Friday Ephemera (833)
At last, lollipops that play rap music through your teeth. || At least it does that. || Coin-operated elevators. || Competitive window tinting. || I guess we’ll never know. || While you’re at it, mate. || “My WiFi cuts out when I experience powerful emotions.” || Today’s word is parenting. || Place in food chain negotiation. || For reasons not entirely clear, people with low sex drive demand visibility. || A head of the sexuals. || How to get shot. || Working in a “self-service” shop, 1961. || I’m afraid the unsee button is out of order. || And lo, a mighty roar. || Enjoying the moment. || Brief intermission. || It’s a take. || At last, your very own Star Trek casserole dish and matching communi-grater. || Facial. || How to make fire. || The making of Flash Gordon, 1980. || And finally, scenes of interspecies fondling.
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It’s hilarious that De Laurentiis thought he was making a serious drama.
Immigrant or son of immigrants?
Blacks randomly murdering whites is a growing problem which “doesn’t happen”.
None of the liberals I knew were willing to admit the reality of the knockout game.
Beginning to think the term ‘suicidal empathy’ is incorrect.
Those deploying ’empathy’ – by refusing to extradite illegal immigrants, by refusing to imprison the violent and the deranged, by providing solace and encouragement to sociopaths and psychopaths – aren’t harming themselves at all.
Agreed.
‘It was as if all the books by the American social scientist @charlesmurray — about welfare, intelligence, and inequality — had been published at once.’
Longer excerpt from here:
I’ll see your hippo and raise with a clubbed baby seal chair.
And those who object to the ongoing madness are referred to as “far right” and “extreme,” as if the thing to which they are a response – porous borders, demographic replacement and rapid societal degradation – couldn’t possibly be regarded as extreme.
Cloward-Piven doesn’t have to be limited to the USA.
Homina, homina, homina.
So many things to revel in, it seems, that I am going to need a bookmark. Getting ready for some kennel shoots for the season (dogs that go to daycare, their “parents” love when we do seasonal mini-sessions while the dogs are there).
Wondering if Reddington would dare to imply, weasel-like, that the fellow held out due to spite towards the other jurors and his client. Or would that make him racist? The dilemma! I do see a show down coming and flaming memes showing a poor brother getting beat down by suburban wine moms.
[starts popping corn]
Remember when Woody Allen said being bisexual just means you’re twice as likely to have a date on Saturday night? And it was funny? Because he was funny? And that didn’t come with all this loaded baggage of today’s context? Including Woody Allen? Good times good times…
‘Are you now or have you ever been a practicing white?’
Word of the day: scorpling.
For all your sciuridae housing needs.
I’d suggest it would be unwise, certainly suboptimal, to spend time among such people. Or to allow one’s children to be in any way subject to their influence.
And in I-know-let’s-destroy-the-meaning-of-words news:
The endless craving for unearned drama, for ludicrous prattle about “eradication,” is a tad wearying.
And regarding the above, I’m just going to leave this here.
Oh, and this, obviously.
So, to be clear – if you’d rather not lie about what Mr Wachowski is, and would rather not be a participant in his sad erotic compulsions, which is what affirmation is, then you’re enabling “genocide.”
He’s making me want to watch ‘Harry Potter’ just because it pisses him off.
It’s safe to say he’s not making the case he would like you to believe he is.
In Mr Wachowski’s demented moral calculus, if you don’t wish to be an extra in his dreary forced-feminisation fetish – if you don’t want to pretend along with him – that’s “trans genocide.” If you think women should be able to deny weird cross-dressing men access to women’s changing rooms and toilets, that’s “trans genocide.” And if you think subjecting children to life-ruining mutilation isn’t ideal, then that too is “trans genocide.”
There is no middle ground, no scope for compromise, with a sissy-porn-addled skin-suit wearer.
Which, lest there be doubt, is what he is.
I still scour the streets, looking for the mass graves. Evidently, this is a very tidy genocide.
I would guess that the above is an example of why so many people prefer to nod along with the blather about being oppressed and being denied imaginary “rights.” The reality of the situation – that so many of these allegedly downtrodden individuals are porn-addled men with genital torture/castration fetishes – is too unsavoury to acknowledge.
The matter of red pills comes to mind.
Wachowski talks about “trans genocide” to legitimize murdering J.K. Rowling.
The spirit of London, the enrichment is palpable.
Eddie Barnes, the real artist the “artist” ripped off.
Science!™
Problem sorted.
Everybody’s a critic.
Oh the
ironingirony of “Red Pills” and one of the Matrix creators’ delusions.Racist babies, I can’t begin to imagine how horrifying it must have been to have been looked at for 30 seconds.
Gnomes of Zurich = Gnomes of Underpants?
.
Band Name.
Did everybody clap?
internet search:
Why was Potier not sentenced to natural life?
Forget it, Jake. It’s Australia.
By a baby, no less.
If what we’re told is to be believed.
What strikes me, oddly enough, is the indignant, gossipy tone.
“And you’ll never guess what that bitch did next…”
Female psychology really does lend itself to this stuff.
[ Retrieves bags of chili from freezer, reheats. ]
Cook, cook, cook, cook, cook.
Cooking or kitchening?
There was stirring. And rice-boiling. And sour cream and chive dip dolloping. And the grating of cheese.
I rest my case.
The other crap I have to put up with.
Send the good lady out with a broom.
Ooh. Gelato.
Poor me.
Shoe has thoughts.
“It is important to remember that when you are arguing with a woman you are not arguing with her, you are arguing with the 145 TikToks she watched that day.”
How you suffer.
Do you not have any gelato?
Oh dear.
Bookmark. Went to a local Knoxville park to test it out as a potential site for client sessions. Bronx became a Sphinx.
Curses.
Chocolate-flavored chunks?!
Ew. There’s a reason I have an ice cream machine.