes are of a demeaning, self-trivialising sort of hyper-femininity.
Funny thing, I’ve been watching old episodes of All Creatures Great and Small, which is about veterinarians in Rural 1930’s Britain, and afternoon tea seems to always include very small cakes and other baked goods. (Although David may be able to identify every kind by sight…) I seem to recall that the Manchester Guardian of the 1930’s waxed indignant about very different things than does the current Grauniad.
I can’t even …
And of course, the woman being lauded for her Courage was clearly not a candidate for the fat acceptance movement. Guaranteed, if she was, this photo wouldn’t have gotten within sniffing distance of the LA(me) Times.