According to Andrew, a cow.*
Meanwhile, no use crying over abandoned grapes.
On a personal note: that excision from my back around the precancerous mole that was earlier biopsied shows no spread, and I get the stitches out Thursday. Thanks very much for your glib responses.
Charles and Linda Everson were driving back to their hotel when their minivan was struck by a falling object – a 270- kilogram cow.
The Eversons were unhurt but the cow, which had fallen off a cliff, had to be euthanized.
People with gender conflicts or transgender identity are people with gender conflicts or transgender identity. Why on earth would Andrew want to conflate homosexuality with that? Maximal inclusion? That can’t possibly make his argument for military service more compelling.
He’s kinda stupid really.
Because it’s all about the sexual ident . . . the gender . . . the sexual pref . . . I’m Batman.
Andrew is quite honest in his embrace of slippery slope tactics. Hell, he can accept just about any sort of compromise “for now.”
Anyone willing to compromise with Andrew is, however, an idiot.
Conflating behavior with identity is a pastime for Andrew.
To do is to be. To be is to do. Do be do be do, be do be do be.
At the Times link, there’s an ad for prints of a famous picture of Freud, “Sigmund Freud – 1922.” Which is approximately when he figured out all the stuff the article says. And he didn’t even need to fuck around with monkeys to do it. But it’s not Science! unless there’s monkeys in diapers.
This, though, is nice:
I’ve always hoped to open a fortune cookie and find a semicolon inside. Close enough.
(And speaking of Freud, Sully left his last “our” in an odd place. Maybe.)
You should hear the stories about those little buggers from Los Alamos.
Dan – glad that went well. I had no idea. Aren’t we all cancers, according to Caric?
Does Andrew, the patron Saint of the Perpetually Outraged, even read what he writes?
Probably a white chocolate mocha.
As for the plummeting bovine, have they checked the carcass for moondust? ‘Cause I could’ve sworn I heard our neighbor’s little dog laughing, and part of a place setting is missing from our kitchen.
Is that a cow tipping record?
Holy cow!
At odd moments I find myself feeling a bit sorry for Sully.
It’s the conflicted pity one feels for the undoubtedly painful abrasions and contusions suffered by someone who stood on the tracks waving his willy in defiance at the oncoming train. The blood and the pain are undoubtedly real, and it takes a heart of purest basalt to fail to feel sympathetic twinges, but the combination of genuine tears and stifled guffaws can be uncomfortable, to say the least.
When Sullivan was a bona-fide conservative commentator on many subjects, he had entree, an opportunity to influence the hearts and minds of his readers on a matter most of us are ambivalent about at best, and he was a forceful and articulate voice in support of it. Then… then he misread George W. Bush most grievously, and a good reason for that misreading was the unfamiliarity upper-middle-class immigrants tend to have with the weltanschaung of America’s interior. Bush didn’t support the FMA. He proposed it, then turned not one finger to assure its passage — and there are lots of Red State Americans who know that and resent it. He did just enough, politically, to preserve the support of a voting bloc he needed to maintain his political fortunes, without adding any substantive effort to follow through. To those of us who have been Bush watchers for a while, the pattern is clear: he didn’t want the FMA, but needed the votes of the people who did.
And Sullivan misread the political maneuver, went out on a limb, and cranked up his chainsaw.
Now conservatives don’t listen to him, so his (previously quite effective) arguments for gay rights, gay marriage, etc. aren’t heard by the people he needs to change their minds; the only people listening are the ones already convinced — a pure waste of effort. He’s become just another marcher in the Gay Day parade, not nearly as noticeable as the nude weirdo with breast enlargements. The Leftists who do listen to him don’t trust him. Nobody trusts a traitor, most especially not the people he sold out to.
Of late it’s become apparent that Andrew has, at some level, begun to appreciate his error and try to correct it, but it’s far too late; it isn’t easily reversible if it’s possible at all. His flailing and fuming and futile fusillades are a bit pitiable, aren’t they? Chuckling at the same time is cruel. But I can’t stop myself.
Regards,
Ric
Wow! A falling cow that landed on a car? I wish I had seen that, because I would still be laughing so hard that I wouldn’t be able to stand up! Just like the first time I went to Mr. C’s on the Vineyard (c. – 1970). I laughed so hard, Mr. C almost kicked my ass. I’m sure he would have if he could have gotten his humongous butt off of those chairs he was sitting on.
What more could I ask for to make a night of it? Thanks, Dan.
How’s stuff in teh North Bronx?
Hereford?
If you hire a guy who turns out to be a manhole inspector, couldn’t you pin some transgender behavior oh him and then fire him? “Watch him walk. He’s flitting. He’s swishing. He’s fired.”
Or less of a leap, ever see those lesbians who have mullets that would make Dog the Bounty Hunter ask for a refund from his hairstylist?
No further questions.
Possibly this hooks in with McArdle’s Law, somehow. For those of you who missed it, it’s:
I guess “don’t have a cow, man!” is no longer just a metaphor.
INCOMING!!!
I wonder what would have happened if a piece of frozen human waste from a plane had hit them at the same time. Would the universe have imploded?
Maybe it would have opened up a wormhole and thrown them to the place where Amelia Earhart, Jimmy Hoffa, and Sully’s credibility went.
CraigC – I think that San Diego and Chicago’s defenses are in that same wormhole.
Screw Chicago’s defense. I just wish that stiff Benson wasn’t there, too. Guy’s been killing me all year. I submitted a drop-pick for Priest Holmes today. We’ll see what happens.
– Brimgs to mind the useful idea that there are decidedly easier ways to tenderize your meat.
– Taking a pragmatic look at Sully’s writings, it occurs he looks more and more like the overwrought jilted lover trying to convince his sweetheart, sociatal acceptance, not to leave him. these things never end well.
He sure had no problem tossing the transtesticles overboard in his desire to reach his political goal.
– San Diego? Schitzo coach, schitzo team. No mystery here folks. I have to believe the Bolts are driving the odds-makers absolutely bonkers. Next sunday should be a great study in “what the fuck?”. We play the Colts, who are coming off a very tough loss themselves. Which teams will show up this time? I think even Cleo would take a pass on this one.
Big Bang – I can assure you that my Colts will show up.
I mooved on from Andrew before his high-steaks flip cost him his bully pulpit.
freakin’ groan! Sarah that was just too wrong :)
270 kilo cow? Christ on a crutch, what sort of nongay nonEuro person weighs cows in kilos? They come in pounds, damn it.
How many pounds of dead cow would that be?
our brothers in iran, peace be upon them, have ridded themselves of this western phenomena of homosexualtiy no more will we have to wonder if tarik is staring at our ass in lust when we walk through the streets
What Will Teh Ghey Have Left? They will always have the Gleenwalds.
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