On Policies, Triggers & Uncommon Nonsense

 

Hipster Holocaust Chapter Twenty-Seven- Don't Bust My Rice Balls

McCarthy and Torrez sat at a table in front of Ferdinando’s panelle store. It was a fixture in the neighborhood since 1904 and was known for serving the best sandwich in Brooklyn. That sandwich was the potato-panelle special. Three chickpea pancakes are called a panelle. Deep-fried in a vat of oil that had not been changed since the 1950s. Two potato croquettes on top with some fresh ricotta served in a crusty toasted roll. They were washing them down with a couple of Manhattan Special sodas served in an iced mug with the espresso soda poured straight from the tap. Bliss.

Torrez picked up his sandwich and took a big bite. “We seem to be spinning our wheels here, Dummy,” he said with his mouth full of sandwich. “Everyone we look at has an alibi of one sort or another. I am coming to the conclusion that she didn’t know the doer.” McCarthy sipped his coffee soda. “I hate to agree with you, but it is starting to look like you’re right. This is a cluster fuck, man.”

“What are we gonna do? I mean, what’s our move? We can take a run at her boyfriend again or maybe the guy she went on a date with, but I don’t think anything will change,” Torrez said as he finished off the last of his sandwich. When a sandwich was this good, it didn’t last on the plate very long. “Our only move is to roust all of the neighborhood perverts and peepers to see if they graduated.” McCarthy agreed with the thought, “Yeah, I think you’re right. I want to take another run at those retarded flower shop assholes. We already eliminated the UPS jerkoff. At least we will when we find out whose wife he was banging. I want you to go through the files to see who else might pop up. Ask Holland again to help. She can work the computer.” McCarthy was looking at the door.  “In the meantime, I have to ask the people who know.” Torrez looked at him and said, “What the fuck does that mean?” “Watch and learn Beaner.”

The door opened, and the old man walked in. He stopped short when he saw the two cops. He nodded at them and then proceeded to the back of the store, followed by Geno. He sat in his favorite spot under the framed, faded news clipping of the election of Mussolini. Old man Aiello sat with his back to the wall as always, with Geno in his customary side seat with a view of the kitchen and the front door. They were predictable in that, if in nothing else.

Favorite Player?

 

Lately, I have been answering Instagram posts where they ask questions like who is your favorite NFL player. I always pick obscure Giants from my childhood.

Do you know who this guy is?

This is my favorite baseball player. He was two great things. Of course, he was a Yankee. But can guess  the other thing?

Truth or Dare?

 

Did you see the story about the teenage Scottish girl who had to defend herself against migrants who were harassing her 12-year-old sister? She was the one who got arrested.

As is always true in real life the story is complicated.

It seems that it was not two migrants who were harassing them but rather a couple. A migrant couple who are legal immigrants but not actually Scottish or English, or people who should be in their country anyway. The male of the couple is a bullshit influencer and TikTok star who was egging the girl on to show the weapons. He is heard on the tape daring her to show the knife. It is entirely conceivable that this was a stunt, and the girl was arrested while defending herself and her sister.

England has fallen. They can't defend their children. Of course, we cannot defend our children because we let transexuals murder them. So, I guess we should shut up about it. 

Unless the great mass of the silent majority does something about it.

I don't think it is going to happen.

Demography is what you make of it

From my POV, this has whiskers on it, although, when the Gray Lady printed it, it must have hit many on the Left like the Apocalypse. Basically, the piece tells us that the last 50 years' social thinking and dictates by the assorted poobahs of academia, Fake News, PC, and Wokism is in the process of laying all the pipe dreams of single party (or Uni-Party) dominance by the heels.

It's the realization the Electoral College will tilt significantly away from Democrats. Beyond that, of course, is the fact the Demos' dominance of Congress for almost a century will go with it. Not only is deportation going to devastate them - that 25 million unaccounted-for votes that ended up on the left-hand side of the ledger in the last couple of elections*, but all the ZPG stuff and, most importantly, all the abortions are going to lay them by the heels. Lefty paradises like San Fiasco have almost no kids.

OTOH you see a lot of "model" Red State (presumably Conservative) white cis families with 3, 4, or even 5 kids. Here in kinda sorta Conservative NE OH, it's enough to be noticeable even if you look to see if the kids are all from the same family (Mom: "you guys wanna go for ice cream?" Kid: "can Joey come?").

Conversely, ~40% of all black pregnancies are terminated by abortion, significant because the black vote is so heavily Democrat. And, yeah, ~1/3 of white pregnancies are terminated by abortion, but it's such a status symbol on the white Left, along with all the career girls who play the field until they hit the proverbial wall. Toss in all the entitled babes who drive men, except for the soy boys, away and it's no big surprise you have a generation gap of epic proportions on the Left.

The slaves, of course, were supposed to remedy this. That's been the plan since Teddy Kennedy's Immigration and Nationality Act hit the streets back in '65. It all fits together when you look back on it. And a lot of Democrat apparatchiks have been spilling the beans about who's going to pick the crops and be the rich Left's au pairs and all. 

As if people needed it shoved in their faces.

If demography is destiny, the Demos' time is just about up.

* If you look at the last couple of elections, you notice that, given the number of registered voters and turnout, there's a discrepancy of about 25 million votes on the Left (over and above even the 4AM '20 ballot dump). For those interested, I blathered on about this last November.

This is what Brandon meant with, "We have put together the most extensive and inclusive voter fraud organization in the history of American politics".

On Regulation & Staggering Incompetence

 

Part III: On Scraping & Filling the Barrel; Using a Different Lense

 

Part II: On Dropped Stocks, Lost Customers & Larger Glasses

 

Powerline's Week in Pictures Cracker Barrel Goes Woke Edition delivers the goods. As noted there, the CB's recent rebranding effort has been viewed by some as an abandonment of its middle American roots.  As mentioned in a comment on the previous post, the chain had already been contending with a decline in customers as a result of Covid and subsequent decisions made to implement marketing and menu changes that led to a shift in focus and a marked decrease in the quality and quantity of the food they were offering.  At this point, it doesn't look good for the home team.  

Sean Davis shares his perspective on this change/shift here on X in which he says:  

"Cracker Barrel had the simplest restaurant model possible, and it was one that made people fall and stay in love with the brand for decades: comfort food in a setting that reminded you of your grandparents’ home. The food was good, the people were kind, and the setting felt like a loving home filled with people who cared about each other. That was it"

With this from  Kevin Dahlstrom, who served as a chief marketing officer at several companies in the financial industry, described Cracker Barrel's rebrand as a "fiasco", and wrote on social media:  

"The holy grail of marketing is to create a brand that customers give a damn about — and feel some ownership of. It's exceedingly rare and when you have that — as Cracker Barrel did — you NEVER EVER abandon it, you only double down on it,"

On Lost Voters & Larger Glasses

 

I get after TY for indulging in nostalgia, but I was hit with a wave of it myself when the changes coming for Cracker Barrel were announced. I haven't been to one in at least 8 years, and before then only visited once or twice a year, usually when traveling. They were always located near an interchange, had safe parking lots, books on tape/CD's to rent, fresh crisp salads, a diverse menu, and wonderful ice tea.  I found them to be welcoming to singles and set up for families, with warm glowing lights from candles in the windows and on the tables, and a real fire burning in their huge fireplace.  I can still recall the smell of wood smoke in the air outdoors with mixed scents of candy, potpourris and food happening inside. Even though it wasn't my patronage that kept them going, I appreciated their availability and dependability for a certain kind of experience. 

When I'd drive east to attend conferences in Ohio, or south on my trips to the Smokey Mountains, Cracker Barrel would be one of the places I'd go to for dinner at night, knowing what to expect, along with feeling welcomed and safe. Although I seldom travel like that anymore, I'm grateful to have been able to partake of what they offered back in the day. Maybe they couldn't keep things the way they were and remain solvent.  At this point, however, I don't see their current rebranding efforts bringing them what they're looking for; but I wish them well.

On Donkey Droppings & Lipstick on Pigs

 

On Minions & Phone Booths

 

Show me a guy who is with a beautiful woman.....

 

New York Post August 15, 2025

David Justice former New York Yankee discussing his relationship with actress Halle Berry.

“There really wasn’t a lot of negative attention until I decided to leave her in 1996,” the ex-Yankees star said. “… She asked me to marry her after knowing me for five months. I said, ‘OK’ because I couldn’t say no … but I don’t know if my heart was really into it.

“… My knowledge and wisdom around relationships wasn’t vast. So I’m looking at my mom, and I’m a Midwest guy, so in my mind I’m thinking, a wife at that time should cook, clean, and then I’m thinking, ‘OK, if we have kids, is this the woman I want to have kids with or a family with.

“And at that time, as a young guy, she don’t cook, don’t clean, don’t really seem like motherly and then we start having issues.”

David famously divorced the beautiful Berry. When asked about the situation, he said, " Show me a beautiful woman and I will show you a guy who is tired of fucking her.

Hipster Holocaust- Chapter Twenty Four- Special Delivery

 

Hipster Holocaust Chapter Twenty-Four- Special Delivery

McCarthy and Torrez sat on a bench at Valentino Park across from the Statue of Liberty. When you sat there, you felt like you could reach out and finger Lady Liberty as she seemed to be right in front of you. It never failed to soothe McCarthy’s spirit. He had gone to school with the fireman that the park was named after, and he would go there often to veg out and think. The kid had died in a fire long before 911, and his old man was a big shot in the longshoremen’s union and had a lot of political pull. He got a park named after his kid when all the firemen who died on 911 just got a plaque on the side of the railing facing where the World Trade Center used to be. It is all about who you know in this world. McCarthy liked to come here to remind himself of that fact.

The park was quiet today. Just a few sunbathers and a couple of old men fishing off the side of the pier. Two kids riding back and forth on skateboards. They should be in school, but who gives a shit? After all, they were homicide detectives, not the truant police. These kids were probably homeschooled entitled little shits who would make a beef with the rat squad if you ever questioned why they were out on a school day. McCarthy tried to look on the bright side.

Maybe they would roll out into the street and get hit by a bus. You can always hope.

Dispatches from the Summit in Alaska

Hipster Holocaust- Slice of Life

 

Hipster Holocaust Chapter Sixteen- Slice Of Life

Fat Louie sat in Nino’s pizzeria with a large Nonna pie in front of him. It was a favorite. With no tomato sauce. The acidity gave him agita. He liked the plain mozzarella and ricotta pie. With extra ricotta just the way his Nonna used to make it when he was growing up on Henry Street. He would come over to stay with his Nonna while his mother went to work. He loved spending time with his Nonna. It was his favorite childhood memory.

Not like his memories of his father. That cocksucker. He wasn’t home all that often. He was either whoring around or in the can. A low-level enforcer for the Gallo’s his father was always getting pinched because they would leave him holding the bag. Never anything more than a lowly wannabee, his father made him ashamed. He didn’t have the balls to move up. To do a hit and become a made guy. The best he could do was be the muscle in collecting the vig from the longshoremen that the gang preyed on in the neighborhood. He only got paid peanuts, and the family lived on his mother's meager paycheck as a maid for a rich family in the city.

Fat Louie was on his own. He had always been on his own.  His father hated him and batted him around until he was big enough to punch back. His mother must of loved him, but she was so exhausted all the time that she couldn’t muster the strength to care what he did. When his Nonna died, he was twelve, and he just didn’t give a shit no more. He made his life out on the streets. He wasn’t popular at Sacred Hearts, his grammar school. All the kids mocked his stained and wrinkled clothes. The nuns didn’t give a shit about him either. By 1968, most of the Cabrini Sisters had left the convent, and the new secular teachers didn’t give two shits. He dropped out in the seventh grade. You would think that the government would have known he was a truant, but he just slipped through the cracks.

Hipster Holocaust

 Hipster Holocaust Chapter Fourteen

Lydia woke up feeling groggy and sick to her stomach. She had no idea where she was. She felt her head, and when she brought her hand back, it had blood on it. She had a big bump and a terrible headache. Then she realized something even more terrifying. She was naked.

She was lying on the mattress on a dank, cold floor. When she moved her leg, she realized that she was attached to a chain that led to a ring on the wall. She didn’t have a blanket or a sheet, and she shivered a little in the cold air. She must be in a cellar, as there were no windows that she could see. Just a room that had concrete walls and a floor that was made of the same unforgiving material.

Lydia tugged on the chain to see if she could rip it off the wall. It was too solid, and all of her exertions were for naught. She decided to call out. “HEEELLLLPPPPP!!!!!” she screamed. She screamed over and over, hoping that someone would hear her. Someone other than whoever had put her here. It was every woman’s nightmare. It was specifically her nightmare. To be kidnapped and chained up to be the victim of someone cruel enough to throw her down a freezing cellar and leave her for dead. It was a cliché that you see in every TV show, and now it had happened to her.

After screaming until her throat was raw, Lydia stopped and tried to think for a moment. She carefully looked around the room. She had seen thousands of TV shows and movies where people had been held captive and had found a way to free themselves. She looked at the chain on her arm. It was very tight and was locked with a lock that she would not be able to pick if she had the skills to do that. The ring in the wall was even more secure, as the ring and the plate in the wall were all one piece. There was no escape. Nothing else was visible in the room. No food. No water. Not even a bucket if she had to pee. Why did she think that? Now she had to pee.

On Full Moon & Godspeed

 As I drove home from the studio late Friday night and saw the full moon high in the night sky, thoughts similar to those expressed below by Tom Hanks, who played Jim Lovell in Apollo 13, came to me. And I smiled and spoke out loud, expressing thanks for Lovell's life, his contributions and legacy.  At that moment it looked as though the moon he'd circled and come so close to walking on, was shining bright to honor and welcome him into the next venture.  I wished him Godspeed. 

Hipster Holocaust

 

Hipster Holocaust Chapter Ten- A Rat In The Mouth is Worth Two In The Bush

Anna Feola poured an espresso and took the small white cup and saucer to the dapper elderly grey-haired man at the corner table. He looked up at her and smiled a shy smile that was out of place on his pale, elegant face. His resting face was a hard one, like he had seen bad things. Done bad things. Things you didn’t want to know about.  

It intrigued her to no end.  

“Here you go, sir,” she chirped cheerily. His smile deepened if that was possible. “You don’t have to call me, sir sweetie. Vincenzo is fine. Or V if you want. That’s what my friends call me.” “Okay, V it is. Say, I wanted to ask if my landlady ever called you V,” she teased him. He looked at her with a deadpan expression that almost scared her. “Whose your landlady?” “Celestine. Celestine DiMartino. I think you know her.”  

The old man leaned back until his back was against the wall. He smiled a little in remembrance. A fond remembrance, it would seem. “Yeah, I know her. From a long time ago. She is your landlady? Good, that’s good. You give her my regards, ok?” “I will V when I see her when I get home. I am sure she will be happy to get them.” He gave a little shake of his head. “Maybe, maybe not. But give them to her all the same.” 

Anna gave him a quick smile and scurried back behind the counter. The line had already formed in the few moments she had spent at the table. She had to hurry to get out of the weeds. 

Vincenzo looked at the street as he did every other minute. He had lived a long time by being careful. With his wits and with his fist. Occasionally, with a pistol. Once and a while with a bomb. Those days were gone, and still not that far away if that made any sense.  

He had great eyesight. Sniper’s eyes, they used to call it. He saw a guy leaning against a Con Edison junction box in front of the barbershop. He was out of place in the new neighborhood. A guinea in a Member’s Only jacket circa 1986. That wouldn’t have been a surprise in this neighborhood twenty years ago. More like forty years ago. Still, there were a few holdouts. It was not as prevalent as the 1980’s but not anything unusual for some of the cheap ginzos who still lived around here. They never threw anything out. Some of them still had their communion suits and the envelopes that came with them. What was unusual was that he was studiously avoiding looking at the coffee shop. He was nervously peeping all around. Except at this front window. Vincenzo had super strong radar. When something was out of place, he noticed it. And he acted.  

On Rig & Resist, Stripes & Hammers, Baldheaded & Horned

 

On Lines Drawn & Rights Denied

 

On Notice & Notability

 

And for the old boys who frequent this place, another notable pair of Genes:

On Bad Air & Neglect

 

We're under an Air Quality Advisory in Michigan again, with levels in the orange and red zones.  This is the second time this year smoke from the Canadian Fires has descended to visibly surround us in an unhealthy haze.  While I can recall a similar situation happening for a few days two or three years ago, I have no recollection of this much smoke in the air prior to that time.  Which makes me wonder how this recently became such a wide-spread problem and what might have changed with regard to Canadian Forest and Fire Management to bring this about?  While the convenient answer is "climate change", I'm of the opinion this may have more to do with arson and decisions made/not made involving the amount of money and effort spent on forestry management. 

Added:  Today I came on this fact which fits with my recollection:  

"In Michigan, we had our first alert for air quality due to smoke in 2023.  Since then, we have had 28 days of advisory or alert-level air quality due to wildfire smoke...Several times over the past week, we've been in the top five for worst air quality on the planet, according to IQAir"

Something’s going on here…

  

Joseph Force Crater^[1] (January 5, 1889 – disappeared August 6, 1930; declared legally dead June 6, 1939) was an American lawyer who served as a New York State Supreme Court Justice and mysteriously vanished shortly after the state began an investigation into corruption in New York City. Despite massive publicity, the missing personscase was never solved and was officially closed forty years after Crater was declared dead.