Indict The Leading Opposition Candidate: Oh Please! Oh Please!

 

Dumbocrats Wonder: What could possibly go wrong?

Sunday Music: Hit Me With Your Best Shot

The ass-kickingest monster hit from 1980 by the decade's ass-kickingest female rocker, Pat Benatar, which hit #9, and put her on the rock map beyond any doubt, and showcased the virtuosity of her lead guitarist and later husband Neil Geraldo, in an epic solo break. We chose it because evidently now, thirty years since she's had a hit on the charts, she's jackassically announced she will no longer sing it, and f**k what her fans want, because of "gun violence". Notably, she isn't returning the royalties from the song, nor the gold and platinum records it earned. Color us shocked. To which duplicity and hypocrisy we say, "It's a song, not a political ad. Shut up and dance, monkey." We aren't going to let her soft-headed senility now ruin a perfectly good Godzilla-sized rock mega-anthem from back in the day, before she lost her mind.

In fact, we're playing it again. Live.

Just Like Last Time

Meet the New Boss. Same as the Old Boss.

 

Almost As If We Called This

 

No, really, we said from the outset this idiotic rush to prosecute persecute Baldwin was asinine, recockulous, contra-factual, prejudicially bile-based rather than fact-based, contrary to basic jurisprudence, and probably wouldn't go well if tried.

Hmm. How curious. I'm sure it's not true. I mean, what prosecution team has half their staff kick themselves off the trial, and 80% of the weight of their charges thrown out before they even get to trial, because they don't understand basic legal principles in place for centuries? And this is the assclown posse some of the peanut gallery is cheering for. 

They're rooting against a guy who shot two people, on behalf of a prosecution team that keeps shooting itself in the foot, over and over. Life is funny sometimes. And you may still get your most heartfelt wishes to come true, despite the prosecution trying mightily to screw this pooch so hard it'll never walk straight again, before the trial even starts.

Maybe the law works differently in New Mexico than it does in the rest of the country. Or maybe they shouldn't hire prosecutors who went to a combination Law School, Dog Kennel, and Beautician Academy. Just a hunch.

A Modest Proposal

h/t Wilder

"Well...Bye!"

Let's admit the obvious: Scott Adams is still too laissez-faire on the underlying problem.

Implement Lincoln's Solution.

We tried to assimilate them, but there are some things that cannot be accomplished solely with good intentions.

If populating the Joint Chiefs, Congress, SCOTUS, and the White House aren't enough for them, admit defeat, and end the experiment forever. Cut the bullsh*t, and end White Guilt.

Ship the entire race back to Africa. Lock, stock, and barrel. Not voluntary: 100% mandatory. Eliminate the entire category in the U.S. Ban any further immigration of same, in perpetuity. (It isn't like they could hide anywhere in plain sight, is it?)

If you're Black, You Go Back.

And the halves, quatroons, eighths, and sixteenths left behind can worry about either flying right once and for all, or seeing the bar for permanent deportation lowered until the problem resolves.

No more prison. Just a boat ride out, for good. First class, all travel expenses paid, no returns ever, with whatever they could carry off in their baggage. Don't harm a hair on their heads, just shuffle them up the gangplank, and shove off with the lot. Same way they got here, albeit under better accommodations for the long-overdue return journey. 

Convicts and jailbirds too. Free at last! Over there. Reparations: Paid in full. Game Over, man.

Imagine waking up in a country without Whoopi Goldberg, Stacy Abrams, or Maxine Waters. Ever again.

Move them back to a continent where every single day is Black History Month, and they can wallow in their cultural heritage until they die. They should all be properly ecstatic at the news. Encourage the rest of the hemisphere to do the same too. From the Great White North to Tierra Del Fuego. Let their people go! It's the only decent approach.

The mean IQ of all continents involved would go up 30 points overnight, and the crime rate in America the following year would give San Marino, Liechtenstein, and Monaco a run for lowest on the planet. Traffic jams get 13% better in a week - except at the docks - and the murder rate in Chicongo, Philtydelphia, Detroit, Newark, Altanta, and among the Baltimorons drop by 90% by the end of the year. All of D.C. looks like Georgetown by a week from Friday. The bottom would drop out of the welfare market too. Boo frickin' hoo.

Revisit in 20 years, and see how real Wakanda is. And in the meantime, we can focus on things that matter, instead of listening to the unceasing whiny tantrums of the world's pre-eminent millennially problem children, for whom nothing enacted is ever good enough.

Even odds if we made one step in that direction, the sane 20% of that population would start whacking the crazies and criminals in droves, until the problem self-corrected short of anything as simple as continental repatriation, but either way, it's a win for the nation.

Change my mind.

And furthermore, Diversitas delenda est.

Finance For Dummies

 

An Appropriate Air

 

Dear Naomi Wolf: No Sale

 

Some people in the blogosphere have been falling all over themselves, and more will undoubtedly do so, to post or link to Naomi Wolf's belated apology for being a mouth-hooked bullshit gargler, and suddenly coming to the epiphany that she was lied to by the government, and by the mainstream media (but we repeat ourself) about January 6th.

Natzsofast, Guido.

Deeds, not words.

Easy apologies are cheap, and weak sauce, even if they constitute a bare first step along the right path.

Start agitating as loudly for justice for the political prisoners held without any Constitutional rights since their arrest for what has been falsely characterized as "insurrection", and in fact barely rises to the level of a college dorm panty raid.

And then, follow the bread crumbs to the precipitating event: Admit that the media coronation of Emperor Stumblefuck Poopypants - which was the entire reason for the Jan. 6th rally - was the most blindingly bald-faced and gargantuan Big Lie in modern history, and the odds that a man who couldn't fill rallies in a gas station bathroom drew more votes than a man whose rallies filled college stadiums are about 81,000,000:1, against.

Do that, and shout it from the rooftops, hammer it home from every available soapbox, and post it on every vertical flat surface from coast to coast, and maybe we can think about forgiveness.

Otherwise, such a tepid and half-hearted repentance is too little, too late, and clearly comes from no deeper than a mealy mouth and quivering lips, rather than coming from the heart.

We've seen this schtick before, from better actors...

If all this amounts to is belated crocodile tears and rank patronization, allow me to speak on behalf of the wrongly defamed and reviled half of the country: no one cares that you feel bad about being a jerk all this time.

Different song, same lyrics:

This is my shocked face. (h/t WRSA)

Sunday Music: Walk Of Life

 Dire Straits' last Top Ten single, from 1985.

Modern Marvel

h/t daily timewaster 

Spiffy Gadgetry

Time was, you could find these everywhere. Now they're like hen's teeth and unicorn antlers. The set, above, set me back fifteen bucks for all three at the 'zon. ($7-8@ if you buy them individually.) They're Chinesium stainless. IDGAF. They work, and they're handy sizes. What's more, you can cook under them and heat or even boil water inside them in a pinch, with a bit of care (i.e. hang them from the rim, so the heat-expanded friction-fit rings don't collapse the endeavor). 2.5, 5, and 8+ oz. And they're handier than a canteen cup or Sierra mug. The only thing they lack is a ring handle, precluding any Doc Holliday cup twirling exhibitions. But the set gives me one apiece for the car, a pack, and a pocket. The smallest one's about the size of a roll of electrical tape. The largest, a hair over 3" across, is a little bit bigger than a hockey puck, and far more useful (the cover even makes a small but useable mini-bowl.) Being steel, they don't travel well through metal detectors, if that's a problem for you. YMMV.

Nobody's invented a substitute for a cup yet, and one that folds down to pocket-size is about as handy as that item can be made.

Make The Most Of The Time

 

 "Unless you are actively attacking, retreating, or in movement to contact, you should be constantly seeking to improve your position. Dig, mine, wire, sandbag, and undertake continuous activities to make the enemy's job universally harder and costlier." - every army since Ever

In case you haven't noticed, things are relatively quiet lately (and I say that with an ER worker's loathing of what happens next). But overall, things aren't getting appreciably better, nor worse, unlike not-so-distant time past, and any minute in the future. And despite any huge amount of recockulous Chicken Littling from the Usual Suspects, Globull Warming isn't going to eat your children, COVID is less than a mousefart in a hurricane, and the Next Big Thing hasn't reared its ugly head. Yet.

It will show up soon, for any value of that item, in due course, especially with an activist regime of puppetmasters pulling on that IED and trying to pry it up, by the minute.

Keep digging, retards. FAFO.

So you should be working on everything you can during pauses like this, to better your own position. Because this won't last, and things will not be getting better any time this decade, and probably not in your lifetime, for more than a year or three, at best.

Location, location, location.

Logistics: bullion, beans, band-aids, bullets.

Intelligence: all sides. Yours, theirs, and third parties.

Personnel. Not just who and how many, but also including their medical, financial, legal, and spiritual issues.

Training.

Communication.

Survivability and Resilience of all of the above: P-A-C-E.

If you don't know what any of these things look like specifically for your situation, you're waaaaay behind the curve. If you don't have a list of things to do to improve the status of each, a plan for what to be doing, and are not actively increasing each and every one of them incrementally but notably, as your time, available resources, and opportunity presents itself, you're still doing it wrong.

Because when things start going off the cliff - and they're going to do that - you're going to deal with the landing with what you've prepared and secured, not with what you'd wished for.

Fly the OCD flag a little, look over your plans from top to bottom, make adjustments, and follow the ABC Rule: Always Be Checking. Plans change. Weather changes. Enemies change. Needs change. Supplies spoil.

Sunday Music: Turn The Page

 

Seger's quintessential road tour rock classic, 50 years old now, which peaked at Number 1 on the Classic Rock charts, and just as timely and awesome as it was the day it was first laid down on a tape track.

Slippery Slopes

 

Four, of two million examples. This week.

Divemedic bemoans that a law institutionalizing the gravely disabled might be misused. Rather than clog his blog with this rather epic reply in disagreement to that proposition, we post our response here. I get where he thinks he's coming from, but he's way off-base in this instance.

Natzsofast, Guido.

"Grave disability" as good cause has been on the books here for literal decades.

You're missing hugely on this one.

The crime is that it's taken 60 years to enact it beyond the pointless 72-hour hold, and start the process of re-institutionalizing the perennially to permanently crazy into a system that was stupidly disassembled two generations ago, by prior faux do-gooding by entirely evil libtard jackholes.

Laws against even murder can be abused too.

Shall we repeal those as well? The rules regarding the fallacy of reductio ad absurdum apply in full, when you draw a slippery slope the size of the Great Wall of China. Any excuse based thereon is moot.

For that matter, they've abused the Second Amendment in numerous states. Should we repeal that because government refuses to get it right until they're dragged there, kicking and screaming, by honest judges?

These people aren't homeless because they misplaced their home, or left it in their other pants (or shopping cart). They're homeless because they're batshit crazy, drunks, stoners, terminally and childishly irresponsible and entitled, serial criminals, or, in 98% of cases, some combination of all five.

We're not talking about "gentlemen of the road" happily cooking hot dogs and pigeons on a forked spit under the railroad tracks, living their best lives, whistling tunes and playing harmonicas, happy and free, and minding their own business. 

We're talking about literal plague-host hordes of rotting, shambling, scabrous, filthy lunatics shitting and pissing themselves 24/7/365, wherever and whenever nature provides opportunity, and leaving a trail of fecal matter and dropped maggots from their open sores by the yard. 

Every city hereabouts, of any size, every day.
cf. "Shithole".

And you're now arguing that those people, literally too crazy to clean themselves to the barest public health minimums, care for themselves to the level of a first-grader, or seek food or shelter sufficient to not starve or freeze or get sunstroke, should be allowed to fester and rot on the sidewalk?

That's the Calcutta expedient.

Try that experiment in Key West, Miami, Tampa, and Tallahassee, and please, get back to us on how well it works.

I can find 5000 lab rats for your experiment within the sound of a gunshot from where I'm sitting at home, right this minute. Totally not kidding.

Sorry, but the distance you're off on this one would need satellite GPS to calculate.

They won't go to any of numerous shelters, because there are rules there, chiefest being that they can't commit crimes against each other, shit on the floor, or bring their dope and booze inside. Horrors!

And they won't take their psych meds, because being sane "feels weird" to them, and feels not nearly as fun as being stoned on weed, methaphetamine, carfentanil, or stewed on any booze they can find.

Welcome to the corner of Civilizational Minimal Norms Street and Tough Shit Avenue. Instead of seeing you 500 times a year at the local ER, we're putting you back in the Crazy Zoo you belong in, and once a year, we'll hold a court hearing, with your court-appointed advocate present, to decide if you can unfuck yourself well enough to have another crack at life outside. Keep coming back, and we stop asking the question, forever, for you. Don't like that? Mexico is due south, and Canada just a couple of states north. Or you can buy a rowboat, and start paddling west from the shoreline. Best wishes, whichever you choose.

The only thing better than this would be to forcibly return anyone apprehended under it to their state of origin, based on their social security number. 95% of them weren't born here, don't belong here, and were dumped hereabouts deliberately by 47-49 other states, by handing them a plane ticket and a rehab slot, which they failed out of within hours, and they then ended up stuck here forever, homeless, stoned into psychosis, and rotting away on my sidewalk.

Every other state should own that behavior, and take back their own state's native douchebags to deal with as they see fit, other than shifting them onto other states, which should be actionable at law, including criminally, for repeat offenders. A couple of governors and state officials getting frog-marched in cuffs would be a salutary outcome.

Second-best would be house arresting them, with a complement of the homeless they foisted on us moved to bunk in with them for a year or five, with the culprits entirely responsible for their feeding, clothing, and housing.

Stop sending us your douchebags and lunatics from every point on the compass, and there'll be fewer of them for us to round up hereabouts.

QED

Even Libtard bastions like Santa Monica and San Franshitco have finally seen the error of their ways. So whenever you see Califrutopian officials, usually with their heads waaaaayyyyy up their own asses, making any constructive efforts to wipe the shithole TPTB have let the once-Golden State become, back off, and let them take a shot. They've done nothing for literal decades. It's time for the people in charge to scrub that anus, and pull their pants back up, like any self-respecting person would.

Personally, we're pretty sure they should have taken a flamethrower to the problem some years back, but we're old-fashioned that way.

Painful Realities

 

The pain some will feel over this in their delicate bits will cease the moment they cease squatting on their own spurs.

Why It's Called "Programming"

 h/t WRSA

The Fat Lady Would Like A Word

This for all those tres concerned that the largesse we've bestowed on Ukraine will suddenly sink the US economy.

The U.S. economy, make no mistake, is in dire straits.

And the concern itself is touching, albeit misguided.

But the bit you and anyone of similar bent is panties atwitter about, is (provided you embiggen the pic to even see it) the tiny white speck in the upper left corner of the right hand side of that graphic. That's a precise measure, using actual numbers.

Worrying about our contributions to Ukraine's defense (including the graft funneled back to Emperor Stumblefuck Poopypants and his cronies) is about as monumental a problem in the grand scheme as the weight of the crackers in some kid's pocket when he boards a lifeboat trying to escape the Titanic.

A fart in a hurricane is a greater concern.

So we present the header graphic as a carefully constructed, dead-on balls accurate representation of exactly how meaningless everything we've sent to Ukraine is, in the bigger picture of the U.S. budget problem.

Get a better argument. And learn to do math. Spazzing over this is as silly as a woman leaving off toenail polish to lose weight. If the woman was Rosie O'Donnell.

Another lady (who's not fat, but definitely hilarious) would like to offer some perspective on high finance. Cue it up to 1:42ff to 2:30, and you'll see what I mean:

Scoreboard

 

Go read Mr. Garibaldi. Learn things.

Granted, the word "Yet" could be appended to anything or everything noted.

But at least it isn't sheer naked gainsaying from the Putard nor pro-Uke side, something far too lacking from much commentary for the last year, especially the peanut gallery contingent.

War is a messy business, and it's seldom over as quickly or easily as anyone, particularly the combatants, would wish were the case.

Trump v. DeSantis sideshow

The Chairman has a few thoughts:

Your Daily Black Pill

 

Suddenly™

Two more cases of Pfizocarditis:

One

Two

"Of course, 20- and 30-year-olds die of cardiomegaly and heart attacks all the time," said No Doctor Ever.

 

Sunday Music: Head Over Heels

 First of three hit singles from Go-Gos album #3, from the heart of 1984.

_____

Administrivia: It's also 1984 hereabouts, as apparently the rains have drowned local internet service. If I couldn't bootleg time at work, this post wouldn't even have gotten up today. We switched to music posts on Sundays because it's unfailingly the lightest day for blog traffic.

Regular posting resumes whenever TPTB decide that such service is any sort of priority for them. Which it apparently wasn't all day today.

And the weather-guessers predict three more days of monsoons starting tonight or tomorrow.

Public School Chimp Out: White Feather Awarded

h/t Gateway Pundit

Apparently the battery was in response to 6'6" 270-pound 17-year-old Dindu having his  Nintendo game taken away by a teacher's aide during class. Rex Kramer's timeless comment  comes to mind:

Our concern over the incident, troubling but hardly noteworthy in the grand scheme of zoology that passes as public schooling this century, is the immediate incident response. Or rather, the lack thereof. We hereby award -50 points to the alleged Marine Corps SNCO who strolled up to the assault in progress with zero sense of urgency, then tenderly ministered to the emotionally distraught Dindu, including allowing him to renew his assault after the first go-around, rather than applying a briskly executed arm bar, choking the living fuck out of the future lifetime felon and ward of the FL state penitentiary system, and then kicking him in the balls both hard and enough times that he'd never have any possibility of reproducing offspring. The latter would have been within Marine Corps policy. Sauntering over and daintily and tepidly shooing the criminal away are decidedly not.

If he'd hurled himself at that miscreant, he'd have gotten uncountable offers to replace any damaged parts of his uniform, at minimum. Instead, people should send him endless boxes of tampons. Maybe courtesy of the school's ROTC detachment?

Way to go, Staff Sergeant Chickenshit Bitchface Pussypants. 

The sailor in the Village People was more butch than you. Now we know who's recruiting at the gay bars these days, and why recruiters nationwide in all the military services can't make their quotas.

If we were Commandant for so much as thirty seconds, convening your court martial under Article 134 for dishonoring the entire Marine Corps would be our first official act this morning. Finishing out your enlistment as a private and scrubbing bilges non-stop in the interim between that day and your separation ought to about cover a fitting punishment, until the day you're marched off your terminal duty station the same way they kicked Chuck Connors out off of his cavalry post for cowardice in the opening of Branded. Ideally, with a firm kick in the ass just before the gate slams behind you. Generally, when people see someone so thoroughly shit on a Marine uniform, they expect them to be from Hollywood, not MCRD.

If you're not going to act like a Marine at all times, including during recruiting or NJROTC duty, at least have the courtesy to wear your best lingerie to school, not Dress Blue Charlies. In a just world, you'd be shunned until separated, and put on permanent guard mount on the most remote post available, for your own protection. How you ever fooled promotion boards is a mystery for the ages, and we still have a healthy suspicion that you'll be discovered to be a civilian imposter guilty of stolen valor, rather than an actual member of any U.S. military service. We expect better conduct from the Merchant Marine, for pity's sake.

Consider your white feather officially awarded, and well-deserved.

And we can only hope ours is neither the first nor last notice, civilian or official, you receive for your half-assed weakling performance in this incident.

And if the Marine Corps is too pussified to outright bust you down to E-1 and separate you from service, they could at least save face by issuing you a skirt. That way, you'd only be an embarrassment to female Marines. Who would kick your ass as well.

UPDATE:

People claiming to know the defendant say he's mentally handicapped, and "this wasn't his fault".

Okay, fair enough.

He's not legally responsible for his violent outbursts, because mental incapacity.

We'll grant all that unreservedly, arguendo.

That just means that any and every legal, medical, and/or educational professional(s), who put a mentally incompetent person the size of an NFL tackle into mainstream high school, which is neither intended, nor staffed and trained, to handle sudden violent behavior from any such person, as this incident illustrates with stark clarity, are the ones legally and morally culpable for setting up such a jackassical occurrence in the first place. 

The answer is simple: put Baby Huey in a mental facility for those subject to violent behavior, revoke the professional certifications of everyone who set up this recockulous situation in the first place, and charge them for both criminal negligence and civil liability, to the fullest extent of the law.

Baby Huey may not be, in any binding legal sense, responsible for the incident.

But the asshole professionals, with licenses and letters after their names, who created this ticking time bomb, ARE ENTIRELY RESPONSIBLE.

And they should pay for it with their careers, their fortunes, and their personal liberty.

There is no legal doctrine that allows someone to plant a human time bomb, and then escape culpability when exactly that bomb - entirely predictably - blows up, like this incident illustrates.

And SSgt. Chickenshit Bitchface Pussypants is still a total piece of shit for not intervening more forcefully under the circumstances. The mores of the civilian world have Jack and Shit to do with what's in play here. He shit on the uniform he wore, all of his fellow Marines, and the entire organization, with his bitch-ass non-response. Zero tolerance for such pussies. Even if he knew all the facts coming out, he's still a gutless coward, for all the reasons previously stated. When a 270 pound thug, of whatever mental competency, is beating on an unconscious woman barely more than a third his size, this isn't a job for a social worker. It's the time and place to step in and resolve the situation with alacrity and overwhelming force. And when it counted, and someone was helpless, and he had the chance to step up and be a Marine, he pussed completely out.

He should be told to pack his shit, and stand by to be ejected from the Corps. Whatever actually happens, for the rest of his sorry existence, he's an ex-Marine. And that's a shame nothing can scrub out.

Happy Birthday, Vlad

Signed, Everyone!

 

On Negotiating With Terrorists

The same people pissing in their boots about nuclear war with Putin now are the first ones who "can't imagine" why neither Britain nor America ever stood up to Hitler until it was too late to stop WWII, because they'd have seen through that appeasement and isolationist malarkey right off.

Uh huh. And I have a bridge for sale, cheap. 

We faced down a potential nuclear war every day with every Russian leader from Stalin to Gorbachev, inclusive. It turns out they didn't want to eat a mouthful of shit and ashes for the next millennium either. If you're going to talk geopolitics with grown-ups, start off by growing a spine and a sack. Some of us have seen this game played most of our lives, Baby Ducks. And the Ostrich Strategy doesn't play. 

Told You So Dept.

Of course those laws don't work.
They knew that before they passed them.
It's always been all about control. Not solving problems.

Make Better Choices

 h/t daily timewaster

This Is A Gold Mine, Comedically and Militarily

 h/t Angus

Watch the whole thing.

The three minutes' summary at the end, starting at about 16:49ff, is world-class military analysis.

It's what a Pentagon briefing on Ukraine would sound like. If you outsourced the speech-writing to Dave Chapelle, Bill Burr, and Ricky Gervais. And had Brendan Gleeson (Mad Eye Moody) read it.

I'm sorry I haven't found this guy earlier, but Angus has mined a solid brick of 24k gold here.

_____

Oh, and while we're on the subject:

Like we told you, months and months ago, and time and again since then.

Computer Training On My Day Off! Oh Goodie!!

 

I may change my stance on euthanasia before the end of the day.

UPDATE: Survived without killing the trainers. Barely.

And it was a gigantic waste of time, as they were showing the software on a too-blurry-to-read projector screen, and the actual software installed for training was on a laptop too small to see the actual working screen, which also lacked the same functions, so I literally could have watched a YouTube podcast at home, in my pajamas, and learned more in 20 minutes' time, than I did wasting most of a day going to this training session. People who do flight training at home with Microsoft Flight Simulator and self-purchased controls are miles ahead of this bargain-basement approach to "training".

There are two absolute truths about EMRs (Electronic Medical Records):

1) Everyone in the medical field is certain that their version of EMR is the worst one ever inflicted on mortal man.

2) They are all correct.

So, in a few weeks, we will switch from the old kludgy, klunky p.o.s., to a shiny new electronic total p.o.s. (apparently on the theory that a steaming fresh turd is better than an old dried out one), and patient care will slow to a crawl for days to weeks while we find out all the things the IT bozos didn't think of that crash it, total chaos and panic will ensue, a blue cloud of profanity will form over the hospital system's various branches, and then we'll settle down to our newest p.o.s., and slowly beat it into submission. We hope.

Every month they will go back to paper charting (always on the night shift) for several hours, while IT finds all the old bugs in the software, kills them, and installs new ones at a 2:1 ratio, slowing the system's responses even further, which will be followed by "Lather. Rinse. Repeat." for several more years, as we try mightily not to kill someone because of a charting problem that we complained about pointlessly for years, whereupon some huckster will sell the corporation a brand new total p.o.s. that still f**ks everything up sideways, with a rusty chainsaw. And never, not once, just as in all of recorded medical history, will anyone involved in programming ask so much as a single doctor, nurse, tech, or clerical weenie for as little as a single word of advice or request on the next p.o.s. they install, and the software abortions will continue, world without end, amen.

{Somebody could literally have thrown $20M at Bill Gates one time, and said "Make us a better medical charting mousetrap." And he would have farmed it out to people less stupid than the current nationwide crop of @$$holes, and he would have gotten it done. But it would have suckage points, and would be improved, year by year, and in a few years, every hospital in the country would use it, it would have metric fucktons of outside add-ons and tech support, and it would be the equivalent of Google, YouTube, Amazon, or Twitter. He'd have another billion dollars, and no one anywhere would have to waste time re-inventing the wheel every couple of years, forever. But where's the fun in that, right?}

Thanks to Obozo and his dipshit minions at HHS, everyone has now spent literal billions on these fucktarded craptastic disasterpieces, which interfere with patient care, slow delivery of it, and force all actual practitioners to spend 2 hours treating the computer program for every 20 minutes they spend on actual patient care. At this rate, a new nurse now will only be able to treat 2-3 patients a shift by the time they retire, and need a master's degree in computer science to do their jobs, the exact opposite of the UPS clipboard that they can and do teach high school dropouts how to use in a couple of hours.

Back in the day, I noted that UPS tracked a $5 package with a $5,000 clipboard, while we took care of $50,000 patients with 50¢ worth of paper and pen. That was absolutely backwards.

The promise of EMRs was that they would be portable, accessible, and compatible. The reality is that they are an abomination, less secure than hiding the patient's medical records under their pillowcase, none of them talk to each other, and patients in Turd World countries where pen and paper charting is the norm get better hands-on care than patients anywhere a computer chart is in use.

But we moved from 18th century charting to the space-age all right. With programs from the 1960s, during the Apollo era. Totally not kidding about that. It's a wonder the software wasn't mailed to us on 8" floppies or magnetic tape reels. (Actually, for all I know, that's exactly how it was sent.) A dozen years later, it's only gotten worse, every single time a change is made.

Thank your congressweasels and the illegal alien Kenyan.

There is nothing whatsoever on the entire planet in all of world history that government cannot royally fuck up simply by looking at it or touching it.

Reminder: The Vehicle FAK

 

Somebody's patient, somewhere, may have blown out a varicose vein at work, managed to spurt out two units (a liter) of blood while driving to the hospital, had it immediately repaired by the ED MD on duty, and then, apparently stable, have then actually gone into mild shock, passing out, and requiring fluid resuscitation with half a gallon of normal saline, and required a hospital admission, for "just a little bleeding".

If that were my patient, I - of course - couldn't talk about it because of HIPPA laws. But there's always the possibility it happened somewhere.

Which is why keeping at a minimum some QuikClot, a roll of Coban, an ACE or Israeli bandage wrap for a pressure dressing, and a CAT-T tourniquet or equivalent, in a small and handy vehicle first aid kit isn't just a random option.

You may not be interested in trauma, combat medicine, or bleeding control, but that doesn't mean trauma isn't interested in you. Failure to plan is planning to fail.

This was "just a little ruptured vein". That wouldn't stop.
This patient didn't get to the hospital. But they made it to the morgue.
Leaks - ANY leaks - in your meatsuit can be terminal.

Unless you want to roll the dice on passing out in your car at freeway speeds, injuring yourself and possibly other people, and ending up in shock in Main Trauma all busted to hell, after the equivalent of a pinhole in a minor superficial vein turned into Demolition Derby. All because "you thought you could make it to the ER okay on your own", right up until things got hazy, and your car went all spinny and flippy and perhaps explodey.

Don't want to deal with the hassle of having that kind of stuff near to hand, anywhere, anytime?

No problem. Suture self.

Help Wanted

h/t daily timewaster 

And Now, A Word From Your Overlords

 

Sunday Music: Midnight Train To Georgia

You will never hear us talking about "Black History Month", and we've heard enough about the midnight train in Ohio. Today is time for pure timeless soul, with Gladys Knight & The Pips doing their massive hit, released in August of '73, and hitting Number One before Halloween.

 

Another Award

We love a happy ending!

We also herewith award the random horse catcher with appropriate honors:

"For conspicuous jackassery and stupidity in a public place, by trespassing on private lands and interference with a hunt, Random Limey Jackass is herewith awarded the FAFO Medal (non-fatal class), for learning a lesson about jumping horses and gravity which could be learned in no better way. Well done, you stupid bastard. Hopefully next time, the dogs will attack you too."

USMC 1, DARPA 0

 If you haven't seen this yet, you need to:

"You can't be three steps ahead of someone who doesn't know where they're going."

Truer words were never spoken.

In the classic tale of this genre, 10 Marines were put in a locked room covered in 3 feet of sand with 10 crowbars, and the Marines were told to test the crowbars to see if they were "Marine-proof"..

When they opened the room an hour later, 2 of the crowbars were twisted together inseparably,  5 of the crowbars were broken, and 3 of them were missing.

Digging Out The Rot

 h/t Wilder

When the minister asked her "Do you take this man...?"
the bride meant it. For everything he had.

Last Wednesday at Wilder's site, he made the point that the right spouse is the recipe for "Winning!" in the game of life. And that's absolutely 5-star gold-plated advice. Then he made a modest proposal at the end of his post:

I’ll say this again – my Gen X road was easier than the Zoomer and Millennial kids.  A young man faces women that are hostile.  That turns him into a man that’s not prepared.  If I might make a modest proposal, let’s bring back shame for women.  And let’s bring back pride for men.

It was in reference to stopping part of the ongoing cultural rot. But as I told him there, it won't work that easily.

Bringing back shame, alone, won't cut it.

If you're bringing back public stocks, pillories, the lash, scarlet letters, head-shaving, and Committees of Vigilance, we can talk.

No, seriously.

Okay, not going to do that? Slackers.

Here's a far easier one: Outlaw no-fault divorce. Ban it outright. Marriage is forever, unless abandonment, abuse, infidelity, or prison step in. And abuse isn't "leaving the toilet seat up", or "buying the wrong brand of corn", or the 3000 silly-ass reasons 50% of married women hork up on command like your cat with a furball, the minute something better comes along, as they leave skidmarks out of their vows and down to the county clerk's office.

Too harsh? We'll water it down even farther.

You can still bail the hell out for nothing, and anything.

But the bank account gets split down the middle the day you file, they toss a coin (literally) to award child custody, the other spouse (of either sex) has to pay a nationwide-fixed amount per child until they turn 18 - no more, and no less - and whenever a marriage is dissolved, neither partner gets to keep anything. No alimony for either partner. Alimony is indentured servitude, and outlawed as such by the 13th Amendment. Any property from before the marriage reverts to its prior owner. Any joint property is liquidated, the partners split 90% of it right down the middle, and the state (or the lawyers) get the other 10%, and that's the end of it. Any state found to be awarding custody to 51% or more of either sex in any year forfeits all tax revenues for that year, and the receipts from same to be divided equally between the 49% wronged.

Oh, and one other thing: abortion requires the consent of the father. No unanimous decision? No unilateral choice. It took two of you to make a baby, so now it takes two of you to abort it, if you're married.

But as another sop to those who cannot keep their legs crossed until marriage, if you keep the kid borne outside marriage against the consent of the father, you - the mother - are also awarded sole financial responsibility for that child's upkeep until its majority. By law. Your body, your choice? Your bill. You can keep any child; you cannot keep any man's wallet. If you bore the child out of wedlock, you made that choice. Now you get to own it, and the bill comes due every mealtime, for decades. And no public child support. We won't need shame when bastardy comes with a financial disincentive. Again.

"Wah! That's not fair to kids!" Make better choices. Uncle is not your Sugar Daddy either. But if you're still worried, you have to name the father in all cases. Still no welfare. All choices are now bilateral. Fair is fair. Now both parties to baby-making have to make better choices. Can't come up with the father's name? It's all on you, sweetheart.

Kids then are no longer bargaining chips, marriages are no longer for-profit institutions for exes and divorce lawyers, and husbands and fathers are no longer cash cows for milking on the feminazi ranch.

Don't like that? Suck it. Welcome to real equality.

It shouldn't be any great hurdle for all those Strong and Brave™ women in society we keep hearing about to know that when they get married, they're choosing a partner for life, not buying a mealticket for life, and the incorporation cannot be dissolved lightly, nor inequitably.

Extra side-benefit?

With virtually no lottery payday worth having in most divorce cases, and only at-fault divorces being litigated, the blood-sucking divorce lawyer industry dries up and blows away, overnight.

Then a lot of lawyers would have to get honest jobs, like used car sales, working in porn, or playing piano in a brothel.

Without those changes, marriage is dead, even if married folks don't know it yet. Take away all the financial incentives for childbirth and abortion, as well as for divorce, infidelity, abuse, etc., and you can have the civilization your grandparents had. Do it not, and things continue to spiral into the ground, gloriously aflame. As they are.

JW also wrote "It's amazing to see the number of criminals with no fathers in their lives." 

Know what's not amazing?

To see the number of fathers with no criminals in their lives.

Stop treating husbands and fathers as disposable items, as if they were tissues, and civilization thrives.

Divorce and abortion have treated husbands, fathers, and children as illegal aliens in their own culture, with no rights whatsoever. That has to be undone, drastically and in haste, if civilization is to survive.

Nothing less will suffice.

Why This Keeps Happening

Exclusive Press Conference With The Geniuses In Charge of the Palestine OH Response

 

First Groper Bonehead, and Tranny Secretary Buttplug, reporting for duty!

Another Day, Another Defenestration

As the Russian bureaucracy devolves into a life-imitates-art and much-less-funny Monty Python sketch, news today that another Putin-linked top Russian defense official has died of Failure To Fly, this time in St. Peterburg.

Marina Yankina, aged 58, Head of Financial Supply of Russia's Western Military District (which includes most of Russia's border with Ukraine), had gone from ordinary worker to head of her department in only the last five years, before suddenly deciding to take an impromptu flying lesson from 160' up. Various sources have claimed a number of excuses for her last flight, none of which, miraculously, seem to include the FSB pushing her out the window. Why she chose to open the window on a balmy 28° degree F. day, when there were perfectly good busses and trains to step in front of on the ground at street level, remains a mystery.

Russia hasn't had this many people from the Defense Ministry crash to earth in a year since Khrushchev ran their space program. But what the hey, any major country could have 10, 15, or even 20 defense officials all fall out of windows in any one year span, amirite? It's just bad luck.

Whatever the reasons for her plunge, yet again, while the worst place to be for Russians is in an army trench on the Ukraine front, the second worst casualty rate continues to be suffered by anyone in Putin's defense establishment.

At least if they all moved to the ground floor, they could commit suicide the old-fashioned way in Russia: seven or ten bullets to the back of the head, or toasting bread with an electric toaster while taking a hot bath.

UPDATE: Per comments below, this was possibly because someone grifted 70% of the funds for the AA defense forces in that district. Regardless of whether Yankina tried to fly to Neverneverland because she was a co-conspirator, or a whistleblower, the main point is still this: 70% of the funds allocated to equip AA forces in the Western Military District (the district supplying the bulk of the fighting forces in this year-long military debacle) didn't get where it was intended, and never made it to the pointy end of the stick for air and missile defense. Which may explain the randomly exploding bits and bobs throughout Russia proper for some months, going back to last spring. Perhaps it also explains the spectacularly underwhelming performance Vlad's drunken bumpkins have put on for the world since last February if Peter and Paul had to be robbed, and they've run out of other people's money to prosecute this invasion "Special Military Operation". And maybe even helps explain the perpetual delays in the as-yet-to-be-unleashed, someday, possibly, maybe Russian Summer Fall Winter (Spring?) Counter-Offensive, if they keep having to send more money, because the Russian stagecoaches keep turning up robbed before they arrive at the fort.

One can but hope no one sends any mystery balloons over Russia; might be that no one would notice. Bummer.

Time for a popcorn and soda run.

But hey: Massive byzantine corruption and graft? In RUSSIA?!? Who knew???

One Good Turn Deserves Another

Monday, Borepatch posted the above fantastic, epic, and soon-to-be-classic meme-poem.

Hold my beer, Dr. Seuss and ChatGPT.

Today, I told him that if he (or anyone else, for that matter) ever prints that in book form with proper Seussian illustrations, I'll take a case.

Why, you may ask?