Sunday Music: Kokomo

 

One last trip around the bases for the Beach Boys, as their first new hit in 20+ years, and their last Top 40 hit. Dropped as a single in 1988, and also part of the soundtrack for the Tom Cruise flick du jour, Cocktail, and despite critical disdain, the Beach Boys rode it all the way to platinum certification, and #1 on the charts that year.

Musk Rat: Shots Fired

h/t WRSA

So, evidently, Elon Musk has chosen to self-delete himself from further participation in this administration, and he's going to take all his toys, and go home.

Dear Elon,

DLTDHYITAOYWO

Nobody elected you to anything, and they aren't going to do so in the future.

So you should probably take a deep breath, and never pass up a good opportunity to STFU.

- signed, 

the whole country

This isn't the first time Musk has had to have his head kicked lose from his ass to break suction. (And our commentary there still applies, with full force.) But as far as the 47 admin is concerned, it'll be the last time as anyone connected with this White House. Trump, at this point, might piss on Elon, but only if he was first allowed to light him on fire.

We could pile on, but the relevant fact is that the list of people who took Trump on and got their ass (and usually, career) handed to them on a platter makes everyone else with a list blush from embarrassment at the small size of their list, except Hillary Clinton's list Of Dead Former Associates, and Jeffrey Epstein.

For most people, considering the number of people who have crashed and burned after taking Trump on, going back to 2015, signing up to be the next contestant would give one pause. Unless he goes public with being Iron Man, he can also look forward to getting drubbed in every WH press conference until he learns to STFU, slink off, and let it go.

But Elon's fatal flaw has long been hubris, right along with being a billionaire, so one must suppose it's only fitting that his flame-out and smoking hole is going to look like a meteor crater in Arizona before this all dies down.

Bon Appétit!

h/t Wilder

You don't get to sanity by convincing crazy people to vote with you.

You get to sanity by ignoring the crazy people.

People who don't get this, without receiving the 2x4 Of Knowledge over the head, have been co-opted by idiocy and Common Core teaching. They're the exact problem, and the reason the entire republic is currently eating a 20'-long party sub shit sandwich, 24/7/365, in every realm of endeavor. Foreign policy, domestic policy, economics, education, health care, crime, the border, taxes, spending, the military, and all politics in general and in specifics, for two generations.

STOP SUCKING UP TO LUNATICS.

Dear idiots: Kissing the asses of Crazy People isn't bipartisanship. It's ass-kissing. If bipartisanship is such a great thing, let them come over to our side, and kiss Trump's ass. Not the other way around.

Word To Your Mother: Trump shits on bipartisanship, and tells fucktards they're fucktards, and then doubles and triples down. This is why Trump won. Three times. And it's WORKING. So if him doing all that is why you have TDS and a scorching case of butthurt, you're the fucktard in the equation.

If this concept is too hard for you, STFU until you can suss it out for yourselves. You want to hug the crazy people? Go to a BLM rally, or downtown Portland, and bring a Fucktard home to live with you. Get back to us on how that works out. Meantime, fuck off with yapping about "bipartisanship". It's not 1910, and the Democommunists are not the Loyal Opposition.

They're simply a bunch of communist motherf**kers who want to burn the entire country down, because "this time, communism will work!"

If you don't get that by this point in history, you're too short for the Internet, and too stupid for this conversation.

Kindly unfuck yourselves, and shut up until you grow up. 

In the meantime, step aside, and let the adults carry on the conversation.

Including, if it comes to it, "politics by other means."

The time for pearl-clutching and smelling salts was...oh, wait, that was Never.

And nobody has time to buy you another case of tampons until you figure that out.

Another Biff Tannen Soopergenius

h/t WRSA

It's evidently going to be a full day of this sort of happy horsesh*t, cleaning up after a whole weekend worth of silliness.

We cheerfully announce yet another brilliant sub-80-IQ Biff Tannen Make Like A Tree™ award-winning meme/post*:

We have just a couple of questions for PatriOsarein LackOfRectalContrOl 

(FIFY, slick, given your propensity to shit all over yourself like this):

1) Please inform the class regarding health statistics from Haiti as having been considered accurate and reliable since...when, in recorded human history, exactly? Please show all work on this.

2) You have noted a large expat Chinese population on that half of the island of Hispaniola, and copious numbers of potentially-infected outsiders arriving into that accursed Caribbean sh*thole, have you...?? Again, show all work.

So maybe, after staring at the chalkboard until someone sneaks up on you with the 2x4 of Knowledge and cluebats you back into reality, take a shot at explaining a couple dozen other possible explanations for this imaginary "Haitian COVID miracle". You tripped over it at the start: "This is absurd." Then you picked yourself up and stumbled off and over the Cliffs of Insanity.

RFK is a functional retard at many things. So, evidently, are you.

Best wishes on finding a crowbar to pry your head out of deep up your own ass, and enjoy your Biff Tannen "Make Like A Tree" Award™, with our profoundest compliments. And thanks a pantload for nailing down the left side of the IQ bell curve, soopergenius.

The photo ID assuring all and sundry of your prize-winning intellect can be obtained after wiping up and before flushing, at any men's room stall in the nearest municipal transport station.

I know Ike: let's have a spelling contest.

*(Strictly speaking, the massive brainfart-in-question began its life as a post on X/Twatter/whatever. But once it gets screen-shotted and posted standalone, it becomes a meme, thus eligible - in this case, overqualified - for consideration for the BTMLAT Award. -A.)

PSA

Comedy Relief Alert: Wander over to Cmdr Zero's blog. Your attention is directed to the comment stream - now closed - on the linked post. Put away any beverages beforehand, unless you have a spare keyboard.

Apparently, Micah Jones is off his meds, and doesn't care who knows it. And he's convinced that the entire internet is talking to him, and that everyone online needs to clear all information with him. He's helpfully let us all know that he's in Tampa, and knee-jerk posted his contact phone number everywhere, with all the thoughtful circumspection of a dog with diarrhea shitting wherever it walks. He's lonely, and apparently needs a phone buddy or three to give him a call. Up to you, gentle reader, to decide whether or not you need your own pet whackadoodle chat partner. To be fair, we're pretty certain Micah may already be having several conversations, before the phone ever rings. YMMV.

(Anyone who gets ChatGPT to start crank-calling him and occupying his time 24/7 with an endless AI PShrink convo is a tech wizard. Just saying. Failing that approach, perhaps Florida readers, being more familiar with Florida Man in his native habitat, could give a shout out to the local Tampa area mental health crisis team? Before Micah has a stroke, or ends up in a tower picking off random passersby...)

This is an actual - and frequent - psych diagnosis IRL.
If the straightjacket fits...

Micah went from zero to Psych Job in 0.2 seconds, with such regrettable single-mindedness, that CZ evidently felt there was nothing else to do for it but to close comments on a post, something AFAIK unwitnessed in living memory on CZ's blog.

Random whackjobs is why nearly everyone on every blog moderates comments, and as in this case, is proof of why we can't have nice things. The internet has proven, over time, to be a 100% predictor of the prevalence of undiagnosed psychiatric malfunctions in society, to six decimal places, and demonstrates to anyone looking that the greatest unaddressed market niche is developing a dart gun with ammunition that comes in human doses of Haldol, Geodon, Zyprexa, and Valium flavors. (Ruger, Smith & Wesson: I'm looking at you. Call your office.)

(Micah, Word To Your Mother: Lighten up, Francis. I know you've had quite a week, on your first three days on the internet. We all get that you're bat-shit cray-cray. It's okay, brother. Acknowledging the problem is the first step to solving it. But I'm heart-attack serious here:

The computer monitor is not talking to you, 

street drugs are not your friends, 

and getting back on your regular meds is the only way you're going to keep yourself out of the rubber room at the local hospital. Hand to God.

Do the hard thing, and get back on your meds, man. Srsly. It's going to be okay, if you just stop listening to The Voices In Your Head. No need to reply here. We've clocked out of work, and we don't do freelance mental health care and counselling on this blog. Maybe call the White House switchboard instead. (Or, not. Your choice.) Operators are standing by, and I promise if you do, you'll rapidly have all the attention you seek, and 24/7/365 access to the mental health professionals you need. Probably for the next 30-50 years. BTW, we heard someone at the White House has been fucking Jodie Foster. Are you going to let that guy get away with poaching your girlfriend like that?)

Sunday Music: Blue Bayou

Linda Ronstadt spent her entire career doing mostly covers of other peoples' songs, this one being no exception. It was originally by Roy Orbison, but Ronstadt's incredible voice turned a middling track into a #3 platinum smash hit in 1977, becoming one of her signature songs. Despite the infirmities of age now stilling her voice, recordings like this ensure that her vocals will live on long afterwards.

Reality Is A Harsh Teacher

Oval Office Shocker: Turns out Pootie-poot isn't
a Republican, and you can't make a deal-deal with him.

In the timeless words of John McClane:

Shocking only to Trump, the only actual leverage the US has over the Kremlin is making sure as many of their troops get sent home in body bags as possible, until they too get a Reality Check. Which is always a happy thought when Russian leaders are being Russian leaders, since forever - paranoid, psychotic, and stuck in delusions of grandeur. On its best day, Russia is Mexico, with nuclear weapons.

Oh yeah: We Told You So.

So much for 47 playing 89-dimensional chess. We aren't surprised to get this right by Putin being Putin, as always; only that he waited 10 whole weeks to underline it in the fresh blood of civilians.

Now that Reality has entered the chat, Trump has two choices: 

a) continue his original course to make Ukraine his administration's Afghanistan withdrawal, (on the theory that the quickest and best way to end a war is to surrender, in this case by throwing an entire nation under the bus) or

b) shove an enormous barbed-wire encrusted baseball bat up Vlad's hindquarters, and break it off forcefully. (IOW, stop using your head only as a hat rack, Mr. President, and stop listening to the idiots advising the Quisling Strategy.)

If you're keeping score at home,

Aesop                    1

Any Day Now™     0

Sunday Music: Let 'Em In

 

Only Paul McCartney, 6 years post-Beatle breakup in 1976, could sit down and write a song about the foot traffic to his home, and ride it to #3 in the US, the UK, and Canada. That's before we get to it being a pop song featuring both a trombone solo and a military snare drum rhythm section. When you're that good, you're that good.

Kash Is A Klunker

They promised the Moon.
They delivered a Moon Pie.
Half-eaten, with the frosting melted off.
If you'd bought a horse as lame as this DoJ,
you'd shoot it in the head. Out of pity.

Ghislaine Maxwell is still doing 20 years in federal prison for pimping underage girls to...nobody, apparently.

And Epstein didn't kill himself.

Sunday Music: I Can Dream About You

 

Best cut from the soundtrack of 1984's Streets Of Fire, a way-ahead-of-its-time neo-noir rock and roll fairytale directed by Walter Hill (voted #1 in best use of busses crashing in motion picture history), ably lip-synced in this video by the movie's faux do-wop group the Sorels. You can see the song by actual artist Dan Hartman here. The movie sadly flopped, but this track from the penultimate scene in the movie rode all the way to #6 on the Billboard charts.

This Explains So Much...

One is reminded of nothing so much as Lincoln's quote
to McClellan about the Army Of The Potomac:
"If Pam and Kash aren't going to use the entire DoJ
for anything important, I should like to borrow them
for a few months..."

SS;DD

Your Terms Are Acceptable

h/t WRSA

Sunday Music: 50 Ways To Leave Your Lover

 

Paul Simon's single from his fourth studio album released in late 1975 went all the way to the top of the charts in early 1976, becoming his only Number One as a solo act. A simple tune, people overlooked the fact that he came up 45 ways short in the lyrics.

Guaranteed

Sunday Music: Ebony Eyes

 

Former Fleetwood Mac member Bob Welch put out a solo album in 1977, which spawned a couple of hits for him. This is one of them, which hit #14 on the US charts.

Since You Asked

h/t WRSA

Yeehaw! Wait...WTAF?!?

Anybody: Did someone slip meth into the drinking fountains
on the three days a year your goofy legislature meets?!?
This is the kind of crazy shit I expect from Sacramento.
Karma's a bitch.

Sunday Music: Voices Carry

1980s one hit wonder 'Til Tuesday scored their one bite at the apple of fame with this 1985 single, which peaked at #8, and had enough pull to get their debut album to go gold.

OMG! Pam Bondi Pops Her AG Cherry!

After going 0 for 83 days, the DoJ finally found someone to arrest: Two judges, and one spouse, all for harboring or aiding and abetting illegal alien gang members. Still no word on going after the recipients of hundreds of thousands of fake social security checks for 150-year-olds for decades, and no one's said a word about looking into 535 congressweasels who enter government employ as thousandaires and become multi-millionaires within months, let alone looking into hundreds to thousands of acts of domestic terrorism against Elon Musk, Tesla, dealerships, and Tesla owners nationwide, but at least 3 arrests is better than 0 for 84 days, amirite?

We haven't checked, but we're pretty sure Trump himself had been charged with 84 counts of everything under the sun under various legal shenanigans in any dozen kangaroo courts by Day 84 of Mr. Fraudulent's Reign Of Lawlessness, if you're keeping score at home. (We give a modicum of shrift to the argument that it's harder to build good cases if you're going to have to assemble, ya know...bona fide evidence.)

We hate to throw shade at USAG Bondi now that someone, somewhere, finally found a crime or three they could prosecute (one wonders if they needed both hands, a map, and a rear view mirror to find their own asses), but at this rate, they'll barely crack 50 arrests before POTUS is termed out in 2029.

As Mr. Churchill once remarked, "This isn't the beginning of the end, but at least it's the end of the beginning.

To the short bus of US attorneys and investigators who apparently populate the bulk of the DoJ:

Moar, harder, faster, you gang of glacially slow (and we mean that in every possible sense of the phrase) buffoons. Stop licking the windows, and get cracking. But thanks for finally pulling your heads out of a dark, fetid place, and getting on the job.

And minus-ten style points for not perp-walking both judges in front of banks of news cameras.

Pour encourager les autres.