Mad Mike is on a roll recently.
First, he goes into why we should still be talking about giving commies helicopter tours as the great St. Pinochet instructed us.
The most retarded thing I saw recently was a Pious with a bumper sticker, "If you don't like socialism get off my public road."
Um, shit for brains...roads date from the Palace Economy of the Bronze Age and were invented for the purpose of bringing TAXES into the palace. They happened to increase trade and wealth, which also increased TAXES. They weren't done for your benefit.
These days we build them to increase COMMERCE which also increases wealth and taxes. Still not done for "the people." In fact, around here, we're trying to GET them to widen a road that's needed it for 70 years and they're holding off because they're hoping for federal money...for a road that starts and ends in town. If it was being done for THE PEOPLE it would have been done 70 years ago.
Also, it wouldn't be YOUR road, it would be OUR road, and you're admitting that if I refuse to play your game, you'll cut me out of your society until I starve. Thus confessing you don't care about people, you only care about the state.
And this is why we should still talk about killing Communists. Because human lives are more important than Communist lives.
Yup. I've noted before the dishonesty and stupidity of the "everything government does is socialism" line of reasoning.
His best stuff - and most disturbing - are two articles relevant to the Kavanaugh proceedings. There are a lot of decent posts on it, including one from Pater Grant that notes the Kafkatrap nature of stating that his willingness and readiness to defend himself from an eminently predictable line of attack is proof of his guilt (and also has some excellent comments), but none take quite the tack Mike does.
First, a timeline of events.
Then he turned on what he apparently thought was the guilt trip. "It's not fair. I invite you over, feed you, then you come to bed in a field jacket, for Christ's sake. Do me a favor and lose my number!"
Yeah, we have to remember who the real victim is here, right?
I drove home, half asleep or intoxicated, I'm not sure which, very carefully because I'd be the one in jail, through very quiet streets, in subzero temps.
I did not file a police report because what would be the point? There wasn't a mark on me, and no witnesses.
I did tell a close friend the next day. I told the boss I contracted to (now deceased), who, being in the same circle, called the guy who ran that youth combat group (still alive). I told him. Mr X was then told he was no longer affiliated with the group. The next convention, I told another friend of mine. The next year I had a long-term girlfriend, eventually a wife. She knows. (Though she may not remember due to memory loss from a medical condition.) My current wife knows (and has known for some time).
Several years later, (this is slightly hazy because I did a LOT of conventions professionally then, but I can certainly date it from their records if need be) I was in the dealer room of a Midwest convention and I heard, "Hey, Mike!"
I turned around and it was the vile fat fuck who tried to molest me, apparently having forgotten the "Lose my number!" bit, or maybe he'd been hoping it would cause me to beg to come back to his greasy hands, or maybe he was just desperate at that point.
He was selling gaming supplies and sounded very cheerful and just thrilled to see me.
I unassed the area, found friends on staff, and informed them, "That asshole drugged me and tried to rape me. Now, I don't expect you to remove him based on my say-so, but I would recommend watching him very carefully around teenage boys and young men."
They took the advice seriously. He was watched.
So if there's ever another incident, not only can I testify to his (lack of) character, a dozen other people can testify that I told them.
Which is why when a certain professor says, "Oh, yes, by the way, sometime between 1978 and 1982, I'm not sure, but I was 15, I was drunk at a party somewhere with 2 or 4 guys, but I don't remember where, or how I got there or home afterward, but anyway, one of them tried to force himself on me, and I don't know why none of the several witnesses say it never happened, but it didn't matter until 2012 when some 'therapist' recovered the memories, but then she wrote them down wrong, but I don't care that this guy's a federal judge, my only concern is that he not get to SCOTUS because I say he was a drunken ass in high school,"
I say, "Bullshit, you politically-motivated whore. There are REAL victims out there, and you're degrading all their credibility with your narcissistic ploy for attention and money."
Then, some of his trademark sarcasm.
FACT: If you're "literally made ill" by this lying drunken slut's bullshit, you better be petitioning for Keith Ellison to be deposed on the ACTUAL POLICE REPORTS and ACTUAL HOSPITAL RECORDS of his ex girlfriend, and of the several women who have accused Bill Clinton of not groping, but FORCIBLE RAPE, and open the records on Teddy Kennedy's "forgetting" there was a woman drowning in his car when he crashed it in a river while intoxicated, and somehow was never punished, and ask your party WHY they re-elected Klansman Robert Byrd for life, and tolerated his utter racism to the end (he voted against EVERY black judiciary candidate, even when his party endorsed them). Because if not, you're a vile, rape-endorsing, domestic violence-endorsing, fucking RACIST.
You are not logical, you are not deductive, you are not even human fucking beings. You are utter fucking filth, and we really do need to invest in Caterpillar D9 bulldozers.
FACT: In America, we don't retcon crimes to suit the modern day. Ex Post Facto. It's covered in the Constitution, and you subhuman, anti-American, anti-intellectual, worm-ridden pieces of cholera-infected maggot shit need to read it. Ask an educated 12 year old (HINT: their parents didn't vote for the D) explain the big words to you.
Socialism truly is a death cult, who's aim is to separate you from the truth and what you see with your own eyes.
Oh, and for giggles:
