Goddammit.
“SAVE for Jesus” is a new one on me. Wow.
Killer Kennedy wants kids to put down that microwave cellphone.
He ain’t wrong; he’s just my traitor.
He ain’t wrong about it being a dry run. He is wrong to say it’s a good thing. Damn traitors.
Let’s tacky up down the place even more.
“No, {whack} Daddy! {Whack} No! {Whack}” This excites me more than it hurts you!"
The convicted felon has replaced the puppy killer with the child beater.
Let’s focus on this part of his braggadocio.
Dollars to donuts he might have been a bit hardon her.
You mean these guys?
The cherubim appeared to have the form of a human hand under their wings. I looked, and there were four wheels beside the cherubim, one beside each cherub; and the appearance of the wheels was like gleaming beryl. And as for their appearance, the four looked alike, something like a wheel within a wheel. When they moved, they moved in any of the four directions without veering as they moved; but in whatever direction the front wheel faced, the others followed without veering as they moved. Their entire body, their rims, their spokes, their wings, and the wheels—the wheels of the four of them—were full of eyes all around. As for the wheels, they were called in my hearing “the wheelwork.” Each one had four faces: the first face was that of the cherub, the second face was that of a human being, the third that of a lion, and the fourth that of an eagle.
-Ezekiel 10:8-14
Not sure they’re Donald’s type.
One thing that Dante Alighieri failed to tell us about Hell is that the line to be judged for your sins by King Minos runs through George Bush airport in Houston.
I do not know where Heaven is, but I have seen Hell. It turns out Hell is in Texas, which is something that many of us had long suspected.
Specifically, it is in Houston. Also not a surprise.
But more specifically, Hell is inside the George Bush International Airport.
Ah: We found it. Hell is an hours-long “security line” snaking through a never-ending, undecorated corridor, a dirty-white and dirty-black and dirty-blue liminal space with a drop ceiling. Hell is carrying your luggage along, an inch at a time, staring at the backs of hundreds of other damned souls all carrying their own luggage, all looking at the backs of hundreds of other damned souls doing the same.
Oh, yes – in Hell, you have to carry your own luggage. And they don’t allow casters on them.
Over bad speakers, Lee Greenwood’s “God Bless the USA” plays. It plays forever. It never ends.
On sparsely placed monitors, former Homeland Security Kristi Noem drones on mostly unintelligibly, squeezing the words out of her reconstructed mouth. She is no longer in charge, but there is no newer video to play, and the monitors would not play it if there was. Noem, uncanny, lives inside the boxes now. Her soul, her visage, that sneer of cold command—they are trapped inside the boxes, forever. She drones on about immigrants. She reminds you that you may carry only a certain amount of toothpaste through the checkpoint, and no more than that. You will spend eternity with only that much toothpaste: use it sparingly, and wisely.
Periodically, small packs of ICE agents wander by. Their job is guns. They are there to watch, and to have guns. They do not know the rules about toothpaste, and will not answer your questions. They do not know how to interpret x-ray images. They do not know whether Puerto Rico is American or foreign soil, and do not care. They are just there to watch you, and to have guns. They look satisfied.
he real security agents—if there are security agents—are not paid. They may not exist. They may be a figment of Hell’s collective imagination, a story passed from soul to soul, like tales of witches. Because there is no end to the hallway, and there is no security checkpoint.
The hallway extends from the George Bush International Airport in Houston, Texas, to eternity.
Always the same Lee Greenwood song.
Always Kristi Noem, droning on about the greatness of your nation.
Always the men with guns milling about.
Read the whole thing. It’s worth it
Oh, boy… George Bush International Airport? In Tex-Ass? One thing is sure: should the powers that be ever name something after me I hope it is not an airport.
I have occasionally suggested that garbage dumps should be named after Farth Pestilentus. You have given me a better idea. Name airports after him. All airports!
Oooh! Ooooh! Is it very highly polished?? Is it really REALLY slippery? Do It Do ItDo It!
The One-star state.
That’s a brilliant piece. I envision it like a cross between Defending Your Life and Brazil with a bit of The Rapture and Niven’s “Inferno”. So it goes. So it goes.
What is best in life? To crush your enemies, see them driven before you, hear the lamentation of their women.
In Trump’s war messaging, veterans see something new — and disturbing
Service members and families who lost loved ones say the Trump team’s memes and jokes trivialize combat and sacrifice. Trump aides say the backlash sends views soaring.
When the retired U.S. Army colonel Joe Buccino first saw White House posts mixing Iran war footage with clips from cartoons and video games, he felt something he had rarely experienced from American military messaging: disgust.
The 27-year veteran of four tours in Afghanistan and Iraq, a former spokesman for U.S. Central Command, had seen firsthand the sacrifices the nation’s service members made in combat. He had closely followed the reports of the 13 Americans killed and more than 200 injured in the U.S. and Israeli campaign in Iran.
But President Donald Trump’s top communications team, he said, had decided to treat the international conflict like a big joke. Veterans who were already questioning the war’s strategy and endgame, he added, were unnerved to find the nation’s highest office posting pop-music-scored clips of missile strikes, mixed with footage from Call of Duty and “SpongeBob SquarePants.”
…
Just what you’d expect from the administration of the jerk who mocked John McCain for spending time in a POW camp, ridiculed Gold Star families, and called the people buried in military cemeteries “losers.”
Damn, I hate this S.O.B.
I would have asked the retired colonel how he’s voted the last few times, and how he plans to vote next time.
One of the smaller things I am thankful for is that the international airport in Phoenix is not named after a dead politician statesman but rather, the evocative Sky Harbor.
Maybe the Iranians said, “When we do negotiate, you’d better have your lawyer present.”
(My feeble attempt at alluding to one of my favorite jokes.)
Named for George H. W. Bush, who I respect far more than his son, George W. Bush. I think because of the existing airport named for the father, there will be no push to name one after the son.
Just you wait! I’m sure there is a move afoot to rename it the Charlie Kirk International (as long as you’re coming from the good countries.) Airport.
Actually, it’s George Bush Intercontinental Airport.
When I was a kid growing up in Houston, it was called Houston Intercontinental Airport (Intercontinental for short), which is what I still call it (along with everyone in my family).
Both lawyers. I recall it coming up in an article years ago that it was standard practice to have two lawyers instead of one meet with him, so they can testify in each other’s behalf as to what really happened if needed. Because he’s just that untrustworthy, even to his own lawyers.
But at least he hasn’t raped any children. (That we know of, I guess.)
Wondering this: When Hegseth does get fired (and he will at some point), does he go back to Fox News?
He’ll pair up with Bannon or some other trator.
The Army is raising the maximum enlistment age to 42, which is a totally normal thing to do when you have an unlimited supply of the world’s most lethal warfighters, you’ve completely obliterated all your enemies, and you’ve stopped eight wars.