Donald awoke to a cold bedroom, the dead light of the district streaming in through frost-rimed windows. He shivered and tried to pull the bedsheet over him when the room darkened briefly as something passed before the windows behind him.
“Hello?” asked Donald in a quavering voice. He rolled over in a series of grunts and saw what cast a shadow into his room.
The Phantom slowly, gravely, silently, approached. It was shrouded in a deep black garment, which concealed its head, its face, its form, and left nothing of it visible save one outstretched hand. But for this, it would have been difficult to detach its figure from the night and separate it from the darkness by which it was surrounded.
“I am in the presence of the Ghost of Warboners Yet To Come?” said Donald.
The Spirit answered not, but pointed onward with its skeletal hand.
“You are about to show me shadows of the things that have not happened but will happen in the time before us,” Donald pursued. “Is that so, Spirit?”
The Spirit had inclined its head and that was the only answer he received.
“Warboner of the Future!” Donald exclaimed, “I fear you more than any spectre I have seen. But as I know your purpose is to do me good, and as I hope to live to be another man from what I was, I am prepared to bear you company, and do it with a thankful heart. Will you not speak to me?”
It gave him no reply. The hand was pointed straight before them.
“I don’t think it’s going to say anything, Donald,” said the hair from the floor.
“Douche move!” cried the hat.
“Quiet, you two,” said Donald. “I have the fear upon me when facing this silent Phantom. I fear to go with him.” He slid off the bed and gathered his friends from the chamber floor.
“Then don’t,” said the hat. “Fuck old tall and bony. It’s just the skeleton of John McCain probably. You can beat up a skeleton.”
“I could beat up a skeleton,” said the hair. “No muscle, no tendon, no offal or sinew. I never knew what was supposed to me so scary about skeletons in the first place.”
Donald put on his hair and hat and stood before the Phantom and crossed his arms in defiance.
“What is with the no talking thing, Oh, Spirit? Are you just trying to freak me out?”
“Or he doesn’t have lungs or larynx, lips or tongue to make speech with,” said a gay Southron voice. The front of the dark robe of the Phantom split and a terribly aged Lindsey Graham stepped out.
“Ta-da!’ said Lindsey and launched a double handful of glitter into the air.
The hat and hair groaned loudly in musical union.
Lindsey stepped to the side and crooked an arm through the arm of the Phantom. He self-consciously touched his hair with his other hand and sighed.
“I love John McCain,” said Lindsey gravely. “I love him. He can no longer talk, so I shall be his voice.”
“Fan-fucking-tastic,” said the hat.
“Lead on, O Spirits of the Future,” said Donald. “Show me what you must.”
Lindsay tittered behind his free hand. “Come on, boys,” Lindsey said. The Phantom at his side raised his hand and darkness, absolute darkness, enveloped them.
“Spooky,” Lindsey giggled.
They scarcely seemed to enter the city; for the city rather seemed to spring up about them, and encompass them of its own act. But there they were, in the heart of it; on the Capitol steps. The Spirit stopped beside one little knot of Congressmen. Donald advanced to listen to their talk.
“No,” said a great fat man with a monstrous chin, “I don’t know much about it, either way. I only know he’s dead.”
“When did he die?” inquired another.
“Last night, I believe.”
“Why, what was the matter with him?” asked a third, taking a vast quantity of cocaine out of a very large snuff-box. “I thought he’d never die.”
“God knows,” said the first, with a yawn.
“What has he done with his money?” asked a red-faced gentleman with a pendulous excrescence on the end of his nose, that shook like the gills of a turkey-cock.
“I haven’t heard,” said the man with the large chin, yawning again. “Left it to his feckless offspring, perhaps. He hasn’t left it to me. That’s all I know.”
This pleasantry was received with a general laugh.
“It’s likely to be a very cheap funeral,” said the same speaker, “for upon my life I don’t know of anybody to go to it. Suppose we make up a party and volunteer?”
“I don’t mind going if a lunch is provided,” observed the gentleman with the excrescence on his nose. “But I must be fed, if I have to go.”
Another laugh.
“Well, I am the most disinterested among you, after all,” said the first speaker, “for I never wear black gloves, and I never eat lunch. But I’ll offer to go if anybody else will. When I come to think of it, I’m not at all sure that I wasn’t his most particular friend; for we used to stop and speak whenever we met. Bye, bye!”
Speakers and listeners strolled away and mixed with other groups. Donald knew the men and looked towards Lindsay for an explanation, but the piss-eyed fairy just giggled.
The Phantom glided on into a street. Its finger pointed to two persons meeting. Donald listened again, thinking that the explanation might lie here.
He knew these men, also, perfectly. They were men of business: very wealthy, and of great importance. He had made a point always of standing well in their esteem: in a business point of view, that is; strictly in a business point of view.
“How are you?” said one.
“How are you?” returned the other.
“Well!” said the first. “Old Scratch has got his own at last, hey?”
“So I am told,” returned the second. “Cold, isn’t it?”
“Seasonable for Christmas time.”
“Good morning!” said the one; “Good morning!” said the other.
Not another word. That was their meeting, their conversation, and their parting.
Donald was at first inclined to be surprised that the Spirit should attach importance to conversations apparently so trivial; but feeling assured that they must have some hidden purpose, he set himself to consider what it was likely to be.
“Donald?” asked his hair. “Are you doing hard thinking? It’s starting to feel weird under me.”
“A moment, just a moment,” said Donald, “I wish to solve the riddle of these speakers I have been shown.”
The hat, way ahead of him, laughed his evilest laugh, which was an evil laugh indeed.
Quiet and dark, beside him stood the Phantom, with its outstretched hand. When Donald roused himself from his thoughtful quest, he fancied from the turn of the hand, and its situation in reference to himself, that the Unseen Eyes were looking at him keenly.
“Spirit!” said Donald, shuddering from head to foot. “I see, I see. The case of this unhappy man might be my own. My life tends that way, now. Merciful Heaven, what is this?”
He recoiled in terror, for the scene had changed, and now he almost touched a bed: a bare hospital bed: on which, beneath a ragged sheet, there lay a something covered up. A pale light, falling through a grimy window, fell straight upon the bed; and on it, plundered and bereft, unwatched, unwept, uncared for, was the body of this man.
Donald glanced towards the Phantom. Its skeletal hand was pointed to the head. The cover was so carelessly adjusted that the slightest raising of it, the motion of a finger upon Donald’s part, would have disclosed the face. He thought of it, felt how easy it would be to do, and longed to do it; but had no more power to withdraw the veil than to dismiss the spectre at his side.
“Oh cold, cold, rigid, dreadful Death,” said the hat gleefully, “set up thine altar here, and dress it with such terrors as thou hast at thy command: for this is thy dominion! But of the loved, revered, and honoured head, thou canst not turn one hair to thy dread purposes, or make one feature odious. Strike, Skeleton McCain, strike! And see his good deeds springing from the wound, to sow the world with life immortal!”
“What the fuck are you doing?” asked the hair.
“Just watch,” the hat said maliciously and Lindsey did giggle his giggle again and again.
The hat’s words tore at Donald. He thought, if this man could be raised up now, what would be his foremost thoughts? He lay, in the empty hospital, with not a man, a woman, or a child, to say that he started a glorious war in this country or that, or invaded a territory here or there, or sent a flight of cruise missiles to a children’s hospital?
“Spirit! Gay fairy!” he said, “this is a fearful place. In leaving it, I shall not leave its lesson, trust me. Let us go!”
Still the Ghost pointed with an unmoved finger to the figure under the sheet.
“I understand you,” Donald returned, “and I would do it if I could. But I have not the power, Spirit. I have not the power.”
“Pull back the sheet, Donald,” said Lindsay. “Find what you already know you will.”
“If there is any person in the town, who feels emotion caused by this man’s death,” said Donald, quite agonized, “show that person to me, Spirit, I beseech you!”
The Phantom spread its dark robe before him for a moment, like a wing; and withdrawing it, revealed a room by daylight, where a mother and her children were.
Sarah was expecting someone, and with anxious eagerness; for she walked up and down the room; started at every sound; looked out from the window; glanced at the clock; tried, but in vain, to work with her needle; and could hardly bear the voices of the children in their play.
At length, the long-expected knock was heard. She hurried to the door, and met her husband; a man whose face was careworn and depressed. There was a remarkable expression in it now; a kind of serious delight of which he felt ashamed, and which he struggled to repress.
“Is it good?” she said, “or bad?”
“Bad,” he answered.
“We are quite ruined?”
“There is no hope, Sarah. He is gone.”
“Gone? Gone? What shall I do? My speaking fees are all that keep us going! If he is gone, who will hire me now if not to curry his corrupt favor? No one cares for his past, there are no glories to promote, not conflicts to rehash. We are ruined, husband, ruined!”
“I have never seen Pie so sad where I had not been the author,” Donald said quietly.
“Hark!” said the hat. “Is that the sound of the other shoe finally dropping?”
“Don’t be cruel,” the hair chided the hat.
“I’m bored,” the hat said. “And cold and hungry and bored. This cheap epiphany has been too long coming.”
Lindsay laughed and laughed and rubbed intimate bones underneath the robe of the Phantom. “Take us back, lover, take us back,” he said in a Southron lisp.
In the hospital room once more, and Lindsay did prance forward and tear the sheet away. Donald himself lay there on that cold bed, his orange tan now pallid, his angry cheeks sunken and sallow, his tweeting thumbs still and gnarled, his belly filling with gases and putrefactions.
“No!” cried Donald. “No! The old Jew told me that I could never die!”
“All men die, Donald,” the hair told him not unkindly.
“And that was just Dr. Blankenweiss, who was checking your moles,” said the hat.
“But this is just death, cold and unforgiving,” Donald wailed. “I am a President! I should be lying in state? Where are the mourners? Where are the women crying? Where is the non-stop press coverage?”
Lindsay began to laugh so hard, he could barely catch his breath. His face turned as red as a freshly-slapped ass. The Phantom raised his arms and the scene changed again, a small chapel filled with a few people and a closed casket of plain wood appeared around them. The Phantom put his arm around Donald and they floated toward the coffin. Donald was left there as the Phantom retreated.
“This is it?” cried Donald. “This is my funeral?”
“Pretty cheap looking,” the hair said.
“Not very classy,” the hat agreed.
Donald turned to look at the mourners. Ivanka sat stone-faced in the front pew, Jared beside her in a yarmulke, their Jew-children bored and sleeping. Don Jr. was working a Rubik’s Cube and quietly cursing and Eric was wearing sunglasses that did not cover the bruises on his face.
“This is all you mourn me? Where is Melania? Where is her son?” Donald asked.
“She divorced you years ago,” said Lindsay smiling.
“And Tiffany? Tell me nothing has happened to her?”
“Who?” Lindsay said, his Botoxed brows straining to knit.
“Tiffany? My youngest daughter? Marla’s daughter?” Donald asked in exasperation.
Lindsay, still confused, looked askance of The Phantom of Warboners to Come and the Spirit did shrug elaborately.
“And the cameras and reporters?” asked Donald. “Did the Phantom take them? Are they in hiding?”
“I don’t think they are coming, Donald,” the hair said gently.
“Not even FOX NEWS?!?”
“There is no more Fox News,” Lindsay hissed. “Because of you. They went out of business with no wars to report, no drone strikes to defend, no war crimes to excuse! You! You killed them, Donald!”
“NO!” screamed Donald. “No! How can this horrible future be mine! I was a great President! A tremendous President! The first Twitter President! I gave up my thumbs for you ingrates!”
“Look!” said Lindsay. “Look who they sent to speak at your funeral!”
A hulking figure approached the podium behind the gasket, shrouded in darkness, hideous and twisted.
“NO!” cried Donald and the hat and the hair in unison.
“Oh, Spirit! Oh, comraderal homo!” moaned Donald. “Tell me that this can not be. My mind and soul cannot take these blows and shocks! I have learned the harsh lessons you teach! Take me home! Please return me!”
Donald fell to his knees before McCain enrobed skeleton and wept bitterly. Chelsea’s voice was clear and loud when she began to speak, but grow tinny and indistinct.
“I can look no more!” wept Donald. “I can hear no more!”
“Pinch me!” cried the hat. “This shit ain’t funny no more!”
Donald pitched forward onto the floor of his bedroom as there was no more Phantom leg bones to clutch. Lindsay’s mocking laughter echoed for a few seconds more.
Donald stood up and waddled to the window. It was light outside. It was morning.
“OK, that really sucked,” said the hair.
“Torments from hell,” the hat agreed. “Her voice; that harridan screech. And her face. Her awful face. I will never be able to wipe it from my mind.”
Donald held onto the window sill and continued to weep.
“I have never seen Pie so sad where I had not been the author,” Donald said quietly.
*sighs in appreciation*
Awesome.
But now I’m flashing back to being a kid on Christmas Eve. Tomorrow seems a long, long way away.
Indeed – I cannot WAIT to see what the next part brings.
I know, I kept refreshing and nearly swooned with delight when I finally saw the next installment had been posted.
This is like the bestest Christmas ever!
“Ta-da!’ said Lindsey and launched a double handful of glitter into the air.
That was only the first of many lines to make me laugh out loud. I think the people near my office think I’m having a breakdown.
Donald turned to look at the mourners. Ivanka sat stone-faced in the front pew, Jared beside her in a yarmulke, their Jew-children bored and sleeping. Don Jr. was working a Rubik’s Cube and quietly cursing and Eric was wearing sunglasses that did not cover the bruises on his face.
This part got me but good.
The essence of good comedy – entirely plausible, with just a few exaggerations.
DANG IT!
Lindsay Graham was a touch of pure genius.
Agreed.
I’m dead.
Yeah, that one got me, too.
CAUSE OF DEATH: “Laughter”
“He face turned as red as a freshly-slapped ass.”
Poetry
Yeah. Great line.
Lindsay Graham as Rip Taylor?
That is gold Jerry, pure gold.
Lindsay on the campaign trail.
Chelsea? OK
“Ta-da!’ said Lindsey and launched a double handful of glitter into the air.
Any fart-spray?
ok that was quite Dickensian just funnier
usually for Christmas i watch the Patrick Stewart version of Christmas carol
https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=sZt6eU5REN8
Scrooged is better.
*narrows gaze*
The truth is painful!
A Christmas Horror Story or Santa’s Slay. You get either the Shat and a Santa vs. zombie elves story or Santa is a demon who lost a bet (on curling) with an angel.
Oh, and the American Dad Christmas episodes, which are epic.
The Shat one is great. We have plans to watch Santa’s Slay this weekend.
It’s terrible in all the best ways. Pure B schlock horror film with curling as a plot element. I can’t think of any other movie that references curling.
Clearly you aren’t familiar with enough canuckistani films.
Neither am I, but there has to be an entire curling genre.
Rule 34?
CurlJammerz
Oh, and the American Dad Christmas episodes, which are epic
Related: https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=zI6x8PZ1d8s
I like the Blackadder version.
SECONDED!
Thirded.
Muppets version for me
HUZZAH!
““Or he doesn’t have lungs or larynx, lips or tongue to make speech with,” said a gay Southron voice. The front of the dark robe of the Phantom split and a terribly aged Lindsey Graham stepped out.
“Ta-da!’ said Lindsey and launched a double handful of glitter into the air.”
I love a good plot twist!
I read all four parts. Pretty good. I look forward to the next one.
Donald J. Trump
✔
@realDonaldTrump
Getting out of Syria was no surprise. I’ve been campaigning on it for years, and six months ago, when I very publicly wanted to do it, I agreed to stay longer. Russia, Iran, Syria & others are the local enemy of ISIS. We were doing there work. Time to come home & rebuild. #MAGA
Do you think he does it on purpose?
Donald J. Trump
✔
@realDonaldTrump
Does the USA want to be the Policeman of the Middle East, getting NOTHING but spending precious lives and trillions of dollars protecting others who, in almost all cases, do not appreciate what we are doing? Do we want to be there forever? Time for others to finally fight…..
Donald J. Trump
✔
@realDonaldTrump
….Russia, Iran, Syria & many others are not happy about the U.S. leaving, despite what the Fake News says, because now they will have to fight ISIS and others, who they hate, without us. I am building by far the most powerful military in the world. ISIS hits us they are doomed!
This guy. And, of course, Lindsay Graham reminded me why I dislike him.
If that piss-eyed fairy and his buddies want a war in Syria, then fucking declare war. Otherwise, fuck off. Well, no, fuck off regardless.
Fantastic.
Now do Iraq, Afghanistan, Nigeria, Korea, Japan, Germany, and God knows where else.
Well, there are those reports he’s negotiating a withdrawal from Afghanistan.
If he does that, he’s got my vote in 2020.
Friggin’ A
Horn of Africa, Kuwait…
Baby steps, baby steps.
I can’t tell. Sometimes I think it’s just part of his trolling bit, and sometimes I think he just doesn’t care. As long as it more or less looks and/or sounds like the word he meant, that’s good enough for him.
I think its probably on purpose, because every time he makes a mistake like that, coverage of the tweet goes through the roof.
Strange but, I like the white bearded Santa Trump.
Beards make everyone look better. *thoughtfully strokes beard*
Only if they’re bimodal.
STEVE SMITH SWING BOTH WAYS. AND BY SWING MEAN…
O.T.: This should kill any remaining doubts regarding what the whole bake-me-a-cake thing was all about.
https://twitter.com/jerk_berger/status/1075608351717785601
Just to cope, maybe this guy would consider taking these orders, no downpayment so consideration has not passed, and then just produce his standard John 3:16 or whatever cake when they show up to take delivery.
Chalk it all up to systemic quality failure, offer to replace the mistake, then do it all over again if they return.
Either way he’s still forced to waste labor and resources which is their ultimate objective.
Psst: ” standard . . . cake”
Obviously I’m angling at a simple device that pretends to comply while simply producing usable stock.
Principled stand or not.
It would be fun to watch them argue that his non-expressive expression isn’t expressive enough to satisfy his public accommodation obligation.
If you accede to serving, then you cannot object any longer. Principled stand, or bend the knee.
then just produce his standard John 3:16 or whatever cake
Ezekiel 23:20.
Without looking….
donkey dick and horse semen?
Yes, and this was reported at the time of the first ruling. Good to see it in the news again if only to remind everyone how evil these types are.
It takes a person full of hatred and spite and to do something like this.
Hmm. His antagonist here is a lawyer, which means he has a license to lose.
Go after his license. File ethics complaints with the state bar. If he is representing himself, then every time he communicates with the baker he is probably violating the rules against communicating with someone who is represented by counsel, and the rules on dealing with people other than clients.
There are also several rules on misconduct that might apply, including :
And, of course:
O.T.: I saw on the television a bunch of hand-wringing about the Trump administration insisting that asylum seekers wait in Mexico until their asylum claim has been processed and given a hearing. Of course, the problem is that, if they’re let into the country, many if not most will not even show up to their hearing. They’ll accept illegal status. I think I have a way to make both parties happy – surety bonds. The administration should offer to allow the asylum seekers to enter the country pending their hearing on the condition that a surety bond of, say $30,000 has been posted by a U.S. citizen or legal resident. When they show up, the bond is returned to the poster (with interest – I’m generous). Progressives throughout the land will be able to demonstrate their faith in the lawfulness and trustworthiness of the asylum seekers by posting bonds for these poor put-upon souls. I’m sure we would be able to have Shikha post a bunch, just on her own.
Any thoughts?
I dunno, that sounds PRETTY RACIST TO ME.
When they say they’re willing to pay, they meant with someone else’s money. Not their own.
For the progs this is about importing commie voters. As far as I know they have never acted in good faith and have no shame about it so they aren’t going to be posting any bonds, but yeah, I like the idea.
As I type this, I am surrounded by Mexicans.
The warehouse I’m at today is having a catered Christmas luncheon. Steak, chicken in mushroom gravy, rice pliaf, and salad. ???
As I type this, I am surrounded by Mexicans.
Davy Crockett’s last tweet from the Alamo.
Huzzah sir! Huzzah!
You don’t win friends with salad.
Yep.
Congratulations Sugarfree, that was a tour de force.
“OK, that really sucked,” said the hair.
Pithy, yet laden mightily with Truth.
So is trump going to throw a wad of cash at a street urchin to fetch the finest F-35?
More like throwing a bag of money (with a $ marking) at the Pentagon.
Urchin = Boeing Executive?
Maybe Trump will see the light and embrace the spirit of Warboner by invading Mexico and solving the border problem once and for all.
People apparently pay money to see this shit.
Let’s see, prostate exam, root canal, vasectomy without anesthetic.. sorry, I was just listing the things I’d rather do that go to that.
When people rave about how fabulous she looks in that ridiculous getup, it’s a sure tell that they are full of shit.
Especially when they have nothing good to say about Melania, who actually does have a real sense of style and elegance.
She only walks around in several months’ salary worth of clothes because the patriarchy requires it.
At some point, I think, you’ve spent enough money on clothes.
It’s just downright ugly.
So many people blowing smoke up each others’ ass, it’s disturbing.
Yeah the whole “Michelle Obama is gorgeous!!!!” propaganda was very tiresome.
Not everyone is pretty. Michelle Obama is not pretty. The obsession the media had with trying to make her the Jackie to Baracks JFK was, and is just sad.
It certainly makes it obvious that they adore her for her pure thoughts, not her looks.
They adore her for the signal it sends to everyone else around them.
Yeah following up with Melania has been fun, my idiot prog mother insists that Melania is not better looking than Michelle.
Honestly, I don’t think Melania is beautiful, either. I don’t get it.
insists that Melania is not better looking than Michelle
Yeah, and I would kick Naomi Campbell out of bed.
Melania is beautiful is kind of an ice princess sort of way. It’s the cheekbones.
I don’t think Michelle’s ugly, and I consider myself fairly objective.
Melania’s prettier though.
Not ugly, but not attractive either. She’s a rather plain woman whose clothing choices make her look ridiculous.
I didn’t say she was ugly, just that she’s not pretty.
She’s an entirely unremarkable looking woman. It was the constant propaganda of trying to make her this glamorous icon of American style that was also drop dead gorgeous that was just laughable.
Then when you have a First Lady who is an actual model, somehow all those articles and video segments dried up.
It was propaganda, and if you want to get deeper, I’d argue it was another one of their “Make the proles repeat things that are blatantly untrue through social pressure” efforts.
But maybe I have my tinfoil hat on too tight.
This. Stop pissing on my leg and telling me it’s raining.
But she’s got a helluva personality. Remember the strap hangar cousin that was always with your girl friend? The deal was your girl friend couldn’t go out unless you fixed up the cousin with your buddy?
Your buddy , “What’s she look like?”
You, “Well, she’s got a great personality.”
Michelle always reminded me of the scenario.
Fool me once, shame on you….
Except that she doesn’t even have a nice personality.
Partisanship is a hell of a drug.
She actually used to dress way better during the beginning of her husband’s presidency. In more recent years she has had all the trappings of the nouveau riche on full display.
I mean, the boots are bad enough, but that dress looks like a bathrobe.
I agree. She looked better wearing the bandolier for her boltcaster.
Which level of hell of that?
She has never, ever had any sense of style whatsoever. She wants to show off her guns, but sleeveless isn’t a good look on her. Yellow and ivory are probably her worst colors.
Furthermore, she needs to stop straightening her hair. She probably looks a lot better with natural hair. Throw a pretty scarf in your curls, honey.
Seriously, get a stylist.
Imagine the shit she would get if she was Trump’s wife, straightening her hair and denying her race like that.
Imagine the magazine spreads Melania would get if she had been Obama’s wife. Camelot II, electric bugaloo.
A horse and a wookie. I wouldn’t pay.
“Michelle Obama” and “glittery thigh-high Balenciaga boots” should never be in the same sentence, or even the same room.
Also, I think this may be the finest candidate yet for an audio book version.
I posted this in a dead or dying thread last weekend. But I’m grooving to it again. So here it is again.
https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=FNFyZ7p41Pc
Young immigrant dude playing old man music that he doesn’t actually know.
OT: New Zealand police are on the job. In a bid to deal with their country’s ongoing carnage on the roads, they will be writing speeding tickets for drivers 4km over the limit:
https://www.nzherald.co.nz/nz/news/article.cfm?c_id=1&objectid=12180476
Swiss cops start at 5km over.
Wonder what the margin of error is on their equipment.
It is SWISS!!! Very precise!!!!!
None! All calibrated to Swiss standard.
They would have to cite every single car on the Mass Pike.
Speed limits are merest suggestions around here. I tend to cruise about 15 over the limit and regularly get passed.
Let’s play “whataboutism”. What punishment do you suppose this woman would have gotten had she been going the speed limit, but had blown a .08 BAC?
Speeding driver who killed two Minnesota girls won’t go to prison
At least they didn’t go with the old “lost control of the vehicle” chestnut.
Or if she was a 30 year old men going 80 in a 50.
Huh. I was expecting to see she was a cop.
If you want to kill someone, hit them with a car.
Whoever, without intent to effect the death of any person, causes the death of another by perpetrating an act eminently dangerous to others and evincing a depraved mind, without regard for human life, is guilty of murder in the third degree and may be sentenced to imprisonment for not more than 25 years. (Minn. Stat. §609.195)
I would argue that 30 over the speed limit fits this pretty damn closely. Maybe not the full 25 year sentence, but a solid 15-20.
Maybe Trump will see the light and embrace the spirit of Warboner by invading Mexico and solving the border problem once and for all.
If we take everything from Mexico to Panama, we’ll not only have much shorter wall to build, we’ll get our ditch back.
If we stop at the canal, we don’t even have to build a wall – just blow up a few bridges.
The ditch becomes the wall, and southern Panama is the DMZ?
And look at all those new tax paying citizens!
Winning.
And they all get to be in America like they want
Winning?? They’ll be voting too.
Good news, everyone! Thanks to Cory Booker and Kamala Harris, “Lynching” is now a federal offense.
I’ll sleep easier, tonight.
“Thanks to Cory Booker and Kamala Harris, “Lynching” is now a federal offense.”
They can time travel?
I can finally leave my house without the fear of being lynched. All praise to Sparticus and Harris.
*opera applause, throws garlands*
*studies the garlands to make sure none fell into a noose-like shape*
Ed, I saw your posts from last night about the gun grabbers. Sorry I wasn’t there to weigh in, but yeah. They aren’t mistaken but well intentioned.
No one ever in the history of the world wanted to make you unable to defend yourself for your own good. That has never happened and it never will.
The only proper response to gun grabbers is “Fuck you.”
The lynching epidemic has become worse than the opioid epidemic.
Well, look, it’s been 37 years since the last one, so clearly we’re overdue for one.
Lynching? Is that where you meet on the Tarmac to discuss the grand-kids?
Ah. Feel good legislation that accomplishes nothing at all.
I guess they could be doing something worse.
So the next time Antifa smashes some white-dude’s head in with a bike lock we get to bring the full force of the federal government down on them and their co-conspirators?
Lol, this law is only for wrongthinkers, not the cootsoldiers of the glorious revolutions!
“cootsoldiers”? The AARP?
My mind went another direction with ‘coot’.
Yours works too, I suppose.
cootsoldiers of the glorious revolutions
That would be Bernie Sanders, amirite?
Actually, that’s technically not true Uberracist Public Enemy Number One still has to sign it.
I guess they could be doing something worse.
Don’t worry. They will.
+1
The hat, way ahead of him, laughed his evilest laugh, which was an evil laugh indeed.
“I could beat up a skeleton,” said the hair. “No muscle, no tendon, no offal or sinew. I never knew what was supposed to me so scary about skeletons in the first place.”
“Oh cold, cold, rigid, dreadful Death,” said the hat gleefully, “set up thine altar here, and dress it with such terrors as thou hast at thy command: for this is thy dominion! But of the loved, revered, and honoured head, thou canst not turn one hair to thy dread purposes, or make one feature odious. Strike, Skeleton McCain, strike! And see his good deeds springing from the wound, to sow the world with life immortal!”
How is The Hat not the best, I ask you? HOW?!
Also note, fucking USA Hat is nowhere to be seen. Because he’s The Worst.
Um, go to the top of the page 😉
….one more installment, at least. MUHUHUHUWAHA.
“Michelle Obama” and “glittery thigh-high Balenciaga boots” should never be in the same sentence, or even the same room.
If anybody needs a pair of waders, it’s Missus Bloviatarack.
Evita Fatone
“Lindsay laughed and laughed and rubbed intimate bones underneath the robe of the Phantom. “Take us back, lover, take us back,” he said in a Southron lisp.”
Rule 34 satisfied.
https://www.thetruthaboutguns.com/2018/12/staff-writer/foolish-man-tries-to-rob-pizza-guy-with-nothing-but-a-rifle-magazine/
Rockford man attempts to rob pizza driver with a loaded (LOADED!) high capacity magazine. Just the magazine.
See! Those high capacity magazine are dangerous
At that point, why not try it with (just) a bullet? After all, that’s what actually kills people.
You said “bullet”. That’s violence and I’m getting you booted from Patreon.
“I could beat up a skeleton,” said the hair. “No muscle, no tendon, no offal or sinew.”
The hair is my favorite character. Reminds me of me when I was young.
A hulking figure approached the podium behind the gasket, shrouded in darkness, hideous and twisted.-
Did I miss it or is it in the next episode? Who spoke?
Chelsea’s voice was clear and loud when she began to speak, but grow tinny and indistinct.
Thanks
3 paragraphs down.
After reading the cactus thread In the morning links, i, of course, had to get in on the action. I was watering the kitchen cactus when my daughter bumped into me, knocking the cactus off the window sill. In order to save the child, I grabbed ahold of the angry end of the falling cactus. It still feels like there are spines in my hand…
I was watering the kitchen cactus…
A new candidate for euphemism of the year!
Japan plans to withdraw from IWC to resume commercial whaling
The IWC adopted the moratorium in 1982 to preserve whales and Japan suspended commercial whaling in 1988. Whale meat currently sold in Japan is obtained as a “by-product” of whaling research in the Antarctic Ocean and the Northwest Pacific, except for imports from Iceland and elsewhere.
Does it taste good enough to justify all the hassle they go through to get it ?
Not to me. After the war, the schools would use whale meat to provide protein in school lunch. (Insert sperm whale joke here). Many people, especially older people, really don’t like the moral lecturing coming from animal rights activitists. I just enjoy watching the fight.
It’s funny. I had an aunt who tried whale meat one time. She loved it. Thought it was terrific. Then she found out what it was and threw up. People are weird.
Told this before. At a sushi bar sitting net to some euroweenie tourists were complaining about Japanese eating whale. I overheard them and asked the chef in Japanese for some whale sushi and to give it to the weenies. The looked at it, thanked me and ate it. As they left the sushi bar after paying, they thanked me again. I just said, “Whale”. They were not happy.
Wow. *rubs sleep from eyes*. Sitting next to me at a sushi bar.
I tried it from a can at an International Day in elementary school. I recall it was pretty tasty.
conduct commercial whaling of 13 species covered by the IWC moratorium, including blue whales.-
I didn’t know people hunted blue whales.
Let me guess. They got one look at Lena Dunham and couldn’t resist.