Friday Ephemera (793)
He has a beer coat. || Bond medley. || Blocks of ice versus very hot shapes. || Air conditioner crisis. || Car dealership scenes. || I’ll catch the next one, thanks. || Incoming, two views. || Livestreaming drama. || Dating drama. || Treadmill with wheels. || Loo location of note. || Feeling the rug. || Gun-range related mishap. || Discourse was attempted. || He’s just like Jesus, you hear. || Two and a half minutes of Hitchcock. || Related stills. || His is impressive. || Unfortunate van proximity. || He’s not sure about the pedals. || “Why he locked the doors on me?” || Random Shatner. || On the returning (and non-returning) of shopping trollies. || A thing I didn’t know about the Flatiron Building. (h/t, Things) || It’s a mummified foot thing, you wouldn’t understand. || And finally, a taste of foreign cinema.
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This is fine.
Theologians are to religion as criminologists are to crime.
Charles Murray on For All Mankind
Unexpected item in bagging area
The original nail soup?
Night of the Spirochetes
You might want to edit that link before David gets wind of it.
This is Bob Barker reminding you to have your furries spayed or neutered. [ Link omitted, because it was too disgusting for This Fine Establishment. ]
[ Looks around for signs of Muldoon…or his polyester leisure suit. ]
The Sourdough Saloon in the Downtown Hotel in Dawson City, Yukon Canada has something very similar. They have the Sourtoe Cocktail Club, To become a member you have to drink a shot of Yukon Jack Whisky that contains a mummified human toe. The crucial rule as recited by the “Toe Captain” is, “You can drink it fast, you can drink it slow, but your lips must touch the gnarly toe.”
One good medley deserves another.
“Why he locked the doors on me?”
I get the feeloing this wasn’t the shopkeeper’s first rodeo…
Unexpected item in bagging area
‘I’m 76 years old and I will fight a computer!’ Aw, bless!
That was a joy. “How many pounds is this tractor, roughly?”
One of his best.
Morning, all.
Heh. Yes. As someone adds in the replies, you have to wonder if he spends a lot of time with his grandpa.
There’s more, should you want it.
She’s an expert in tooth whitening.
[ Slurps coffee. ]
The customer – I use the word loosely – seems incapable of self-reflection or shame or remorse, even when given a simple and rather generous way out of the situation. Instead, she’s indignant that the shopkeeper wouldn’t let her rob him. As if she were the victim of the drama. The one being wronged.
You can’t fix that kind of dysfunction. It goes in the trash.
There’s a longer video, featuring Mom, here.
Harry and Edna, 1958.
If it works as a coat the beer will be warm.
If the beer is cold it doesn’t work as a coat.
I see you’ve given this more thought than was strictly necessary.
Have some points.
The Guardian – that foremost champion of massive, indiscriminate immigration, legal and otherwise – bemoans “declining sense of collective identity.”
Bewilderment ensues.
“The ideal woman.”
She’s annoyed you’re not feeling guilty for being white.
In Maigret viewing news, we’re approaching the end of season one of the 90s Gambon version and it’s… a bit lightweight and unsatisfying – diverting enough, but basically comfort TV, little more. It doesn’t have the visual flair or dramatic depth of the later, Rowan Atkinson version, which is far superior.
Though I have belated noticed that Michael Gambon had weirdly long fingers.
That reminded me of the Sourtoe Cocktail.
[ Adds dehydrated toes to shopping list. ]
Boobs n’ thighs n’ biceps.
I see that Steve E had the same brainwave before I did.
It’s important to note that you can donate toes to the drinking establishment so they always have a ready stock. How they check if they’re not your own I’m not sure.
If you can’t beat them, join them.
I’ll just bake my own.
North Korea vibes.
If he tries to join the WDNC Club – NO. That is non-negotiable.
Boobs n’ thighs n’ biceps.
Yeah, no.
Not clicking that one this close to lunchtime.
Curses.
[ Weighs merits of Potatoes Romanov, possibly with bacon. ]
…or his polyester leisure suit
It is polyester pants, you nekulturny durak.
Meanwhile, “…the policy likely causes air travel delays…”
Why, it’s almost as if the legalistic overreach – the urge to compel and coerce, to impose on others – were part of the same aberrant psychology.
One more time. Once you surrender to the lie, complications will ensue and rapidly multiply. Best not to give away the store in the first place.
Be vewy, vewy aware.
The inability of intellectuals – the best and brightest, those best suited to direct the affairs of men – to sum up 2 + 2 is an evergreen puzzle.
Even though many will demand that you affirm the lies.
Oh no. Whatever shall we do?
Surely there are easier ways to smuggle cantaloupes?
We seem to have reached a point where, in many circles, pretty much wherever progressives enjoy a fiefdom, cleverness is assumed to entail an inhibition of any realisations of an unfashionable, non-status-conferring kind. Even when that inhibition involves becoming absurd. And so, a great deal of effort goes into not noticing fairly obvious things.
Cleverness as stupefying. Quite the achievement, really.
Fatigue: Black woman stops postman, demands that he hand over her fiance’s mail. Sense of entitlement makes coexistence impossible.
I first saw this video a number of years ago. As I recall, the original video was longer and included the postman trying to explain to her that federal law requires that he only put mail in the designated mailboxes.
As a general rule, I find it best not to flatter or enable personality disorders or, with some exceptions, mental illness more broadly.
For instance, I know someone who’s intensely neurotic, to a degree I find maddening. Over the years, I and others have tried indulging her, being polite and patient, and pretending not to notice how mad it all is – and pretty much every time these attempts at accommodation have resulted in even more self-indulgent neuroticism – louder, for longer, and typically with considerable inconvenience for everyone else.
Any inch given has been rewarded with an emboldening of the aggravating behaviour. There’s no appreciation shown, no acknowledgement of the forbearance in play or the imposition on others. Just more self-preoccupied madness. Finally, exasperated, I confronted the woman with a forthright summary of her neuroticism and its effect on other people. The unfairness of her behaviour.
She’s been noticeably less annoying since, at least to me.
The Unspanked. Or depending on mood, unpunched.
A broken nose should do it. Or the loss of several teeth.
Good start, but not enough. Because at her age true rehabilitation is impossible. Thus, it is necessary, at minimum, to prevent such animals from living anywhere near civilized human beings.
“[A]lthough it’s considered slightly off to speak of it out loud […]”