I Don't Write The Headlines
I just bring the snark.
I just bring the snark.
(CBS) — The warmest day of the year so far brings hundreds of mischievous teens to Michigan Avenue. Police are calling it ‘mob action’. CBS 2 is learning about multiple incidents in at least four different locations along the Magnificent Mile and in the Gold Coast, yielding a slew of arrests. Things got pretty bad, very quickly with many innocent shoppers and tourists caught in the middle of a very chaotic situation. Hundreds of teens littered Michigan Avenue and State Street near Chicago. Things started to go bad around 6:00 p.m. Saturday, with teens purposely bumping into people, and causing fights among themselves. Fifteen juveniles and two adults were arrested and charged with Reckless Conduct— a misdemeanor. Community activist, Andrew Holmes witnessed some of the problems, while shopping with his family.
“You had a group of teens, close to maybe 500. They assaulted a Chicago police officer that was on a mounted on a horse and all of a sudden they assaulted a citizen walking the streets, just a normal citizen shopping and enjoying the weather,” said Holmes.
"Mischievous," CBS? Really?
Why those zany scallawags! What will the little rascals get up to next?
This is something I have never done -– I actually said, in Korean "Do you know who I am? I am MARGARET CHO!" She realized who I was, and she was horrified! She said she did know me, and had seen me and was familiar with my work, and she apologized even more profusely and tried to explain that in Korean culture, tattoos are very taboo and my body was upsetting everyone there. I told her I was aware of that, but that I really wanted to enjoy the spa and my treatments and I was going to pay for them, just like everyone else there (it's pricey, by the way). She asked if I could please wear something, anything -– a towel or something –- and cover myself so that I wouldn't frighten anyone with my body.
She's actually not an unattractive woman -- albeit a bit plump; or as the Koreans might put it, "chu-bey." However she does have one undeniably ugly feature.
Not my usual beat, but I stole it off Ace Of Spades, so its conservative bona fides must be impeccable. Besides, he's probably knocked most of the HuffPo cooties off it.
The recipe makes the cake from scratch, but if you are in a hurry or not sure of your skills in that regard, I see no reason (keep in mind that IANAC*) why you couldn't substitute an angelfood or other premix for it.
(* I Am Not A Chef. Also, it calls for a grape jelly, but I would think that raspberry or blueberry, etc. would work equally well.)
For younger readers, George Wallace was a powerful segregationist Democrat. Whoa, don't be overly sensitive. There's no "tone" to my use of the word "Democrat"; I don't mean to be humiliating and hurtful: it's just what, in pre-sensitive times, we used to call a "fact." Likewise, I didn't detect any "tone" in the way Justice Antonin Scalia used the word "homosexual." He may have thought this was an appropriately neutral term, judiciously poised midway between "gay" and "Godless sodomite." Who knows? He's supposed to be a judge, and a certain inscrutability used to be part of what we regarded as a judicial temperament. By comparison, back in 1986, the year Scalia joined the Supreme Court, Chief Justice Warren Burger declared "there is no such thing as a fundamental right to commit homosexual sodomy." I don't want to be overly sensitive, but I think even I, if I rewound the cassette often enough, might be able to detect a certain tone to that.
So this guy wants to have a luau. He needs a pig for a luau, so he goes to a pig farm. He asks the farmer for a twenty-pound pig.
The farmer goes into the pen, searches around awhile. He picks up a pig, puts the tail in his mouth, and begins swinging the pig around for a few seconds. He puts the pig down, and says, "Nope, not quite twenty pounds."
He picks up another, puts the tail in his mouth, swings the pig around awhile, and declares, "This one's twenty pounds!" He brings the pig out, and the man says in a shocked tone, "You can't weigh a pig like that!"
"Sure I can," said the farmer, "Watch this." He called his son over and asked him to weigh the pig. The boy came over, picked up the pig, put its tail in his mouth, and swung it around awhile. He put the pig down and said, "This one weighs twenty pounds."
The man still looked perplexed, so the farmer told the boy to get his mother so that she can weigh the pig.
Only a few minutes after the death of the 87-year-old, George Galloway, the Respect MP for Bradford West took to his Twitter writing 'Tramp the dirt down.'
But Galloway's damn near perfectly vile.
The head of the Royal Bank of Canada has denied that it is replacing Canadian workers with temporary foreign workers, saying that the bank is providing jobs for anyone impacted by the move, which only involves one temporary foreign worker.
"Absolutely not," said Gord Nixon, the bank's CEO, in an interview with CBC's Amanda Lang on The Lang & O'Leary Exchange. "Firstly, RBC has not and does not hire any temporary foreign workers."
Nixon made the comments following a CBC News report that dozens of employees who facilitate various transactions for RBC Investor Services in Toronto will be losing their jobs, replaced by foreign workers.
I'm just thinking that we could perhaps save a few dollars by outsourcing some CBC announcers. They seem kind of shy to let us know exactly how much they're paid, but it's a fair guess that some are in the upper six figures.
How difficult can it be to read a teleprompter? I mean, they've trained that clown south of the border more-or-less successfully to do it; and I'd be surprised if he's being paid more than 20 bucks per shift, plus all the waffles he can eat.
As to the content, it's a bit like Charlie Brown's teacher, anyway:
Peter: Wah wah wah wah wah wah wah wah Yes, Harper Evil? Wendy?
Wendy: Wah wah wah wah wah wah wah wah Yes, Harper Evil! Peter?
So maybe the accents would be somewhat strange and possibly we'd have to substitute some sitar for the trombone (if I could figure out how to spell the sounds) but it'd be so gloriously multicultural.
Pejman: Wah wah wah wah wah wah wah wah Yes, Harper Evil? Wahida?
Wahida: Wah wah wah wah wah wah wah wah Yes, Harper Evil! Pejman?
In fact, I’m convinced some of them especially love with ideas that are false, because it takes so much effort, so many hours of study, so much scholarship to clasp a falsehood to your bosom. You have to be one of the highly-educated elite to believe really obviously dumbass stuff. Squares don’t get it. Your grandma don’t get it. Toothless hillbillies laugh at you, so you KNOW you’re on the right track.
So you get Joe Biden — nobody’s idea of an ideas man, but he hangs around them and absorbs their chatter like a parrot — wisely opining that we have to spend money to keep from going bankrupt. Because you have to be extra fucking smart to understand how that works.
'When someone dies, give them respect. Enemy or not. I can't be listening to folk who do that.
'What kind of politics are they offering me? You dance on another person's grave? That's loathsome.'
The singer said he would not be dancing on Margaret Thatcher's grave
But as to whether he would be watching an TV coverage of Baroness Thatcher's funeral, he said: 'I might have something better to do.'
He added: 'Her politics were really dreadful and derisive and caused a great many issues for me when I was young, for all of us trying to go through that.
'But that don't mean I am gonna dance on her grave, as they say. I'm not that kind of person.
'I was her enemy in her life but I will not be her enemy in her death. I am not a coward.'
A few hours after Margaret Thatcher’s death on Monday, the snarling deadbeats of the British underclass were gleefully rampaging through the streets of Brixton in South London, scaling the marquee of the local fleapit and hanging a banner announcing, “THE BITCH IS DEAD.” Amazingly, they managed to spell all four words correctly. By Friday, “Ding Dong! The Witch Is Dead,” from The Wizard of Oz, was the No. 1 download at Amazon U.K.
Mrs. Thatcher would have enjoyed all this. Her former speechwriter John O’Sullivan recalls how, some years after leaving office, she arrived to address a small group at an English seaside resort to be greeted by enraged lefties chanting “Thatcher Thatcher Thatcher! Fascist fascist fascist!” She turned to her aide and cooed, “Oh, doesn’t it make you feel nostalgic?” She was said to be delighted to hear that a concession stand at last year’s Trades Union Congress was doing a brisk business in “Thatcher Death Party Packs,” almost a quarter-century after her departure from office.
Of course, it would have been asking too much of Britain’s torpid Left to rouse themselves to do anything more than sing a few songs and smash a few windows. In The Wizard of Oz, the witch is struck down at the height of her powers by Dorothy’s shack descending from Kansas to relieve the Munchkins of their torments. By comparison, Britain’s Moochkins were unable to bring the house down: Mrs. Thatcher died in her bed at the Ritz at a grand old age. Useless as they are, British socialists were at one point capable of writing their own anti-Thatcher singalongs rather than lazily appropriating Judy Garland blockbusters from MGM’s back catalogue. I recall in the late Eighties being at the National Theatre in London and watching the crowd go wild over Adrian Mitchell’s showstopper, “F**k-Off Friday,” a song about union workers getting their redundancy notices at the end of the week, culminating with the lines:
Next time you have "expert" Wendy Murphy on to opine about alleged rape cases (or other topics she knows nothing about, such as the Canadian legal system), maybe she'd be willing to expand on her Duke lacrosse team/Mike Nifong pronouncements.
But, if I follow correctly, these UCLA profs are arguing that, when some guys go all Allahu Akbar on you and blow up your marathon, that just shows that you lazy complacent Americans need to work even harder at “assimilating” “immigrants.” After all, Dzhokhar and Tamerlan were raised in Cambridge, Mass., a notorious swamp of redneck bigotry where the two young Chechens no doubt felt “alienated” and “excluded” at being surrounded by NPR-listening liberals cooing, “Oh, your family’s from Chechnya? That’s the one next to Slovakia, right? Would you like to come round for a play date and help Jeremiah finish his diversity quilt?” Assimilation is hell.