When parody becomes impossible, simply telling the truth shamelessly will suffice.
The people that made this ad for CRTV are trolling at the Jedi Master level.
And crushing it.
This is the kind of ersatz ad that should be airing on a station break from Dennis Miller doing Weekend Update.
Post and re-post the ad itself, or the YouTube URL of this video everywhere you can between now and election day: https://youtu.be/gjzeNBSZFUo
You shall be forgiven if you mistakenly thought the picture above was a still of the casualties in Atlanta in Gone With The Wind.
It was, in reality, the waiting room of Teeny Weenie ER at Shoestring General Hospital this weekend. No, really.
My personal tally: 4 strokes, 2 heart attacks, three major fractures, five automobile collision victims, a baker's dozen of abdominal pains, and about half that again of people - almost all in their 90s - suffering from Failure To Fly, leading inevitably to the dreaded FDGB: Fall Down, Go BOOM! And by some small miracle, only one(!) patient who was certifiably bat-crap crazy. My co-workers all leaned into that last pitch instead. Better them than me.
(BTW: I can reliably report that people having actual strokes and heart attacks will drive themselves to the hospital about 1 time out of 3, rather than calling the paramedics to bring the ER to their living room for a pick-up, so think about that when you decide to cut off the geezer in front of you driving a little distracted.)
There are days I should get paid for patients by the pound, and this was a triple dose of that.
If we want to switch to pay based on how sick they were, I managed to fill up all the hospital's available ICU beds two nights out of three. They're not talking my calls any more this week. I have heard mumblings that my new nickname thereabouts is "Trainwreck", in honor of the patient type with which I've been gifting them.
Despite all that, everyone who came in with a pulse (all of them, hallelujah!) left with one, and they all left in better condition than they entered. That their efforts to shuffle off their mortal coils failed was not due to any lack of trying on their parts. It also didn't hurt that everyone at Teeny Weeny ER is a team player (and there's no "F**k You" in "Team", boys and girls), without which things wouldn't have gone so well for all concerned, and also one of the reasons I like to play at this particular body shop.
Best of all, there is no "X" in the box tonight on my line of the shift schedule. For one night in a row! As noted in my last post, my employer and my bank will both love me, but only the prospect of pizza, two or three unseen movies to watch, and no one's life to save tonight is currently making life worth living.
Then we'll have a look around and see what dipwitted f**kery our would-be overlords and random strangers have got up to in the intervening 96 hours.
Based on my own biased sample of the world since Friday afternoon, high IQs have not broken out anywhere on the planet, so the pickings should be good in due course, and serve as proof that compared to things that really matter, like sending average people home to their family rather than wrapping them in their final plastic baggie and toe tag, there's little whatsoever that Government Idiots Inc. (but I repeat myself) do that isn't anything beyond comedy relief and an object of ridicule.
If I could but trade the Stygian Ferry 1:1, and save my patient's lives, in return for sacrificing the minions of governance and self-proclaimed cultural icons, I'd happily walk the streets of D.C., NYFC, and Hollywood, with a pillow in hand, looking for deserving fucktards to smother in trade for the gaggle of grandmothers, uncles, sons and daughters I saw in the last 4 days' time, and what's more, the republic would be improved for every trade I made with the Grim Reaper.
If only...
And sadly, I failed to score the winning billion $$ lottery ticket, so I have to keep doing this for a couple of decades more. I kicked a coupla bucks into the community pool, so we were hoping to hit it, just to be able to text Big Boss that 57 of us were all quitting when we collectively hit the jackpot. It would have been worth it to see the looks on the faces. Perhaps another time. And Fat Cat will not be dining on crab and steak, but she's announcing that I didn't have permission to ignore her all weekend. The little furry terrorist probably found something to puke on out of spite, because that's how cats roll.
Meanwhile, there's pizza to order, discs to insert in the player, and a number of web pages and such to browse. Like a good campfire, sarcasm and mockery must be banked and fed regularly to keep them hot and useful.
I hope you all had a weekend that didn't include any time in the ER, unless you were getting paid for it.
These fucktards are going to keep playing this bullshit until someone gets a faceful of lead, and then it won't be funny for their side anymore.
Personally, I can't wait for it to happen.
I've said some pretty sharp things about McConnell, and I doubt I'd be in a big hurry to piss on him if he were on fire, but anyone who'd molest a fellow at his supper with his family needs a lesson in manners at the walloping end of a baseball bat. To the jaw, the crotch, and both kneecaps, minimum.
If he hollered any more after that, I'd start with wrists, and work my way around all the pivoting joints until the ruckus stopped.
I'm frankly surprised no one there in that establishment in KY happened to find the excuse to address the disturbance from the operating end of decent pistol. I've seen firsthand how much wisdom suddenly accumulates when a bully sees that ginormous muzzle pointed at his face, and they generally recall urgent business several zip codes away.
This is going to move to open bloodshed before election day, mark my words.
The President of the United States of America, authorized by Act of Congress, March 3, 1863, has awarded in the name of Congress the Medal of Honor to
GUNNERY SERGEANT JOHN CANLEY UNITED STATES MARINE CORPS
The President of the United States of America takes pleasure in presenting the Medal of Honor to Gunnery Sergeant John L. Canley (MCSN: 1455946), United States Marine Corps, for extraordinary heroism while serving as Company Gunnery Sergeant of Company A, First Battalion, First Marines, FIRST Marine Division (Reinforced), Fleet Marine Force, during operations against the enemy in the Republic of Vietnam from 31 January to 6 February 1968. On 31 January, when his company came under a heavy volume of enemy fire near the city of Hue, Gunnery Sergeant Canley rushed across the fire-swept terrain and carried several wounded Marines to safety. Later, with the company commander seriously wounded, Gunnery Sergeant Canley assumed command and immediately reorganized his scattered Marines, moving from one group to another to advise and encourage his men. Although sustaining shrapnel wounds during this period, he nonetheless established a base of fire which subsequently allowed the company to break through the enemy strongpoint. Retaining command of the company for the following three days, Gunnery Sergeant Canley on 4 February led his men into an enemy-occupied building in Hue. Despite fierce enemy resistance, he succeeded in gaining a position immediately above the enemy strongpoint and dropped a large satchel charge into the position, personally accounting for numerous enemy killed, and forcing the others to vacate the building. On 6 February, when his unit sustained numerous casualties while attempting to capture a government building, Gunnery Sergeant Canley lent words of encouragement to his men and exhorted them to greater efforts as they drove the enemy from its fortified emplacement. Although wounded once again during this action, on two occasions he leaped a wall in full view of the enemy, picked up casualties, and carried them to covered positions. By his dynamic leadership, courage, and selfless dedication, Gunnery Sergeant Canley contributed greatly to the accomplishment of his company's mission and upheld the highest traditions of the Marine Corps and of the United States Naval Service.
Stand up when he passes; this is a MAN.
Oh, and BTW, here's the Sergeant, Alfredo Cantu Gonzalez, whose bravery was witnessed by Canley in the same action, and Canley's witness statement was the basis for the same award at the same time:
Rank and organization: Sergeant, U.S. Marine Corps, Company A, 1st Battalion, 1st Marines, 1st Marine Division (Rein), FMF. Place and date: Near Thua Thien, Republic of Vietnam, 4 February 1968. Entered service at: San Antonio, Tex. Born: 23 May 1946, Edinburg Tex.
Citation:
For conspicuous gallantry and intrepidity at the risk of his life above and beyond the call of duty while serving as platoon commander, 3d Platoon, Company A. On 31 January 1968, during the initial phase of Operation Hue City, Sgt. Gonzalez' unit was formed as a reaction force and deployed to Hue to relieve the pressure on the beleaguered city. While moving by truck convoy along Route No. 1, near the village of Lang Van Lrong, the Marines received a heavy volume of enemy fire. Sgt. Gonzalez aggressively maneuvered the Marines in his platoon, and directed their fire until the area was cleared of snipers. Immediately after crossing a river south of Hue, the column was again hit by intense enemy fire. One of the Marines on top of a tank was wounded and fell to the ground in an exposed position. With complete disregard for his safety, Sgt. Gonzalez ran through the fire-swept area to the assistance of his injured comrade. He lifted him up and though receiving fragmentation wounds during the rescue, he carried the wounded Marine to a covered position for treatment. Due to the increased volume and accuracy of enemy fire from a fortified machine gun bunker on the side of the road, the company was temporarily halted. Realizing the gravity of the situation, Sgt. Gonzalez exposed himself to the enemy fire and moved his platoon along the east side of a bordering rice paddy to a dike directly across from the bunker. Though fully aware of the danger involved, he moved to the fire-swept road and destroyed the hostile position with hand grenades. Although seriously wounded again on 3 February, he steadfastly refused medical treatment and continued to supervise his men and lead the attack. On 4 February, the enemy had again pinned the company down, inflicting heavy casualties with automatic weapons and rocket fire. Sgt. Gonzalez, utilizing a number of light antitank assault weapons, fearlessly moved from position to position firing numerous rounds at the heavily fortified enemy emplacements. He successfully knocked out a rocket position and suppressed much of the enemy fire before falling mortally wounded. The heroism, courage, and dynamic leadership displayed by Sgt. Gonzalez reflected great credit upon himself and the Marine Corps, and were in keeping with the highest traditions of the U.S. Naval Service. He gallantly gave his life for his country.
A sergeant as platoon commander, and a gunny as company commander; you do the math on that, especially those with prior service who can figure out how many officers and NCOs were taken out above them for that to happen. Gonzalez was 21, and Canley an old man of 30 when this happened. And these guys kept right on going, like they do.
Now I'm wondering what the hell he's doing inside my head.
"Our parents let us play with guns, knives, and fireworks. Know what happened to the stupid kids? They didn't make it!"
One correction though:
Twenty-somethings aren't the stupidest people alive.
Their parents from the '90s, and their grandparents from the late '60/early'70s are.
Three generations of dipshits is a tough genetic lottery current for one generation of jackholes to buck, all on their own.
And "help" from their family is the problem, not the solution.
It took approx. eight years to get to 1M views. It took 12 months for the next million. Happened to notice on the odometer today we rolled over the 0s again, sometime in the last half hour. It's taken 9 1/2 months for the third million looks. Perhaps we're getting the hang of this.
I appreciate the links, looks, and comments.
Thanks for stopping by.
UPDATE: Would whoever just gave this blog 5K hits in the last 15 minutes without a source link tell me how you did that?
Because I could monetize this bitch, and retire next week.
It's like someone told China to look at this blog all of a sudden.
I usually only get that kind of response when I get linked on Instapundit or Tam's.
Over a year after the shooting by person or persons still unknown to the public killed and wounded more people than any firearms attack on American soil since the Civil War, and the BS and unanswered questions remain piled higher than the roof of the Mandalay Bay Resort:
"The intelligence report obtained by BLP, part of a series compiled by former high-level United States intelligence officers, confirms that Paddock was at his home in Mesquite when the noise complaints were made:
The report mentions this fact in passing. It mainly focuses on Google searches made from one of Paddock’s laptops that was in room 32-135 at the time.
Who specifically made the noise complaints remains a mystery.
The Las Vegas Metropolitan Police Department has concluded that Paddock acted alone, and no information about guests in his suite has ever been released despite a bevy of evidence that there were multiple people there before, and potentially even during the shooting."
Yet again:
Paddock was a patsy, and was probably the first person shot, and before the subsequent volleys of gunfire raked the attendees at the concert grounds across the street.
If unknown persons were staying in the suite overnight, and making multiple noise complaints, at times when Paddock was 100 miles away, one would expect they were likely suspects in the shootings, and the reason he was found dead, rather than fairytales about his mysterious involvement in something he'd expressed no desire to accomplish, and his lack of resistance to the police entering the suite.
All of which, along with missing computer drives and such, is instantly unraveled by additional persons in the suite doing the shooting, as has always been suspected. But if you unveil that truth, the go-to made up fairytale story crumbles into dust.
And the FBI probably has an excellent idea of exactly who was involved, but it's either their own people, and their op gone sideways, or the CIAs (Paddock's "gf" was a listed FBI employee, a fact the FBI probably knew at the time of the shooting or within minutes afterwards), and is being smothered in the crib to avoid official embarrassment on the magnitude of the Fast & Furious scandal.
SiG had a post. He noted some folks might think technology and "robots" would cut into jobs. But he himself was skeptical. Let me drive an oaken stake through that idea, and then nuke it from orbit, just to be safe.
Yeah, not so much.
1) That's not a "robot", it's simply a machine that can do 1 or 3 human-y things whilst being flung through the air. You've basically given the stunt doubles their own stunt doubles.
2) Some reality from 20+ years behind the camera:
A 20-40 person team of construction grips built the contraptions for that set up, over several days. Possibly even several different teams.
Another 5-10 are standing by for the actual shot.
4-5 electricians lighted it.
Another 6-10 SFX personnel operated the mechanical stunt dummy (not "robot").
It took 10 more to build it. And probably for months, and probably the 4-10 other ones, for when that one gets broken, fails, or just shits the bed. (Read the behind-the-scenes on Jaws and the "revolutionary" mechanical shark sometime.)
You had a crane operator pulling down $100/hr. Maybe 2-3.
Throw in security guards, 3-6, 24/7, just to watch the site.
2-5 person camera crew per camera filming that.
(And 1-4 cameras, including maybe even a remote GoPro type inside the maquette's head.)
Director.
Assistant director.
A couple of production assistants.
A medic for that off-site crew.
Wardrobe person and assistant, as needed, if you put so much as a hat or shoes on it.
5-20 additional personnel for miscellany I'm not even thinking of.
10-500 CG, editing, etc. persons for post-production.
Accounting, payroll, Teamster drivers, craft service, etc. etc. etc.
And the 50-200 employees at the companies that rented the production everything from soup to nuts to bolts to every last damned thing you saw in every shot, forever, plus the people that originally built it.
And the people at the supermarkets, stores, gas stations, restaurants, and landlords where those people spend their paychecks every week.
{Bonus: See if you can guess why I get pissy as hell when mega-jackhole fucktard state governments (Ahnuld, Moonbeam, and the entire CA state legislature et al, call your offices) let motion picture and television productions slip away to BFEgypt, or force them to because of taxes, because they can't figure out that the entertainment business is a trillion dollar industry in America, and a virtual license to print money here, forever. Which is a rant for another time.}
In short, your animatronic dummy, for a single 5 second shot, employed over 100 people for weeks to months, and possibly five times that many, some for half a year.
Yeah, "robots" are taking over Hollywood jobs. NOT.
(So, ask yourself, did the robot shark in Jaws create less jobs at Universal from 1976-present, or more...? I'll wait.)
I spent most of a week, with a 50-person crew doing CGI for Matrix II and III, just to get reference film for CGI use, with 40+ of us at 35,000', doing zero-G Vomit Comet dives, two hops a day, just for background stunts. It included Keanu Reeve's stunt double (his spitting image, BTW, a total professional and one helluva nice guy all around, and the current director of John Wick and John Wick II, along with about a dozen Mandarin-speaking stunt guys who'd just done Crouching Tiger, Hidden Dragon , so that we could do Neo vs. Kung Fu fight action shots in zero-frickin-gravity for the sequels). So we sent the stunt guy employment numbers literally to 35K', before production even officially started, on those movies alone. You're welcome. Oh, and $420M gross returns, so I think the FX budget paid for itself.
Absolute most fun I ever had at work in Hollywood, and they paid us to do astronaut training NASA used to spend millions of dollars to conduct. (Our entire air crew were former NASA Vomit Comet pilots and flight crew.) And that gig didn't exist in Hollywood from 1900-1998 or so.
And the company that was starting from scratch that week? The one that only existed because Fat Bill was downsizing NASA? They seem to be doing pretty damned well too, and now have multiple aircraft and employ another bunch of people, nearly twenty years later. I was supposed to go on their next L.A.-area flight after the movie work. On 9/15/2001. 9/11 kind of put a crimp in that plan, dammit. (Ray: I'll still fly with you guys anytime, anywhere.) They're now getting $5K a head for a single hop, retail, in a business that didn't exist before they started it.
(Two tips if you ever go up with them (and if you can, you should) straight from me, and the Medical Director of NASA at the time:
1) Dramamine pre-flight. Period.
2) Don't turn your head in the transition from gravity to zero-G, or you'll be puking for days.
Do not question this expertise. You'll pay for it.)
Robotic stunt dummies?
You just tripled production costs, and employed another 100 people, on any movie they're used on, forever.
Please, invent MORE; IATSE and SAG will cream their pants and buy you steak & lobster dinners, forever. And the stunt guys will soak up the easy gigs, and they'll save the spendy machines for the stupid-dangerous dumbshit for productions with more money than brains. So no more jumping off 500' dams, or dangling from cables to get into blown-open 747 cockpits. Boo frickin' hoo.
Back in the day, the pocket-protector dorks promised that "computers would reduce paper records" too.
I doodled and drew for 18 years of growing up on just the reams of discarded paper that they "reduced" for my mom's accounting position with a Fortune 50 company. (This was back before there was an entire industry to store, shred, and recycle it, that didn't exist in 1970 in any way whatsoever.)
And the reduction in a handful of accounting staff was offset by the addition of hundreds to eventually hundreds of thousands of what we now refer to as "IT staff", from programmers to sysops, times infinity.
Job reduction?
Well-played.
Telling me tech is going to reduce jobs is like telling me lawyers will reduce lawsuits.
Boys and Girls, a week from today is October 24th.
I.e., 10/24.
And in honor of Sen. Eliabeth Warren's 1/1024 sort-of-mestizo non-Indian DNA, and of her standing as the fakest non-Indian to ever spin a line of malarkey, I hereby declare next Wednesday, 10/24
National Fake Ancestry Day There have been many, many varieties of fake ancestry: the Jewish extras in western movies in days of yore from the Schmohawk Tribe; Iron Eyes Cody, a full-blooded Italian redskin; Rachel Dolezal's fake black narrative: and of course, we've all known millions of male lesbians: men who love women, but are trapped living in a man's body.
But they all pale(face) into obscurity compared to the current reigning Indian Princess from Taxachussetts, who hasn't learned the lesson of Mike Dukakis:
Voters don't elect dumbass pretenders from the Bay State as president anymore.
So next Wednesday, bring out the memes, and honor this unsurpassed fraud, who's not only lied her ass off, but is now trying to double and treble down on the lie, and thinks that it'll actually work for her.
To kick things off, I bring you:
You've got a week's time to make or find even better. All entries will be judged, and first place winner receives a wooden nickel. Second place is a wooden nickel autographed by Princess Fullabull. Honest Injun.
Get out there and have fun with this. Help me break the Internet...off in her @$$.
I'm not churning out much, because there's nothing much I can see to care about.
Overall, if I had to guess, I think it's because Trump has finally broken the Leftards.
Over his knee.
It's worth remembering that no matter how much fun you're having, there comes a time when the squirrels, prairie dogs, or feral hogs, you've been plinking like tin cans, finally get to an absolute survival/extinction point, that the few remaining no longer wish to stick up their heads, because they've seen their fellows' heads go all 'splodey, and somehow they realize that "stick head up" = "head 'splode".
What's happening now is just the everyday chicken-droppings, but nothing about which it's worth getting even a keyboard lather going.
I think we've hit the point where .22 ammo remaining is greater than the sum of squirrels remaining.
But as a realist, rather than optimist or pessimist, I know eventually something will piss me off enough any minute to be worth unloading on.
Enjoy the pause in Peak Stupid that's been running like Niagara Falls lately, and load you some magazines - metaphorically or actually - for later on.
"It is not the case that America’s politics have become more divisive because the Republican Party has moved further right. Liberal pundits, commenting from within their ideological cocoons, habitually apply labels — “far right,” “extremist,” “white nationalist,” etc. — to depict the GOP as beholden to a dangerous fringe, but this is just paranoid propaganda. The typical Republican voter in 2018 is actually no more “extreme” than his father was in 1988. Nor is the policy agenda of the GOP now any more “far right” than it was in the presidency of Ronald Reagan. The cause of the increased partisan divide is not that the Republicans have moved right, but that Democrats have moved left.
Polls indicate that the Democrats’ advantage in the generic congressional ballot is holding firm around 7 or 8 points. Why?
Democrats are now the party of TrigglyPuff, of angry college girls driven to fits of insanity."
Easy:
1) Polls are undiluted horsecrap, as our would-be Democrat overlords found out a couple of Novembers ago:
a) because their flawed mathematical models are skewed to lie to us on purpose
b) because everyone lies to pollsters on general principle in response to "a".
2) I haven't moved an inch from where I was politically in 1980. But what was center-right then is now mutant alien extreme Right in 2018. And, naturally, those to the right of me then are the "even more radical fringe" Right. This isn't because of the rise of the KKK, much as the would be klansmen would like to imagine.
It's because the Left has been running like a bat out of hell to their own left, to out-Mao Mao, and make Che and Stalin into boring conservative leftists by comparison.
They think if they pile enough Trigglypuffs on the political teeter-totter, we'll all have to slide to their end.
Well, they're correct.
What they don't realize is that when we do, it'll be to clean house with machetes and flamethrowers, and not to move in with them.
Bosnia, meet Rwanda.
When you force people to do things they don't want to do, they don't put on the BBQ guns and come over for a picnic.
They serve you your ass on a platter.
In a contest between the trailer park mafia and the fat-assed crazy catladies of a college town you'd do well to remember that NASCAR and bowling outdraws NPR and every Leftard cause ever invented for participation, by several orders of magnitude, every year since...ever.
Not counting the news outlets or websites along the full range of accuracy and veracity, I follow multiple actual individuals' handwritten blogs. (Bot news aggregators don't thrill me.) Looking them over, many are current serving or former military and a couple are some variation of high-speed low-drag elite forces ninjas. Or just funny as all. Because life without humor is just despair. So in other words, the same folks I trusted in the military not to wet the bed, sh*t themselves, or otherwise run around like headless Nancys, are the same folks I trust on the interwebz, for demonstrating pretty much the same trustworthiness and circumspectly responsible behavior. Color me shocked.
Comments are fully moderated, due to idiots and trolls. Grown up discussion here will appear just as soon as I have the time to push it through. ANONYMOUS UNSIGNED COMMENTS WILL BE AUTO-DELETED WITHOUT MERCY, and the url added to the spam filter, or mercilessly mocked at the bloghost's sole discretion. If you're too chickensh*t to come up with an alias for online purposes, you're not tall enough for this blog. Pick a name, and stick with it, and you're good. Get cute, and you're wasting your time and my electrons, and your masterpiece will never see the light of day. No warning shots will be fired. If you can't maintain decorum and polite behavior, I won't toy with you, I'll squash you. If one of your comments disappears, YOU f**ked up. If all of them do, it's time for you to go. Disagree with the points made, on the merits, and you're good. Go after me personally, or other commenters, and your comment will never see daylight here. My tolerance for skirting the line is at absolute zero, and will remain there. Don't f**k up.
