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Topics - navkat

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Or Kill Me / So you insist "AntiFa is a violent organization..."
« on: January 25, 2021, 11:07:10 pm »
"There's a difference between anti-fascism and the "VIOLENT ANTIFA GANG. They're not the same thing!!!"

Cool. Patriotism and "Patriots" aren't the same thing. One is a sense of pride and fellowship in one's country and the other is membership in a terrorist org that listens to trashy paranoia talk radio shows, nitpicks the president's speeches and combs 4chan/8chan for super-secret bat-signal clues they call BREADCRUMBS.

Funny thing about these hyper-militarized, "Patriot" rapists and thugs is that they operate in cells and sleeper-cells. They spread their message of war and total control far and wide and use dogwhistle language from their book of lies to communicate and try to convert the weak and impressionable to their evil ways. You cut the head off one group and six others sprout in their place.

They're trying to change our peaceful way of life and convert everyone to the fucked up series of lies and laws to which they swear their allegiance. They infiltrate the government, our military, our schools and businesess. They're trying to codify their fannatical beliefs and zealotry into our system of governance. Every time I see one of them in their ridiculous attire, it makes me sick to see what this country is going to. We should deport every last one of them.

If you want to live in this country, you need to behave as such. Come here, get your vaccinations, pay your taxes and support the worker/your fellow countrymen. This nation was founded on strong unions and a deeply held reverence for the morals and tenets of ethical secularism. You fly OUR flag, OUR colors here.

If you don't like it, take your fascist Confederate flag, turn in your passport, book a flight to Russia and GTFO. REAL Americans don't want you here destroying everything we built and have pride in.

Apple Talk / Involuntary Nocturnal Infatuations
« on: April 03, 2013, 02:40:44 pm »
Every so often (like once every year or so), I have a dream about having a romance with someone who, during waking hours, I have little interest in above platonic. I don't really know him *well.* He's someone involved in a lot of the art and music culture in this town but most of my past dealings with him were either strained or downright contentious.

We buried some ridiculous (barely tangible) hatchet years ago and I have a genuine regard for him and his work in this city. We've both "grown up" in the nine years I've been here, that's for certain but we really don't even socialize in the same circles. I have my New Orleans peeps (who are a lot warmer, dirtier, unabashedly flawed and more approachable), and he has his art world people (who are brilliant, nice as all get-out but also a bit snobbish because of their work and NOT approachable).

The situation is LITERALLY impossible. Not improbable, impossible. We're like oil and water. Also, I have a near-anxiety-attack just exchanging pleasantries with him at the few social functions at which we've both been present because we're so oddly UNfamiliar now, my social anxiety kicks in as though I'm talking to a stranger. But every so often, I do try to pop into one of his shows or things just to show support because he works so hard to elevate the status of this city.

Anyone else have one of these?

Apple Talk / Attn LMNO
« on: April 01, 2013, 12:42:32 pm »
Because TGRR and I shouldn't have all the MIND NUMBING FUN to ourselves now, should we?

Apple Talk / A Primer on Drug Threads for the Novice Discordian.
« on: March 31, 2013, 03:50:55 am »

Apple Talk / UNLIMITED Alabama Slapstick Thread
« on: March 18, 2013, 06:05:42 pm »
Because we feel the need to compete with Roger, here.

MOBILE, Alabama --

Bill Hightower won't have to vote for himself again this year and neither will anyone else.  A general election was supposed to happen in a couple of weeks but the secretary of state says a winner can now be certified due to a rarely used constitutional amendment.


“It only applies to legislative positions, no other positions that are elected,” says probate judge Don Davis.  That puts Hightower in Montgomery with most of the legislative session over--but on the bright side--


“It saves money if we go through all these elections, these special elections we're spending more and more of the people's money and I’m eager to get to Montgomery,” says Bill Hightower.


The county won't have to spend $76,000 for another election.  I went to the secretary of state's website to look at the campaign spending numbers for Hightower and opponent State Rep Jim Barton.  Barton bought a lot of airtime and spent more than half a million dollars on the campaign compared to Hightower's $118,000.  Jim Barton outspent Bill Hightower by more than four times and still lost.

BECAUSE LIBERTY IS ALL ABOUT FISCAL RESPONSIBILITY.  Ain't that swell of 'em? Didn't they do right by us? They even saved us the trouble of having to pat them on the back and did it themselves. MAYBE THEY DESERVE A RAISE.

Note: both "candidates" spent the entire year announcing each was "more conservative" than the other. No third OR second party, just a whole lotta knuckleheads arguing with each other about whose horse at the OTB races could "out-conservative" the other...because, you know, neocons are all about LIBERTY. Now do you want ketchup on your steak, Ma'am? Or ketchup? Wouldn't matter anyway--a democrat would offer us catsup.

Apple Talk / I want to throw up.
« on: March 17, 2013, 07:51:32 am »

Among numerous images of child pornography are two that show Robert Eugene Swan, 50, engaging in alleged felony sex acts with children who appear to be under the age of 10, Tangipahoa Parish Sheriff Daniel Edwards said.

One of them could be under a year old, he said.

Say hello to:
Robert Eugene Swan (50)
(address redacted)

Apple Talk / I didn't realize SXSWers were such penises until...
« on: March 12, 2013, 12:38:15 am »

Or Kill Me / First-world go fuck yourself.
« on: March 10, 2013, 02:36:30 am »
We are backsliding into garbage, that's what.

What the fuck do people think it means when they have all the resources, have the right to break your shit if you don't use it the way they tell you to and have the right to prevent others from making shit that works the way you want it to?

Instead of technological advance leading to better products for cheaper ---> better quality of life, the gates have been all but slammed shut and now it's about making shit you have to keep paying to use, and legislation robbing you of your last, remaining power: the power to purchase whatever the fuck you want and NOT buy shit that fucks with you.

I'm talking about Cinavia. I'm talking about the fact that it's now a felony punishable with 5 years imprisonment if I root my goddamned phone again.

Am I seriously whining about not being allowed to watch a goddamned movie someone ripped for my kid? Am I pissing tears out my asshole about some privileged bullshit like being forced to keep bloatware on my pretty, little smartphone?


By why? It's their shit, right? If I don't like it, just don't buy it, right?


What they are robbing now is a concept. This is really difficult for others to wrap their minds around on a day-to-day basis but what they've summarily deleted from the marketplace is a concept whose existence is an amalgamation of pride in ingenuity, quality, fairness, competition, excellence and work-ethic.

There's a reason nobody buys French cars. French-made automobiles are the cheapest shit, poorly-designed and rife with mechanical problems and dangerous design issues. We are being forced to buy French-made cars...and then being forced to spend an additional $10/month on a new key to run the thing. We're being sold single-ply toilet paper and told we'll have to pay $5 to get the other ply. We're shelling out $10 for crappy fast-food and being made to pay $20 to shit it back out because until it hits the sewer, they still own it and you need their fucking permission to let it pass through your fucking asshole.

And we fucking pay.

You thought the increasing wage-disparity was the endgame? That ain't the endgame. Eventually, even THAT reaches its saturation point. The endgame is this: once they own all the shit they possibly can, they start collecting rent on your shit. They start collecting a usage-fee on the very manacles they put on you in the first fucking place. If you don't like it, go move to Russia, you privileged cunt.

It's time to start breaking things. Oh please, oh please, when do we start breaking things?


Stuzman insisted she is not anti-gay: “We hire gay people. I have friends that are gay, that wasn't the issue. The issue is that I just didn't want to participate in the marriage.”

I wonder how many abusive marriages she's supported by sending apology flowers to the battered spouse. No matter. As long as they're straight, sanctity of marriage an all that. God totally wants the happy gay ones to live in sin and the miserable straight ones to stay together.

Or, as my friend Cedric in New Orleans put it: "This is pants-on-head stupid."

In a brief filed with the Supreme Court last week, the Obama administration slammed the unusual legal argument now key in the movement against gay marriage: that gay couples cannot become accidentally pregnant and thus do not need access to marriage.

Or Kill Me / Laizzez les bon temps rouler!
« on: March 05, 2013, 12:48:17 am »
I want to be one of the Good Guys.

I don't WANT to believe it's hopeless yet.

When you see me roll up in my crisp, navy-blue uniform, purple steth slung round my neck, dragging a stretcher and a Zoll, I want you to go "Oh good, she's HERE. She's gonna get us fixed up. It's gonna be okay now."

Something's got to give...I mean, it has to. It can't go on like this indefinitely...can it? Can they keep doing this and keep doing this? Milking us at the cusp of revolt?

I struggle with ambivalence: torn between chastising myself for living in relative comfort and peace, yet bitching about injustice and all that we don't "get." That's how they getcha though: it's intentionally set up not for ambiguity, but to literally be both at the same time. If you whine, you are a lazy, selfish pussy. Fucking cry me a river because you have to make that iPhone 4S last another year, you materialistic cunt.

If you tell the whiners to shut up, show some gratitude and get a fucking job....If you say "You think this is bad, go try living in Russia," you're a heartless, naive, corporate apologist/protectionist wingnut who doesn't have the good sense to realize he's getting fucked.

And then it occurs to me: You know what this is? It's a fucking huge Mardi Gras parade. They ride by on floats and throw shit off: beads, Moon-pies, small toys, flashlights, beer koozies...and we: arms outstretched, hoping to catch something, writhing and muscling our way around for a better view, and tucked safely behind the barricades with Officer Dingo standing by to make sure we stay there--that no one crosses the line to get a better reach or approach the floats or hold up the parade.

Those of us near the front--the ones who got there first either because we got off work early enough or live close to the route--we're vying for the "good stuff." We don't want just beads, we want first crack at the stuffed animals and those little blinky toys for our young'uns. We want the Doubloons; those shiny, aluminum commemorative coins with the Society's theme and date stamped on. We want the cups and frisbees and roses. The BIG beads. The special stuff...and we usually get it, too.

The less fortunate, the ones who got to the party late (and by "late," I mean, they started filling up the space only 20 minutes before the parade instead of an hour or more), they're relegated to catching what flies past the front ranks. Sometimes, if someone back there gets really cutthroat and has a natural catch, they can snake stuff away from those of us with our bags clipped to the barricade...grab stuff out of hands, push small children out of the way for a stuffed frog with a heart sewn on its ass. In fact, some do really well that way; by being heartless. Ramming an elbow into your four-year-old's face by "accident" and when the child falls back to cry and have mommy kiss the boo-boo, you find you've lost your spot. They've now jammed themselves into your child's place and you know challenging them will start a race-war.

It was never fair to begin.

So you stay silent. And you resort to covert, passive-aggressive tactics to push them back out...back where they belong. The others up near the front, realizing you belong there, close ranks around you and your child--either consciously or subconsciously--and the offending party is expelled again: bubbled back to the rear. No matter how hard they try, the odds are stacked against them. They know what you're doing and what's but they can't prove it and Officer Dingo ain't gonna help.

It was never fair to begin.

The old, the infirm make up the last row. Usually in hover-rounds and camper-chairs, they settle in and stand fast with plastic shopping bags: content to pick up the scraps: the stray beads, a doubloon nobody saw, cups that bounced off someone's hat. All told, they do pretty well...take home bags and bags and bags of the stuff nobody saw, nobody wanted or that the rest of us were too busy fighting over a rainbow, LED wizard's staff to make a grab for.

The float-riders are all masked, of course. Decked out in satin and sequin, drunk and jovial: they've been drinking since before noon, drunk before it was even time to get in costume. Drunk when loading the floats the night before, even. Final fittings, last minute instructions, drunk. Drunk. Pleasantly and willfully oblivious. They throw the best stuff to their buddies in the crowd, their favorites, pretty woman, small white children...If you holler "Roll tide!" or have on their team's jersey, they'll throw you a Society football. Some of us just get picked. Some of us just know people. Some of us, you know, just root for the same team.

Roll tide, roll.

The maskers roll too. They roll on to the Civic Center where they'll have their bal masque: first the tableaux, then, costume de rigueur: tails and white tie and waistcoat. No one gets in without an engraved invitation and a floor-length gown but once you're inside...they hand you an embossed cup at the door. Revelry. Who cares what's going on outside?

And just like that, show's over. Outside, police and workers blow whistles: "Get back! Get off the barricade! Get back, go home!" Dark-skinned workers in hardhats and hi-vis vests pick up whole sections of barricade and move them onto the sidewalk, out of the street, making way for the sweepers. You get your bag, grasp your child's hand and run; politics forgotten, fellow revelers erased. You run back to the car and begin the battle through traffic.

It isn't until you're halfway home, driving down Dauphin Street, stopping for fuel on S. Ann that you realize: the net value of the shit in your bag has got to be seven bucks. Ten, tops. You just spent twice that in gas and incidentals to get there.

Roll tide, roll.

I want to be one of the Good Guys...but I don't want to lose my spot.

Or: "The type of shit that brings navkat back to"

Bayless was a resident at Glenwood Gardens' independent living facility, an area adjacent to, but separate from, Glenwood's skilled nursing facility and assisted living facility.

She collapsed in the facility's dining room at about 11:07 a.m. Tuesday.

Someone called 9-1-1, and Bakersfield Fire Dispatcher Tracey Halvorson got the call. Glenwood Gardens personnel handed the phone to a nurse who identified herself as Colleen.

During a 7-minute, 16-second call, Halvorson reasoned, cajoled and at times begged the nurse to start CPR in an attempt to save the woman.

The nurse said Glenwood Gardens policy prohibited her attempting CPR. The dispatcher assured the nurse Glenwood couldn't be sued if anything went wrong with CPR. The lcoal emegency medical system "Takes the liability for this call," the dispatcher said.

"I understand if your boss is telling you you can't do it," the dispatcher said. "But ... as a human being ... you know … is there anybody that's willing to help this lady and not let her die?"

"Not at this time," the nurse answered.

I'm having a difficult time discerning Real Life (tm) from one of Roger's stories.

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