There's never any point in bothering with the now bi-weekly hate rallies Hair Fucktard needs to soothe his fragile ego, but the Tampa Bay Times has a wondrous collection of photos from the rally earlier tonight. Fewer than ten thousand addled rubes (in the middle of the nation's third-most populous state, mind you; Florida estimated just under 21 million people as of a year ago) bothered to waddle into the State Fairgrounds in Tampa to listen to the kajillionth sing-along to Knockin' On Fuckhead's Door.
There's only so many times you can sing the same song, dance the same dance, scream the same primal lizard-brain scream. Unless you're a complete vegetable. Then it never gets old; every day is like a new day, with the slate of previous days magically wiped clean.
Bathtub moonshine will do that to you, folks. That's just science.
I dunno, look through the photos and decide for yourself. Most of these people look barely tethered to reality. Either they're beswagged closet-cases secretly wishing to suckle the imperial mini-cheeto, or they're ambitiously down-scale polo-shirted moob wranglers who haven't seen their own mini-cheetos in some time.
Our librul media fail us -- and themselves -- when they give these dopey events the usual soft-focus "objective" treatment. Because it's all completely decontextualized. You generally have to do some digging just to get a sense of the attendance and the capacity of the venue, when those numbers should be available pretty easily, especially to local media, who can talk to the fire marshal.
So it ends up looking like a large, passionate crowd, which it surely is. But these sort are not the average Clownstick supporter that you work with or know personally. These are hardcore cultists, and they behave as such. There is no variation to their hive-mind schtick, state to county to holler to shithole opioid town. These are the political equivalent of Juggalos, there as much for the "event" and for the "fuck you libs" frisson, that magical pwnage they enjoy while they're hunting for another job or watching a grandparent die from the awesome health-care system His Travesty replaced Obummerscare with.
But look back through those photos and be honest. You wouldn't hire any of these gastropods to move river rocks across your driveway, much less employ them for any sort of skilled labor. Maybe a few of the faggier cosplay maroons show just enough initiative and creativity to make you momentarily believe that they can guide their finger out of their nose just long enough to eat a funnel cake and whack off to a cardboard cutout of their idol. But the rest of them would get lost in a phone booth (remember those?).
Anyway, the media. I'm sure Jim Acosta thinks he means well, and I'll bet real money he thinks his "work" has some sort of positive impact on the political landscape. But I'd politely (I know, right?) suggest that maybe Acosta and his cohorts might have that positive impact if they, I dunno, tried to impart a sense of balance to their coverage. For example, how do Hillary Clinton voters -- the majority of voters, let's recall -- feel about their vote? We'll probably never know, since our intrepid mediots never seem to get their lazy asses out the haunted diners of Bumfuck, Arkansas, to find out, to bring a balanced perspective. They'd rather show up to the rallies and the press conferences, where literally every word is a fucking LIE, and dutifully transcribe the nonsense.
Acosta's the worst about this -- after standing in the rally pen getting abuse hurled at him from the gaping assholes in thrall to their oompa-loompa wampeter, he'll stick around and try to talk to him and take selfies with them. They fucking hate you, pal. Stop kidding yourself. Not one of them will change their mind -- about you or him. But whatever you do, don't go out and talk to someone who doesn't support this lying turd and his team of traitors. I mean, why break your golden streak of faithful stenography?
It's probably wishful thinking in the end, but for now this human centipede of an administration does seem to be circling the drain. But it's in spite of, rather than because of, the efforts and expertise of the media in general.
There are definitely exceptions -- Natasha Bertrand and David Fahrenthold continue to do fine work, and there are certainly others. But the corporate networks have pretty much given up doing anything useful, and even the New York Times has set new lows in culpability and uselessness, largely thanks to Maga Haberman's lazy access journamalism, which undermines and befouls the entire operation with its complicity.
That's not to say that the Times hasn't had its moments. Remember less than two weeks ago, when the Times' David Sanger and Matthew Rosenberg dropped this little nugget?
It would be understandable if you didn't recall that article, even though it appeared on July 18th, right after the Helsinki debacle, where Shit-for-Brains exposed his toadying to Putin for the entire world. Amazingly and inexcusably, the article received no follow-up coverage (at least that I saw) on any major network or newspaper.
For the first couple days, it made a bit of sense to suppose that since the article relied on information obtained from what would have had to have been a classified intel source, that maybe other news orgs figured they would have to vet it past the usual three-letter agencies before running with it. But no one even tried. The story caused a big stink the night it dropped, and hasn't been seen since. It should be huge, because it proves he knew, and has lied verbally and in writing literally hundreds of times.
No wonder the cultists feel confident. Their propaganda outlets are disciplined and on point, and couldn't possibly care any fucking less about whether their "reportage" is encumbered with facts or accuracy or such like. No one has the balls to call them for what they are, and report on them as such. We've sunk to the point where clowns are given footing as legitimate interlocutors, with their dopey tee-shirts and ball caps and branded tard-swag. If we don't show up and send them back where they belong in 98 days, we deserve exactly what we get.
There's only so many times you can sing the same song, dance the same dance, scream the same primal lizard-brain scream. Unless you're a complete vegetable. Then it never gets old; every day is like a new day, with the slate of previous days magically wiped clean.
Bathtub moonshine will do that to you, folks. That's just science.
I dunno, look through the photos and decide for yourself. Most of these people look barely tethered to reality. Either they're beswagged closet-cases secretly wishing to suckle the imperial mini-cheeto, or they're ambitiously down-scale polo-shirted moob wranglers who haven't seen their own mini-cheetos in some time.
Our librul media fail us -- and themselves -- when they give these dopey events the usual soft-focus "objective" treatment. Because it's all completely decontextualized. You generally have to do some digging just to get a sense of the attendance and the capacity of the venue, when those numbers should be available pretty easily, especially to local media, who can talk to the fire marshal.
So it ends up looking like a large, passionate crowd, which it surely is. But these sort are not the average Clownstick supporter that you work with or know personally. These are hardcore cultists, and they behave as such. There is no variation to their hive-mind schtick, state to county to holler to shithole opioid town. These are the political equivalent of Juggalos, there as much for the "event" and for the "fuck you libs" frisson, that magical pwnage they enjoy while they're hunting for another job or watching a grandparent die from the awesome health-care system His Travesty replaced Obummerscare with.
But look back through those photos and be honest. You wouldn't hire any of these gastropods to move river rocks across your driveway, much less employ them for any sort of skilled labor. Maybe a few of the faggier cosplay maroons show just enough initiative and creativity to make you momentarily believe that they can guide their finger out of their nose just long enough to eat a funnel cake and whack off to a cardboard cutout of their idol. But the rest of them would get lost in a phone booth (remember those?).
Anyway, the media. I'm sure Jim Acosta thinks he means well, and I'll bet real money he thinks his "work" has some sort of positive impact on the political landscape. But I'd politely (I know, right?) suggest that maybe Acosta and his cohorts might have that positive impact if they, I dunno, tried to impart a sense of balance to their coverage. For example, how do Hillary Clinton voters -- the majority of voters, let's recall -- feel about their vote? We'll probably never know, since our intrepid mediots never seem to get their lazy asses out the haunted diners of Bumfuck, Arkansas, to find out, to bring a balanced perspective. They'd rather show up to the rallies and the press conferences, where literally every word is a fucking LIE, and dutifully transcribe the nonsense.
Acosta's the worst about this -- after standing in the rally pen getting abuse hurled at him from the gaping assholes in thrall to their oompa-loompa wampeter, he'll stick around and try to talk to him and take selfies with them. They fucking hate you, pal. Stop kidding yourself. Not one of them will change their mind -- about you or him. But whatever you do, don't go out and talk to someone who doesn't support this lying turd and his team of traitors. I mean, why break your golden streak of faithful stenography?
It's probably wishful thinking in the end, but for now this human centipede of an administration does seem to be circling the drain. But it's in spite of, rather than because of, the efforts and expertise of the media in general.
There are definitely exceptions -- Natasha Bertrand and David Fahrenthold continue to do fine work, and there are certainly others. But the corporate networks have pretty much given up doing anything useful, and even the New York Times has set new lows in culpability and uselessness, largely thanks to Maga Haberman's lazy access journamalism, which undermines and befouls the entire operation with its complicity.
That's not to say that the Times hasn't had its moments. Remember less than two weeks ago, when the Times' David Sanger and Matthew Rosenberg dropped this little nugget?
WASHINGTON — Two weeks before his inauguration, [Fuckface Von Clownstick] was shown highly classified intelligence indicating that President Vladimir V. Putin of Russia had personally ordered complex cyberattacks to sway the 2016 American election.
The evidence included texts and emails from Russian military officers and information gleaned from a top-secret source close to Mr. Putin, who had described to the C.I.A. how the Kremlin decided to execute its campaign of hacking and disinformation.
Mr. [Clownstick] sounded grudgingly convinced, according to several people who attended the intelligence briefing. But ever since, Mr. [Clownstick] has tried to cloud the very clear findings that he received on Jan. 6, 2017, which his own intelligence leaders have unanimously endorsed.
The shifting narrative underscores the degree to which Mr. [Clownstick] regularly picks and chooses intelligence to suit his political purposes. That has never been more clear than this week.
It would be understandable if you didn't recall that article, even though it appeared on July 18th, right after the Helsinki debacle, where Shit-for-Brains exposed his toadying to Putin for the entire world. Amazingly and inexcusably, the article received no follow-up coverage (at least that I saw) on any major network or newspaper.
For the first couple days, it made a bit of sense to suppose that since the article relied on information obtained from what would have had to have been a classified intel source, that maybe other news orgs figured they would have to vet it past the usual three-letter agencies before running with it. But no one even tried. The story caused a big stink the night it dropped, and hasn't been seen since. It should be huge, because it proves he knew, and has lied verbally and in writing literally hundreds of times.
No wonder the cultists feel confident. Their propaganda outlets are disciplined and on point, and couldn't possibly care any fucking less about whether their "reportage" is encumbered with facts or accuracy or such like. No one has the balls to call them for what they are, and report on them as such. We've sunk to the point where clowns are given footing as legitimate interlocutors, with their dopey tee-shirts and ball caps and branded tard-swag. If we don't show up and send them back where they belong in 98 days, we deserve exactly what we get.
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