Archive for the ‘i d’own need no stinkeeng categorees’ Category

Hit me one more time.

Tuesday, July 25th, 2017

 

Yesterday morning, as I rushed to work, in my frantic “35-mile-commute-equals-a-lifetime-in-L.A.” routine, I was happily pleased to note that I was a bit ahead of schedule. Running ahead of schedule is not a commonality when taking public transportation in this town, or when taking any method of transportation that involves this grand shithole’s transportation infrastructure. I was happy.

 

As I walked to work from the train station, I mulled over this rare auspiciousness.

 

“If I play my cards right, I might be able to leave a little early,” I thought to myself as I walked to work from the train station.

 

If.

 

I thought there was something awfully presumptuous about such an implied belief structure.

 

If I played my cards right.

 

How about if the cards played me right?
Isn’t that how life is, the true arrow of fate?

 

We don’t really play the cards, do we? We pretend we do because to relinquish all control is a scary feat, indeed, especially to us modern dwellers of the 21st Century who have been so conditioned through the dazzling offerings of science and technology to believe we have a modicum of say in our lives. Ha!

 

The cards play you.  If you insist in this assumption that you have a say in the card game’s outcome, be my guest.  Hit me one more time.

 

 

Next time Juanita Mendez-Medrano insists that her flowers trump the law, she should wear a diaper at least.

Sunday, July 23rd, 2017

 

Now repeat after me, again.

 

How many times do I need to repeat myself?

 

These morons continue to ignore me at their own peril.  They insist on fighting back against the police, (I’m talking to you too, Juanita Mendez-Medrano). You cannot, cannot, I repeat, physically resist a police officer’s orders and expect to come out the other end unscathed. Or in Mendez-Medrano’s case, dry; her petulant encounter with a police officer outside Perris (California) High School during its June 6 graduation ceremony  left her a little…wet.

 

The physical exertion she invited by her lack of cooperation appears to have been more than her bladder could withstand.

 

 

 

 

 

 

Those bruises and sore bones undoubtedly smarted, but I doubt they offered nothing like the discomfort and embarrassment of knowing that the entire social media world can watch you wet your pants, again, and again, and again.  Just press repeat.

 

 

 

 

 

 

The flower vendor demanded that her flower-selling rights take precedence over all other considerations and thought it would be wise to take it up with an officer of the law. Yes, wise move and one I wouldn’t expect a flower vendor to sagely comprehend.

 

 

The woman who was taken down by a Riverside County Sheriff’s deputy as she was selling flowers outside Perris High School said her experience is not an isolated one.

 

“My case is not unique, but it is now enough,” she said in a video posted on Facebook just before midnight July 17.

 

“This racism has to stop,” she added. “Please don’t stay quiet. Raise your voice. We have to defend our rights.”

 

People are expected to protest the arrest beginning at noon Saturday, July 22, at the Riverside County sheriff’s station in Perris.

 

Social media websites are referring to the flower seller as Joaquina. The Riverside County Sheriff’s Department identified her as Juanita Mendez-Medrano of Fontana.

 

 

The Sheriff’s Department said deputies warned and cited 15 people that day for vending without the necessary city permits.

 

 

Mendez-Medrano refused to cooperate and attempted to walk away, the Sheriff’s Department said in the release, which also said she gave fake names and pushed the deputy away. He held her arm to prevent her from fleeing, the statement said.

 

 

 

First of all, Medrano’s “quote” that appeared on Facebook on July 17 was obviously penned by a “ghost writer.” She cannot speak a word of English.  She is obviously the political puppet of a group of moral SJW crusaders who similarly lack the common sense that dictates the structure of police interactions. Police are trained to escalate and if you submit to their commands immediately, there will be no escalation and you will not wet your pants. It’s the simplest law of the land and there’s no need to complicate matters with the putative “rights” of people who disobey city ordinances because of da reccism.

 

When will these people who cry about extreme shows of police force (that incidentally do not happen in a vacuum) realize that not everything is personal?

 

Sometimes cops are simply doing their job, and if insist on being unruly and disobedient, you will pay the price when you refute the legally-granted rights of police to physically maintain order.

 

This civilized order called the United States subsists on Law;  this is what allows you to have “rights” even when you idiotically choose to abuse them.

 

**archive**

 

 

Ray Donovan’s testicles are officially excised and another pop culture masculine role model takes a tumble.

Sunday, July 23rd, 2017

 

I haven’t watched the show for a couple of seasons, but “Ray Donovan,” a Showtime drama about a brooding, hyper-Alpha fixer from the Irish hinterlands of Boston, is a very enjoyable and satisfying portrayal of one of those rare manly figures to be found on television. A stern man of few words and minimal flighty fancies, Donovan represents much of what we (red-pilled men) “want” to see men be.  Not flustered by the shrieking, nagging antics of his wife and resolute in his actions, the unforgiving robot Donovan is a man’s man.

 

 

 

 

 

 

The actor behind the Donovan role, Liev Shreiber, is decidedly not a pretty boy and this only serves to enhance his utilitarian masculine imagery. He is married to the very hot Naomi Watts, and together, the couple has 2 sons, 9-year-old Sasha, and 8-year-old Kai.

 

And as the annual Comic-Con show in San Diego is wont to do, it tirelessly extinguishes all my romanticized notions about people, and in this case, about a person.

 

Shreiber, the man’s man on screen, allowed his younger son, Kai, to don a costume in their visit to the show  this weekend.  But not just any costume.

 

 

 

 

 

 

While other sons might choose “masculine” masquerade action figures with Comic-Con-friendly tie-ins, Donovan and Watts allowed their 8-year-old child to play the role of Suicide DC It-bad girl, Harley Quinn.

 

Gulp.

 

 

 

 

 

I’ll tell you one thing: Ray Donovan would never allow such a thing to happen.

 

Alas, the nature of the world today is such that if we seek a remembrance of gender roles past, we must live in fantasy.

 

 

**archive**

 

 

Just another Black-Asian encounter in Any Shithole, America.

Sunday, July 23rd, 2017

 

I have absolutely no idea where this quirky encounter took place.

 

 

 

 

My guess is the San Francisco area since that is the American city you’re most likely to see unruly ghetto Blacks and bike-riding Asians in shorts crossing paths. But it could be anywhere. Even here, in L.A., though doubtful. The ghetto Blacks here, though occasionally unruly, don’t generally harass non-Blacks. But in Oakland and environs, yes…Blacks are very outwardly focused.

 

It doesn’t really matter, I guess. Let’s just call this Any Shithole, United States. The kind of place that hardens you and sharpens your survival skills and makes you carry quasi-weapons around on your person at all times, and which you must be willing to flash aggressively at a moment’s notice.

 

 

 

 

And when you live in Any Shithole, a “moment’s notice” happens with dismaying regularity.

 

The man who married his grudges.

Saturday, July 22nd, 2017

 

I’ve noticed that a lot of people boast that they “hold on to grudges forever.”   They are oddly proud of the inability to forgive, or to grant a personal sense of clemency.

 

Usually these are people who are consumed by an impending sense of powerlessness. I don’t understand why anyone would be proud of such a thing.

 

Inability and resistance to forgiving, and consumptive obsession with grudges is a weak trait.  It illustrates a lack of centralized locus of power that leaves a person at the mercy of externalities and surroundings.  This is a trademark of weakness.

 

“I hold on to grudges forever,” someone will brag, as if I’m supposed to be impressed. Perhaps such a thing is “impressive” to some, probably the very people who use such empty boasts themselves, but I am not one of those people.  There is no pride to be attained when you act as if the hallmark of courage is the inability to shrug off the obstacles and the travails of distasteful people (which is just about all of them).

 

Life is too short, too precious, to cling to pain and hurt and perceived slights. Holding on to grudges tenaciously as if that is a measure of one’s sense of power only acts as a psychic anchor that weighs them down and restricts emotional progress and depth and self-discovery. There is no growth to be discovered when your life rotates around rekindling unpleasant memories.

 

A grudge is notable in that it can only be directed at another person, for a grudge implies a conscious effort, on the part of another, to cause you physical or emotional harm. You would never hold a grudge against a dog that bit your hand or a nightstand that you stubbed your toe on. A grudge is particularly human and as such, fixating on grudges indefinitely merely means that you are granting power to others which is the epitome of powerlessness.  Once you happily and comfortably turn your back on the disgraceful behavior of others and do not allow it to cloud your being, you will be free of the stain of humankind.

 

 

 

 

 

There was once a man who never released a grudge during the entirety of his life.  When died, no one could remember him for he ceased to be.