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Tuesday, December 5, 2017

Top Ten Reasons to shop local for the holidays

10. Your only threat of being trampled is by the store owner's hound dog who may be a bit over-exuberant in greeting you.

9. Mrs. Baldwin might share her family secret recipe for that fruit cake of hers you've loved since you were a kid.

8. Mr. Baldwin might share his family secret recipe for homemade rum that goes in that fruit cake.

7. Catch up on all the news going on around town.

6. Discover that you are actually living an exciting life that's more fun-filled than Bond, James Bond's life, at least according to your neighbors and friends.

5. Don't know what to get for that person who has everything? Bet that shop around the corner has something that hard-to-shop-for person doesn't have and the national chains have never heard of it.

4. Which would you rather hear when you stop to grab a bite to eat: "You want fries with that?" or "Hey, honey, how have you been? I've heard you've been leading an exciting life lately. How are your kids?"

3. Find fresh preserves, jams, and relishes packed in real Mason Jars and send them off to your kids in the military or college. They'll think you slaved for hours in the kitchen making the special taste of home because you love them so much.

2. Sardines blindly follow each other and get packed tightly in a can. Striped bass blaze their own trail and never get packed in a can. Which do you want to be, a sardine or a striped bass?

And the number one reason to shop at your locally owned and operated businesses this holiday season:

1. Give a gift to your community. For every $100 you spend at a locally owned and operated business, $68 remains in your community to support your friends and neighbors, sponsor a field trip for your local school club, provide after-school or summer activities through your local civic organizations, or upgrade a playground at your community park. The same $100 spent at a national chain leaves $13 in your community to achieve the same things.


 



Posted by Five Drunk Rednecks

Saturday, November 25, 2017

The demon lurking in your e-cig

There's no denying it. Smoking isn't dangerous to your health. Dangerous implies that if one is extremely careful, one won't be harmed. There is no such thing as "careful smoking" therefore, smoking is deadly. It will kill you. Some will die quicker than others. Those who don't suffer a quick death will suffer painfully for years before finally dying.   But smoking always kills in the end.

Sleek...stylish...and a demon heaven
Ok, now that I got the obligatory scare paragraph in place as required by law to get you to stop smoking -did it work? - let's get on with the evil e-cigs and the demon within I encountered.

For those of you who are only vaguely familiar with e-cigs, yes, they look like an electronic version of a cigarette, but are far less dangerous than a cigarette. I know. I make that statement and the first thing you want is proof. Guess what? I offer none. I've seen too many people switch to e-cigs and then quit smoking altogether within a year to believe that e-cigs are somehow dangerous.

And you're reading someone who tried to quit smoking and failed. While chewing nicotine gum and wearing the patch, I still lit up. When my doctor pointed out with a stern warning that I should either smoke or try one quit smoking program at a time, but not do all of them together, I ditched the gum and trashed the patch. I wasn't addicted to the nicotine. I was addicted to the act of smoking.

I switched to the e-cig because I knew I had to quit and despite everything else failing - including extortionist taxes on tobacco products - I thought,  "Well, heck, why not try it?"

I took the plunge and spent the equivalent of a carton of cigarettes on a good vaporizer. Shelling out fifty bucks for the vaporizer plus a tube of e-juice and a pack of replacement coils was the best investment I ever made.

I smoked my pack of cigarettes while getting adjusted to the e-cig.  A funny thing happened, though.  My pack of cigarettes lasted a week instead of a day.  The e-cig did something the patch and nicotine gum couldn't do.  I didn't smoke the real cigarette nearly as much while trying to quit as I did when I tried the other quit smoking gimmicks.  When I smoked my last cigarette in the pack a week later, I never bought another pack.

A year later, I had reduced the nicotine levels in the e-liquid to zero and my puffing to at most one puff a day...two if people were getting on my nerves.  I'd go many days without puffing at all, but then the two-day weekend would end and I'd be back to work dealing with people and puffing once or twice a day.

Food tasted good again, my breathing improved, and my blood pressure returned to a solid normal reading.  The e-cig was a blessing and my tool to healthier living...until the demon hiding within reared its maleficent head.

It was one of the first days of spring when the temperatures rise into the sixties.  Those are special days.  The sun's warmth wakes the plants and animals out of their winter sleep.  For people, it stirs a funny kind of giddiness combined with an unexplained restlessness inside.  The feeling drives many of us to play hooky.  We even justify our truancy from work or school by thinking spring fever must be a legitimate illness because it has a fever in the description.  A day or two of rest with a twelve-pack by one's side and a fishing pole on the other side is one of many possible cures, although arguably not the best nor most fun.

No, I take that back.  A twelve-pack and fishing lasts a lot longer than the other fun.

But side tracked, again.  The thought of beer and fishing tends to do that to me.

I didn't play hooky on this particularly fine spring day so I was out running my route.  After completing one of my stops, I hopped in the van and started down the long country road to my next stop.  Ten minutes down the road, I took my daily puff from my e-cig.  I no sooner put the tip between my lips and I felt a buzzing, tingling feeling as if the battery had shorted or something.

Instinctively I pulled it away and held it vertically in front of me.  In that split second, the head of a bee emerged from the mouthpiece.  He hoisted himself up in a precarious balancing act, back arched like I've seen in so many documentaries about demons.  Usually the demon comes as a fly, but they have been known to appear as cockroaches, spiders, beetles, and, yes, bees.  Whatever insect they come as, they always crawl out of a crevice, a bottle, a book, or even a nose.  Whatever venue the demon decides to crawl out of, it's always a small, unexpected place with an even smaller opening to squeeze his body through.

The bee got his body half way out of my e-cig and stared at me as if deciding which opening in my body he would enter to posses me - mouth, nose, ear, or corner of my eye.  Fortunately for him, I try to be environmentally conscious and thought, "What if this isn't a demon, but just a real bee?"

Bees are having a rough go of it.  Between homeowners drenching their property with herbicides, fungicides, and insecticides and demons taking control of them for nefarious reasons, it doesn't take a rocket scientist to understand why our bees are disappearing.  People are spraying too many chemicals.

It's bad enough what the homeowner is doing to our bees and since I couldn't be sure if it was a demon sitting on the end of my e-cig or a real bee, I decided to err on the side of caution and let the fella go.  I slowed my van down to a reasonable speed of about fifty and stuck the e-cig out the window.  The wind set the bee, demon, or whatever it was free.

Or so I thought.

My 2013 model Jack Russell Mix Demon
Detector watching the demon intently
As I sped my van up to a more reasonable speed of...let's just say a speed the government wouldn't approve of...the sensors on my demon detector were in red alert status.  Her visual and audio sensors focused on my lunch bag sitting between our seats.

I glanced down at my lunch bag, but saw nothing.  Driving down a country road, I couldn't exactly stare and look for the demon, but I stole a few glances hoping to see what my demon detector detected.

Now the smart thing for me to do would have been to pull over, find the bee, and shoo it on out of the van.  I was sober, though, so I wasn't exactly thinking in logical, clear terms.  Instead of doing what a logical person would have done, I continued to drive and stole glances downward hoping to spot the demon.

When I saw it peek its head over the rim of my lunch bag, the smart thing to do would have been to pull over and shoo it out of the van.  Being sober and not thinking clearly, I continued driving while keeping an eye on it and the road at the same time - not an easy nor safe task, I'll admit.   My demon detector never took her eyes off the demon.  I knew I was safe from it as long as she kept looking down.

But this is how I know the bee was a demon and not just a bee.  Despite my demon detector constantly looking down watching its every move, I felt it crawl up my leg.  Then it landed on the back of my neck.  Then I felt it in my ear.  Each time, I'd look down and it was on my lunch bag and not on me.  It was playing a favorite trick of demons.  It projected creepy crawly thoughts into my mind.

Suddenly, my demon detector's head swung up to the right.  The demon had sprung from the top of my lunch bag and flew to the radio.  It quickly crawled up the face plate to the top of the dash where it scurried around.  It paused briefly to stare me down then hurried towards the windshield where it could see freedom on the other side.  When it realized it couldn't get through the glass, it crawled down to the bottom looking for the seam.  Apparently demons can't penetrate glass, but they can squeeze through a seam because once it disappeared in that gap where the windshield goes below the dashboard, the demon disappeared.

My demon detector scanning me for demon
possession before lying her head down for a nap
My demon detector took her eyes off the windshield, laid her head down, and took a nap.  The twenty minute ordeal of a demon loose in the van drained her.  At least with her resting, I knew the demon was gone.  Without my demon detector, it could've easily snuck into my ear or something, but it knew there were too many eyes watching it.  Demons can possess only when no one is watching and they absolutely fear the eyes of a demon detector.

After that close call of being possessed by a demon, I put my e-cig down and haven't puffed on it since.  It still rides with me.  I reckon it's my security blanket now.  I don't have a desire to puff on it, but I feel comfortable with it there.

No bee, nor demon, has tried to get into my e-cig since that battle last spring.  To a bee, the e-liquid is sweet nectar collecting at the end of a long, tubular flower.  To a demon, it's a long tubular flower that makes for an easy access to possessing an unsuspecting victim.  Either way, when the weather is warm, check your mouthpiece before puffing.  You don't want to be surprised by what might have crawled inside.

If you've been putting off getting a demon detector, visit your local shelter or pet rescue and get one.  It doesn't matter which model you pick, but you'll know you got the right one by the way it looks at you and reacts.

I watched one of those old black and white documentaries hosted by the famous documentary maker, Rod Serling.  He followed a hunter and his demon detector, probably a '58 or '59 retriever or maybe coon hound.  The old grainy, black and white footage made it hard to tell the exact model, but the important part was the hunter's demon detector always strode by his side, protecting him.  Even in the afterlife, the demon detector steered him away from the path to Hell and put him on the road to heaven, faithfully by his side.

Your demon detector is waiting at a shelter near you.  Don't leave home without one.  Even if you never battle a potential demon loose in your vehicle, your demon detector will be there to get you on the right path to heaven.


TL;DR folks:
The e-liquid in an e-cig is sweet and irresistible to a bee.  Check your tube before puffing. 


The bee (or demon) making its escape:


Posted by Five Drunk Rednecks





Wednesday, November 22, 2017

Scampiro at Daily Ire: Native Americans stealing our honorable holiday of Thanksgiving from us

You know the drill. Since grade school, we're taught the Pilgrims landed at Plymouth Rock in the fall of 1620 after a more than two month journey across the open Atlantic.  More than half of the Pilgrims died making the trip and during the harsh, New England winter that greeted them.

When planting season rolled around, the Indians taught the Pilgrims how to plant corn, where to fish, how to hunt beaver, and how to plant squash on mounds with a buried fish head underneath.  The way we were taught in school, the Pilgrims were weak and vulnerable, but fortunately the Indians rescued them by teaching them how to grow and hunt their food.  Pilgrims never hunted nor grew anything in their lives and the remaining Pilgrims who survived the winter probably wouldn't have survived until harvest time if it weren't for the Indians' help.

Artist's rendition of the first Thanksgiving
because there were no cameras back then.
Thanks to the Indians, the Pilgrims grew a bountiful harvest and they threw a big feast to celebrate, a big feast we call our first Thanksgiving to celebrate surviving one full year.  They invited the Indians to the feast to show their appreciation for their graciousness and making the bountiful harvest possible.

Brace yourselves for the real story.  The Pilgrims were far from weak and vulnerable.

The left wants us to believe the early settlers needed the Indians' help teaching them how to hunt and grow food else they'd have perished from starvation and disease.  The left neglects to tell us the Pilgrims arrived at Plymouth Rock as the harsh New England winter began settling in.  The left neglects to tell us the Pilgrims lived on the Mayflower through the harsh winter as the men trudged ashore daily, braving the subzero temperatures and wind driven snows to build the town they would eventually settle and to hunt the food they needed to survive.  The left neglects to tell us the Indians left the Pilgrims to their own devices through the harsh winter probably figuring the winter would kill them with or without their help.

Sure, when spring came and it became apparent to the Indians the Pilgrims weren't going anywhere, they made their good neighbor gestures and showed them pointers on how to grow the unfamiliar crops and hunt the unfamiliar animals.  In return, the Pilgrims brought them math, science, God, and the wheel.  Think about it.  The Indians didn't even have the wheel before the Pilgrims came.

Today, in return for all we brought to the Indians from the Old World, we are thanked on Thanksgiving with a National Day of Mourning.  Indians would rather wallow in sorrow and resentment than embrace a holiday their ancestors graciously embraced with the Pilgrims almost four hundred years ago.  For them, Thanksgiving is a day to steal from the White man.  But we're gracious and let them have their day of self pity.  We don't try to steal their day from them.  We simply eat their share of the turkey dinner since they want to cry between puffs on their peace pipes.


Posted by


Bennie Scampiro: The sly one who's smarter than the average chicken.

Friday, November 10, 2017

There are no active shooters

Because of scheduling changes with my job, I haven't had the opportunity to listen to The Susan Monday Show for many months.  That changed yesterday.

One gets a warm, fuzzy feeling returning to a radio program that was once a daily listening ritual, but hasn't been listened to in months.  It's like coming home after months of absence.  Familiar sounds.  Familiar routines.  Everything is right in the world again.

Susan Monday still puts on good, and I'm sure award winning, shows.  She certainly isn't a cookie cutout, one-party cheerleader like so many other talking heads up and down the radio dial.  The drumbeat she marches to is a symphony of her own orchestration.  It's her independent uniqueness that makes her shows entertaining, informative, and...well...must hear radio.

Now that I buttered up the Honorary Drunk Redneck and former English teacher, I have to call her out for the last segment of her show yesterday.  SuMo, as her fans call her, talked about a company offering bullet proof inserts for kids' backpacks.  If an "active shooter" enters the school, all the kids need to do is use his/her bulletproof backpack as a shield.

Bulletproof backpacks make an ideal
Christmas gift for the child who has
everything

There it was, the phrase that slaps me in the face like a Nerf microphone - "active shooter."  Using it once wasn't enough for SuMo.  She threw the phrase in a couple of times.

Either one is a shooter or not.  Adding the adjective, active, is redunant.  Sort of like saying you are the spokesperson speaking for the Department of Redundancy Department.

Did you catch the double redundancy in that last sentence?

Now I could be wrong.  Susan Monday is a former English teacher so I'm sure she'll be quick to metaphorically rap me on the knuckles with her sharp wit to set me straight, but for the life of me I can't figure out what an active shooter is.  If one exists, then what is an inactive shooter?  All the students in the school who don't have a gun?

Perhaps an inactive shooter?
I think the phrase originally arose out of a writer's need to sound more intelligent and important than he/she really is.  Probably one of those writers on one of those CSI shows wrote "active shooter" in the script.  The actor robotically repeated the line without question.  The director yelled, "Cut!  Good job."  The editing room left it in because they weren't paying attention to how the dialog sounded grammatically.  The episode aired nationwide and a handful of reporters picked up on the phrase because it sounded so official and professional.  They repeated it over and over because Lord knows we've had ample scenarios to use the phrase and "active shooter" is now part of our accepted lexicon.

That's my guess how the phrase came to be because that's a lot shorter than explaining the failure of our school system and how that led to us adding a lot of unnecessary words in our speech, much like most of the words I add in my articles.

I say we call everyone out for using "active shooter" in their speech.  This is America, dang it, and we speak English here, not bureaucratic redundancy.  We just ain't got no need for that phrase, active shooter!

TL;DR folks:
Susan Monday said "active shooter."  Want to know why?  Catch her show weekdays on Delaware 105.9 and simulcast on WDEL 101.7 - FM radio or streaming live.



For your listening pleasure:


Posted by Five Drunk Rednecks

Sunday, November 5, 2017

Mental illness comes in many shapes

Bowe Bergdahl was an American soldier who deserted his unit in 2009.  He WAS a soldier because last week, a military judge demoted him to private and gave him a dishonorable discharge.

The sentencing lit up the Internet with resounding condemnation.  Everyone from amateur bloggers to our so-called president angrily roared over their disapproval of the sentencing.  "If the firing squad was out of the question, he should've at least been thrown in jail for the rest of his life," they all yelled and demanded.

If I hadn't read this opinion piece in Time magazine penned by a British military man (Andy Owen, captain in the Intelligence Corps of the British Army) a week before the ruling, I'd probably would've joined in the shock, disbelief, and outrage.  Captain Owen, however, forced me to look at what happened from another angle.

Captain Owen claims Bergdahl deserves our empathy.  Notice he didn't say Bergdahl deserves our understanding, acceptance, forgiveness, or any sort of action that would gloss over or lessen Bergdahl's betrayal of trust with his fellow soldiers.  His betrayal of trust has forever changed the lives of the soldiers injured while looking for him.  They won't forget and neither should we.

No, we cannot forget the three soldiers severely injured while looking for Bergdahl.  If you, the reader, are only vaguely familiar with the three soldiers, please take the time to read the link.  Get to know them.  They are representative of the sacrifices our soldiers make every day, every year, and have made since the founding of this country. 

Their lives are forever changed and anything Bergdahl experienced before and during his capture pales to what these men will have to endure for the rest of their lives.  It's very easy to empathize with these soldiers severely injured because of the actions of their fellow soldier, but if we stop there, we haven't told the whole story.  And we might be putting harsh blame on the wrong person, which means this scenario could happen again.  That's why, as hard as it may be, we must empathize with Bergdahl so no other soldier will be needlessly dispatched on a search and rescue mission for a deserter.

Someone hurting needs help, not judgement
Now we have to have a serious talk.  A difficult talk.  A talk that will make us look closely at our long held beliefs and challenge them.  A talk that may make us realize we really don't know as much as we like to think we know or maybe make us realize we're really just hypocrites in our thoughts.

When soldiers come home suffering with PTSD, we reach out
to support them.  When soldiers come home and kill themselves, our hearts break at the mental anguish and hurt they must've been silently suffering, anguish and hurt they brought home from the battlefield.  When soldiers kill themselves on the battlefield, we demand something be done to help our vets.  When a soldier walks off base in the middle of a battlefield surrounded by the terrorists he's fighting, we call him a coward and traitor and demand he be hung.

A rational soldier doesn't leave his post dead smack in the middle of hostile territory to go complain about a problem at his post to a commander at another post, an obviously trivial problem since we don't even know what it was Bergdahl wanted to complain about.  I dare say it's doubtful he even remembers what it was he wanted to complain about when he left his post.

But some background is in order.
Bergdahl didn't make it through the Coast Guard boot camp and was diagnosed with schizotypal personality disorder, a disorder related to schizophrenia.  It is unclear why the Coast Guard, upon discharging Bergdahl, didn't code his discharge as psychological and, instead, coded it as "uncharacterized discharge."  The Army, however, had recruitment numbers to meet and enlisted him despite his "uncharacterized discharge."  (Had the Coast Guard annotated the discharge correctly as "psychological", the Army would've had to conduct a psychological evaluation before enlisting him and could've quite possibly turned him down.)
On top of the schizophrenia-like diagnosis, he was later diagnosed with PTSDHe developed PTSD from an abusive childhood home life.  The condition was further exacerbated by his five year ordeal as a prisoner of the Taliban.

Mental illness comes in many shapes, sizes, and colors.  The colors aren't always depressing black, either.  In Bergdahl's case, his mental illness was an ongoing commentary in his mind and a preoccupation with a fantasy world.  This was before he joined the Army.  I can't even imagine what demons must be messing around in his mind now.

Thanks to Captain Owen over there in Britain, I did take the time to look at Bergdahl's case from a different angle - from Bergdahl's angle.  That's what empathize means. 

I didn't like what I saw.

Inter-branch errors and a push to meet recruitment numbers allowed a mentally ill person to enlist, a move that put thousands of military lives in danger.  Six weeks of Army boot camp should have weeded out a mentally ill person like Bergdahl before he left boot camp.  The Army failed to send him home.

When all else fails and a soldier does something stupid, commanders shouldn't be putting together  hastily planned courses of action that leave our troops under-equipped and vulnerable.  When things on the battlefield go wrong, we should be looking up the chain of command to learn what they did wrong, not looking down at the mentally ill person who caused the chain of events to rescue him as being the source of blame.

For the rest of us, stop being hypocrites.  We get all gushy over suicide rates in the military and we break out our wallets to help veterans with PTSD.  We view the mentally ill veteran suffering quietly with PTSD or the veteran who killed him or herself with honor and sympathy.  We view the mentally ill veteran who walks away from his or her post as a coward worthy only of the firing line.

Tell me.  How is the veteran who walks away from his post in the middle of a combat zone any more of a coward than the mentally ill veteran who hangs him or herself in the barracks?  How about the veteran who breaks down and is shipped home and given an honorable discharge?

Bergdahl and the reactions to him only underscores how little we understand, and perhaps care, about our mentally ill veterans.  Our reactions should also be a lesson about how we, including our government, view our veterans with PTSD or other mental illness problems associated with their service.  As long as a veteran doesn't hurt others, either directly or indirectly as Bergdahl did, we'll all throw a few dollars at their problems and use them for political purposes or ad revenue gain on our blogs.

Real mental healthcare education and reform needs to take place today.  As a veteran, I find it extremely difficult to defend Bergdahl in any manner because my emotions and sense of patriotic duty get in the way.  But I have to defend him.  Too many veterans are suffering and dying because it's too easy to get caught up in the testosterone driven, macho hype that pop culture delivers to us.  The real world has men and women who are hurting signing up and it has real men and women hurting because they signed up. They need our help.

Stop the rhetoric and scapegoating.   Sgt Mark Allen, Navy Seal James Hatch, and Cpl. Jonathan Morita deserve better.  If you don't know who these three veterans are, you are part of the problem.  Go back to the beginning of this article and learn who they are.


If you are a veteran, a family member of a veteran, or a friend of a veteran:
There are plenty of good resources out there to help you.  I usually don't go out of my way to recommend a website, but this one I will: Headspace and Timing: Veteran Mental Health from a Combat Veteran Perspective.  Even if you don't use the site this time, you'll find a link in the right hand column near the bottom under "Other blogs worth taking a gander."


TL;DR Folks:
Bergdahl wasn't a coward.  You'll have to read the above to understand why.


For your listening education:



Posted by Five Drunk Rednecks

Saturday, October 21, 2017

Señor Nieto, build that wall!

Top secret plans for the Border Wall
Despite what the fake news like CNN and NBC say, we are building that wall and Mexico will pay for it.  Mark my words.

Right now, as we speak, top engineers on my staff are working on a prototype.  You can't just build a wall today!  Democrats have obstructed and handicapped our once vibrant construction economy with burdensome regulations.  Safety concerns.  Environmental concerns.  OSHA regulations.  Labor laws.  To comply you have to build a prototype first.  Ridiculous!

I'm working on untangling the regulatory mess, but in the meantime, I have my top people building the prerequisite prototype.   It's coming along beautifully.  It'll be the most colorful wall ever built.  Pleasing to the eye while keeping Americans safe.

At first, I was going to mandate that only American made blocks and concrete be used in the construction of the wall.  Ever since our wonderful law enforcement people destroyed the Mafia (a big thank you!), there hasn't been much of a demand for American made concrete.  The wall would be a great way to revitalize the concrete economy and and bring more jobs to Americans.

That plan looked good until you look at the value of the peso.  The Mexicans would never be able to afford American concrete.  Why do you think they come to this country?  We got money.  They don't.  Having Mexico pay for the wall with pesos is a bad deal for America!

TOP SECRET My top engineers hard at work
building the prototype.  Faces blurred for security.
Photo Credit
Mexico will still pay, though...mark my words.  My top planners and engineers have come up with an ingenious way to build the wall and make Mexico pay for it.  We're going to make the wall out of Legos®. 

What genious!  But wait.  It gets better.

We're going to order all the Legos® directly from the production plant in Mexico.  And when they ship the entire order here, we simply won't pay the bill! 

Mexico will have at least paid for the building materials...good for America!  And Legos® will learn they should be producing their products right here in America instead of chancing their fortunes in unstable, third world countries.  Shame on  Legos® for not supporting America!  They get what they deserve!

Support my Legos® Wall and let's Make America Great Again!



Posted by


Donnie Grumplin: So-called president of the conservative world whose tiny little hooves are a tumultuous terror when they hit the keyboard.

Thursday, October 19, 2017

Please don't be so flabbergasted by Harvey Weinstein if you celebrated Hugh Hefner


It's been a bad month for decrepit old perverts and fat old perverts.  First, the infamous Hugh Hefner, pimp extraordinaire died.  A month later, a famous Hollywood producer, Harvey Weinstein, killed his career by pimping out young Hollywood starlets.

Welcome to the culture we have created and wallow in. 

We have the feminazis to blame for our messed up culture.  They put the silly notion in women's heads to be somebody.  Women needed to leave their kitchens, drop the kids off at daycare, and be successful just like any man.

What the feminazis didn't tell women is they aren't like men and there are plenty of old and decrepit perverts waiting to take advantage of them.  As young women with stars in their eyes, they didn't know what a casting couch was nor did they understand that being a pin up girl meant a dead end career in the porn industry.

Thanks to the feminazis sending their daughters out into the world unprepared, it was inevitable old perverts would swoop down on them like a hawk swooping in on a bunny.  These aging baby boomers were raised on sex, drugs and rock and roll so all these young women looking to be a star were easy targets for the plucking.  For Hefner, the Summer of Love never ended.  For Weinstein, he missed the Summer of Love by a couple of years so he decided to make every year his summer of love.

Too many young boys and young men around the Hippie era of the late '60's to early '70s had no real male role models to teach them what it meant to be a man.  Uncles and Dads were passing joints around.  Aunts and Moms wore flowers in their hair and pretended they were equal to men.  Their sons grew up thinking men are supposed to have sex with beautiful young women instead of their wives.  Now, this isn't excusing Hefner nor Weinstein and their perverted lifestyles.  It only explains how we ended up with a bunch of old men perverts preying in Hollywood.

The feminazis have created a culture of confusing signals.  We're supposed to treat them as equals, but be understanding and accommodating towards them once a month or when they are pregnant.    We're supposed to treat them like one of the guys, but are reprimanded or even fired if we slap them on the ass in a team spirit high five.  They chastise us for browsing porn we call the swimsuit edition of Sports Illustrated and then turn around and ask us why we can't be more like the men in their dime store porn they call romance novels.  They cheer movies like Fifty Shades of Gray calling it sexy and titillating, but when we tie a willing girl up at a hormone driven drunken orgy called a college party, we're arrested and thrown in jail like some kind of criminal pervert. She says "yes", but we're supposed to know she meant "no".

They praise the decrepit robed one, but condemn the fat ugly one.  With such contradictory messages, how is anyone supposed to know what consent means?  The decrepit robed one showers young women with lavish gifts and free room and board in a mansion.  He's a hero.  The fat ugly one shows young women the cold vinyl casting couch, and he's a nasty pervert.  Maybe the fat ugly one should've showered them with lavish gifts and couched them in a five star hotel - on real leather.

No, Weinstein and Hefner are despicable perverts no matter how crazy the world is with their mixed signals.  The scary part is neither are unique in their monstrosities.  In today's world, neither are scary or unique at all.

Perverts are all around us.  Just ask any feminazi.


Posted by

Mattie Falshe: Up and coming town brayer of the conservative world.
Conservative Cacophony pokes fun just to poke fun.  Any semblance to persons living, dead, or dead pretending to be living is purely coincidental.