Cause There’s Never a Bad Time to Kick the Trans…

Fear of a Trans Planet Redux

Natasha Vargas-Cooper, American Conservative (yeah, for reals):
Womanhood Redefined

Let’s be frank, Trump is a monster.

An open traitor to America who slipped through on one of the most stolen technicality elections to ever exist and has done everything he can to hurt people and prove beyond a shadow of a doubt that the law will never apply to rich white guys.

But one of the most monstrous aspects of him has been his effects among the bigots. We’ve had a growing nazi problem for awhile as neo-nazi groups have used things like Reddit and 4chan to recruit new members and radicalize angry white men clamoring for a new Apartheid that’ll shut up the existence of anyone not white or male.

But Trump normalized them. Made them a key part of his campaign, gave them support, made those messages one of the two major party positions. And so now, we have a dual problem.

One is that Republicans are natural authoritarians and the media is cowardly. Meaning, many Republicans who would under normal circumstances see things like outright swastikas as something they wouldn’t openly support are now being radicalized into full-blown anti-semitic conspiracy theories and open calls for genocide as if it’s all a game. And the media trained for years to present everything as “two sides and the truth is in the middle, otherwise we’ll be accused of bias” are ill-equipped to handle when one of the “mainstream views” is open fascism and the active elimination of certain people from America. Which is why they normalized his hate speech in the first place.

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A FlamingTrain-wreck sidles up to a bar at the Apocalypso™ and asks Tire-fire for a Dance!

It has been a busy day at the Midwestern Office at SadlyNo Industries, what with Garage maintenance and cleaning related Program activities.* That I have only recently become apprised of what appears at a minimal glance to have been quite a day at Mar-a-lago on Pennsylvania Avenue™. It might be charitable to refer to the week past as one of interest, and possibly the least auspicious beginning or in Trumpulese Biggest Bigly week of MoneyBooBoo’s™ coming out party. Holy shit, I hardly know where to begin, but I guess starting with the latest and moving Backward might be a relevant way to start (and starting with the latest may actually be yesterdays news by the time I finish this post.)

So this afternoon while taking a break from cobweb and mouse turd removal among other garage and basement cleaning activities, I catch wind of the Flynn situation…

Michael Flynn’s fiery speech at the Republican National Convention in July is drawing new attention following his resignation as President Trump’s National Security Advisor.

Flynn spent much of his speech attacking Democratic candidate Hillary Clinton, highlighting her use of a private email server as Secretary of State.

“We do not need a reckless president who believes she is above the law, he said.”

Doubtless that bit of raw meat went over well with the Trumpanzees™ who were looking for bloody meat to slake their thirst and appetites…The guy who would become, for a few short weeks the National Security Advisor until he was unable to clear the very low bar set by Dear Leader…It is quite possible that Trump did not consider a member of the following troupe for the Job:

And it occurs to me that the monkeys in question bear a certain resemblance to our new potentate, and reminds me that not so long ago we had another president who inspired a website; Chimp or Bush IIRC. herewego.

Gods bless us with the Intertronz for those darkest of hours, and upon viewing the vid from The Wizard of OZ, I was taken by how much the flying monkeys bear a facial resemblance to the Donald for which an intrepid student of Psychology or Sociology Pathology divisions might base a paper on the attraction of these archetypes to the Republican voter. But I digress…

I have just been alerted to the fact that Trumps appointment for Secretary  of Labor Andrew Puzder has per the New York Times “withdrawn” his nomination to be labor Secretary:

WASHINGTON — The fast-food executive Andrew F. Puzder withdrew his nomination to be labor secretary on Wednesday as Republican senators turned sharply against him, the latest defeat for a White House besieged by infighting and struggling for traction even with a Republican-controlled Congress.

It looks like we may be entering Rats leaving sinking ship territory here…And we are only a little less than a month into this goveernment. And a Cheney is nowhere to be found to lead the rest to safety. We may as well gird our loins for the coming Pence Presidency, because I seriously think we are in placing bets to see how long this ship stays afloat terror-tory. I’m thinking Gilligan might have had a better opening month. But Bob Denver was adorable, Trump, not so much.


Happy Valentines Day

It is that time of Year again, on today of days we celebrate, en masse, a holiday devoted to Love. So to dispense with the proper, I would like to extend hearty and earnest Valentines Day wishes to all of the Lovelies and Lovers, Mothers, Sisters and Brothers in the SadlyVerse™.

I have been due to certain related activities, been unable to fully sort out or, as a result of same, manage to carve out the time to appropriately address the Four alarm fire, slamming feet first into an apocalyptic, multi-semi pileup in the halls of power…Lords have mercy!!!

Running back and forth between the flaming wreckage attempting to stop laughing long enough to see if anyone in mortal danger might need a hand up and into safety and then determining that there are already enough professionals on the seen to save the cats and kittens caught unawares, I stand, gobsmacked in awe, and wonder if it is possible that his noodly benificence has plattered this purely for my entertainment, while a pang hangs in the breeze suggesting that I maybe should stop pointing and laughing while rolling on the ground with my hands around my guts, but get up and lend a hand.

Laughing and Pointing seems to currently have the upper hand…

A Valentines Day/Birthday dinner awaits my attention, so I will leave this for now, but as soon As I am able, I will return to parse each bit of this Bucket full of Are You Fucking Kidding Me?!?!?

Out of the gate fail. It might be time to suggest a pool regarding the length of time before impeachment proceedings begin.

Happy Valentines Day!


The Oroville Dam is in a world of hurt.




So, I think about water a lot. I think about where it comes from , where it goes, and what it does on the way. I read Cadillac Desert. I don’t imagine that makes me an expert on dams in the western US, but it does give a good introduction to the subject. And what it tells me is that dams are one hell of a mixed bag. They allow the deserts to bloom, as long as the people who designed the dam chose the right spot to put the dam, and the right type of dam and built it to store all the water that it could be expected to hold, even accounting for once-in-a-millennium floods, and made provisions for releasing the water safely in an emergency. Then the dam has to be built to spec and maintained faithfully. And it has to be integrated into the existing and changing network of dams and irrigation in the west. And all of this is complicated. I’d even go so far as to say, really fucking complicated.

The Oroville dam is at 100% capacity. It can’t hold any more water. So they release water down the spillway. But it’s cracked and can’t take the amount of water that needs to be released. So they have opened the emergency spillway. Which isn’t concrete lined and is eroding fast enough that smart dam-operating people are worried the entire hillside could collapse which would release all the water in the reservoir at once. One term that stuck me as memorable was “30 foot tall wall of water” So they reduced the flow to the emergency spillway. So the water level in the reservoir is rising and more rainstorms are expected soon. So there is an evacuation order in place and 200,000 people downstream of the dam have to find a new place to sleep for a week, or worst case, permanently.

So the current administration might get a crisis sooner than it wants, and from a direction they didn’t anticipate. And to bring it back to our Sadly, No themes and one of my particular hobby horses, this is exactly what Victor Davis Hanson is talking about when he uses the phrase “wisdom of our forefathers”. He argues all the goddamn time that the only thing California needs to solve its ongoing water issues is to build more dams. Like their forefathers did. a-tale-of-four-droughts asshole.


First He came for the Jews (Rabbi’s) but I was not a Jew…

So Preznit Honey Boomboom decides to make a point about protesting, in the biggest, most largely fashion, “Look at my boom boom” saggy diapered way, with shit running down the insides of its legs as he sidles into a piece of furniture 200 years new (now skidmarked for posterity), that only a magnificence like the President Select and Toddler in chief could pull off with a straight face (the big boy one, see!)

Preznint D-Money made order banning Islams from playground, his playground, his city, the one they call New York, New York!

And in losing no opportunity to prove to the heartland’s lover’s of Dear Leader, he thought it necessary to bring to life writ large, like a golem, an old trope, That in “Jew York” there was only going to be one folk’ll who will hew to the orders of one boss, while staying in the borders of one town, and now country.

If one were a student of Hyperbole; a Hyperbologist, as one might be called, in the branch of that field related to semiotics, one might recognize parallels in the image above to events in the not too distant, nor forgotten past.

It was once considered indelicate to make certain comparisons, to traffic in certain analogy, which may have once served, or attempted to serve a greater purpose, may have had the unintended consequence of creating just enough space, that in time, the band could be brought together for another gig, slipped in through the door at the back of the stage to rock the house for one more show.

I suggest that we have moved past that time and space.

It is time to sharpen our wits and fingers, folks, for I fear that Pointing while Laughing, at HIM and at his supporters, might be the most effective weapons that remain at our disposal.

Blessings upon all of you and especially upon the Rabbi’s put in captivity for the exercise of their first amendment rights…And their families and friends…


Fun with math

Sure — this post is a little lame, but hey it’s better than nothin’! The Washington Post reports:

Apple, Facebook, Google, Microsoft and 94 other tech companies call travel ban ‘unlawful’ in rare coordinated legal action

Which apparently works out thusly:

The move represents a rare coordinated action across a broad swath of the industry — 97 companies in total— and demonstrates the depth of animosity toward the Trump ban.

Hmm, Sadly, No! Of course, nothing beats The Donald:

I call my own shots, largely based on an accumulation of data, and everyone knows it.

Presumably, “accumulation of data” translates to watching Fox & Friends.


Captain America is Trans and Gay and her Shield is Awesome

No justice. No peace.

The fact that this fascist got shut down by a battery of shields bearing “Trans Dykes are good and pure” is… mwa, delicioso!

John Haywardyoublowme, Breit…ugh:
Ann Coulter: Trump Should Withdraw Funding from Any School with Speech Codes

*glares at breitbart link*

*glare intensifies*

Nope, sorry, I ain’t got in me yet to treat this particular shit swamp with even the dignity of my disrespect. Yes, I know that they literally control our executive branch at this point, but… well, it’s Breitbart. The shitty remnants of a piece of shit who perfected harassment tactics and “post-truth” smear tactics against the powerless. Who lived his life screaming at protestors with legitimate causes and finding ways to ruin some poor random person’s life because he was a tiny-minded little bully until his heart gave out.

Whose gravestone legacy has since become somehow worse with literal Nazi Steve Bannon taking the helm and Mi-what-a-fucking-git-lo Yianno-fuckstick becoming a “star writer” for joining on to the infamous hate movement that ruined gaming and harassing friends of mine because they dared be trans folks in game design.

So yeah, I’m sorry, I know I need to start shredding through the Breitbarts and the Infowars because those are the shitheels with the power right now, but I just can’t. Not yet.

So instead, let’s deal with a literal torture apologist because somehow that’s actually a step up:

Andrew C. McCarthy, National Re-oh fuck we were somehow not quite fascist enough, uh…-view:
Prosecute the Rioters

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The Audacity of Douche’ Hombre’ Tom Brokaw edition

I just managed to pre-wake my medicinal alarm by 2 minutes, having taken what turned out to be a nice little 2.5-3hour cruise/nap which I had started upon because, I was for lack of a better word beat. So the first thing of interest to cover (at least to me, if no one else,) is: that I seem to have calibrated my internal clock for the medicine interval every 12 hours and in this case beat the alarm by 5 minutes or so without awareness. This has happened in the past when I would get dialed into a new change in schedule and routinely beat the alarm clock (if I had one at the time) out of bed to make it to work on time which was helpful when I was working at a bakery as a young lad and would switch from two 10:00pm-6:00am shifts to four 6:00am to 2:00pm shifts every week or three of each as necessary to fill bread or pastry making roles. Anyway it is a handy thing, especially for someone of a mind to throw an alarm clock within reach, prior to fully waking, through the nearest pane of glass. So in this “looking at the bright side of life” world I am currently forced to inhabit, we have that! YeaeeeeeeHaaaaaaa!!!!!

So anyway to cut the freaking jib, and get this floe a-port, I awake from a nice chunk of late afternoon/early evening rest in time to beat the alarm and get my meds put upon or into my body.

“Cool!” I think as I slide out of bed searching for my pill box (7 day/7 night compartment deal thingy, we should start a club, but of course it would be filled with old farts including quite possible an oppressive number of persons who proudly voted for Nixon/Reagan/and Trump, (with a Perot/Romney thrown in for good measure) which I can not find immediately, but whose search brings me downstairs where I find that my hosts are watching some kind of Encomium/Overhanded, double-fisted/Power-wank/Bullshit/Retrospective of Tom Fucking Brokaw. Interviews with the current old man talking about his importance entwined with lots of footage of the younger man engaged in the heroic act of news-talking on the TV about the tumultuous and amazing times that happened mostly during my life, and for which I was a first hand witness. I also was fondly forced to remember at least a couple of occasions when not having a tv with one of those fancy remotes, I may have taken serious dead aim with a stout rubber band to hit the off switch on the TV to shut the fucker up before he was able to get his morning wrecking yak on, if the rubber band was lacking, I may have also employed a bb gun to similar effect. Dead aim is a thing, but I digress.

My God, what a pompous fucking twit!

I mean the dude was a light weight pretty boy Texan prop for Jane Pauley, but goddammit, he was there (for important things), In the Studio (for important things), sharing with us and being there for us (for these important things) and calming us/holding our hand/navigating through difficult circumstance/(during these important moments we shared collectively as a nation, unified in togetherness, cemented in unifaction, by his helping, active, and calming action.)

Watching him watch himself do that thing that he did made me wish that he might have stumbled into a gang of angry punks looking for a mark to beat, or to take the place of that nazi punk in the cartoon below.

While I am happy (I guess) that I get to have these “Get the fuck off of my lawn, you fucking tosser, piker sot” moments, and by extension continue to breathe and therefor write, I am too young to have them at the very same time.

Now that I have excised that shit-gibbon from my short term memory gob, I should be able to get back to sleep. Until next time. Beast!*


Meet David Seth Bookman

SteelyDave is the handle…and pardon me for a moment while I wipe the tears from my eyes…/shakes angry fist at Laughter, an evil Goddess if there ever was one, but merciful and fun if quite possibly a bit tricksy, or in this new realm in which we have been so unmercifully transported, a bit Loki…I’ll just cut to the chase and give you all a head start on the giggles, before I Get to analyzing the train-wreck. Behold the magnificence:

Generally speaking I don’t necessarily like doing the “lookist” thing, as I can be guilty of looking like anything within the range of someone you might feel the need to hand change to or someone whose appearance might command a doorman to open the door at a posh NYC hotel. The former, most of the time, and the latter when I get tarted up for a rock show quite unlike the guy above. And by unlike; think Motown, James Jamerson.)

This mashup/subversion of Metal heads on meth/DoxxyBoxin’ Love-Chile, man bun wearing, avatar of Masculine Metro-sexuality, what seems the rage these days, among the kids, as it were, sends me often to my porch, broom in hand, looking to chase the kids off’n it…

So now that the Style council bit is out of the way, apologies, because this could and may well go on for days. I mean gaze upon the blue/grey eyes penetratingly, If one had but one more crush to give for a man-bun wearing/animal loving/unpretentious genius…In case you had not made the leap out of those dreamy eyes and were looking for a smart huggy bear, you might have missed this very important part of the profile, Which given its placement in the profile stats, right up there at the top, I could appreciate. So for posterity I’ll share them with you just in case you might somehow stumble away from the gaze so besotted in passionate ardor that you could have missed it: “David Brookman – NYC born & raised. Certified 173 IQ.”

David Brookman – NYC born & raised. Certified 173 IQ.

I just wanted to make sure that we did not miss that bit of intel…Damn! that’s high, that is thritty odd points north of what qualifies as genius, if memory serves, and well, that old hound dog ain’t what she used to be, at least for the time being, Oh and before I slide off track, let us please take note that it is Certified™!!!, Certified™!!! I did not know that that was a thing, but that it might have become one, and managed to escape my notice entirely, does not surprise me in this day and age. They must have slipped this shit into the bloodstream when the coddling kiddy universe intersected our own. NYC born and raised bit seems a bit sad really. But there are some suburban type neighborhoods in Brooklyn and Queens, and I have not been to Staten Island but it would surprise me if there was an over-abundence of the Negro afoot. When I can be bothered to do so I will start a file on this cat.

OK after various grocery based and bird-feeder cleaning annoyance related activities I remembered what we were on about:

And once again, I ask you to gaze into the limpid pools of slate gray sexy with a touch of robins egg blue, and ask yourself not only how quickly you would jump out of bed, grab the nearest turquiose neck charm-thingy on braided leather rope, or anything else at hand to signify your appreciation of his magnificence while making it first across the line ahead of all of your competitors in the hopes that he might bestow his magnanimity upon thee…And we know how this must end…Even the victor in this ‘race to be worthy, will understand, quickly, that he/she is not, and can not, ever match up to this prize, in any way, shape, or form. Ever! Now that I take one more jealous glance, I realize that my chin music (whiskers) are in need of a trim That it is Saturday, and that I will be ‘clatchin’ with one of my bitches (waves at the the loverly Beth H with a genuine smile, I might want to appear in fine form…


Have a lovely day, free of *that* if possible and filled with kittens, or with whatever you play!!!


Clinton or Trump. Who is the Real Narcissist? Seriously

Cruising around the ‘Trons as is my want on this fine day and I come across this image:

Now, that right there is, well, an image, chart-like and such with numbers and those squigglies next to them which cipher percentage or some suchlike mathemagical Hoodoo Voodoo which almost invariably supports as truthful, whatever it is that the party who spent so. much. time. assembling the information in graphic form wanted to prove. So. Much. Time, look upon the labors to present these simple truths in a way that is easy to comprehend yet unimpeachable in its conclusion: By the Transitive Properties of Derp multiplied by the Fumunda constant(.075 moisture factor) that Hillary Clinton is a bigger Narcissist than the tiny fingered, marmot pated Don.

It would probably unfair to mention that there is no definition of what a “self mention” entails or how it might be aggregated, but then the intended audience might miss the intended point, or get confused and start looking for the paste jar…

To be honest, first, well second, actually, after laughing my ass into the next living room, it had not occurred to me that such a thorough scientific analysis of this “truth” would have been necessary, nor possibly reached this conclusion. But then again, I am not in the propaganda business, unless it is in the service of a gag. Fortunately, the genii on the conservative side of the aisle or should we refer to it as the black hole, where humor cannot escape tend to make our work easier than it should be. The first guy to sell “Own-Goaling” as a professional sporting event has a Professional Major league organization ready for exploitation.