Friday Ephemera (770)
Hold on tight. || Wok tossing scenes. || Random-ass cheese umbrage. || Birthday cake of note. || Behold, a greeting from a ladies’ bathroom. || Himalayan rhubarb. || Boo. || “The problem is most people don’t have a vacuum chamber.” Or, how to fill a Klein Bottle. || The progressive dining experience, parts 38 and 39. || One could never grow weary of his self-expression. || Washing the wookiee. || You will enthuse as instructed. || I’ll let you show me how it’s done. || Maureen, there’s someone at the door. || Smugly misinformed bint wants to decolonise your language. || Attention, ladies, I bring good news. || The Ogmios School of Zen Motoring, episode 9. Previously. || When the cyberbully is your mother. || Cat deflector. || He dented the fuck out of his truck. || Oh, and clean-up on aisle four.
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Offler’s Witnesses: Like Jehovah’s Witnesses, but they don’t bother to knock.
You may not like your new incompatible neighbors, but their novelty food makes it all worthwhile.
My heart bleeds for that ignorant bint. It bleeds.
He makes Wile E. Coyote seem like a genius.
Speaking of Jehovah’s Witnesses….
I do lament the lack of Wensleydale, but I don’t rant.
If he hadn’t accidentally killed himself, how long until he shot someone in a robbery? One of 8 children. No mention of a father. Everyone in the neighborhood said he was a good kid. A real dindu.
Oh my, how much I would love to have misinformed bint hold forth on her richly-hued brethren in dining experiences 38 and 39.
Badly need a return to the days when it was legal to stop criminals by bopping them on the head with a nightstick. No more agonizing over the possibility of them suffering injury.
Heh. Cheese umbrage. Preach, sistah! Now do beers that taste like beer.
cheese umbrage.
Stop me if you heard this one…
Sobering words … which will be rejected by all Right Thinking Liberals.
Today is National Fracture Day.
Still more welcome than tv license inspectors
Are today’s words ‘cheese grater’…?
Band name.
Morning, all.
[ Slurps coffee. ]
I can’t help thinking that default denial is very much part of the problem.
As I said a while ago, regarding this jolly scene:
Or indeed the word picnic.
Compendium of cat-launching foil.
Also, cat WWE.
Perhaps more tattoos and piercings would make her more agreeable.
Also, not clear how one has an “extremely gay wedding.” Can one have a slightly gay wedding?
That link is to italicised ducks. Which I rather like.
Another all-night boozing session, madam?
I don’t know how the duck link got in there. Is this the right one, with cats being launched?
That’s better. But I’m cutting you off after this large brandy.
I don’t know if this is related to those denials, but apparently there’s quite a lot of behind-the-scenes manipulation.
I asked Grok to fill me in, including what happens if you refuse to cooperate with CRS (a few questions down).
How does he stay so calm driving in London?
I suppose that’s the charm, the improbability.
I did rather like the narrated merging dispute. Also,
And lo, he was right.
It’s the line, “Get the fuck outta my city.” Because of the availability of unfamiliar cheese.
I would guess that sentiment is applied by madam very selectively, however, and that no-one else is allowed to think similar thoughts.
I preferred it when fetishes were private.
There was a time, not too long ago, when childish, rather obnoxious self-absorption wasn’t shielded from normal consequences by claims that childish, rather obnoxious self-absorption is some kind of identity, something to be affirmed and deferred to.
I can’t speak to the particulars of that – I have no idea – but we have noted, many times, what amounts to a high-status industry devoted to the suppression of any unflattering perception of statistical realities, while pointedly not addressing the unedifying behaviour that results in such perceptions.
In fact, one might suppose that the endless contrivance – say, regarding supposedly racist traffic cameras or the etymology of the word picnic – is deployed as a distraction, a deflection, from the actual, rather obvious issue.
Add some radioactivity and you’ve got yourself a B-movie.
italicised ducks
Band name. Debut album: Lean Into It
Real-life horror film. (Caution, graphic.)
Spotted a couple of my Hasidic Homies in the first few seconds..
Clam:
In the opening shot he says it’s Durley Road which is Birmingham.
The progressive dining experience, parts 38 and 39
At what point will workers be armed with tasers?
There’s a quite lively presence in episode 2.
There’s a quite lively presence in episode 2.
The zig-zaggy lines in the road add a sort of discombobulated feel to the scene.
There is a Durley Road in London, which is, so far as I can tell, where most episodes take place.
On our narrator’s travels, he does encounter the curious.
For instance.
Random-ass cheese umbrage.
I guess just going over to the dairy case where the shredded taco cheese lives just doesn’t have the same clout. Also, right in front of her, a block of NY State sharp cheddar, but I guess owning a grater is yte privilege or something.
Maureen, there’s someone at the door.
They are there to talk about the extended warranties.
Behold, a greeting from a ladies’ bathroom.
Also from the ladies’, this recurrent asshat who needs a refund for his failed “feminization” surgery. Scroll down for the before and after.
Damned if they do, damned if they don’t, Target can’t catch a break as we find another indignant over the lack of “pride” crap.
Still processing the words “temperature, wetness, and amount of light…”
Mormons again.
“Give me Velveeta™, or give me death!” Just as cheese diversity is our strength, our strength is strengthened by (rereads headline) Venezuelan lesbian poets.
Although that sounds like another Samuel L. Bronkowitz production, our scholar is in the fifth year of a normally three year course, but hopes to finish next year if she doesn’t get deported. “Her goal is to teach at a university.”
Of course it is.
More denial here, in which we learn that it’s wrong to refer to dead thugs as “animals” and “ghetto”. (From a 2014 incident.)
Neighborhood outrage that anyone would shoot the thugs; one of the many tributes can be seen here.
A school for “troubled” teens, which teaches them that nothing they have done is their fault, because they are “victims”, indoctrinating them in revolutionary, leftist, racist ideology.
From archived pages of the school’s website:
and:
That’s revolutionary communist lesbian poets.
She fled Venezuela but wants to turn America into another communist hell hole.
Elephant: “What’s with this random-ass cheese? I am trying to make a taco.”
The brightest and best. No, wait.
Vain, lying, ungrateful, parasitic grifter.
That’s the one I meant.
It takes a certain chutzpah to freeload on the charity of a host country’s taxpayers, and to then seek to violate that country’s most basic laws, while presuming some God-given right to exist at others’ expense, on a seemingly indefinite basis, and while devoting one’s time to badmouthing the same people left footing the bill.
This, from the article, jumped out as The New Unsayable:
That. In big, flashing letters.
As I said a while ago, following this:
It’s curious how rapidly the obvious question – what’s in it for us? – has become something close to taboo.