No, By All Means, Move

h/t WRSA

In For A Penny, In For 77 Grains

¡Viva Chiquitastan!

Let us all get serious for a moment.

Today's Star Trial verdict in a kangaroo court says nothing about Donald Trump's guilt or innocence on any laundry list of invented crimes, let alone actual felonies.

When Alan Dershowitz, from the Far Left, visits the trial for one day, and announces afterwards that Judge Clowncarnucopia "committed more reversible errors in the one day I attended than I've seen in my entire legal career", any pretense of this being anything within the bounds of American jurisprudence has not only already sailed, it's already docked on the other side of the ocean.

I had some wisp of a hope that the magnitude of obvious chicanery, subornation of perjury, jackassery, and outright fraud in this trial would enable at least one lone juror to conclude that the best course was to not pull the entire country down in a fit of childish pique. But that was obviously an orphaned expectation, long since. 

(Word to your mother, NYFC: the biggest problem in NYFC on 9/11/01 wasn't two airliners, it's that neither of them had a nuclear weapon on board that they detonated. You're now dead to the rest of the country. I hope I live to see bombers do to you what the 8th Air Force did to Dresden, while you're all sitting in your homes and offices. You've been a blight on this nation for 50 years, but this takes the cake. "Happy is the one who seizes your infants and dashes them against the rocks." May you all, to the last child, get what you deserve, both here, and Hereafter. Hear me, God.)

The meaning of today's verdict is actually quite simple:

The Democrat Party hereby announces that they have formally seceded from the United States Of America.

This announcement, therefore, makes them nothing less, at best, than seditious criminals and rebellious traitors, and as such, liable to hanging or shooting on sight, wherever and whenever found, top to bottom, and coast to coast.

The only open question is not any longer whether there will be an open, shooting civil war, but when it will commence being a range with the firing line fully open in both directions.

That's not an incitement to anyone, nor intended as any such thing; it's merely a statement of facts.

The head of the FBI laid out all the reasons for prosecution, and then looked the other way at a Secretary of State who knowingly committed over 30,000 federal felonies. Hundreds of current and former public officials and intelligence agency senior members lied openly that Hunter Biden's laptop was "Russian disinformation", in the most monstrous case of election interference in American history. Ghislaine Maxwell was convicted of procuring child sex victims to no one, because all the defendants are part of the political system in power.

But to get Trump, they tried and failed at two impeachments, and multiple trials, then stole an election, and to lock it in, finally brought up a made-up case in a Far Leftard venue for misdemeanors multiple persons have testified were committed not by Trump, but by a crooked underling, and which the underling himself told his own lawyer he did without Trump's knowledge nor encouragement, with his own money. Literally, no crime was committed by Trump, beyond any reasonable doubt, the D.A. suborned perjury to tell the jury otherwise, and this case should have been thrown out summarily pro forma the minute the prosecution rested. In fact, it never should nor would have even been tried, had this been anyone but Trump.

Whether the nation rises up as one and purges this rot, or doesn't, there is an immutable Truth smacking us all in the face:

America That Once Was Is 

ABSOLUTELY IRRETRIEVABLY OVER.

It didn't die of natural causes. 

The Democratic Party Killed It.

All that remains to be seen, from now going forward, is whether We, the People, have the stones to hold them and their members accountable for the murder, round them up, and begin the mass hangings or shootings on sight such a calculated and treasonous criminal act demands.

If not, this was the moment when we began our irreversible slide into being Amerizuela, with all the trimmings, for years to decades.

You? Do whatever you think is right.

Understand fully that, by casting this under the umbrella of state-sanctioned justice, the Other Side is not the rebellion. 

YOU are. With all that entails.

You may have some narrow respite to finish preparations for what is, inevitably, going to come.

Best do so in some haste.

Neither side is going to get what they like, nor like what they get.

But both now live in Chiquitastan.

Conduct yourselves accordingly.

And as noted in Comments, many of us - no small number - took a certain oath, any number of years ago. When last I looked, it had no expiration date. You may forgive us if we look forward in some mirth at the Other Side's discovery of the depth of meaning in that knowledge.

And would someone please kindly update Claire Wolfe on the following:

It's now time to begin shooting the bastards.

And if not this, what?

If not now, when??

Think Another Step Beyond

 h/t Matt Bracken

With all due respect to Matt, he's under-thinking this.

Imagine an invasion where no one was willing to drive the landing craft.

After all, it takes 30 minutes to change a tire.

(People were also grumping at Peter's blog about the durability of tire sidewalls, a conversation I've never heard made about front windows.)

It takes a full week to train a bus driver, and it costs about $2K@.

It takes a full month to find the second one after the first one is no longer an option.

Just saying.

Sometimes, the correct answer is "More cowbell."

How It Is, And Where It's Headed

Yesterday, Divemedic looked at why we keep seeing criminally insane mass shooters walking among us, and looks at the root of The Problem. RTWT. It's from research on his paper for a BSN, including the things he "can't say in a school paper".

My reply:

1) Keep working on the paper. Don't pull punches.

2) Latest numbers are that Califrutopia now has closer to 33% of the homeless people in the country, which is why I keep telling all the California-haters that they can have their toothless banjo-playing kinfolk back any time, because those crazy folks ain't from around here. I see their SSNs, and you can look up the state of origin [from the first three digits] in about 2 mouseclicks.

2a) 100:1 your state, for any of 49 values of that descriptor, hands the incorrigibly insane something between $5-10K for substance detox. In Califrutopia only. They fly them here, get into rehab, flunk out in a day or two because they're crazy addicts, end up on the streets, and drink or snort the balance of their funds. Then they become everyone's problem. I.E. mine. Ask me how I know, and how many times I've seen that exact scenario replayed again and again at local EDs.

3) They aren't releasing the homeless from prison to make room for the druggies. It's the same population. A Venn Diagram of the homeless, the alcoholics, and the lifelong drug addicts would be nearly one single circle, with all three groups overlapping. A fourth circle containing the convicts wouldn't stray too far from 1, 2, or 3 either.

4) People aren't homeless because they misplaced their homes, they're homeless because they drank it away, snorted it away, or perpetrated it away. No job, no skills, addiction, mental deficiency, and a criminal record is a crappy poker hand for life.

5) Psych meds make patients feel "weird". The rest of us call that weird feeling "sanity". So they stop taking those meds the minute they're released back into the community, with the result that ordinary citizens have to lock themselves inside plush secure home cells, while the crazy people walk around loose and free.

6) But not taking those meds means the voices come back. And the voices always say "You suck. Kill yourself." or "Everyone's trying to kill you. Kill them first!" So they do drugs, alcohol, and/or both. Why?

a) Actual quote from extremely insightful 17-year-old schizophrenic addict: "I take dope and get drunk, because it gets the voices drunk too, and then I can't understand what they're saying!" F**king brilliant, right there.

b) And they get to feel the euphoria of drunkenness and/or "high", which is way better than what sanity and responsibility feels like.

7) When I started in the medical biz decades and decades ago, we got a drunk a week, maybe an OD a month or two, and pot cases never. Now we get 5-15 of all of the above per night, or worse. Don't get me started about banning Narcan when a new batch of anything loaded with homebrew carfentanil (which dealers put in literally everything) hits the streets. The only good thing about it is when it occasionally takes a few regulars out of circulation permanently. But the 20 addicts who hear about that, and want to get the new "hot" batch, more than takes up the slack.

8) At current course and speed, it's only a matter of time before we start seeing open Commitees Of Vigilance, or else onesy-twosey incidents of The Three esSes (Shoot-Shovel-Shut Up) to become commonplace among the homeless/mentally ill/alcoholic/druggie/convicts on the loose. And we're talking when, not if. After a month or two, they'll start skipping the "shovel" part too. Mark my words.

9) TPTB will talk a good game, but the push to track down the culprits will be about as enthusiastic as going after the johns serviced by Epstein and Maxwell on Lolita Island. They'll toss the wretches into paupers' graves, throw the cold case files into some file cabinet in some endless warehouse next to the Ark of the Covenant, and that will be that. It's how California, and a good bit of the rest of the country, cleaned house 100+ years ago. Some ideas never go out of style.

10) The alternative will be a "Three Strikes And Yer Out!" rule for getting placed on a psych hold.

After the third time you're caught running naked down the freeway and throwing rocks off the overpass because you're off your meds, you will be deposited on Shutter Island, and never allowed to return. You can run around naked, chase butterflies, jump off cliffs, eat dirt, pound your head with a rock, whatever. But your civilization privileges will be permanently revoked.

Nothing less than #9 or #10 will avail, and no one's willing to pay for reinstating Bedlam in 50 states, and warehousing the insane for life at public expense. It won't matter what's right, or good, only what works, at that point. And half the population trying to ensure that nothing works is only hastening those two unpalatable conclusions. By design and malign intent.

If we could mandate that the first two times, the insaniacs were set at liberty, it had to be as the permanent houseguest of anyone in favor of the current scheme, starting with do-gooders, judges, and lawyers, it would go a long way toward solving things short of more draconian measures. But that will never happen.

Homeless people turning up all inexplicably dead all over the place? That could happen as early as tomorrow, and I'm frankly surprised it hasn't already started. What a Brave New World mental health do-gooderism has inflicted on us all.

I'm not saying I approve of what's coming. But what cannot continue, will not. Molly-coddling the criminally insane is about to become a luxury the people will not tolerate in perpetuity, and Nature abhors a vacuum, particularly one the state created, and now refuses to backfill.

If Only

 

Some Thoughts On Accountability Lists

 

Accountability List: If something gets broken, somebody's going to pay. The Accountability List concerns exactly which somebodies that will be. True for gift shops, true for societies.

Accountability Lists

1) Make them.

2) Update them frequently, as necessary,

3) Implementing them is always up to the owner. Nothing says you have to wait until All Hell Breaks Loose.

4) Implementing them sooner, rather than later, may actually prevent All Hell Breaking Loose.

5) Whether it does or doesn't, it will always tip odds more in your favor. If you're in a fair fight, you really screwed up.

Just saying.

Tyrants Shortened Or Lengthened While You Wait

h/t Mike 

We couple this with a wee historical reminder today from Matt Bracken and WRSA:

Keep Honking, I'm Reloading

Context

The Left uses talk to fight.
The Right does neither, as a rule.

We generally aren't going to talk.
We aren't going to fight.
We're going to do nothing.

But if push comes to shove, we'll annihilate.
Talking and fighting aren't steps on the continuum, they're sideshows.

Predators eat prey, certainly, but Nature documents no intramural wars to the death for existential survival within any species, AFAIK.
Except amongst humans.

The Left keeps fiddling with the safety cover over that switch, and seems bent on getting the other half of society to go ahead and flip it.

Then it looks like Dresden and Hiroshima, and puts even diseases to shame for sheer slaughter, until the point is taken to heart.
The human race's population is careening towards a precipitous dip in absolute numbers, with a complimentary spike in the group average IQ.

It's never good to be at the literal cutting edge of that phenomenon, because the phrase itself is rather more descriptive than metaphorical at that point.

That yakking going on now?
That's the Left, contributing the "O"s in OODA, and helpfully self-identifying.

Black and white stripes are helpful to make all zebras look alike, but it's even more helpful to identify them for the menu construction of the local lion pride.

Encore: Tomorrow

re-posted from original by suggestion. "Plus ça change..."

"Seven".
The earpiece crackled in Jake's ear from one of the handheld radios they were each tuned to. They'd picked up a couple of dozen surplused Motorola LE-only encrypted radios on eBay, and after a lot of work, Gene had programmed them all to use a normally unused simplex channel reserved for the authorities for tonight. All anyone else would hear was a brief bit of static with the factory encryption, but they still stuck to brevity codes.
Jake calmed himself. He knew the signs of buck fever, and he took a few moments to stretch his whole body, starting with his toes, and ending with his fingers. It wouldn't be long now, and he didn't want to be fighting adrenaline when the moment came.
The van he was in was non-descript. It was the twin of one belonging to a local business the next city over, and the plates on it would be back in the morning, with any luck at all. Inside was dark and quiet, but he could already hear the noise of the protesters as they moved down the main street, closing at the speed of a 6000-footed caterpillar, fueled by youthful exuberance, and a healthy amount of stupidity. Well, they were about to get a lot more education than what they'd gotten at U Cal, and he was happy to be a teaching assistant tonight.
He focused on the intersection, and checked over his gear one last time inside the darkened vehicle, as the sounds of yet another leftist temper tantrum grew louder by the moment.

"Six."
Jim, hunkered down behind a load of cardboard boxes in a van much like Jake's, sat at right angles to the intersection.
His weapon too was identical to Jake's: the ubiquitous Ruger 10/22, modified for tonight.
It had a frame optimized for grown-ups, with one of those evil pistol grips that gave the state legislature hissy fits, going back to the late 1980s. Also a high-cap magazine, which torqued them out even worse. In this case, picked up out of state on a visit to relatives, and driven back across state lines into what Jim referred generally to as "Occupied Territory". He had several more loaded and waiting next to the stock. Also present was a heavy barrel, making the thing a tack-driver out to the limits of the relatively weak cartridge. And under the heading of "in for a penny, in for a pound", both rifles had custom home-made suppressors screwed on at the business end. They wouldn't be truly silent, but inside a can, inside a van, a couple of hundred yards away from a herd of screaming protesters, would be as near as. Just to be on the safe side, Jim screwed an earplug into the other ear, the one without the earbud.
Jim hadn't been in the military, and he wasn't the shooter Jake, who'd been a designated marksman when he served, was. But a lot of patient practice and range time had made him plenty good enough. And using the little pop-guns tonight wouldn't tax anyone's abilities at all. He checked the bipod legs to make sure they were securely locked. If they had failed, he had a beanbag rest for backup.
And when they returned, the barrels used tonight would come off, replaced by factory barrels again, and the heavys would go on a fishing trip, after being reamed out with a hardened bit. No evidence, no traces.

"Five".
Gene spoke in a monotone voice familiar to anyone with long hours in a ham shack. He was the geek in the bunch. He'd found and programmed their radios, made sure everyone understood how to use them, and how to communicate.
There wasn't a leader as such, but he was older than the others by a decade or so, and after raising three teenagers to adulthood, there wasn't much that fazed him or ruffled his feathers, so he made, if not a Daddy to the group, a good Friar Tuck: a bit more mature, thoughtful, and worldly-wise, when it was needed.
He focused on his screen, and his fingers moved the controls to guide the drone slowly and deliberately. It was unregistered (of course), blacked out, and over the din of the demonstration, almost as silent as Jim and Jake would be, on the moment.
He followed the mob's progress as they moved towards the intersection where all their flyers and internet blather had helpfully pinpointed they would end their rally.
The police scanners indicated that, exactly as before, the town cops would be studiously ignoring the protest except for a token presence, and the campus cops were half a mile behind, doing about the same thing.
No roadblocks, so he and the others, in separate vehicles, would take separate, easy, and rehearsed routes out of Moscow-Near-The-Bay, and back to the quiet semi-rural small community they lived in an hour or so back up California's lush Central Valley.
Not so lush now, with dumping the agricultural water formerly set aside to feeding the world now going to a Sacto Delta baitfish to appease the whims of the idiots Gene was watching, and their elected Foole, long known as Governor Moonbeam.
Gene focused his attention on the drone's power supply. He had four of them, and had alternated them in series, swapping  hot batteries for the depleted ones, so he wouldn't lose visual on the herd. Other than a minute or two between coverage, it had worked flawlessly, until one of his drones had a hiccup, and had to be retired from the relay. The others picked up the slack, but he was glad he was able to recover it without losing one of his numerous toys. The mob was now crossing the fourth street from the target intersection.

"Four."
Pete could barely hear his earpiece, turned up all the way, but he had the most dangerous job. He'd infiltrated one of the local bunches of miscreants some weeks prior, after the first riot. He wasn't one of their anarchists per se, just one of the multitudinous black-clad folks giving them cover.
He had several jobs.
First, on his way to the rally, he'd carefully dumped a couple of hundred pieces of wiped .22LR brass around the intersection; some in each direction, where later investigators would find it, for all the good it would do them. It had been collected off the ground and floor at half a dozen shooting ranges, separated by brand, and location. The consensus was it would look like between 4 and 8 close-in shooters, rather than just the two.
Second, he was the one with an interest in historical sabotage. Careful research on real manuals (not the tripe in The Anarchist's Cookbook, which he was sure had been written by BATFE to get amateur bomb makers to blow themselves up) and practice with real materials had taught him several time-honored ways of getting something to go up in flames or explosion, reliably timed, and without him being there to get the full effect in the face. Most, but not all of the materials would be consumed, making things that much harder for anyone looking into it afterwards, as he was sure they would. That's why after tonight, he wouldn't use that particular set-up again for some time, so as not to create a signature. And just for fun, the night before, he'd left enough parts and exemplars inside the garage of the witch organizing this event to see her off to a long odyssey through the federal courts and prison system, after one anonymous phone call. Life's a bitch, especially when you are one, he chuckled to himself as he salted the items among her possessions the night before.
Third, as the mob moved along, he would place his devices underneath several likely cars about a block behind the festivities, on both sides of the street. That mainly entailed tying his shoes a lot at the bumpers, and surreptitiously sliding his items under their gas tanks. Time and physics would do the rest, in about three minutes, once he set them in place.
Lastly, once he'd done that job, he was artillery.
He had a water balloon cannon ready to attach to poles on the sides of his pickup truck. Practice had taught him that he could hurl small-bottle Molotov cocktails a couple of city blocks with minimal effort, and hit minute of mob, in about thirty seconds. Three shots in 10 seconds, break it down, and then be gone in half a minute.
He was wearing the mob uniform black, head-to-toe: black combat boots, black baggy military-style cargo trousers, black long-sleeved t-shirt and black hoodie, with a black balaclava over his face, and black leather gloves with hard knuckles. On his back, a generic but sturdy nylon black backpack.
Underneath, hard soccer shin guards, knee pads, a cup, hard elbow pads, soft body armor, and lightweight HDPE Level III plates in a plate carrier. A homemade hard helmet shell under the balaclava. He would not be playing victim in the knockout game if he got confronted.
He also had OC spray, a stun gun, a cheap but sturdy full-tang knife, and a Glock 19 with several extra mags, as well as the CCW permit (from a more enlightened sheriff in the nearby county where he lived, but good statewide), to make him almost 100% legal. Well, except for the incendiaries in the backpack.
Like the others, he also had a generic camelback, a small IFAK, and a personal E&E kit, including colorful regular shirt and pants, maps and routes on a removable cell phone thumb drive that led to an alternate and contingency rendezvous, a burner cell phone with the battery removed, paper cash and change, energy bar, and a good plausible and backstopped cover story.
He was young enough to pass for a grad student, and a bit of an adrenaline junkie, hence his choice of assignment, but he was nobody's fool, and they all planned to get home quietly and safely, and had taken every precaution to make it so.

"Three."
Gene noted everything on the scanners normal, mob moving into position.

"Two."
Jake and Jim chambered the first rounds in their rifles, and stayed on their scopes.

"One."
Now it got hairiest for Pete, and as he entered the last block, he started dropping off his packages, pushing them well under gas tanks, and making sure to trip the chemical chain to start the ball.
The first two were easy, then he had to work his way quickly through the mob as it congealed, to get to the other side of the packed street, and his alley exit. The front end was in the target zone already.
"Target 1. Target 1."
"Target 2. Target 2."
"Confirm Target 1. Confirm target 2."
Jake and Jim both had eyes on the front of the herd in their crosshairs.
Pete pulled out his last timer, and shoved his package delicately along the asphalt under an SUV.
As he hit the alley and made his way along it, he gave the all clear.
"Thunder. Thunder."
"Confirm Thunder."
"Waiting for ignition."
As Pete jogged towards his truck, the chemical chain ignited his first package. A fire blossomed underneath a sedan on the far side of the intersection.
The drone confirmed it as the orange blossom grew.
"Ignition."
"Weapons close. Weapons close."
Two safeties were snapped off, and two pairs of eyes searched for targets.
A second package ignited, as flames from the first began to engulf the first car.
Pete got to his truck, jumped into the bed, and limbered the poles into place.
"Drone's off. Drone's off."
Gene guided his drone back towards his vehicle. When it was well away from the zone of interest, he dropped it to 100 feet, set it on homing, and turned on his burner phone.
He punched in a number, and a previously selected landline rang.
It was connected to a timer, and the timer to an Israeli-made cell phone jammer sitting in a phony generic utility box as camouflage, on the roof of a building on the near side of the intersection.
For the next 10 minutes, no one would be connecting any calls within 100 yards of the site. All streaming video from the riot stopped. Texts bounced to nowhere. No 911 calls would be going out.

The crowd pushed into the intersection, some of them cheering the fires they thought their own thugs had started.
"Shot out. Shot out."
Pete called the first of three launches of lit Molotovs now arcing towards their target, labeled "to whom it may concern."
The first bottle bloomed into fire amidst the mob. There were screams; they weren't expecting this.
"Splash. Splash."
"Splash. Splash."
Both shooters confirmed the impacts.

Gene was recovering his drone; he closed the sliding side door as he made the call.
"Weapons free. Weapons free."
Inside the two vans, the shooters began plinking through their 25-round magazines. The rounds might kill, maim, or just leave a painful but survivable wound, but in less than half a minute, they were all on their way. Inside the vans, the rounds tick-tick-ticked off, and the brass went into catch-pouches.

The mob was careening around the intersection now. Panic set in with a vengeance as people started to go down. The herd started to stampede back the way they'd come when the first vehicle's gas tank went up with a "Whoompph!", and sent them in new directions. The third package ignited across the street, just as the last of three molotovs landed in the confusion and screaming terror, amplifying it.

"Rounds complete. Rounds complete."
Both shooters changed magazines, and began to send the second batch of 25 shots into the fleeing mob. They both aimed low; a lot of knees and legs were hit.
"Three, Tally Ho."
Gene was already on the road and outbound.
"Four, Tally ho."
Pete had dropped his poles, and was on his way out too.

"Winchester 1."
"Winchester 2."
Jake and Jim had gone through their second magazine apiece. They each dropped the hinged windows back into place and secured them there. The rifles were dropped into hide boxes, then covered with a couple of heavy crates.
"Two, Tally Ho."
Everyone waited breathlessly for Jake to announce he was rolling as well.
"One, Tally Ho."
Three other hearts started to slow down to normal.

NOW the idiots would know what a "WAR" was. None of the men driving away thought they'd like it very much in reality. And the authorities were still trying to figure out WTF had already happened. They wouldn't learn anything useful, though the anonymous call the next day that snitched out the organizer of the violence for cooking her own people "for the greater good" would come as a great PR boost, rather than their usual "we're investigating all leads" B.S.

The cards on their steering wheels led them to separate freeway entrances. After that, the routes were in their heads. Cruise control kept them driving at the speed limit. Radios were switched off. Each drove silently into the night. Behind, the screaming continued, and the nightmare for the protesters, and TPTB, was just beginning.

One hour later, the radios came back on.
They each checked in by number, and verified from different directions their primary rendezvous site was clear and uncompromised.
There, the rifle barrels would come off, the brass would be policed, and they'd switch to the cold license plates. 
The rifles were put back to original configuration. Jake took the weapons. Jim took the silencers, and the custom stocks.
Gene got the hot barrels. Pete got the brass.
Everyone changed clothes. Gene took these to an all-night laundromat.
The other three, in sweat clothes, hit the 24-hour gym next door, and took long showers, scrubbing every trace of residue from their bodies. Then they changed into their normal attire.
Pete took the hot plates back to the lot where the delivery vans they'd borrowed them from were parked, and put them back on without incident.

They drove home individually, at intervals, and by separate routes. Gene drilled out the barrels; next deep sea trip, they'd fall off the boat at night on the ride out. Jim cleaned and stashed the other parts, and Jake cleaned the weapons thoroughly. Pete took the brass home, where he pounded it into lumps of scrap with a sledgehammer, then shot off a bridge into the tule marshes with a slingshot.

And they all slept like babies.




This is entirely a piece of fiction. And a cautionary tale. Hopefully it stays that way, but I wouldn't put chips on that square. If it gets your panties all twisted, too fucking bad. Get over it.
It took about twenty minutes to type out, and I haven't even been thinking about this much.
If I can come up with this off the cuff, so can five hundred thousand other people. Some already have.
Bet your ass on that.
And if you're one of the erstwhile protesters, many of them wouldn't be as merciful towards you and yours as I was in this little tale. You ARE betting your ass on that, every time you show up for another piece of street theatre. And when it actually happens, 100:1 they'll see that YOU get the blame for it. Win-win.

So, contrary to all experience thus far, you all could grow the fuck up, knock your silly shit off, and just suck it.
Or keep pushing your luck.
Call the toss in the air, kids.
-A.

"Cities Will Burn..."

From Project Veritas.

Bernie campaign staffer talks about burning cities and loading the opposition into boxcars. Like good socialist commies do, every time they win. True for national socialists. True for international socialists.

"We're willing to go above and beyond what the law says is acceptable..."

Yeah, asshole, we noticed. That's why we have guns, and you'll only be getting them from us one way: bullets first. We're ready and willing to re-educate you too.

Project Veritas.
Doing the real journalism that FakeNews at ABCNNBCBS won't do.

Thanks, But...

Project Veritas and James O'Keefe are national treasures, certainly.
And getting insider video of CNN openly putting the "ass" in "enemy asset" is pure gold.

But there's a wee problem.

Y'see, yuuuuuuge swaths of the country have known that not just CNN, but ABCNNBCBS et al were all enemy assets, totally penetrated, since so long ago it was known as the Clinton News Network.

So while the hundreds of hours of insider whistleblowing video now are nice to see, to confirm what we've known all along, the bigger point is we've known it for nearly thirty years. People who figured this out in their late 20s, when Fat Bill was just a former Arkansas governor with aspirations, are now old enough to qualify for senior meal discounts at Denny's.

It's not earthshattering, and it's barely news, even putting the whole sordid spectacle out for everyone to see.

The thing of it is, what we're up for now - or maybe it's just me - is seeing an angry mob smash in the front windows of CNN corporate HQ, sack the building, beat the employees out the door with whips made of cords, and then set the whole goddam communist edifice on fire, and walk away singing party songs afterwards.

Pour encourager les autres.

We want someone to crazy glue a football to Jeff Zucker's hands, and then livestream it as an entire college defensive backfield sacks him. Over and over. Say about 300 times in a row, give or take a few either way.

We want to see Jim Acosta, Don Lemon, Anderson Cooper, and their fellow quislings walking down the street, and suddenly getting rabbit-punched by bystanders, as "What's the frequency, Kenneth?" is shouted into their bloody and swelling pummeled faces. Hell, I'd buy that on disc just for the nostalgia factor in a generation: The Day The News Got What Was Coming To It. They've been kicking America in the crotch nightly for years, decades even; it's way overdue for America to administer a little payback.

Dulce et decorum est.

So James and Project Veritas folks, thanks, and keep up the good work, but target identification, or even confirmation, isn't what it would have been if this were still December of 2016.

We're so far past that now, it's like coming up with the decoded Japanese plans to attack Pearl Harbor, and putting them in the newspaper. In January of 1945.

What's called for at this stage is more like target eradication.
What we want is to see the other side stomped into small pieces.
We want their institutions as firebombed and gutted as Tokyo was. And only part of me would want to add "metaphorically" to that sentence. They've had it coming for a long time, and betting against the party with a memory like an elephant is a poor percentage wager.

We know who the enemy is, we know what they've been up to, and we're a wee bit past "gotcha" games.

What we want is simple.

We want to crush our enemies.
See them driven before us.
Hear the lamentation of their women.
(That's a trick item, since all of them are women, even their "men".)

Because that's what is best in life. At least it is the way things stand now.

We've been patient, and we've been good.
And Christmas is coming, so figuring out what's in our letter to Santa this year isn't that tough.

When the Democratic presidential debates are put on indefinite hold, and the House of Representatives can't make a quorum because of convoys of arrestees carted off in the first sweeps, you'll know we're on the right track.

And if the system can't get that right, it's part of the problem, not the solution to it, and things are likely going to get sorted out in real time, and a good deal more kinetically than one might normally hope.

I leave the closing thoughts to two icons of the Left:

Given who it is that's pointing the cameras, now you know why.

Hoist A Glass!

 

Che got nine bullets in his sorry @$$,
and all I got was this rockin' meme! Salud, bitch.

Forgive the lapse, but as Boat Guy reminded me in Comments, today is the anniversary of the date in 1967 when sociopath commie bastard mass murderer (but I repeat myself) Ernesto "Che" Guevara performed his highest duty to mankind, by volunteering as a target for a detachment of the glorious forces of freedom in Bolivia, where he was wounded, captured, and later executed summarily. Dulce et decorum est.

A toast, boys and girls, to the outstanding marksmanship of Las Fuerzas Armadas de Bolivia, and their virtuous achievement of making another Good Communist, in a hail of gunfire. Nice shooting, amigos. Viva Libertad!

And be of good cheer, fellow diehards: today means we're another year closer to Dead Hanoi Jane Day. Whenever that day comes, it cannot be too soon.

Fiat Anarchy

Frequent commenter A.B. Prosper responds to our essay this morning regarding the plight of Johnson & Johnson:

"I wouldn't worry about J&J, the medical companies can simply refuse to sell in the US if they like.

This kind of leverage is why the vaccine injury compensation trust fund exists, the companies that make them basically said 'we get protection or you do without.'"

J&J isn't the issue here, A.B.

The issue is fiat anarchy under color of authority.

Setting the precedent that uninvolved innocent parties can be rounded up, sued, and financially ruined for the unrelated actions of evil people using not-their-product, as if apples were elephants and horseflies were horses, because the defendants happen to be minding their own business legally and above board, undoes all trade and commerce in anything, in about a minute.

That's a civilizational death sentence.

It's Kafka-esque and surreal, and the only answer is rivers of blood and heads on poles. If that starts tomorrow, just for this reason, I'm all in.
It's that bad.

This is the kind of thing that justifies slaughtering the entire judiciary and executive organs that uphold or enforces it, as quintessential casus belli. It stands the law and common sense itself on its own head, and endangers society itself, intrinsically and explicitly. This is one of those things that authorizes marching people to Madame Guillotine in wholesale batches.

What happens to J&J is something to which I'm relatively indifferent. In the end, they'll make out okay.

This judge and OK's AG, OTOH, need a fine public lynching about five minutes ago, as outlined in the OP.
This is the Dred Scott case of the 21st century, and if upheld, it's sufficient grounds for another civil war/revolution, with all the trimmings.

A sitting judge has ruled that the innocent must be fleeced because evil exists, somewhere else.
J&J is merely standing in the dock in your stead.
If they can be judicially ass-raped without a shred of legal rationale merely on some lunatic judge's say-so, nothing and no one is safe.

That's sufficient grounds for lopping off heads and burning down legislatures, just for openers. And if the dullards amongst TPTB don't see that, and nip it in the bud, good and hard, that's exactly what's going to follow, and it will be wholly justified.

What comes after that is the real problem.

You don't want a civil war?
This is how you get a civil war.

Ask King George how that worked out for him.

Not "No". Not "H#!!, no." This Requires "F**k, no!"

Author, frequent commenter, and blogger in his own right OldNFO had some thoughts yesterday regarding the hoopla and frenzy over two f**ktards and the inevitable Dumbocrat blood-dancing following their escapades:

"I would have a different proposal, do away with gun laws! Train everyone how to use them, once they pass a mental evaluation and background check, they are allowed to buy and carry whatever their heart desires. Constitutional carry…"

OldNFO is a good guy. His blog is a regular stop, and he's generally a thoughtful and sensible guy, and make no mistake about it, very pro-2A.
But I have a teeny weenie issue with that proposal as stated.

To wit:

Which other constitutionally protected natural rights mentioned in the BoR should require a doctor's note before kicking in?

Freedom of speech?
Freedom of religion?
Freedom of assembly and association?
Right to jury trial?
Right to no cruel and unusual punishment?
Right to no double jeopardy?
Right to not be required to quarter soldiers in your house?

Just curious where and why you'd draw that line...

If I say I don't want soldiers in my house in peacetime, does that make me therefore crazy, and thus unfit to exercise that right??

Captain Yossarian called.
All he said was:
"That's some catch, that Catch-22."

"It's the best there is!"

Anybody who would try to put a doctor's note between me and natural rights should be placed on a permanent mental health incarceration hold for 72 years, or until such time as the delusional state completely passes.

Failing that, should anyone try and enforce it, I'll be happy to arrange a meeting for them with 72 virgins.
Or was that 72 Virginians?
I forget...

Either way, it's not going to work out like you think it will.

The state doesn't get to put up a hoop - not any hoop - for anyone to jump through before deciding their constitutional rights will be granted.

Natural law rights were earned when my name was typed on my birth certificate, and I had a pulse.
End of discussion.

200M zombies killed by their governments in the last century would like a word with you...

The @$$tards proposing stupid gun law ideas don't need any help.
But a goodly number of them need a bullet to the head, and if they keep pushing, they're going to get their wishes granted.

Weaponsman conservatively estimated the number of guns in the U.S. in private hands, using actual data (with numerous blank spots) at a solid 600,000,000 guns. Not 200M. Not 300M.

And every owner probably has 25-1000 (or more) rounds of ammunition per piece, which puts rounds of ammunition available in the stratosphere.

The people who think they're going to ban guns , and follow through on that cunning plan, are going to get a headache that will make the Irish Troubles look like a church picnic egg toss.

And when it's over, we'll be 150M Americans short of current numbers, and no one left alive who'll be in favor of banning everything.

So except for the regrettable rivers of blood that plan will occasion, maybe it's time to open that ball, and get down to the rat-killin'.

"You can't argue with a rat, baby sister..."

They don't seem to take a hint any other way.

The Stupid Is Strong With These

This is what happens when you screw with things above your IQ.

Now you see the problem arguing with people, using facts and logic, in trying to convince idiots who didn't reach their positions using facts and logic. You're trying to teach a pig to whistle.

It's like throwing tennis balls at tanks.

And they keep overlooking the 800 pound gorilla in the room:
The cartels exist now.
They're rich beyond the dreams of Croessus, brutal, utterly ruthless, and will not stop unless you're going to kill them, in your quixotic quest to get the 1-5% dopers of society their high, legally.
Tell me how you're going to deal with them without making things 10-20 times worse by simultaneously legalizing everything, everywhere.

That fight is the exact "War On Drugs" we've never had, and some here say we will never have, except once you legalize it will be that same war on steroids and crack.

So by
a) ignoring its necessity, like planning the Normandy invasion and leaving that whole annoying Germans-on-the-beach thing out, and
b) admitting it will NEVER be dealt with adequately
you who think we can legalize it all are knowingly and deliberately opting to make things ten to twenty times worse everywhere simultaneously, and arguing some imaginary savings after you create, by design, at least 3-4X as many addicts nationwide.

Show. Your. Work!

Answered nor explained has been not one single objection nor observation I've raised in three days dealing with this moronic policy suggestion. You can't, so you don't.

(Hint: gainsaying doesn't count. Neither does ignoring the points entirely, because they undermine your position, and then trying to change the subject. Yes, we noticed.)

Before pot legalization here, I never -zero, nada, zilch, not once in fifteen years - saw anyone in the ER for pot use. It simply didn't happen.
Now I get two to three a night, 24/7/365/forever.
At multiple ERs I've worked in just the last 5 years.
Three potheads in a ten-bed ER is a big deal.
Three potheads in every ER is yuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuge.

The idea that adding in legal heroin, legal methamphetamine, legal cocaine, legal PCP, and legal everything else will not impact things beyond disastrous is a flatly jackassical delusion, yet one and all in favor cheerfully accept the loss, for all intents and purposes, of most capacity in most ERs in perpetuity as no big deal.

Being yourselves entirely clueless of the fact that, without any disasters at all, we barely have enough (and many times far less than) adequate ER capacity in any locale on the planet, you want to literally destroy the resource, in order to accommodate a flood of dopers. Fuck all those people with heart attacks, strokes, and 300 other legitimate medical problems, right?

I tell you honestly, we'll start euthanizing them. Mark my words, it's going to happen. They'll be shunted to the side and left to expire, and the body count will rise to the hundreds of thousands, all chalked up to OD. And people will quit in droves, and stop entering the medical profession.

And that's just the acute side. It doesn't even consider how many will impact ICU and less-serious hospitalization, to say nothing of the problems with EMS, fire services, law enforcement, and yes, the courts.

Because even were you to make taxes as low as 1¢ per metric fuckton on everything, drug addicts will go broke feeding their habit, at any price point you could imagine.  Because addicts don't keep normal jobs and lives for beyond the time it takes to get hopelessly addicted. Like they do now. (Something else you overlook.)

There are virtually zero treatment programs now, for 99% of all addicts.
A few, for rich dabblers, and they relapse too. WTF do you think the second time, even Charlie Sheen's entire family said "Fuck him." And most people don't have a $1M/episode cushion in the bank from 5 years of sitcoms to fall back on. They snort and shoot up their job, their house, their car, their savings, everything they own, and then they turn to crime.
It's what addicts do.
(And you want to make orders of magnitude more  of them?)

And then they'll rob people, break into cars, steal them outright, burgle homes, and you'll have added millions of addicts-turned-felons, and jack the crime stats virtually overnight, in perpetuity.

Which will take the anemic current MBSFO(S)DWCD*, and turn it into a Stalinist wet dream of enforcement, because the cops, and society, will be under siege from the exact plague of junkie-criminals you all want to create. When the only tool on your belt is a holster, all of your problems look like targets. The police state you'll necessitate at that point would make Beria cream his pants.

And also, the only thing you'll eliminate when the cartels take over all legal distribution, (like they will) is them shooting each other up, and transition that to people shooting Normies up to feed their habit. Well-played.

[I've largely left out any mention of what the inevitable spillover will do to kids from 0-17, despite the fact that it will be horrific - and you know that too, but you clearly don't GAF - because some asstard will Godwin his pseudo-smart "It's for the chirren!" into the commentary, and because I don't need the damage to children to make my case. It's honestly only about the 17th most idiotic and monstrous thing your ideas would do, so I can live without it and still make my case on the other 16 points. But you simpletons will own it, and the human carnage that follows, for generations yet unborn, if your feeble-minded evil ever comes to pass.]

And if you try to set taxes at the point where they'll cover the cost of using drugs, you'll jack prices beyond what they can be smuggled in for, and create the exact market in which smuggling and untaxed drug sales will flourish, like it does now, but with multiple times more people doing drugs. What a boon to cartels!

Think about that, idiots: drugs are cheaper now, with no taxes, than they'll ever be with taxes. Enforcement is a negligible expense, (never and nowhere has the current anemic MBSFO(S)DWCD effort shut even a notable fraction of supply down) and taking enforcement away via legalization just lowers the cost of smuggling in  more illegal untaxed drugs.

You'll accomplish the exact opposite of what you intend.
WTF?!? Are you  idiots congressional Democrats, or what? 

And then some fucktarded lackwit (with which Team Legalize is vastly oversubscribed) will posit the obvious answer to all that crime:

"Well, obviously we need to have the government just give the drugs away free, to anyone who wants them."

So then you're going to tell working people that their taxes must be raised again, to grow, produce, and distribute literal fucktons of dope to dopes, rather than just ending the whole boondoggle. And you'll be there to say that, because you're that moronic, that unhinged, and that evil.
QED

UPDATE: Just checked in with the OP of this cockamamie idea-set:
No points for guessing what the ultimate answer suggested is , but suffice it to say we nailed this outta the park without looking.

All of this to be administered by The Government:
The same government that can't run the VA, the FBI, the CIA, the IRS, the State Department, BATFE, Social Security, welfare, food stamps, the Post Office, the census, the Park Service, AMTRAK, or even the DoD, not even the parts of it in charge of driving Navy ships without hitting container ships - the absolutely biggest, slowest ships on the ocean - will suddenly be able to make and distribute drugs, for free.

And it will totally work.

Word to your mother: When your policy suggestions make AOC sound sane,
it's time for a major psychiatric intervention.

Pull the other one, it's got bells on it.





And that's the point when I, and hopefully hordes of sensible people, will start shooting you assholes in the face, along with the druggies you created, for daring to shill for and then inflict this plague upon society, with a cheery smile, while blithely ignoring all the "Bridge Out" signs on your way to push that society over the cliff.

“Of all tyrannies, a tyranny sincerely exercised for the good of its victims may be the most oppressive. It would be better to live under robber barons than under omnipotent moral busybodies. The robber baron's cruelty may sometimes sleep, his cupidity may at some point be satiated; but those who torment us for our own good will torment us without end for they do so with the approval of their own conscience. They may be more likely to go to Heaven yet at the same time likelier to make a Hell of earth. This very kindness stings with intolerable insult. To be "cured" against one's will and cured of states which we may not regard as disease is to be put on a level of those who have not yet reached the age of reason or those who never will; to be classed with infants, imbeciles, and domestic animals.”  - C.S. Lewis

That's Team Legalize in a nutshell, preaching that society must be "cured" of wanting to ban drug abuse and mitigate the consequences, by the horrific "cure" of legalization.

We'll lay waste to you lunatics out of self-preservation, and you'll be the most surprised of all when it happens.

We can barely afford you (and your beloved druggie pets) now, but at that moment, you'll become a dystopian luxury, and you're going to go. And if you don't go quietly, you'll be fighting a war to preserve open drug use. That ought to be one helluva recruiting poster for your side!

With the same surprised, stupid looks on your faces as the French nobility had when they faced Robespierre, and Madame Dafarge.

From here on out, anyone advocating legalizing drugs is merely virtue-signaling their abject cretinism, and malign intent, for the entire country. This entire idea is exactly the psychotic horseshit I correctly identified it as earlier in the week, and all anyone espousing it is doing is indicating that they're crazy, don't care that they're crazy, and aren't interested in coming in off of the ledge.

So be it.

Jump, you fuckers.

The sane part of society is loading magazines.

You want to commit suicide by jumping off the ledge, go on ahead.
You won't be missed, I assure you.
Just stop trying to drag the entire society with you.








*(Mutually Beneficial Slap Fight On (Some) Drugs, With Collateral Damage, for those who just tuned in.)

Part I
Part II
Part III
Part IV

Why Don't We Just Give Them What They Want?

War is horrible, nasty, brutal, senseless destruction, times millions.
But sometimes, you just can't stop that grizzly bear from coming in the tent.

And while sometimes you may get Carthage, you may also get Atlanta, Hiroshima, Dresden, or Cologne.
That's Cologne in 1945, above.
It's a wee bit different now.

And for all values except Carthage, what each of those places have now is unrecognizable to what they had five minutes after the peak of destruction.
No one in any of them now would bemoan what they are, or have become.

Should we blow everything up, just to see how we could fix it?
Don't be asinine; of course not.
But don't assume just because something is craptastic in the moment, it's going to be that way forever.
That's a four-year-old's view of time: "everything is about me, right this minute."
So grow up. And perhaps, take a longer-term view than just right this minute, or even until the day after tomorrow.

Don't take my word for it. Because while no one I know would like to go live at Florence and Normandie nearly 30 years after the L.A. riots, you won't find anyone in Normandy, France bitching too hard about the war that landed on their shores 75 years ago this coming Thursday. Go there and ask if you don't believe me.

From comments to an earlier post:

"Gentlemen, [I] understand your belief that once the leftards cross a line, the shooting will start. [I] Disagree that it will be short. Remember, Southern politicians at the beginning of the Civil War thought it would be short. They would whip the corrupt, money loving, Yankees and all the blood spilled "could be cleaned up with a handkerchief". 4 years and 620 000 lives latter... Do not underestimate the leftards ability to motivate and inspire their side. It will be fighting for women's reproductive rights, or transgender rights or the rights of illegal aliens etc. and it may be effective. The North's initial war aims were to preserve the Union. Didn't work as well until Lincoln hit on using freeing the slaves. Hope for the best, but plan for the worst. What happens if the soy boys and SJW's don't take their toys and go home? Make ready for a long conflict."

It needn't be short.
Just decisive.

They also have no native bent towards defending anything.
They destroy, they don't preserve, and deep down, they know they're full of sh*t, or else they'd give up their iPhones to feed the poor.
That happens never, amongst a single one of them.
Because in their hearts, humans are capitalists.
Again, don't believe me just because I say that.
Just tell me the net worth of all those Silicon Valley tech CEOs who give Marx and Lenin a tongue bath every day.
And remind me how many homes Bernie Sanders owns.

And remember, no one dies for a lie.

Could they pull off a few rallies? An upset or two?
Sure. Briefly.

But they have no slavery issue to go long on, this time around.
They're offering everyone equal misery, and death to their enemies, and maybe, perhaps a few crumbs from the spoils of all the Evil people they want to whack.
(Which never pans out for their minions.)

We're offering freedom.

At barest essence, they've got nothing.

And being pragmatic, the odds are greater than even that their side gets wiped out to the last child, to preclude it every happening again.

Ask 100 people which world they'd rather live in:
One populated entirely by rifle-toting, bible-clinging rednecks having a barbeque.
Or one populated by Emo Antifa twinks and purple-haired lesbian land whales all shrieking and moaning about how evil white mankind is, and the contest is over in five seconds.

No one worldwide is swimming oceans and rivers to break into Communist China or to get to Venezuela.

But they'll brave Caribbean storms in rafts made of bloated corpses and used baby diapers to get the hell out of Cuba, and take a wild chance they'll land in Miami Beach.

A conflict here is almost certainly an extinction-level event for the left, for generations yet unborn.
(Whereas their victory would be the continued genocide of the unborn.
So don't try to pretend there's any moral equivalency between baby killers, and those who'd rather kill baby killers.)

Tell me again why we don't just open the ball first, and prosecute that whole party now, to the hilt.

We're already the merest momentary pause from that question becoming purely academic, and the discussion getting overtaken by events as it is.

Let the dog catch the car.
Then watch what happens to him once he's got it, and doesn't know what to do next, with a mouthful of bumper.

"A man who picks a cat up by the tail learns something which he can learn in no other way." - Mark Twain

Communism: Just In Time For May Day!

Imagine a set of tires, running over a face. Forever.

That's the commie darlings beloved of the Lunatard Left in this country, killing protesters in Venezuela yesterday by running them over with armored cars.

Watch it on video:

But once The Man goes Full Retard, and then goes past it all the way to Potato, things become two-way rather quickly.



Lo siento, Fernando, but I don't think the A/C is going to work this time.

Molotov, the drink of dictators since 1917!

I repeat: we shouldn't put one single American boot on the ground there.

But we should be shipping the resistance there all the captured AK-47s and ammunition we've got, 24/7/365, until Maduro is swinging from a light post.

But it's doubtful the Venezuelans left there have the stones to take back their country.

They should try it, though. Payback worked before, and it'll work again.
Remember: