I have wished for several years that someone would come forward with a Eulalie-like word for Trump, but sadly, every time I see him stick his chin out, I've had to make do with remembering Bertie's scoffing at Spode and his followers "disfiguring" London with their "perfectly foul" "footer bags."
I'm not a fan of Breitbart. But I do recognize the imperative of selectivity in immigration admissions. It is sheer madness, indeed national suicide, to admit anyone who wants in, without the slightest degree of vetting.
"Racism" -- something whites are guilty of when they notice things they are not supposed to notice. By the way, what is this thing about "cupcakes?" Do you bake any?
These whinging twerps and their desperate need to see themselves as strong men of destiny make me laugh... and remind me of the stinging statement Bertie Wooster aimed at Roderick Spode:
“The trouble with you, Spode, is that just because you have succeeded in inducing a handful of half-wits to disfigure the London scene by going about in black shorts, you think you’re someone. You hear them shouting ‘Heil, Spode!’ and you imagine it is the Voice of the People. That is where you make your bloomer. What the Voice of the People is saying is: ‘Look at that frightful ass Spode swanking about in footer bags! Did you ever in your puff see such a perfect perisher?’”
I suspect Mr. "Seek" is a charter member of the Chairborne Rangers, and is hoping to get a little thrill from afar from other people's violent actions as he transfers Cheetos from the bag to his face and imagines himself to be in a remake of Red Dawn.
He imagines himself as a Navy Seal, when the hardest battle he ever fought was a flame war with some other fellow Fascist, in which they accused each other of being FBI plants in homophobic/homo-erotic terms.
The most difficult thing in his life is yelling up from the basement to get Mommy to bring him fried foods and soda...second is coping with the results of eating all that lousy food...
You have him exactly...if he had to fight someone armed with a .22, he'd probably lose all the Cheetos in two seconds, grovel on the ground, and beg for mercy.
Which is ironic, given that P.G. Wodehouse, who started the war in German hands, made pro-Nazi broadcasts from the Reich.
But you're right about the quote...in Raphael Ezekiel's "The Racist Mind," (get it, it's fascinating) the neo-Nazi group he studies holds rallies and protests, and the big part is not the rally or the protest, but the post-game discussion, where they talk amongst themselves about how tough and brave they were.
Then they realize they didn't accomplish much...no new adherents...nobody offering them checks or AR-15s...no press coverage...most people passing by laughing at them... one guy even mooning them.
"Well," says the leader, "At least some people smiled at us or honked their horns."
Absolutely.
I have wished for several years that someone would come forward with a Eulalie-like word for Trump, but sadly, every time I see him stick his chin out, I've had to make do with remembering Bertie's scoffing at Spode and his followers "disfiguring" London with their "perfectly foul" "footer bags."
Why do you love white dicks?
BTW, I block you newb.
I'm not a fan of Breitbart. But I do recognize the imperative of selectivity in immigration admissions. It is sheer madness, indeed national suicide, to admit anyone who wants in, without the slightest degree of vetting.
Like I said, ideas aren't your specialty.
"Racism" -- something whites are guilty of when they notice things they are not supposed to notice. By the way, what is this thing about "cupcakes?" Do you bake any?
The Finns are a fine people. I once dated a woman from Helsinki back in the 80s. They've also got a fine alternative rock scene.
So called "supremicists" don't want to rule supreme over anyone. Believe it or not, we just want to be left alone.
Excellent research... thank you!
These whinging twerps and their desperate need to see themselves as strong men of destiny make me laugh... and remind me of the stinging statement Bertie Wooster aimed at Roderick Spode:
“The trouble with you, Spode, is that just because you have succeeded in inducing a handful of half-wits to disfigure the London scene by going about in black shorts, you think you’re someone. You hear them shouting ‘Heil, Spode!’ and you imagine it is the Voice of the People. That is where you make your bloomer. What the Voice of the People is saying is: ‘Look at that frightful ass Spode swanking about in footer bags! Did you ever in your puff see such a perfect perisher?’”
I suspect Mr. "Seek" is a charter member of the Chairborne Rangers, and is hoping to get a little thrill from afar from other people's violent actions as he transfers Cheetos from the bag to his face and imagines himself to be in a remake of Red Dawn.
Poor, stupid little wingnut.
He imagines himself as a Navy Seal, when the hardest battle he ever fought was a flame war with some other fellow Fascist, in which they accused each other of being FBI plants in homophobic/homo-erotic terms.
The most difficult thing in his life is yelling up from the basement to get Mommy to bring him fried foods and soda...second is coping with the results of eating all that lousy food...
You have him exactly...if he had to fight someone armed with a .22, he'd probably lose all the Cheetos in two seconds, grovel on the ground, and beg for mercy.
Which is ironic, given that P.G. Wodehouse, who started the war in German hands, made pro-Nazi broadcasts from the Reich.
But you're right about the quote...in Raphael Ezekiel's "The Racist Mind," (get it, it's fascinating) the neo-Nazi group he studies holds rallies and protests, and the big part is not the rally or the protest, but the post-game discussion, where they talk amongst themselves about how tough and brave they were.
Then they realize they didn't accomplish much...no new adherents...nobody offering them checks or AR-15s...no press coverage...most people passing by laughing at them... one guy even mooning them.
"Well," says the leader, "At least some people smiled at us or honked their horns."
They send us Stuart Varney.
Or, how to prop up the fragile ego.
Ja, eine scheisskopf, fur schur.