Never Sure What to Think

That I opened up 5 NRO tabs prior to opening this one, should be a clue as to how much I love you, or hate myself And as they are open I will sample from [shudders] them all. Let us start with a piece titled: “The Welcome Return of the Cheneys” ’cause Dick and Liz are gonna fix foreign policy see…Quinn Hillyer, take us away.

Shhh — Don’t tell anybody, because it’s a big secret: The Cheneys of Wyoming, father and daughter, were largely right about Iraq back in 2003, and they are correct now as well.

I, uh, yup…”…of Wyoming…” Quinn is fucked from the get. I mean how many feet of intestine can one wrap around ones feet and neck simultaneously? Anyhoo as this has all of the challenge of tossing a kitten into a pillow case with a brick and heading off to the creek with a bounce in your step and I am not that kind of ‘path’.

Next up, a woman named Christine Sisto does what they (and by they, I mean members of the “wingnut welfare knitting circle”) do.

Modern feminists must be feeling pretty weak if they’re threatened by Miss Nevada. After Nia Sanchez, who won the Miss USA pageant earlier this month, advocated that women learn self-defense, activists rushed to dismiss her. Cosmopolitan’s Elisa Benson called Sanchez’s comment “icky,” while Mandy Velez of the Huffington Post declared, “Not happy she won.”

You’d think people with the best interest of women in mind would support the idea of women’s being able to defend themselves. But the current feminist movement seems more interested in furthering classic sexist gender roles, with women as trembling flowers getting stomped on by big mean boys, and progressive feminism as the chivalrous White Knight.

Later she posits that the MRA and Feminist movements should get married, because,,,,,funny?

 

Tony Gwynn, R.I.P

tony-gwynn1

Big fan of Baseball here, and I was always a fan of Tony’s, a class act who rarely struck out, and during the strike shortened ’94 season finished with a .394 batting average.

Also, too, something I did not know before, but we share a Birthday, so during the beginning of every new trip around the sun, I will hoist one in his honor.

Dude played for 20 years and struck out only 434 times in 10232 plate appearances, and during the ’95 season only 15 times in 535 at bats. Dude was a machine.

I’ll let Greg Maddux finish it off:

First, Maddux was convinced no hitter could tell the speed of a pitch with any meaningful accuracy. To demonstrate, he pointed at a road a quarter-mile away and said it was impossible to tell if a car was going 55, 65 or 75 mph unless there was another car nearby to offer a point of reference.

“You just can’t do it,” he said. Sometimes hitters can pick up differences in spin. They can identify pitches if there are different releases points or if a curveball starts with an upward hump as it leaves the pitcher’s hand. But if a pitcher can change speeds, every hitter is helpless, limited by human vision.

“Except,” Maddux said, “for that fucking Tony Gwynn.”

Gwynn had a lifetime .415 average against arguably the greatest pitcher in his generation.

 

Back in Black (on a White Background)

Warning: Contents are neither safe nor sex

Um…

So, the last time I came on here and remarked with joy about how we’re back in business, I somehow managed to jinx us so hard one of our hard drives melted, so I hope you’ll forgive me if I’m not exactly heralding the immensely awesome news with it’s deserved amount of pomp and circumstance.

It’s been… kind of a crazy time to be out. We had some members of the Bundy Bunch get so wound up to fulfill their Waco fetish fantasies, that their blue-balled little murder itch manifested in yet another mass shooting slaughterfest (oh hey, how many of those do we have to go through a month before all the suburbanites scared over black people existing go “waitaminute, why do people have the right to hand-carry a howitzer again?”). We had Eric Cantor being deemed not quite evil, suicidal, and willing to destroy the entire country enough for the designated anarchists on the right. And George Will apparently realized that his right-wing base was starting to forget him and so decided to write a surprisingly Bob-awful post on sexual assault. A spree killing was successfully interrupted not by a hail of gunfire, but one hall monitor carrying the same thing that women carry to ward off street harassment. Oh yeah, and the wingnuts exploded over Obama trying to slightly decrease the amount the door is open on the cage the Anthropogenic Climate Change Tiger escaped from over 40 years ago, because apparently even when everywhere in America is having unseasonal weather fuck with crops and water, we’re still supposed to loudly sing in denial in defense of old white oil barons.

Also, holy crap, did you see that Costa Rica game against Uruguay? I mean, talk about upset! Or holy crap that Swiss late winner? And the way John Anthony Brooks finally made good but it may be undone by the comedy of errors that were that series of injuries? And seriously, so many of the games have been so awesome I’ve almost forgotten that FIFA is a rotten pile of shit and football, football, football… er… I mean to say, politics of course. My mind has been entirely dominated by politics and not at all distracted by shiny white and black ball… and er… the unfortunate ending of my relationship with the person who has emotionally been my wife for the last 8 and a half years. Also, scrambling on jobs, while also trying to disconnect our shared lives, and trying not to freak out about where we’re each going to live and whether we’ll find enough work in the short term to not have to move into really shitty situations. And Bob damn, is that beautiful game a nice distraction in the background as I send off a stack of resumes while doing four other jobs and trying not to hyperventilate.

But since, I imagine the kindly Sadly overlords who worked hard for the last two weeks to recover our website would object if I suddenly turned the site into Sadly, GOOOOOOOLLLLLL for the next couple of weeks, I suppose it behooves us to dust off our hazmat suits and once again venture out into the toxic swamps of our favorite wingnuts and see how they’ve been spending the time.
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WoooooooEffinnnHooooooo! And we are back!

Hello Friends, SadlyNaughts and Countrymen, welcome back.

[Update below]

I got nothing for the moment, or actually a couple of zillion things bubbling in the lab, but not quite ready for prime time, so instead consider the fact that Spain only allowed 2 goals during their entire 2010 championship run, and that last night allowed two guys two goals each in their first game.

Shoot whatever fish in what ever barrels you want to.

Huzzah!

[Update]

There is a Univision app* ** that one can put on ones phone which allows one to watch at least every match in the group round (I only hope that using it does not terrorize my bandwidth like the five that Obama loosed are likely to do whence they re-plug into the grid.)

BTW both Cerb and I are nuts about football, though she is likely a bigger fan than I so, IITFWC*** so, well…

Anyhoo, watched the balance of Costa Rica V Uruguay and almost all of Italy V England and to think last week I was wondering where I would watch the games.

Also, too, I was adopted by a smallish male Siamese cat a week ago Thursday which has required certain adjustments…Single no more, and I will admit that there have been a couple of brief moments wherein I kinda wished we had not crossed paths…but he is a good boy and adjusting to the new circumstances, settling in, and of course, training my ass.

Gotta run, wanna see Drogba and Cote D’ivoire play Japan. Apparently they are down 1-0.****

*can be found at iTunes and the Play store.
**thanks to the FSM they also have highlights.
***it is the fucking World Cup
****watching currently on the phone off the s’bucks wifi…

[Update]

Warning, this might be a Football blog for awhile…Oh and the downtime was due to a hard drive failure on the new server, It would seem that the raid array worked, though I have yet to actually check, because, Football.

Ivory Coast just tied it up. Gotta say that these two teams are very closely matched, extremely crisp passing, fuck, Ivory coast scores again in less than a minute or two…Hellofamatch…

 

Summer Rerun Season

Gosh, I wonder what is driving his insecurity about other people being born seemingly male and turning out instead to be girls. It’s just too hard to figure out.

Kevin “I’m Still Having Difficulty With The Fact That Penis Don’t Confer Magical Powers” Williamson, National Trans* Panic*:
Laverne Cox is Not a Woman

Check one. Check Two.

Is this thing on? Oh, hey, everybody, welcome to the all new Sadly, No, lovingly transplanted from its old cyber location due to… reasons. Reasons one should best not think of, also if the cops asked, my name is Jonah Goldberg, got it? Awesome.

Anyways, I guess every wingnut on the planet is looking at the writing on the wall about their growing irrelevancy in a modern pluralistic society, because there is a massive uptick in tired recycled pieces from the usual sources. And though I can dream of the day when those driveling incompetents have to compete in the same “meritocracy” they set for the rest of us and experience for themselves the “job creating” joys that being crushed under the economy’s spiked stilettos brings, it is sadly a dream far off in the future.

In the meantime, we get treated to a “lovely” clip show of each of these fucking ghoulish fuckwads’ “greatest hits” while they harass the interns to write and submit resumes for them.

And today’s a beauty of a post, coming fresh from Vagina-fearing wanna-be white guy Kevin D. Williamson, who has yet another appeal on behalf of biology (no no, not the one where he wants to pretend that being manlier will somehow produce manlier sperm capable of producing only men… yeah, this guy is essentially a 21st century version of Henry VIII) against those eeeeeevil trannies and their crazy voodoo hoodoo.

Shorter (or the last port before Jungle):

  • Trans* People are still a literally mythic invention by feminists and hippies.

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Pay No Attention to the Monster Behind the Curtain

Ha, bullets have no affect on Helenbot’s metal shell! Why would Helenbot care if filthy organics are not optimized so?

Dr. Helen Von Sant, Pajamarama “Yes, We Think We’re a Real Media Company” Media:
The Elliot Rodger Case: If Pick-Up Artists Are Guilty, Then So Are the Feminists

Oi… there are moments when snark fails you… so, let’s jump right into it.

On May 23rd, a 22-year-old man named Elliot Rodger killed at least 6 people in a murder spree where he intended to slaughter an entire sorority and burn it to the ground.

It’s yet another spree gun killing in a time littered with them, from an over-entitled misogynist who was bitter and frustrated that a magical hot girlfriend hadn’t wandered in off the street to offer to blow his men’s right activist ass as was his supposed class, gender, and racial right.

And it’s hard to deny that virulent misogyny and bitter objectification of women as the sex class were the main driving force of his rationale, as much like Breivik, he left a lengthy manifesto and a number of vlogs specifically outlining the exact ways in which he felt that women’s failure to “perform” as a gender justified intense violence and mass murder.

Not that that has actually stopped the usual suspects from denying their deliberate hand and trying to hand-wave him as yet another “lone wolf” completely unaffected by the cultures he was obsessively steeped in and a regular member of, to serve as no other example but to illustrate how sad it is when “general crazy disorder” takes away a brain and what’s that? Oh, if all these murders are lone crazy people, then shouldn’t that be met with actual increases in social resources to treating mental illness? What? You’re breaking up. Stop being logical and let us other him before anyone puts together the pieces.

And that’s what’s so frustrating about this case.
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Hard Limit

And these people say my poly tribes’ practices are weird and unnatural.

Loadpants McSnore, National Creepy Guy That Touches Himself on the Bus:
America’s Moral Compass

So yeah, as many of you undoubtedly know, I am an asexual.

That’s sometimes a tough concept for strangers not just because the sexual orientation of asexuality is barely heard of in general culture and has almost no media depictions (gosh, how could that have an impact on how people perceive something), but also because (for those that have vaguely heard of it) I don’t act much like the first idea most people have when hearing the term asexual.

That is to say, many people just sort of assume that lacking sexual attraction to other people must lead naturally to a revulsion to sex in general often to the point of being made deeply uncomfortable by other people’s sexualities. The idea is often that asexuals are neurotic little celibates who put their fingers in their ears and hum whenever a lingerie commercial comes on screen and well… not only is that a terribly uncommon expression of asexuality in general, but I also tend to be on the other end of that.

I am kinky, I am poly, I am in a relationship with sexual people with sexual attractions and needs and I even engage in forms of sex. And that’s baffling to a lot of people because they forget the important part of the equation which is:

I’m a giant fucking nerd.
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Ask a Stupid Question…

Get a Snarky Answer.

Christopher Chantrill, American No… Just No:
10 Questions for a Liberal After Mother’s Day

Ok so I’m a bit of a crazy cat lady (there is no feminist stereotype I won’t embrace like a starving man on a discarded sandwich), so bear with me if this metaphor is a little bit specific, but… I’m starting to feel about wingnuts attempting to “have their own gotchas for once, dagnabbit” the same way I feel when my cat steals my pillow the instant I turn over to turn off the light. It’s like, awww, that’s cute that you think you are being clever. Then I flip the pillow out from under her, because I’m a human being, and we were born with opposable thumbs with which to lord over our pets like nature’s ultimate assholes.

So yeah, it’s been an obsession on the right for a long damn time, but especially since Saint Sarah the First flamed out like Icarus riding a Phoenix whining about how unfair it was to be asked softball questions as if seeking the second-highest position in America should like be something one has to work for rather than being one’s holy birthright for being self-immolatingly publicly pious. Now, every Johnny Two-by-four thinks they’re going to personally avenge the conservative seventh dragon by constructing the ultimate rejoinder to liberals everywhere usually consisting of A)a conspiracy theory, B)some loose stool of an ignorance like “well, if there’s global warming, then why is it snowing in winter”, or C)most likely both.

And it’s honestly kind of adorable.

Because conservatives are really stupid and ignorant about the world around them. And that’s kind of because they have to be to be conservatives. Being a “good tribe member” requires one to ignore one’s lying eyes and accept about nine different types of complete fuckwittery and various high-level conspiracies before we even get into the point of even the most self-serving asshole not being able to avoid the knowledge that they are being asked to ruin their lives and their planet for the very temporary enrichment of a handful of rich fucks who honestly couldn’t give a fuck about the rest of us.

And as such, their questions serve like softballs lining up for a gauntlet of CBT* fetishists.

Shorter (or the last port before Jungle):

  • You know how you liberals think we’re all about arguing against the straw men in our heads? Well… look at my Bic Lighter liberals and recoil in fear!!!!

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Oh Hai Fish, How’s Your Barrel?

A dumbass teenager, you say? Unpossible!

Tal Fortgang, The Princeton Privilege:
Checking My Privilege: Character as the Basis of Privilege

Ok, let’s be frankly honest. Today’s post isn’t shooting fish in a barrel, it’s shooting fish in a barrel with a fucking rocket launcher that is loaded with fish-seeking rockets and the entire barrel is loaded with land-mines and the fish are genetically engineered to jump towards weapon fire. This is such easy mode, I might as well be going through life as… well, the exact type of person who wrote today’s post. Not to suggest that this job is difficult on average. I mean, I’m mocking wingnuts. If I wanted a challenge, I’d just survive my day-to-day life instead.

But even so, today’s post involves a student conservative paper (already we’ve dropped the difficulty to Liverpool versus a drunken pub team). Not only that, but it’s an opinion piece written by a freshman (easier than some peoples’ mothers), staggering blinking into the daylight of a slightly more general culture and education (I mean, let’s be honest, it’s still Princeton) from their cocoon of immense wealth and privilege (and what does it say when going to fucking PRINCETON is a change that makes one more aware of the experiences of a general community, I mean, holy fuck, is this kid Richie Rich). And on top of that, it’s a staggeringly lucky malcontempt who will likely fail upwards into a vice presidency at his daddy’s company after graduation whining about how mean it is that people notice he has privilege (fuck working, time to kick off my shoes and take the rest of this post off. It officially writes itself).

Well, hell, seeing as how I recently took off whole minutes this week in derelict laziness, let’s set the post-writing software to automatic and take the rest of the day off.

Shorter (or the last port before Jungle):

  • My life is so scrubbed clean of even the barest glimpse of hardship that the slightest commentary on my immense wealth and privilege feels like a combination of Hitler’s extermination of the Jews and the Trail of Tears. Somehow, I’m convinced that this reaction will make it less not more likely that I’ll be considered an overprivileged fuckstain on the couch of reality.

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Apparently Literally Nothing is More Natural to Republicans Than Denying Atrocity

Oh hey, exploiting the dead, finally an actually American tradition.

Chad Felix Greene, American Sociopath:
The True Legacy of Matthew Shepard

Denialism fascinates me quite a bit.

And it’s not because it’s alien in any way. In fact, anyone who has spent any time at all with young kids recognizes the impulse immediately. The way a young kid will try and desperately argue away reality even though they see clear as day that you saw them hit that other student getting themselves in more trouble.

It’s a common impulse in the sociopathy of youth to try and run from the success of one’s bad actions, because now everyone’s looking at you like you disappointed them. So it’s understandable that those who want their movements they’ve dedicated so much “love” and time to would want to reflexively protect them by erasing the most obvious examples of wrong-doing. How tempting it must be as a dedicated white nationalist to erase the history of lynching or make the horrors of slavery some ephemeral memory, especially if one longs to re-establish that state of affairs.

And just like with kids, the greater the crime, the less they want to admit to it. See the elaborate lengths those who spent decades encouraging the rapacious exploitation of the Earth go to to deny the existence of Anthropic Climate Change. See the twists and turns and knots that dedicated anti-semites and neo-nazis go to deny the Holocaust. Or the elaborate fantasy constructed to make things like the Inquisition or Hitler’s Third Reich into somehow secular atheist crimes.

It’s perfectly understandable (though hardly moral by any understanding of the term) that those who want to continue with those paths want to be seen as morally justified for doing so and erasing the legacy of violence or the most obvious examples of failure are an “easy” way to do that.

Owning up to failure, to atrocity takes a great deal of moral authority. Requires someone willing to examine their flaws and be brutally honest with themselves. And that can be really really hard. Especially when admitting and acknowledging that reality can mean a giant blow to one’s self esteem and self regard. On a smaller level, it can be easier to deny one has a drinking problem than have to accept all the pain that problem has caused someone you love.

However, it being common doesn’t at all make it acceptable. I mean, the shit happened. The damage is done and now either the car is sitting in the living room or a couple of million people were systematically exterminated. That shit doesn’t just go away because you want to frantically wave your arms and wish it away.
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