Fat Lefty Bitch Syndrome.


I’ve met enough of these obese women to see a very real pattern. Knee-jerk liberals with a tendency to default to a blend of support/opposition to a multivariate bucket of issues but with a common thematic gist: an obsessive and compulsive drive to extend an unrealistically homogeneous society where people are expunged of differential identities. Shrill voices and bitchy self-righteous proclamation of lefty causes.


I think it’s because these fat pigs “utopia-ize” a world where their horrible gluttonous physiques are “overlooked.”


Because in the real world, who wants to see this?



Eye bleach sold separately
Eye bleach sold separately


And it’s much better if a fat woman can overcome male oppression by sublimating and gutting his relevance.  That is Lena’s shtick.



Thomas L. Friedman of the NYT is drowning in Clinton Kool-Aid.

The delusion of a lefty Hillary supporter knows no bounds.


How can someone, today, November 2, possibly write this with nary the slightest tinge of embarrassment?


While Clinton has failed to inspire, her instincts and ideas will keep us hewing to basically the right course. And however great her flaws, she is still in the zone of human decency. Trump is not.


Attention, American voters. Put those blinders on, stick your fingers in your ears, and repeat: “Hillary Clinton is in the zone of human decency.”


If you repeat it enough times, you might join the blindly partisan hypnosis that afflicts this man, the writer.


You can share the mass hysteria and fawn over Hillary together.








The FBI now believes that Hillary’s Private Server (HPS) was indeed hacked by at least 5 foreign intelligence agencies.


I think this is a momentous story.


We were told once upon a time that Hillary’s private server was not hacked. That was back when the Hillary Clinton camp still owned and dictated the email narrative.


That ended on Friday, and now we are getting dribs and drabs that feel terribly as if they are cascading and accelerating toward an awful chain of events.


The FBI believes, with 99% confidence, that 5 foreign intelligence agencies were able to hack Hillary’s server.


Five. I’m sure this will expand madly, in time, but for now the story has not quite “launched.”




Donald Trump effigy on a downtown L.A. overpass this morning. Just the usual.


Woe, woe, woe, is me.


Imagine, picture it. I’m a Trump supporter in California, in Los Angeles; I’m of Mexican ancestry. Oh baby, I’m apparently a masochist through and through.


It’s OK. No complaints, no regrets. I somewhat and wickedly bask in the anti-adulation. All my Facebook friends and co-workers and family and acquaintances, even my conservative buddies, can’t stand the Donald.


I’m It, the sole representative of the vestigial California Trump electorate among my circle of cohorts.


It’s lonely, but I love loneliness. It’s unpopular, but I love unpopularity.


I consider it a mark of uniqueness for me to support Donald Trump. I fit so many demographical markers which would indicate I might be the sort to keep Donald Trump, and all things Donald Trump, at least a 10-mile arm’s length from me, at all times. For my own comfort and peace of mind.


But I don’t. Coastal California is no country for avid Trumpsters but still, some of us make our remote stands.


Donald Trump, we yell. We wear t-shirts, bumper stickers, whatever else we can display to add one more drop of self-ostracization to this collection of alienation we have devoted our waking hours to. Because we know, we know: blue collarism is a state of mind, it’s not about where you work, live or the values that dictate your self-image and consuming habits. Rather than wallow in the vapid comforts of accomplished classicism, we realize the American dream can only thrive if it’s allowed to pool quietly beneath the subdued corridors of our nation’s shores, away from the dilution by a swath of global commercialism. The United States is a nation; not a fragment of the world’s conglomeration of strife and poverty.


So this morning, on the way to work, California came knocking.



Donald Trump effigy in LA
Donald Trump effigy in LA



I’m surrounded by madness, immersed in blindness and feel-good liberal myopia.