Going Riding

 Might post something later tonight, but for right now the Mrs and I need some wind therapy.

Yes, I've had to take the military's "extremism" training

 And yes, it's a gigantic load of shit, written by people who are obviously leftists and who only see boogymen from the Right.

On Thursday, Sen. Tom Cotton (R-Ark.) revealed the reports of many whistleblowers inside the armed forces who have complained that the military’s training to combat “extremism” has enabled superiors to push critical race theory (CRT) on them. This has set members of the military against one another and led some soldiers, sailors, airmen, Marines, and guardians to resign.

Cotton pressed Defense Secretary Lloyd Austin on these issues, asking Austin to explicitly condemn some of the conclusions of critical race theory, such as the idea that the military itself is “fundamentally racist.” Austin begrudgingly rejected that idea, but his responses suggest an unwillingness to actually combat CRT in the military.

They don't just use Critical Race Theory.  They talked about "abortion-related extremis" and "violent INCEL extremists".  I shit you not.  Part of the training stated that at least eleven people have been murdered by "violent anti-abortion extremists" since 1999.

Not one single word about Buy Large Mansions or Antifa.  Not a statement, not a codicil, nothing.  Not one single word about the violent riots, murders, looting and arson that happened all last year.

Welcome to the Leftist paradise, comrade.  The only good thing I can say about the entire episode is that every single person I talked to, no matter the rank, knew that the entire training was a load of bullshit.  From Private to Colonel, no one thought this training was worth the time, effort or electrons.

We all know the Democrat-Media Complex won't report on this

 Which is why it came from across the pond.

Imagine that being found on one of Don Jr's phones.  You and I both know that the media would be all over it like white on rice.  But it's Hunter Biden, the crack-smoking, stripper-impregnating, illegal-gun purchasing, Chinese money-sucking son of Joe Biden, and the Democrat-Media complex is going to ignore it for all they are worth.  

And let's be blunt, at this point, all they are worth is maybe a couple bucks and some coupons for a free car wash.  The media whores covered up Biden's laptop and deplatformed anyone who talked about it leading up to the election.  They cover up Joe Biden's dementia.  They ask nothing but softball questions to Commie-la Harris (and she still can't answer them).  I'd love to see almost every media company fail, and all their "reporters" laid off.  It's a dream I have....

So anyways, go read it all, if you're of a mind.  I doubt it will be anything you didn't already kinda know if you were following along and actually paying attention for the last year.

"Outtayerdaminde" by Five Times August (2021) Lyric & Music Video

You want a real scare?  These are the people that are effectively running the country right now.

We don't know who exactly is in charge,

 But we do know that it ain't Drooling Joe the Chinese Hand Puppet.

Many have speculated that Joe Biden isn’t really running things. His mental fitness has come into question numerous times over the years and even in the past six months, but a photo posted by Jill Biden has added fuel to the fire, reigniting questions about who’s really running the country, and if perhaps the First Lady is taking on responsibilities she shouldn’t be.

The photo in question features Jill Biden sitting at a desk on Air Force One with the caption “Prepping for the G7.”

You don't have to go back very far to see just how drastically Joe Biden has declined mentally.  Between the mumbling, the slurring, the forgetting, his physical slowness, he's been in decline for a while now and even when his handlers allow him out in a tightly controlled setting they can't hide it.  I wonder just what cocktail of drugs is being pumped into his system to give him even the slight façade of coherence that he has.

So yeah, DOCTOR Jill Biden is sitting at the desk on AF1 doing Drooling Joe's job.  If you paid attention during the "campaign", she was at his side doing his job and making sure he didn't stray off into a rambling diatribe about Corn Pop and his hairy legs again.  It's not that the situation has changed, is that they can't hide it like they could during the campaign.  Joe Biden isn't capable of doing the job, and everybody knows it.

And how many times have I said:

Democrats hate you and want you to die. 

It was true when I first said it, and it still true today.

I need this sometimes

 Especially after the 1700 mile four-day trips...

I'm not too proud to say just how fucked up I am physically.  But what the hell.  This body is meant to be worn out by the end.

Insert Nelson Muntz Laugh Here

 

I'm giggling right now.

Pokey LaFarge - "Central Time"

You have no idea how happy I am to see real musicians in this day and age.

A.K.A, F**K YOU I WAS RIGHT

 Sarah Hoyt's feeling a little peppy, and I can't blame her

First, and because I didn’t promise not to do this: I TOLD YOU SO, I TOLD YOU SO, I F*CKING TOLD YOU SO.

For everyone who came here to lecture me, that the China Coff was going to depopulate the world, and I was being irresponsible for saying it was like the flu with a lot of stupid number games added; for every one who flounced because I told them the masks were a f*cking stupid idea that did nothing (including, yes, the gentleman who knew that masks would work against a VIRUS because when he was six someone made him put on a mask to go see his dying father); for everyone who mask-Karened with “just put on the mask”; for every raging asshole (including Sprouts grocery store manager) who told me that if I had a mask issue, I could get delivery, making asthma a crime worthy of house arrest; for every insane, stupid governor — Polis might be the dumbest of the lot — who made us wear masks outside, thereby making escape to the zoo or the botanic gardens impossible; to the f*cking airlines whose f*cking stupid rules made it impossible for me to be at my dad’s 90th birthday.

Come closer so I can whisper in your ear: I TOLD YOU SO. After which I’m going to knee you in the groin so hard you’ll taste next Wednesday. Yes, even if you’re a woman.

The more information that comes out, the more I have my position confirmed that the Kung Flu scamdemic was the greatest scam in history, run by so-called "experts" who's only expertise was in attaining and abusing government power.  Not that me being right is going to fix anything now that Dr. Demento and Drooling Joe the Chinese Hand Puppet are in charge.  As Kurt Schlichter says....

There’s a cure for this plague of experts, and it’s called “accountability.” Accountability is the bane of experts, so our ruling caste has dispensed with it.

Oh, and wearing masks is bullshit, and we all know it.  

Veganism is child abuse

 Want your kids to grow up stunted and weak?  Just go vegan!

Putting your children on a trendy vegan diet makes them grow up short and with weaker bones, a study has found.

Researchers found that children aged five to ten who eat plant-based diets are on average three centimetres shorter than those who eat meat.

Their bones were also smaller and less strong, putting the children at risk of fractures or osteoporosis in later life.

The study, by University College London's Great Ormond Street Institute of Child Health, said parents must be aware of the risks of vegan diets.

The authors said vegan children should be given vitamin B12 and vitamin D supplements to reduce potentially long-term health consequences of being raised on plants only.

Or, I dunno, just eat a damn burger?  Eat the chicken?  Have the bacon?

I swear, the more I see of society, the more I'm certain that we're backsliding out of civilization.

Stealing a riff from Ace of Spades' place

If there's an upright bass in the band, the music has to be good.

I gotta find me some of this guy's stuff.

I've posted this before

 It bears re-posting.  The speech that Gen George Patton gave to the 3rd Army before D-Day.  Just try to think of any of the political shitheads in the Pentagon giving this speech today.  

Be seated.

Men, all this stuff you hear about America not wanting to fight, wanting to stay out of the war, is a lot of bullshit. Americans love to fight. All real Americans love the sting and clash of battle. When you were kids, you all admired the champion marble shooter, the fastest runner, the big-league ball players and the toughest boxers. Americans love a winner and will not tolerate a loser. Americans play to win all the time. That's why Americans have never lost and will never lose a war. The very thought of losing is hateful to Americans. Battle is the most significant competition in which a man can indulge. It brings out all that is best and it removes all that is base.

You are not all going to die. Only two percent of you right here today would be killed in a major battle. Every man is scared in his first action. If he says he's not, he's a goddamn liar. But the real hero is the man who fights even though he's scared. Some men will get over their fright in a minute under fire, some take an hour, and for some it takes days. But the real man never lets his fear of death overpower his honor, his sense of duty to his country, and his innate manhood.

All through your army career you men have bitched about what you call 'this chicken-shit drilling.' That is all for a purpose—to ensure instant obedience to orders and to create constant alertness. This must be bred into every soldier. I don't give a fuck for a man who is not always on his toes. But the drilling has made veterans of all you men. You are ready! A man has to be alert all the time if he expects to keep on breathing. If not, some German son-of-a-bitch will sneak up behind him and beat him to death with a sock full of shit. There are four hundred neatly marked graves in Sicily, all because one man went to sleep on the job—but they are German graves, because we caught the bastard asleep before his officer did.

An army is a team. It lives, eats, sleeps, and fights as a team. This individual hero stuff is bullshit. The bilious bastards who write that stuff for the Saturday Evening Post don't know any more about real battle than they do about fucking. And we have the best team—we have the finest food and equipment, the best spirit and the best men in the world. Why, by God, I actually pity these poor bastards we're going up against.

All the real heroes are not storybook combat fighters. Every single man in the army plays a vital role. So don't ever let up. Don't ever think that your job is unimportant. What if every truck driver decided that he didn't like the whine of the shells and turned yellow and jumped headlong into a ditch? That cowardly bastard could say to himself, 'Hell, they won't miss me, just one man in thousands.' What if every man said that? Where in the hell would we be then? No, thank God, Americans don't say that. Every man does his job. Every man is important. The ordnance men are needed to supply the guns, the quartermaster is needed to bring up the food and clothes for us because where we are going there isn't a hell of a lot to steal. Every last damn man in the mess hall, even the one who boils the water to keep us from getting the GI shits, has a job to do.

Each man must think not only of himself, but think of his buddy fighting alongside him. We don't want yellow cowards in the army. They should be killed off like flies. If not, they will go back home after the war, goddamn cowards, and breed more cowards. The brave men will breed more brave men. Kill off the goddamn cowards and we'll have a nation of brave men.

One of the bravest men I saw in the African campaign was on a telegraph pole in the midst of furious fire while we were moving toward Tunis. I stopped and asked him what the hell he was doing up there. He answered, 'Fixing the wire, sir.' 'Isn't it a little unhealthy up there right now?' I asked. 'Yes sir, but this goddamn wire has got to be fixed.' I asked, 'Don't those planes strafing the road bother you?' And he answered, 'No sir, but you sure as hell do.' Now, there was a real soldier. A real man. A man who devoted all he had to his duty, no matter how great the odds, no matter how seemingly insignificant his duty appeared at the time.

And you should have seen the trucks on the road to Gabès. Those drivers were magnificent. All day and all night they crawled along those son-of-a-bitch roads, never stopping, never deviating from their course with shells bursting all around them. Many of the men drove over 40 consecutive hours. We got through on good old American guts. These were not combat men. But they were soldiers with a job to do. They were part of a team. Without them the fight would have been lost.

Sure, we all want to go home. We want to get this war over with. But you can't win a war lying down. The quickest way to get it over with is to get the bastards who started it. We want to get the hell over there and clean the goddamn thing up, and then get at those purple-pissing Japs. The quicker they are whipped, the quicker we go home. The shortest way home is through Berlin and Tokyo. So keep moving. And when we get to Berlin, I am personally going to shoot that paper-hanging son-of-a-bitch Hitler.

When a man is lying in a shell hole, if he just stays there all day, a Boche will get him eventually. The hell with that. My men don't dig foxholes. Foxholes only slow up an offensive. Keep moving. We'll win this war, but we'll win it only by fighting and showing the Germans that we've got more guts than they have or ever will have. We're not just going to shoot the bastards, we're going to rip out their living goddamned guts and use them to grease the treads of our tanks. We're going to murder those lousy Hun cocksuckers by the bushel-fucking-basket.

Some of you men are wondering whether or not you'll chicken out under fire. Don't worry about it. I can assure you that you'll all do your duty. War is a bloody business, a killing business. The Nazis are the enemy. Wade into them, spill their blood or they will spill yours. Shoot them in the guts. Rip open their belly. When shells are hitting all around you and you wipe the dirt from your face and you realize that it's not dirt, it's the blood and gut of what was once your best friend, you'll know what to do.

I don't want any messages saying 'I'm holding my position.' We're not holding a goddamned thing. We're advancing constantly and we're not interested in holding anything except the enemy's balls. We're going to hold him by his balls and we're going to kick him in the ass; twist his balls and kick the living shit out of him all the time. Our plan of operation is to advance and keep on advancing. We're going to go through the enemy like shit through a tinhorn.

There will be some complaints that we're pushing our people too hard. I don't give a damn about such complaints. I believe that an ounce of sweat will save a gallon of blood. The harder we push, the more Germans we kill. The more Germans we kill, the fewer of our men will be killed. Pushing harder means fewer casualties. I want you all to remember that. My men don't surrender. I don't want to hear of any soldier under my command being captured unless he is hit. Even if you are hit, you can still fight. That's not just bullshit either. I want men like the lieutenant in Libya who, with a Luger against his chest, swept aside the gun with his hand, jerked his helmet off with the other and busted the hell out of the Boche with the helmet. Then he picked up the gun and he killed another German. All this time the man had a bullet through his lung. That's a man for you!

Don't forget, you don't know I'm here at all. No word of that fact is to be mentioned in any letters. The world is not supposed to know what the hell they did with me. I'm not supposed to be commanding this army. I'm not even supposed to be in England. Let the first bastards to find out be the goddamned Germans. Some day, I want them to rise up on their piss-soaked hind legs and howl 'Ach! It's the goddamned Third Army and that son-of-a-bitch Patton again!'

Then there's one thing you men will be able to say when this war is over and you get back home. Thirty years from now when you're sitting by your fireside with your grandson on your knee and he asks, 'What did you do in the great World War Two?' You won't have to cough and say, 'Well, your granddaddy shoveled shit in Louisiana.' No sir, you can look him straight in the eye and say 'Son, your granddaddy rode with the great Third Army and a son-of-a-goddamned-bitch named George Patton!'

All right, you sons of bitches. You know how I feel. I'll be proud to lead you wonderful guys in battle anytime, anywhere. That's all.

D-Day

I will remember.