Woody Allen character accuses President Trump of sexiness.

E. Jean Carroll is a berserk madwoman clinging to the last strands of her washed out sanity. She is such a rambling, embarrassing disgrace that I frankly see no problem with her remaining in the spotlight with all her ridiculous Trump-the-rapist allegations. Public witnesses like this can only harm the anti-Trump brigades.

Imagine this…your “spokeswoman.”

By the looks of her, I’d say she was sloppy spillover from a Woody Allen movie about a pill-popping has-been Boomer actress experiencing the intellectual dissolution of a life squandered.

Late onset angst, bitch.

Lexus Stagg’s “reverse Darwinism.”

Reverse Darwinism.

When a parental generation’s doomed genetics thwart procreation by ending young progeny’s life prior to child-bearing age so as to prevent future expression of familial shortcomings.

In other words, cleaning up the gene pool by offing your kids.

Lexus Stagg plays a mean game of tag

A Houston woman who was driving a sport utility vehicle toward her children in an apparent game of “chicken” struck and killed her 3-year-old son, authorities said.

“Cars aren’t toys and playing chicken with your kids isn’t a game,” Harris County District Attorney Kim Ogg said in the statement.

Stagg can be seen on surveillance video reversing a white Lincoln Navigator in an apartment complex parking lot as her three small children run toward the vehicle, prosecutors said. When the kids are just feet from the SUV, it moves forward, trapping the 3-year-old under the right front tire.

Authorities said Stagg continued to drive forward and ran the boy over again with the right rear tire of the SUV, which weighs approximately 5,600 pounds.

He was taken to the hospital by ambulance but later died.

At what point did ‘Fro’s, Flutes and Funky Riffs become Ho’s, G’s and Crack?

I rose early this morning after a rare moment of “sleeping in” (for me). It was about 6am and quietude draped the morning air. Those moments when you feel peaceful, unvarnished, refreshed by solitude, and the day promises anew. During such times I find myself lapsing into a state of reminiscence that must be peculiarly a property of someone “advanced” in years such as I.

There’s more to remember, more the ruminate over, more to condense by the time you’re in your 50’s+.

More thoughtfulness and experience to absorb and eschew.

During this morning’s reminiscence, I thought of 70’s music. This was triggered by the appearance of this band on my Youtube sidebar while randomly surfing vids:

I jumped on it!

As I was catching up on this long-lost disco favorite of mine (how many wild nights I drunkenly acted out the part of clubbing maven in soulful synchronicity to this song’s explosive trailing beat), I stumbled across another forgotten favorite.

Oh yes!

My Sunday morning was fraught with such 70’s goodness. Old enough to remember when times were good, when times were simpler, and Black musicians had heart and valued musicianship.

In the 70’s, these brothas played their hearts out and music was their currency and passion.

At what point did this sincere artistry fly out the window leaving it is wake cynical rhythmically bellowed lyrics about ho’s, money and drugs? When did a bulk of youth-oriented Black music turn into such an urban thug-show of violence and gratuitous hedonism? At its essence, “dystopic urbanism” has become an affliction of society and all its colors. Consumers are to blame for feeding the greedy money machine that encourages the musical cult of Ho’s, Money & Crack, but consumers are not spawned in a void.

There is an element lording over business that is, that was, happy to sweep the rambunctious and frolicking 70’s into memory-holed oblivion in favor of mayhem and murder as the fuel rods of entertainment.

Dehumanized bling proves to be quite profitable. All modern entertainment (including sports) thrives on it.

IQ threshold for owning cell phone. A modest proposal that might clean up the psychic landscape.

And if you think that’s harsh, take a look at yet another one of these ghetto-attention-whore videos. And think about it…it’s all I ask.

Terrance Matthews, just another nameless scourge of society, had a bad day, so he stabbed a couple members of his ex-girlfriend’s family. Normal stuff.

Look at the guy. Imbecility rolls of that cave-face like hot oil. My visual IQ algorithm low-level detector went wild.

I ask, again.

Do people like this need “fancy” phones? I propose that anyone with an IQ of less than 95 not be allowed to own any brand, series or type of smart phone. A sub-95 IQ will get you a basic flip phone for communication (maybe texting) needs only. Mentally deficient people (of all colors) have proven to be wildly and horrifically unable to handle the responsibilities of owning an electronic contraption that allows you to broadcast yourself in any number of situations.

Would it have prevented the murders of Ishon Mathiln Jr. and Jennifer Vassell? Highly doubtful, but it would have prevented us from having to endure yet another glimpse into the void that is the mind of a deranged, soulless member of society.

Pepperidge Farm remembers justice before hashtags when La Manada would have been puppified by real men.

See, in the Olden Times, this shit would have been dealt with on a more “personal” level. Bullshit hashtaggery and Social Virtue Movements were not a thing and there was no stupid rallying cry around publicized incidents as justification and rationale for whiny victimization causes.

In the Olden Times, it wouldn’t matter what this was officially termed. Rape, sexual abuse, whatever. There was no self-righteous parsing back then.

We all knew what it was, not what it was called. Terms and nomenclature are the preoccupation of the weak and victimized.

The five men known as the “wolf pack” got nine years in jail when they were cleared of gang rape but convicted of the lesser charge of sexual abuse.

Prosecutors have called on the court to upgrade the conviction to rape.

The attack prompted Spain to announce a review of its rape laws.

In July 2016, when the city of Pamplona was holding its traditional San Fermin bull-running festival, the 18-year-old woman was dragged into the hallway of a residential building. The five men removed her clothes and had unprotected sex with her.

Some of them filmed it on their phones. The woman’s phone was also stolen and she was found reportedly in a distraught state.

They sent the video around their WhatsApp chat group, called “La manada” (the wolf pack), and the video has since become central to the question of whether they raped the woman or sexually abused her.

A police report said she had kept her eyes closed at all times, showing a “passive or neutral” expression throughout.

The girl’s culpability and stupidity aside, one cannot deny her honor was defiled. And one must ask if today’s young women even have “honor” left in their vapid little souls, but let’s assume for a moment that there is a trace remaining.

Forget the tag we put on this. Forget the symbolism and “No Means No” farcical posturing by women’s groups in response to this incident in Spain.

Forget that.

In the olden times, one, two, maybe all the wolves, would have had to answer to this girl’s brothers, cousins, boyfriend, father…and “justice” would have been exacted in the intimate confines of the street, not the histrionic landscape of social media.

**archive**