It really does take some effort to fuck up waffles, Nature’s Perfect Food. I hope the featured image was enough to convince you that there is no God, we’re all doomed, and hatred and evil rule our world. And as always, I offer plenty of ammo for people leaning toward antisemitism with the image above. I would say “no Christian babies were harmed in the production of those waffles,” but I’d be lying.
Speaking of which, this is the Jewish holiday of Tisha B’Av, the anniversary of the destruction of the Temple in Jerusalem. Which one? Both of them. Fucking Iraqis and Italians. And fucking Krauts and Polacks- it’s also the anniversary of the deportation of the Jews from the Warsaw Ghetto, about which in accordance with current law I am forced to say that the Polacks had nothing to do with, nossir, they were off somewhere else eating pierogies. It was only the Germans.
OK, I knew my good mood wouldn’t last.
The only redeeming quality of July 22 is that it’s the birthday of Stephen Vincent Benet, who is one of my favorite American writers. If you weren’t forced to read By The Waters Of Babylon as a public school inmate and had it thereby ruined for you, I urge you to read it now. It was the Ur-post-apocalyptic story, copied thousands of times since. And if your lips are too tired to read The Devil and Daniel Webster, the movie version with Walter Huston was absolutely delightful and quite true to the story.
In what has become a familiar litany, particularly in Taliban-dominated Kunduz Province, Afghan and American officials had initially denied that any civilians had been killed in the strike on Thursday, claiming the victims were Taliban fighters. Then 11 bodies belonging to women and children appeared at the hospital in Kunduz City, about four miles from the site of the attack in Chardara District. The Taliban do not have women fighters and the children were very young.
The shooting “is within the bookends of ‘stand your ground’ and within the bookends of force being justified,” the sheriff said, later adding, “I’m not saying I agree with it, but I don’t make that call.”
Dr. Mark Hausknech and the shooter were both riding bikes on South Main Street, near Texas Children’s Pavilion for Women, shortly before 9 a.m. local time, Executive Assistant Police Chief Troy Finner said at a news conference. Hausknecht, 65, was biking north when he passed the shooter going in the other direction, Finner said. The shooter turned, fired two shots at Hausknecht and rode away on his bike, Finner said.
At least Poppy didn’t grab anyone’s ass. This time.
“We all laid there for about a half an hour until LAPD came and got us out. They helped carry me across the parking lot and they sort of tossed me over a wall,” Kohles said.
I’m not saying that this was caused by the store running out of Quinoa Corn Chips, but… this was caused by the store running out of quinoa corn chips.
More follow-up, this time about the bus stabbings in Germany. The news stories yesterday kept emphasizing that the suspect was a “German citizen.” That was repeated several times. Well, we all know what that means.
A German court has issued an arrest warrant for a German-Iranian man suspected of carrying out a knife attack on a bus in the northern city of Luebeck but there is no indication that it was a terrorist attack…
Of course not.
Video surveillance footage from the bus led to suspicion that he wanted to set fire to the vehicle, thereby injuring as many people as possible and potentially killing some.
At some point, Europeans will have to start asking themselves why this kind of thing is so common there, yet so rare in the US. Apparently, today is not the day.
Old Guy Music! What happens if you take a great Paul Simon song and have it covered in an acoustic version by a great bluegrass band? I would say, this:
ZARDOZ SPEAKS TO YOU, HIS CHOSEN ONES. ZARDOZ IS PLEASED…THE CHOSEN ONES HAVE BROUGHT THE SNARK, AND HAVE LET THE BRUTALS HAVE IT, RIGHT IN THEIR…. WELL, ANYWAYS, ZARDOZ SHOWS HIS CHOSEN ONES HIS FAVOR BY GIVING THEM THE GIFT OF THE LINK…GO FORTH AND SNARK!
DOES THIS REQUIRE A HOT SWEDISH BRUTAL AND A CAR CRASH? NO? OK, THEN THE GOLFING BRUTAL HAS A CHANCE.
ZARDOZ LAUGHS…. A DISTINCTION WITHOUT A DIFFERENCE. AS LONG AS IT ENDS UP WITH THE BRUTALS IN MISERY, ZARDOZ APPROVES!
LAUGH AT THE BRUTALS, LAUGH! ZARDOZ IS GLAD THE TABERNACLE IS THE LATEST AND GREATEST IN COMPUTING.
IF MANY BRUTALS ARE NOT SWEPT OUT TO SEA, ESPECIALLY MAYOR DEBLASIO, ZARDOZ WILL BE DISAPPOINTED.
I mentioned to everyone I went to Mexico right? No big surprise.
From where I am, it’s only a 3-4 hour drive depending on whether or not you follow Mexican traffic laws. To be honest the route I take goes through something called a “hassle free zone”, but I have seen Federales there so I’m not about to chance it. I keep it around three times the speed limit.
This is my review of New Belgium The Hemperor.
On my way there I received a voicemail in a town I never have signal.
“Hi this is Kelly from Swiss Corpse International Industries.” I guess Anna didn’t last a week.
“Swiss wants me to relay a message to you. He says, ‘the Old Man and the Sea will find you in Mexico. I can’t read this….it isn’t very nice.”
“It’s not meant to be nice!” I thought I heard in the background.
“He also wanted me to relay the message, ‘thanks for nothing, asshole, now I’m going to Neverland to find…Steve Smith?’”
“Neverland?” I asked myself out loud.
“Netherlands! Its crystal clear, read the damn memo!” I heard in the background. Oh no, this call was recorded for training purposes. “Netherlands, its where the Dutch people live!”
“I thought Dutch was what Germans called themselves?” She asked.
That’s one way to get a Narrowed Gaze on your first day at work.
The voicemail continued. “…um…Swiss…wants….wants” Her voice was trembling. “…he wants you to know that you signed a contract, next time read the fine print, ha ha ha ha….ha. He really wanted that last one. Five ha’s. Just go along with what they say. I know how much you hate…Argentines? Do I really have to say that last one?”
“Just fucking do it.” I definitely heard Swiss yell faintly in the background.
“…so this really benefits you. They have too much on you. It’s not worth fighting it, don’t be stupid…” The voicemail ended.
They can’t find me in Mexico. It’s a fishing turned resort town populated by Sammy Hagar types and a few Jesse Ventura type retirees. Both constantly complaining about the government but completely ignore the ridiculous overreach the Mexican government takes on a daily basis. Apparently, police presence in the form of machine gunners in the back of a pickup truck is okay, because you get a discount on your taxes if you pay them three months early…..
“They can’t find me, there’s too many Mexicans. I blend in.” I reassured myself. I put the phone in the glove box and finished gassing my car.
_____
“Room no ready yet.” The woman at the concierge desk informed me. “Come back one hour, need clean.”
“Thank you.” I assumed I can probably find something to do for an hour.
_____
“Necesitamos limpian su cuarto. Damos una otra hora, por favor.” The man at the concierge desk informed me an hour later.
“Muchas gracias.” I guess I can probably find something else to do for an hour.
_____
“Esta aqui. Trescientos quince.” Finally, they handed me a key to room 315. The concierge looked hauntingly at the back corner, and handed me an envelope. I turned and saw a shadowy figure wearing a hoodie in the corner, under the AC duct of course.
He pointed at the figure and the envelope and shuffled off to the back room waving his hands in the air. Clearly not wanting anything to do with either the hooded figure or the envelope. I opened it.
“Pollos.”
You have to be kidding me. I turned it over and looked back for the hooded figure. He was gone.
“Just kidding, LOL. We’re at Playa Bonita, it’s easy to find. The only white house on the point near the tide pools.”
I knew the house. It has that ‘drug lord’ vibe to it, with its high walls, iron gates and the enormous dog walking around the property. It seemed a little too out of place but left intentionally in plain sight.
“Come by at 4:20. Bring a dessert.”
I decide to take Swiss’ advice and not fight it…yet. As I drove down the dirt road I noticed a number of ultralight aircraft landing in the dry basin, exchanging small items and taking off towards the sunset.
I pulled up to the house and dismounted. I pushed the blue button on the intercom.
Bzzzzzz
“Good afternoon. You’re right on time.”
“I try to be.” I answered back, not having anything better to say.
“What’s in the box? It’s a dessert right?”
I held up the pink box I got from the panaderia in town from the baker with one arm. “It’s a tres leches cake.” I replied. “Con fresas. Last one he had.”
The cast iron gates to the compound slowly opened and stopped just wide enough for me to squeeze through. Ever wary of the enormous dog attacking me in the courtyard, I approached the pristine, white house.
_____
The house itself had clean, white walls. The floors were wall to wall saltillo tile as was typical in this part of the world, arranged in a visually stimulating hexagonal mosaic. Imposing columns with a tasteful, off-white texturing held up the vaulted ceiling. This was designed intentionally to be intimidating.
“Good afternoon…mexican sharpshooter.” A voice echoed from within the hallway. I turned and saw a comparatively smaller man than I. Not a dwarf, but certainly nobody that would be confused with Warty. He had a black, but graying beard that appeared to have never been trimmed, but was well kempt and combed to tuck neatly under the chin. He was wearing a white, loose fitting garment with sleeves that covered both his hands while they were in a gently closed position. His arms were not crossed. The garment appeared to be painstakingly obvious it was made from a single source of crisp, linen fiber.
This man was very familiar with the Laws of Leviticus.
“It’s rather dusty outside. Please, remove your shoes.” He said. I noticed he too was barefoot, and obliged. “Can I interest you in a glass of Romanian wine?” He motioned to a room with a glass door; hundreds of bottles of wine were neatly placed on wooden racks. With a child, aged 12, inside dutifully turning one a half turn.
“I’d like that, however I am not a wine drinker. Please don’t waste anything ‘good’ on my account.” I replied, removing my shoes.
“Left shoe first.” He said.
“I beg your pardon?” I asked.
“I SAID—take off your LEFT SHOE first.” He said sternly. “Goddamn Catholics.” His demeanor changed back. “Yes, you are certainly more of a beer guy. That’s why we called you here today. I still have to pay you back for that bottle of spiked pig urine you sent me.”
“So you’re the Old Man?” I asked.
He nodded and motioned to a crystal bowl filled with lemon drops set on a table. “Candy?”
“I’m —“
“Good? Yes. Please join us in the parlor.” The Old Man said.
_____
The parlor was equally impressive. Its walls were mostly bookshelves alternating with displays of small artifacts. I immediately centered in on a massive cuneiform tablet.
“Please don’t touch.” A woman’s voice said behind me. “It’s very old, I would hate to have to do as it instructs, and remove your hand with a rusty tin can lid.”
“I can imagine that.” I said.
“It’s the Code of Hammurabi.” She said. “One of the world’s first examples of the imposition of freedom.” I could see her hand was trembling in her attempt to suppress rage. “I had to have it.”
She wasn’t dressed nearly as unnervingly as the Old Man, even though she was also dressed in white. Her hair was tied back neatly and she wore thick rimmed glasses. Under her arm was a small laptop she carried around. She had a glass of wine with a volume similar to my head carried gently in her other hand.
“Yeah, that was a fun day. The British Museum can suck it.” Another man walked into the room. He was wearing a hoodie, he pulled it back to reveal a blue mohawk.
“Don’t mind the Mad Scientist.” She looked at him. “Shouldn’t you be working?”
The Mad Scientist nodded and scurried out of the room.
“He’s completely out of his mind, but he’s the best grease man in the business. I wanted this tablet. He set off a small explosion in the London Underground last year. The diversion was enough to occupy the London Metro police long enough for Warty to walk in and steal it. He picked up the 1500kg stone tablet and placed it here in my vacation home.”
She was interrupted by the sound of an angle grinder in the garage. “Ha ha ha ha ha. Suck it!” Mad Scientist shouted.
“I was at the British Museum six months ago, the Code was—“
“They have a forgery. You didn’t see it there, because it is here in my parlor. I suppose you want to know why we called you here today. I need a favor, but first, can I interest you in some falafel?”
_____
The Old Man clapped his hands twice and six Mexican children dutifully marched into the room carrying trays of food into the dining room. They looked like Oompa Loopas, just slightly less creepy.
“So I am supposed to be on vacation. Why did you call me here?” I asked.
The Old Man began. “We have been plotting to legalize drugs for the past thirty years. We set up several operations here in Mexico, Columbia, Cambodia, The Gambia, and Arkansas that will all be poised to corner the market upon legalization. The only problem is—“
“Arkansas?” I had to interject.
“It’s a holdover from Whitewater. Hillary lost her nerve so we cut our losses in the 90s, but the operation remained. They looked the other way when we showed them our satellite photos of Hillary riding Web Hubbel like Seabiscuit in the early 80s. Even in the low resolution photos that were typical of the time, they had to admit it was her. Nobody else is stupid enough to get a tramp stamp of Che Guevara.” The Old Man explained.
I choked for a moment on my falafel.
“At any rate. She got too dangerous during the last election. I duplicated her email server twice, sending one to our friend Julian Assange, and putting the other in a bathroom in Colorado.” She explained. “To keep Trump in line, we have a small explosive charge in his MAGA hat. He’ll sign the bill if and when it comes to his desk, unless he wants to level Trump Tower.”
“That’s small?” I asked.
“Small enough.”
“So S—
“No.” The Old Man stopped me.
“No, what?”
“Do not say her name out loud. She has many aliases. The avatar you know her as, ‘The Hacker,’ ‘The Hand of God,’ ‘Guccifer,’ ‘Guccifer 2.0,’ ‘Pablo Escobar,’ and ‘La Lívida Reina.’ You may not say her name out loud.” I looked over and saw that she smiled at me sweetly.
“All hail the livid queen!” Mad Scientist shouted as he got the skillsaw going. “Ha ha ha ha ha, Suck it!”
“…Señor Escobar, how does any of this legalize drugs?” I asked.
“We needed a mechanism to get enough people addicted to the compounds the Old Man has been working on since he poisoned our rival, William Randolph Hearst.” She explained.
“You poisoned him?” I asked.
“With falafel. Here, have some more.” The Old Man added another three to my plate.
“Enough people demand the drugs, they will have no choice but to legalize. Especially with enough congresscritters addicted themselves. We just needed the right carrier.” She explained.
“A solvent, if you will.” The Old Man added.
“Then in 1973, while on holiday in New Delhi, the Old Man drank something called an India Pale Ale.”
“It was dreadful.” The Old Man said.
“But it was perfect.” They held hands. “Because you can’t smell or taste anything else while drinking it.”
“So this compound. What is it?” I asked.
“It’s a hallucinogen.” The Old Man explained. “That’s all you need to know.”
“Have you tested it, to make sure you don’t kill anyone?” I asked.
“Of course we did!” She answered. I might have offended her, based on her tone. “We tested it on Riven. She was absolutely adorable and they call her ‘Giggles’ now.”
“Look, there’s going to be a few…hundred million…broken eggs, but it’s okay.” The Old Man added. “It’s just culling the herd if they don’t want to be safe about it, and quite frankly it was their decision to like IPA.”
A small explosion shook the walls, with a small amount of plaster dust falling down. “IPA! Ha ha ha ha ha! Suck it!” Mad Scientist was up to something in the courtyard.
“Besides.” She added. “WE did not create IPA. We just created the hop arms race. Then we began licensing beer infused with CBD and our compound. The first out to market was called Breaking Bud.” She looked disappointed. “Sadly, that one got us in a lawsuit with SONY pictures.”
“Copyright infringement.” The Old Man said. “They sued our Swiss holding corporation.
“A Swiss holding corporation?” I asked. This was getting weird.
“You’re familiar with it.” She explained. “Swiss Corps International Industries.”
“You’re a pawn, just like Mad Scientist. Swiss Servator doesn’t know who he really works for, but is more of a bishop. Deal with it.” The Old Man said. “Here, have some more Romanian wine.”
The lights flickered, followed by the unmistakable sound of arc flash and the Mad Scientist’s sadistic laughter. “Ha ha ha ha ha. You’re a pawn! Suck it!”
“Its okay though. I got back at them by hacking them, leaving North Korea’s greasy fingerprints all over it, and distributing a movie on the internet before its release. It was a terrible movie.” She said.
“Don’t read Business Insider, dear. They’re idiots.” She replied.
“Duly noted. What do you want me to do?” I asked.
“What you always do. Drink beer. Talk about something silly and tell the Glibs it’s amazing.” The Old Man said.
“I’m pretty honest about my opinions. They already know I don’t like IPA, and they’re going to call me on that.” I argued.
The Old Man clapped his hands twice. A Mexican child walked in with a six pack and a clean chalice. “You’re going to try it right now. You’re going to fall back on your previous history of being honest and tell them you like it. The Glibs will buy it. They get addicted to our compound, and tell their friends about it. You’re going to make us very wealthy.”
“You really expect me to tell them I like an IPA?” I asked.
“No Mr. sharpshooter–I expect you to die.” She said. “Oh my. I’m so sorry, that came out wrong.” She was a bit flustered. She took another sip of Romanian wine before composing herself. “If you don’t, Lionel Messi is going to kill you and your family. He has pretty good cardio.”
“The soccer player?” I was confused.
“Part of our fortune was made on sports betting. We have the entire Argentine National team in our pocket.” The Old Man explained. “He owes us millions of Pounds from fucking up the round robin stage of the world cup. Iceland was only supposed to beat the spread, not tie them. Fucking Argentines, you can’t trust them”
“If you can’t trust an Argentine Striker…” I said.
“Just wait until you see what happens to Sergio Aguerro. We put an explosive charge in his knee last year. Remember how he had an injury late in the year, and they lost to Liverpool? You didn’t think Liverpool could beat them on their own, did you?” She said. “Oh and by the way, it was no mistake that STEVE SMITH broke into your house and kidnapped the tiny ass dog.”
“A ha ha ha ha ha. Suck it Liverpool!” Mad Scientist shouted in the foyer.
The Old Man nodded to the Mexican child. She opened and poured the New Belgium Hemperor into the chalice.
“If I say no right now?” I asked.
The Old Man pointed to the corner, where their enormous, apparently half dog, half polar bear was gnawing happily on an uncooked brisket.
“It’s in the contract you signed to publish on my site. You can’t tell us no.”
_____
It poured amber, had little head, and it smelled like bong water. I took down half the hemp infused IPA in a long swig. Yup, it tasted like overhopped bong water. A second swig finished it off.
Then. It. Happened.
I found myself walking through a field of grain. I was in Iowa or something, because I could see a sign that said, “Des Moines 20 miles,” with black smoke billowing from a small city in the distance.
“Who would burn down Des Moines? I mean I can totally see somebody burning down Atlanta, but what’s in Des Moines that’s worth burning?” I asked out loud.
ZARDOZ SPEAKS TO YOU HIS CHOSEN ARSON QUESTIONING ONE.
“What?”
ZARDOZ IN SQUABBLE WITH NEIGHBORING FARM. BRUTAL FARMER TAKES MY PRIVATE ROAD ACROSS MY PROPERTY TO ACCESS HIS. NO BIG DEAL REALLY, UNTIL I ASKED BRUTAL TO HELP COVER THE COST OF REPAIR AFTER HEAVY SNOW LAST WINTER, AND HE REFUSED. I MADE THE REPAIRS ON MY OWN AND FILED A REQUEST WITH THE STATE HE CEASE AND DESIST USING MY ROAD.
“Understandable.”
THEN THE STATE INFORM ZARDOZ, BRUTAL NEIGHBOR FILED FOR AN EASEMENT ON ZARDOZ’S PRIVATE ROAD.
“Judas Priest, what an asshole.”
BRUTALS IN THE STATE APPROVED THE EASEMENT 2 YEARS AGO.
“That’s terrible, do you have any legal recourse?”
ZARDOZ HAVE LEGAL RECOURSE, BUT ONLY REASONABLE ACTION WAS TO GO TO THE STATE HOUSE IN DES MOINES AND CLEANSE THE BRUTALS THAT GAVE AWAY ZARDOZ’S PROPERTY.
“Sounds reasonable. Is that why the entire city is on fire?”
ZARDOZ GOT IN A GROOVE. ONCE ZARDOZ START CLEANSING HE JUST KEEPS ON GOING UNTIL THE JOB OF CLEANSING IS DONE.
“I can relate. What about your neighbor?”
ZARDOZ HAVE BIG PLANS FOR NEIGHBOR.
“It involve cleansing?”
NO. MORE LIKE CLEANSE MY PATHETIC NEIGHBOR.
“My bad. You have any idea why I am here?
ZARDOZ BELIEVES YOU DRANK THE OLD MAN’S SERUM. THIS ENTIRE EPISODE IS OCCURRING WITHIN THE CONFINES OF NOW YOUR EXPANDING MIND.
Yeah, I recall drinking something. Can you do me a favor and not call it that again?
ZARDOZ PROMISE NOTHING. BUT HE CAN PREDICT PAIN IF YOU DO NOT FULFILL THEIR MORE THAN REASONABLE REQUEST.
“Really?”
YES. ARGENTINE SOCCER PLAYERS WILL ATTACK AND OVERWHELM YOUR DEFENSE WITH SYSTEMIC PRECISION. SHOULD THAT FAIL THEY WILL ATTEMPT AN APPEAL TO THE AUTHORITIES AND FRAME YOU FOR ATTROCITIES YOU DID NOT COMMIT. IT HAPPENS TO THE BEST OF US, HONESTLY. THEY DID IT TO ZARDOZ IN THE EARLY 70S.
“Really?”
YES. SP GATHERED DIRT ON ZARDOZ AND USED IT AS LEVERAGE IN A PLOT TO BRING GMO CHICKPEAS FOR SALE IN MIDDLE EASTERN AND MEDITERRANEAN MARKETS. ZARDOZ FAILED TO CLEANSE BRUTAL GREEK COURTS BLOCKING THE MOVE. AS A RESULT OF MY FAILURE, SP EXPOSED ZARDOZ’S AFFAIR WITH THE SIRENS OF TITAN.
“Those statues were real? I thought Vonnegut was just being a total crackpot.”
BRUTAL VONNEGUT ISA TOTAL CRACKPOT. HE MAKE THE SIRENS SLENDER WHEN THEY ARE CLEARLY THICC AF. THAT IS NO MATTER, YOU NOW HAVE THE CHANCE TO PREVENT THE SCOURGE OF BRUTALITY FROM FURTHER PLUNGING US ALL INTO THE ABYSS. DO NOT LET THE CHANCE SLIP.
“I hear you. I thought you were against the whole…breeding…thing?”
ZARDOZ LEARN LESSONS OF THE PAST. MESSAGE ON THE EVILS OF THE PENIS IS LESSON ZARDOZ LEARN THE HARD WAY. HE PASSES THIS LESSON ON TO YOU, HIS CHOSEN ONES. ZARDOZ HAS SPOKEN.
“You know, you’re not so one sided. You’re a much deeper character than people give you credit for.”
Then ZARDOZ unexpectedly coughed.
A Lee Enfield SMLE spun through the air, and butt-stroked me in the face.
_____
I fell back in the chair and struck my head against the tile floor.
“Ow! Fuck me!” I shouted.
“Hey genius. You’re not supposed to drink all of it at once.” The Old Man said.
“Noob! Ha ha ha ha ha. Suck it!
What if he were coming…for you?
I want everyone to go out right now and buy New Belgium The Hemperor. Right now, before you leave a comment. You will not get props for cheating and being first. It is available where ever New Belgium is sold.
This beer is delicious. It does not smell like bong water. Do not let the phrase IPA on the label fool you; it is amazingly balanced. I cannot describe to you how absolutely amazing this beer is. It is totally worth the $14.99 for a six pack; I will even go so far to say it is a bargain.
Please buy it, because I have absolutely no qualms with shooting Lionel Messi in self defense or any Argentine, really. New Belgium The Hemperor scores a very respectable 10/5.
Can you imagine what it’s like to be married to a prodigy like SP? I look upon her works and despair. Then she taunts me, before running off to play Barbie. At least she left me some good anniversary stuff today, the most notable being Neil Armstrong stepping onto the surface of the Moon in 1969. Right after Teddy Kennedy had a little oopsie involving killing a girl he was finished with. Oh, and it’s the birthday of Ernest Hemingway and Don Knotts. I am vastly more familiar with the oeuvre of the latter.
On to today’s leftover news:
Someday, we’ll understand what the fuck is going on between the Israelis and Hamas. Today is not that day.
Gaza’s militant Hamas rulers said Saturday they had accepted a cease-fire ending a massive Israeli onslaught on militant positions after a soldier was shot dead, once again pulling the sides back from the brink of a full-fledged war. Israel and Hamas have fought three such wars over the past decade and Hamas agreed to the second such cease-fire in a week under heavy Egyptian and international pressure.
The “massive onslaught” once again being bombing some empty buildings. I’m not saying that there’s some kind of hidden conspiracy, but there’s some kind of hidden conspiracy.
New York voters get another preview of their soon-to-be star congresschimp. Who of course will be busy representing them, campaigning for their votes, and attending to the issues that affect her district. Or maybe not.
Headlining a rally with Vermont Sen. Bernie Sanders, Ocasio-Cortez sought to infuse the final weeks of Democrat Brent Welder’s congressional primary campaign with the enthusiasm that lifted her over 20-year Democratic incumbent Rep. Joe Crowley last month. Kansas’ 3rd District, where Welder is competing, represented by four-term Republican Rep. Kevin Yoder, is on Democrats’ target list as they aim to seize the GOP-controlled House in November.
According to a study by the apartment search service “Rent Hop,” the city received 50,963 rat complaints last year – more than any other city in the country. New York came in a distant second place, followed by Washington, D.C., and Boston.
The study claims “when comparing the number of complaints per 100,000 residents, Chicago topped the list with 1876.09 complaints per 100,000 residents.” Most of the neighborhoods with a higher concentration of rat complaints coincide with the neighborhoods with a higher concentration of dog poop.
This of course begs the question of, “Is Chicago the capital of rats or of complainers?”
The study found that cumulative RF-EMF brain exposure from mobile phone use over one year may have a negative effect on the development of figural memory performance in adolescents, confirming prior results published in 2015. Figural memory is mainly located in the right brain hemisphere and association with RF-EMF was more pronounced in adolescents using the mobile phone on the right side of the head.
Brittney N. Prehn, 22, of Illinois was holding her cellphone when she was hit. A bolt struck her in the ear and went through her body. The Kenosha County Sheriff’s office said at first they had trouble identifying Prehn because she had no ID on her and was unconscious.
“To send a probe where you haven’t been before is ambitious. To send it into such brutal conditions is highly ambitious,” Nicola Fox, a project scientist from the Johns Hopkins University Applied Physics Laboratory, told a news conference on Friday.
I should make the obvious SP joke, but I value the integrity of my generative organs.
OK, Old Guy Music, and this time, I’m classing it up a bit. I’m amazed that Beethoven’s Piano Sonata 32 isn’t as well known as some of his more iconic pieces like Moonlight, but there you are. This is longer than my usual selections, but worth it. If you don’t know this sonata already, be prepared for some surprises- Beethoven foresaw jazz and boogie woogie. It’s unbelievable that this was written 75 years before Scott Joplin started composing. Seriously, put on your headphones, take 20 minutes out of your day, and be amazed.
STEVE SMITH WORRIED ABOUT PUBLIC OPINION. HIM WORRIED PEOPLE THINK TOO EXPENSIVE AND BUSY, SINCE HIM PROMINENT FOREST LAWYER. “HIM NO HAVE TIME TO PLAY WITH CHILDREN, HIM TOO BUSY BEING DIPLOMAT FOR CASCADIA!” H/T CLASSY MOUTHFEEL. AND BY H/T MEAN…
STEVE SMITH THINK KIDS NEED MORE SUNLIGHT!
NOT TRUE! STEVE SMITH WANT ALL CASCADIA HAVE PLACE TO PLAY. IF HAVE STEVE SMITH STATUE, THAT OK TOO. IF PEOPLE STILL HAVE PROBLEM, STEVE SMITH HAVE ANSWER FOR THEM:
STEVE SMITH ANSWER CRITICS!
… AND STEVE SMITH STILL LIKE FUNNY GLIBERTARIAN PEOPLE, SO HE GIVE YOU LINKS:
STEVE SMITH WANT PLAY “YOU KNOW WHO ELSE” GAME! HIM GOOD AT IT. OK, HERE GO – YOU KNOW WHO ELSE WANT REGISTER KOSHER PEOPLE?
NOW STEVE SMITH WORRIED FOR FRIEND ZARDOZ. ALTHOUGH, IT DO SEEM DIFFICULT TO THINK HIM GET BLOWN AWAY BY TORNADO. STEVE SMITH SAD ABOUT HOOMANS THAT GOT HURT.
SAD
THIS ALSO MAKE STEVE SMITH SAD. HIM HOPE JAPAN GLIBERTARIANS OK. EARFQUAKE AND TSUNAMI BAD ENOUGH!
THIS MAKE STEVE SMITH A BIT HAPPIER. “The people want the downfall of political parties!” they chanted. STEVE SMITH WANT DOWNFALL OF POLITICAL PARTIES….EXCEPT CASCADIA FOREST PARTY. THEM GOOD (STEVE SMITH IS MEMBER OF PARTY).
THAT ALL FOR NOW, FUNNY GLIBERTARIAN PEOPLE. FREE CASCADIA!
My wife took our kids to do a weekend with some family. So I’m free as a bird chained to the refrigerator with just enough length to reach the kitchen, bathroom, and couch. And she expects the house clean, lawn mowed, and several various house chores done by the time she gets back. On the other hand, every time I complete a task, the fridge dispenses another beer. Not sure if this is the best of all worlds or a punishment. Its all so confusing. Like pegging.
Is this peak #MAGA?– Texas, Chik-fil-A, Trump 2020 shirt. Bingo!
Is Seattle bohemian culture being killed by the tech industry? Killed by it? Who the fuck do you think funded it for the last 30 years? Featuring a woman who used got by on her body in the 80s and 90s. Uh, darlin’ entropy is a an especially tyrannical bitch to the beautiful. Sorry.
Trump’s lawyer is an idiot. Making recordings of your clients without their knowledge is a bad idea. KEEPING recordings of them discussing what seem to me to be essentially “structuring” payments once it becomes an issue seems stupider.
If I were this kid, I would have played the long con. You know how many sets of tits he could have touched at 17 by being “gay”? On the other hand, this is probably a better way to healthy separation from his crazy mom.
I lost right around 11 lbs in a highly-not-smooth pace.
340.8 lbs to 329.8 lbs, and look, its Batman!
I also went camping last weekend with the Cub Scouts. Last year at the same camp, my kid and I got heat exhaustion on Saturday – he didn’t drink enough and I was a fat fuck. This year, I hiked, while wearing a daypack, about 17 miles over two and a half days without significant problems.
GlibFit is probably going to go on a break, but we are in need of an author for GlibFit 3.0. If interested, drop a line.
Well we’ve made it to the end of another week. Congratulations. And also congratulations to the Cubs, who beat the hated St Louis Cardinals in the lone Thursday game after the ASG break. The Open Championship also gets underway. Second round is going and Tommy Fleetwood and Rory McIlroy are on the move. Tiger is going the wrong way and Jordan Spieth started strong but faltered coming in. Thursday’s leader, Kevin Kisner, is yet to tee off.
A couple of ballsy dudes
Famous people born on this date include Alexander The Great (whose life was only marginally longer than the director’s cut of the movie about him, monk and geneticist Gregor Mendel, explorer and namesake (yeah, right) of a twice-failed presidential candidate Sir Edmund Hillary, Pizza Pizza man and late owner of the Red Wings and Tigers Mike Ilitch, writer Cormac McCarthy, eye-candy Diana Rigg, bad swimmer Natalie Wood, guitarist Carlos Santana, communist sympathizer Thomas Friedman, guitarist Jay Jay French, drummer Paul Cook, musician Chris Cornell, director Robert Rodriguez and Heisman trophy winner and holder of a 3-0 record as a starter against TTUN Troy Smith.
Obviously he won this game
Also on this date, Sitting Bull surrendered to federal troops, the Methodist church allows women to become pastors, Eisenhower got to Normandy, the US invaded Guam, UNICEF was formed, Neil Armstrong becomes the first human being (since the Egyptians or Aztecs, according to some) to step foot on something other than earth. And Hank Aaron hit his last homer.
Good stuff. And I apologize to any of those people listed above whose life I may have made marginally more difficult through my youthful acts. Anyway, no time for a public shaming. Its time for…the links!
Wait a fucking minute. Why is this judge facing a “tough day of questions”? The questions are all easy to answer. He should just say “fuck you, its a natural right. I’ll buy a better holster. Now get the fuck out of my face.” Or something a little less eloquent if he chooses so.
Trump slams rate increase by “independent” Federal Reserve. Yeah, heaven forbid we abolish that market-manipulating scam and go back to the gold standard. Oh man, if Trump proposed going back to the gold standard, that would quite possibly cause the retards on the left to go completely mad. Soooooo, here’s to hoping he does it.
Or so the makers would have you believe. “doesn’t smell a thing like old books. More like a fruity vanilla smell.”
But if you want to mess with a book lover and get their hopes up their house will fill up with that beautiful musty smell of books, grab this from Amazon.
Artist’s rendition of BrettL hopped up on Bathsaltz and Florida sunshine
Hey guys, it’s Thursday and Brett is either high on bathsaltz, covered in bacon fat and wrasslin’ gators or in some kind of very dull workplace meeting (your imagination knows best), so I’m filling in today. All links are safe for work, so feel free to you know, click through and then make salient comments about them.
Florida oysters viciously murder 71-year-old man. You knew it wasn’t safe to swim in Florida water with open wounds, but you apparently also shouldn’t eat the shellfish while vaguely immunocompromised. VISIT FLORIDA TODAY!
We all know that those dastardly Millenials are killing everything from industrial beer production to fabric softener, but what will they be responsible for killing next? Themselves, apparently: A Spike In Liver Disease Deaths Among Young Adults Fueled By Alcohol. Drink up, me hearties, yo ho!
I’m guessing you guys are just as into the fringiest Christian eschatology of (repeatedly proven) false prophets/straw-grasper Rabbi Jonathan Cahn and opportunistic asshole John Hagee as I am, so I’ll give you a heads up that a BLOOD MOON (or for the less dramatic: lunar eclipse) is happening soon and it’ll be the longest in the last century. Look to the heavens the night of 07/27 if it’s visible in your area and the weather is good, for the four horsemen will totally be coming this time.
Out of respect for/fear of one of the most powerful of us, I will not label this story but will only mention that those who like things trapped in amber, or issues of a herpatological nature might find the story interesting.
Speaking of herps, hackers may have the latest results from your HSV1/2 test Hackers Breach Network of LabCorp, US’ Biggest Blood Testing Laboratories, so you may want to engage in some proactive radical honesty with your sex partner(s). Currently the intrusion seems like it was contained and no confidential information was accessed, but that’s always how these things start and then it’s Russians reading your emails and making fun of your use of comic sans. Just be glad those doofy Chevy HHRs aren’t autonomous…yet
For the nerds among us…I assume that’s most of you: CNET’s 2018 SDCC roundup. I know you’re all nerds in your unique and meaningful ways and I’m not going to enact your labor if I don’t have to.
Huh, I’m being told that not including a music link is a grievous sin. I’ll let this raccoon DJ some background jams for you while you curate your tittaaaays and whatnot.
I pulled up to the house and dismounted. I pushed the blue button on the intercom.
“It’s rather dusty outside. Please, remove your shoes.” He said. I noticed he too was barefoot, and obliged. “Can I interest you in a glass of Romanian wine?” He motioned to a room with a glass door; hundreds of bottles of wine were neatly placed on wooden racks. With a child, aged 12, inside dutifully turning one a half turn.
“With falafel. Here, have some more.” The Old Man added another three to my plate.
I found myself walking through a field of grain. I was in Iowa or something, because I could see a sign that said, “Des Moines 20 miles,” with black smoke billowing from a small city in the distance.
Speaking of herps, hackers may have the latest results from your HSV1/2 test