Huma: It was bad, Mama. They laughed at me. They have made a documentary about it now. Hold me, Mama. Please hold me.
Hillary: I should've killed myself when he put it in me. After the first time, before we were married, he promised never again. He promised, and I believed him. But sin never dies. Sin never dies. At first, it was all right. We lived sinlessly. We slept in the same bed, but we never did it. And then, that night, I saw him looking down at me that way. We got down on our knees to pray for strength. I smelled the whiskey on his breath. Then he took me. He took me, with the stink of filthy roadhouse whiskey on his breath, and I liked it. I liked it! With all that dirty touching of his hands all over me. I should've given you to God when you were born, but I was weak and backsliding, and now the Devil has come home. We'll pray.
Huma: Yes. Allah Akbar.
Hillary: We'll pray. We'll pray. We'll pray for the last time. We'll pray.
This is top of the stats for over a week at another site. There is nothing to draw attention to it. It just sits there by itself. The title is simply "potato" with no other adjective.
My explanation back then was, "It is the same thing as ham and cheese sandwich except potato instead of bread." And that's all.
You can make one in like six minutes.
I don't understand it. There are a couple hundred baked potatoes. Really good ones too. Just looking at a few makes me starved for a potato right now. Wow. Google Images [+"my site" +baked potato] Every one of those is mine. I ate it all. And they don't even have all the baked potatoes, I just had a baked potato in beef broth like soup and another one with green chile poured all over it. There are a lot of potatoes that are not even showing.
I look around and see everybody struggling with keeping their weight up. Y'all are going to have to eat a lot more things like this.
And nevermind where the American Picker dudes got my funhouse mirror.
The head of the ACLU in Georgia has launched her own advocacy group because she can’t explain to her daughters why the ACLU is forcing communities to open women’s bathrooms, locker rooms and changing room to men who claim to be women.
“I have shared my personal experience of having taken my elementary school age daughters into a women’s restroom when shortly after three transgender young adults, over six feet [tall] with deep voices, entered,” said Maya Dillard Smith, interim director of the Georgia chapter of the American Civil Liberties Union. “My children were visibly frightened, concerned about their safety and left asking lots of questions for which I, like many parents, was ill-prepared to answer,” she told LifeSiteNews.
In Trump, feminists have a true cultural bogeyman, and he is actually dangerous. Trump is commandeering the debate over masculinity and providing the cultural Left with a lifetime’s worth of dissertations, think pieces, and television tropes on the evils of “manhood.” And Trump will have helped define their terms.
He has brought out of the woodwork a bloc of people who apparently believe that the answer to political correctness isn’t truth and virtue but rather becoming what the other side most hates. If the other side polices language, then the answer is vulgarity. If the other side embraces diversity, then the answer is flirtation with white nationalism and white-identity politics. If the other side tries to cast men as dangerous, sex-obsessed bullies, well then hoist the middle finger, glory in Trump’s apparent sexual and financial success, and relish the whining of feminists and “betas” everywhere.
Trump’s masculinity is a cheap counterfeit of the masculinity that’s truly threatening to the cultural Left: man not as predator but as protector, the “sheepdog” of American Sniper fame. This is the brave man, the selfless man who channels his aggression and sense of adventure into building a nation, an economy, and — yes — a family. This is the man who kicks down doors in Fallujah or gathers a makeshift militia to rush hijackers in the skies above Pennsylvania. Or, to choose a more mundane — though no less important — example: This is the man who packs up the household to take a chance on a new job, models strength for his family when life turns hard, teaches his son to stand against bullies on the playground, and lives at all times with dignity and honor.
The masculinity that threatens the Left is the masculinity that embraces the manly virtues while minimizing the traditional manly vices.
Yesterday we were in Michigan's Upper Peninsula where it is still chilly. It's nearly always chilly along the shore of Lake Superior, although this year isn't as as bad as last year when ice along the cliffs near Munising didn't melt until mid-June,
We where hoping to get a tour of this modest cabin that would fit us well, but the real estate agent was not available to meet with us.
After a long morning's ride and time spent on backroads and fire trials in the Hiawatha National Forest we were hungry and in need of hot coffee. We passed an old Victorian style home that had a sign 'Bakery' on its picket fence. Local places are sometimes the best and other times the worst places to stop for lunch, but nearly always interesting. We turned around and parked.
The lunch menu had just one item: hot, fresh pastys. We ordered and were served piping hot pastys with cheap ketchup, the sauce of choice in the UP.
Thank you, Welsh immigrants, Our mmmm mmm mmming while we were eating must have sounded like this.
We were the only ones in the bakery, so we struck up a conversation with the owner. It turns out that, like me, he is a retired home builder. And like me, he absolutely loved everything about building homes except the customers. So he retired and bought an old house and started baking. He had a folder with his late Italian grandmother's recipes, so he started with that. He's good, the recipes are great.
We sampled cookies, cakes, pies and muffins. He wouldn't stop giving us stuff to try; my wife wouldn't stop buying. Hyperglycemia. We would up with the topcase and one saddlebag filled with pastries. An elderly woman carrying a plastic bag filled with freshly cut rhubarb came in and offered it to the baker. They worked out a swap - he got rhubarb for making pies, she got a half-dozen fresh donuts and some cookies for her grandchildren. Americana at its best.
His kitchen was small, no real room to make pastys. I asked about that and he said he didn't make them, but bought them frozen from this place, and heats them. So we went there, and found that it's a family operation that has grown to the point where monthly volume of 40,000 pastys shipped worldwide. Do yourself a favor and order some, especially the large traditional pasty with rutabaga. It was the best pasty we've ever eaten in more than two decades of touring the back roads of the UP.
In fact, all I need is a Stormy Kromer hat and I could pass for a Yooper.
The camera took 266 photos of the sunset tonight and I looked through for a good one to divide into four and enlarge big as they go and fill a wall and I found one. And right then the photographs together started singing to me. I mean it. Here, look.
Wise men talk because they have something to say; fools, because they have to say something. ~Plato
Interaction gets pretty ugly at times, especially during the political season. Friendships are damaged and dashed. Dinner with friends or relatives can be uncomfortable. Unfriending abounds, in real life or on social media.
Can't we just all get along? It isn't easy when flame wars break out and everyone becomes angry.
“It is a pleasure to finally meet you Mr. President. I
have looked forward to this for a long time.”
“Please call me Donald. I want us to be friends. I want
our two great countries to be friends.”
“Of course Donald and you should call me Vlad. I was so
happy that you defeated that demented Harpy in your elections. I did not look
forward to long negotiating sessions with her. She is incontinent you know. Her
adult diapers always smelled. It was trying.”
“Oh no doubt about it. I have heard great things about
you from Mikhail Dmitrievith Prokhorov ever since he started coming to my
casinos. I helped him get the Nets you know. I know he ran against you in the last election
but that doesn’t mean you can’t be friends. After all I have Little Marco come
over to shine my shoes all the time.”
“I think we have the same thoughts about our rivals
Donald. Just the same as our countries. We have no permanent allies …….only
permanent interests.”
It seems the sentence is fantastic, clever, and doesn't make sense.
But that's okay, it's Picasso.
I am going to tell you something so profound it will knock your socks off. You should put on some socks just to see them go flying off. And this doesn't come from books or anything, this is a unique insight. I think. A professor might go, "I want to argue with that little sh|t."
This is how sign language is. Because you don't know what he's going to draw, hadn't the key frame given it away. And drawing it feels like this. A bit here, a bit there, here a bit, there a bit, background, mid ground, foreground running, verbs are acted, "chicken head goes on" This is how early Chinese is. This is how hieroglyphic murals are. This is Picasso writing a sentence like they wrote at the beginning of writing and still write in pictures.
It's basic with conventions that are plastic. There is no agreed upon spelling. And there won't be until just recently. Grammar is only beginning to form.
Then, the modern linguist opens their tool kit for analysis, and they are apt tools for this sort of thing, and they tell us the sentence is stative and the predicates must match subject in number and sex, and the flower leafs as fish fins as chicken feathers, garden on fish on chicken, render the whole thing plural reflexive appositive past pluperfect.
Picasso turn back and looks at you. "Well, they certainly analyzed me." But they won't be drawing many pictures or bringing down any fabulous ideas.
Following the collapse of the housing bubble, the federal government initiated several grandstanding, politically-motivated lawsuits against big banks for their allegedly fraudulent conduct with regard to secondary market mortgage-backed securities. Rather than fight the feds and their almost bottomless well of taxpayer dollars, several of the defendants decided to cut their losses and settle.
That enabled federal prosecutors to claim victory and wave some prominent scalps. Siphoning off billions of bank capital is bad enough, but the rule of law problem emerges in two of the settlement agreements, under which the banks (Citigroup and Bank of America) were able to reduce their penalties by making “donations” to favored left-wing activist groups.
Mollie Hemigway in the Federalist in 2014, exploring Vaclav Havel’s 1978 essay on Czechoslovakia under Soviet control, “The Power of the Powerless.” (source Link from Instapundit)
To explain how dissent works, Havel introduced the manager of a hypothetical fruit-and-vegetable shop who places in his window, among the onions and carrots, the slogan: “Workers of the world, unite!” He’s not actually enthusiastic about the sign’s message. It’s just one of the things that people in a post-totalitarian system do even if they “never think about” what it means. He does it because everyone does it. It’s what you do to get along in life and live “in harmony with society.” (For our purposes, you can imagine that slogan is a red equal sign that you put up on your Facebook page.)
The subtext of the grocer’s sign is “I do what I must do. I behave in the manner expected of me.” It protects him from supervisors above and informants below.
Havel is skeptical of ideology. He says that dictatorships can just use raw power, but “the more complex the mechanisms of power become, the larger and more stratified the society they embrace, and the longer they have operated historically … the greater the importance attached to the ideological excuse.” We don’t have a dictatorship, obviously, but we do have complex mechanisms of power and larger and more stratified society.
In any case, individuals need not believe the lies of an ideology so much as behave as though they do, or at least tolerate them in silence or get along with those who work with them. “For by this very fact, individuals confirm the system, fulfill the system, make the system, are the system,” Havel says.
As a severely disabled man myself — I was born with spinal muscular atrophy, a progressive neuromuscular weakness that renders me quadriplegic — I'm loath to give this movie any additional publicity. But the timing of the release could not be any more disturbing. Just a week after, on June 9, California's so-called Death with Dignity law takes effect. The repercussions of this ghoulish juxtaposition are positively frightening.
The law — styled after its predecessors in Oregon and Washington — permits physician-assisted suicide in the nation's most populous state, under strict regulatory controls. Nothing to worry about, supporters say. It applies only to those with terminal conditions who have been thoroughly evaluated by medical professionals.
I wish I could believe it. But all the safeguards in the world are nothing against the power of Hollywood to influence sentiments. (read more)
Yesterday was similar cloud wind and weather and a flag flying day. Originally I bought an all cotton American flag for quality and for authenticity and made in America and all that, avoiding all those cheaper materials available. And then once I had the flag on the pole I thought well that was stupid, the thing is going to get wet. So I bought another flag with nylon or rayon or whatever that makes them less soggy when wet. And sure enough the flag is rained on right off. Then the wind kicks up and the flag flaps violently, it flaps hard like announcing a tornado and I fear it will be lifted out of its bracket, difficult to do by hand, but still the wind is doing it, then suddenly stops, and turns out the modern material flag is washed clean and whipped dried again in like one minute.
