We Are Living In A Cartoon
- Thread starter foobar75
- Start date
Charles Martel
Hall of Famer
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- Mar 14, 2007
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- 8,484
Yet this guy is considered okay:
Grandson of Munich Massacre Black September Terrorist Is Running for Congress
https://www.haaretz.com/us-news/.pr...e-terrorist-is-running-for-congress-1.5840690
Claimjumper
Mentor
DixieDestroyer
Hall of Famer
Cosmo UK glorifies morbid obesity by displaying a “model” (for a ‘battleship’) on their cover. They need to get a loader, dump that heifer up on cattle truck, haul it down the sea shore & roll it back in the ocean.
https://www.infowars.com/cosmo-uk-cover-to-feature-morbidly-obese-model/
https://www.infowars.com/cosmo-uk-cover-to-feature-morbidly-obese-model/
BeyondFedUp
Hall of Famer
I'm on a Mark Dice kick tonight so here's another good laugh:
white lightning
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The Hock
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Extra Point
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The leftist social agenda has driven many white people insane. To be endless propagandized against and tormented because they're white has been very effective in destroying white people's sanity.
This video is one example of the consequences of the leftist social agenda.
DixieDestroyer
Hall of Famer
The wicked & Godless “Pentagram” puppeteered USMC relieved a Lt.Colonel of duty simply for saying “f@990ty”. This is total madness. POTUS Trump needs to (rightly) re-instate the ban on these sicko h0m0s & “transformers”. Those deviant reprobates have absolutely NO business in the military OR in normal society! 
https://www.marinecorpstimes.com/ne...g-deployment-over-equal-opportunity-concerns/
https://www.marinecorpstimes.com/ne...g-deployment-over-equal-opportunity-concerns/
The wicked & Godless “Pentagram” puppeteered USMC relieved a Lt.Colonel of duty simply for saying “f@990ty”. This is total madness. POTUS Trump needs to (rightly) re-instate the ban on these sicko h0m0s & “transformers”. Those deviant reprobates have absolutely NO business in the military OR in normal society!
https://www.marinecorpstimes.com/ne...g-deployment-over-equal-opportunity-concerns/
Here here, that would be outstanding.
BeyondFedUp
Hall of Famer
The wicked & Godless “Pentagram” puppeteered USMC relieved a Lt.Colonel of duty simply for saying “f@990ty”. This is total madness. POTUS Trump needs to (rightly) re-instate the ban on these sicko h0m0s & “transformers”. Those deviant reprobates have absolutely NO business in the military OR in normal society!
https://www.marinecorpstimes.com/ne...g-deployment-over-equal-opportunity-concerns/
The NWO Communist Christ-hating machine wants society to be AFRAID of saying certain things. What's wrong with saying "faggoty" or "dykish"? Anwer: Nothing whatsoever in the slightest.
These (((nation wreckers))) commit the worst sin of all: they reject Jesus Christ as their Messiah. They are not in a position to moralize anybody. They need to get the beam out of their own eyes, and then they will be ok with removing the speck from someone else's eye.
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BeyondFedUp
Hall of Famer
Corporations bankrolling Communist wannabes like Crapperneck:
https://www.breitbart.com/news/kaepernick-fronts-nikes-just-do-it-ad-campaign/
https://www.breitbart.com/news/kaepernick-fronts-nikes-just-do-it-ad-campaign/
Commie boy's Afro is starting to look like O.J. Simpson's in the scene from the third and final "Naked Gun" comedy.
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Pittsburgh government schools and other school districts in the metro area will send students home early tomorrow -- because temperatures are supposed to be in the 90s. Big f'in deal. The pussification of Amerika continues apace.
Booth
Master
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- Jul 23, 2015
- Messages
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The county I live in just passed a law or regulation that a firearm can not be discharged within 200 feet of another house or store. Also it can't be fired a half hour before sun rise or sunset. The only exceptions is defending your life or property. There are no ranges in the county so people like me ,which are many, has been force to drive 45 minutes to shoot. As I get older I like to practice more because of my vision, I posted this here cause I really feel like I am living in a cartoon, except its not funny.
MrPoon
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- Nov 11, 2013
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- 635
Claimjumper
Mentor
Now the former president of Iran is just nonchalantly commenting on American football (something 99.999% of people outside the ya know or care about), pop culture and politics)
We are in the middle of an all out anti westerm / white / Christian blitz from every corner of the globe
Mahmoud Ahmadinejad (@Ahmadinejad1956)
9/3/18, 12:40 PM
The #NFL season will start this week, unfortunately once again @Kaepernick7 is not on a NFL roster. Even though he is one of the best Quarterbacks in the league.
#ColinKaepernick #NFL
We are in the middle of an all out anti westerm / white / Christian blitz from every corner of the globe
9/3/18, 12:40 PM
The #NFL season will start this week, unfortunately once again @Kaepernick7 is not on a NFL roster. Even though he is one of the best Quarterbacks in the league.
#ColinKaepernick #NFL
Freethinker
Hall of Famer
Of course not. That’s why we are “living in a cartoon” carefully crafted by a (((cabal))) of deep state creatures.
The Hock
Master
Brawl at Going Bananas, a children's restaurant.
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Bruce
Guru
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- Sep 1, 2017
- Messages
- 300
Now the former president of Iran is just nonchalantly commenting on American football (something 99.999% of people outside the ya know or care about), pop culture and politics)
We are in the middle of an all out anti westerm / white / Christian blitz from every corner of the globe
Mahmoud Ahmadinejad (@Ahmadinejad1956)
9/3/18, 12:40 PM
The #NFL season will start this week, unfortunately once again @Kaepernick7 is not on a NFL roster. Even though he is one of the best Quarterbacks in the league.
#ColinKaepernick #NFL
Iran and Russia seem to do this thing a lot where they support left wing causes like BLM because they think it hurts America, and you can't really blame them for wanting to hurt America because it currently wants to destroy their countries. But the Iranians and the Russians don't understand that it's the same (((people))) pushing left wing causes like BLM who are the ones trying to destroy Russia and Iran. If these nations really wanted to hurt the (((rulers))) of the USA they would support dissident right wing groups instead.
When Ahmadinejad was president, Iran hosted an international holocaust revisionist conference, and a number of other events attended by American Nationalists and Nationalists from around the world. Iran is still quite hospitable to right wingers.
Russian Nationalist groups have held events attended by Nationalists from the U.S. and Europe. Alexander Dugin, the world's leading Eurasian advocate, is highly respected in Russia. There's also a large, pretty hard-core Russian motorcycle gang called the Night Wolves that strongly backs Putin. The biggest question about Russia is why Putin allows hostile NGOs from the U.S. to still operate there with impunity. The country's politicians seem to be about 75% pro-Russian and anti-U.S. but there is a persistent group of "Atlanticists" who are pro-U.S. and pro-globalist that for whatever reasons are allowed to spread their homo-globo propaganda inside Russia.
Russian Nationalist groups have held events attended by Nationalists from the U.S. and Europe. Alexander Dugin, the world's leading Eurasian advocate, is highly respected in Russia. There's also a large, pretty hard-core Russian motorcycle gang called the Night Wolves that strongly backs Putin. The biggest question about Russia is why Putin allows hostile NGOs from the U.S. to still operate there with impunity. The country's politicians seem to be about 75% pro-Russian and anti-U.S. but there is a persistent group of "Atlanticists" who are pro-U.S. and pro-globalist that for whatever reasons are allowed to spread their homo-globo propaganda inside Russia.
I did a lot of hitchhiking as a teenager. Hitchhikers were a common sight in the U.S. from roughly the early 1960s until sometime in the '90s. There were even a lot of girls who hitchhiked alone or with a friend. Now hitchhikers are about as common as a phone booth. So much more freedom for young people then to explore the country. Remember the hippie VW buses and the many other kinds of individuality represented by cars, style of dress, etc.? Now the USSA is a stifling, ultra-conformist society in which saying or whispering the wrong thing, even in private conversations, can cost people their livelihoods. The past 17 years of non-stop military engagement around the world and building a surveillance/police state domestically has somehow drastically reduced freedom even though everything was done in the name of ensuring "freedom and democracy." Who'd a thunk it?
How We Were: The Years of Hitchhiking
by Fred Reed
The big roads were safe then, or we thought they were. Many of us, the more adventurous, poured onto the highways, just going, moving, looking. We were devotees of the long-haul thumb, crossing and recrossing the continent, dropping into Mexico, whatever.
A camaraderie held. There were rules. On an onramp it was first come first served, no butting in line and anybody with his thumb out was taken as a friend, or at least friendly. “Hey, man, got any ****?” was a common question. This meant grass, pot, ganja, herb, and good manners was to share.
A theme of the age was that “Dope will get you through times of no money better than money will get you through times of no dope.” This makes more sense than might seem today.
It was wild to be alone in the sun and clarity of the southwestern deserts, trucks howling by, a blast of wind and shining of tires, and it was just you and the whole desert stretching in sand and cactus to the horizon. You might end up sleeping in an arroyo and if there was a gas station in sight there might be a bottle of Triple Jack.
The song that caught the era was Born to be Wild, Steppenwolf, and at my local biker bar in Mexico it still produces an electric shiver and a sadness for things gone. Someone once said, “The symphony ain’t been wrote that matches the lope of a Harley, potatopotatopotato.” Could be.
There were black holes that you could hitch into but not out of, where despite traffic or the lack of it you could spend days without getting a ride. One was in Canada–I swear it was called Wa Wa or something like that–that had a buddy of mine and I contemplating homesteading. On an obscure onramp in California someone had carved into the post of a stop sign, “Day 13. We killed John yesterday and ate him.”
Once in Berkeley, on Telegraph Road, Hill, Avenue, or whatever it is, a friend, a depressive Irishman, was in a phone booth calling back East. The connection was bad. “Plattsburgh. No, Platts–no, P as in psilocybin….” She understood him. Such were the times.
One afternoon after crossing the continent from DC my ride dropped me on on the Riverside exit in California. I was looking for my friend Jimmy Auld, who later killed himself by swimming out into the Rappahannock River at two a.m. in mid-January. But that’s another story. The day was sunny and I felt good after a long haul and in the distance I heard Carmina Burana.
That would be Jimmy. He was a music freak and had a Fisher tube-amp that he managed to carry with him everywhere.
So I reached the house on the main vein through town and there in the living room was Jimmy sitting on one of maybe five pink porcelain toilets, connected to nothing. Just there, in a sort of ring. I asked him why toilets.
“I stole them,” he said, clearly thinking this a reasonable explanation. It seemed he had worked in a hardware store.
“Oh,” I said. “But why toilers?”
“They watched everything else.”
It made as much sense as anything else in those years. It was an age of hunting and gathering.
One thing we all noticed on the road: The less a car cost, the more likely it was to pick you up. Caddies? Forset it. Thing was, people in old cars had probably been down on their luck. They knew what it was. So they pulled over. A crumbling ten-year-old pickup covered in Bondo and pop-rivets would usually stop.
Another thing we noticed was that in the South people were friendlier and more charitable. As you went from DC south, there was a sort of social thermocline at Fredericksburg, a sharp increase in warmth and courtesy. . You could feel that you somehow belonged in Fredericksburg. In the north, you were always just passing through, and usually under suspicion.
I once got dropped off in Boone, North Carolina, almost dead broke. Mountains loomed green and gorgeous and the towns thereabouts had the feel on having been there since at least the Civil War. I went into a local eatery, Dixie Lee’s of something with Dixie in its name I think, to spend my last buck on a coke. The owner could sort of see what was going on and she gave me a burger on the house and offered to let me wash dishes until I found something better. A construction worker, hearing this, put me up on his floor if I needed it. I did.
A lot of kids, late teens, early twenties, were in Brownian motions then, drifting from coast to coast, city to city. Since we seldom had anywhere to stay while in transit, we learned to forage for accomodation. One insight was that if you go ten feet off the sidewalks even in a crowded city, and lie down in tall grass, you no longer exist. In Waverly, New Jersey, hoping for a train south, I spend several nights in a clump of bushes not a yard from a sidewalk and maybe fifty feet from a Puerto Rican bar. Nobody Noticed.
One summer night in one year or another a friend and I–it was Jimmy Auld–had climbed into the Pot Yards–the Potomac Yards in Virginia just outside of DC–planning to hop a freight to New York. I say climbed: The yards were protected by one of those nine-feet-high chain-link fences with the Y-l’shaped out-leading barbed wire.
Why these are thought to provide security, I don’t know. A wiry stripling jumps as high as he can and grables the fence. The gaps provide a toe-hold. He then tests the outleaning Y-piece to be sure it will hold his weight, very carefully throws a leg over, and the other, leaving him inside the Y, and reverses the process down the other side. This might take thirty seconds.
The only sounds were the diesel yowl and the shuddering clangsbangbang of couples hitting each other.
Anyway, we hid under some bushies at the edge of the yards and watched the yard mules making a train to head North, where we wanted to go. The yard crews didn’t really care if you hopped trains, but it was better not to make them decide.
We heard but couldn’t see someone approaching. It was an old black guy–both “old” and “black” were obvious from his voice–with a couple of gallon jugs of water. We said hey, what’s up, nice night. Once it is clear that no one is threatening anyone, people in such circumstance feel pretty much at home with each other, or close enough.
It turned out that he had nowhere to live and was staying in a shelter of some sort that he had put together out of sight and had to go for drinking water. A hell of a way to end your life. Then as now America was killing large numbers of people in foreign countries and then, as now, I wondered why they couldn’t give this old fellow a few C-rations. He gave us some hints as to which trains stopped where. We said goodbye and he walked slowly away with his water. I don’t think his joints worked too welol. The diesels were still howling as mournfully as ever.
There was then in Austin a sort of outdoor beenhall called the Armadillo World Headquarters where various bands played, such as the Greezy Wheels. Austin was where corn-fed blond guys and gals met Haight Ashbury and engaged in joyous syncretism. The presence of the University of Texas did nothing to inhibit this. The result was a rich country-music scene fueled by forbidden substances. At places with names like the Soap Creek Saloon, with girls danced on the tables for the sheer fun of it while a beer-drinking contest raged about them A deeply conservative Texas was properly horrified.
At the Dillo, as it was called, as in Alice’s Restaurant, you could get anything you wanted. The freaks would holler, “Waiter, LSD,” and it would come in mugs.
Lone Star Draft
Today the roads are empty. I’m glad they weren’t when they weren’t.
https://fredoneverything.org/how-we...hiking-recollectons-of-the-social-cryogenian/
How We Were: The Years of Hitchhiking
by Fred Reed
The big roads were safe then, or we thought they were. Many of us, the more adventurous, poured onto the highways, just going, moving, looking. We were devotees of the long-haul thumb, crossing and recrossing the continent, dropping into Mexico, whatever.
A camaraderie held. There were rules. On an onramp it was first come first served, no butting in line and anybody with his thumb out was taken as a friend, or at least friendly. “Hey, man, got any ****?” was a common question. This meant grass, pot, ganja, herb, and good manners was to share.
A theme of the age was that “Dope will get you through times of no money better than money will get you through times of no dope.” This makes more sense than might seem today.
It was wild to be alone in the sun and clarity of the southwestern deserts, trucks howling by, a blast of wind and shining of tires, and it was just you and the whole desert stretching in sand and cactus to the horizon. You might end up sleeping in an arroyo and if there was a gas station in sight there might be a bottle of Triple Jack.
The song that caught the era was Born to be Wild, Steppenwolf, and at my local biker bar in Mexico it still produces an electric shiver and a sadness for things gone. Someone once said, “The symphony ain’t been wrote that matches the lope of a Harley, potatopotatopotato.” Could be.
There were black holes that you could hitch into but not out of, where despite traffic or the lack of it you could spend days without getting a ride. One was in Canada–I swear it was called Wa Wa or something like that–that had a buddy of mine and I contemplating homesteading. On an obscure onramp in California someone had carved into the post of a stop sign, “Day 13. We killed John yesterday and ate him.”
Once in Berkeley, on Telegraph Road, Hill, Avenue, or whatever it is, a friend, a depressive Irishman, was in a phone booth calling back East. The connection was bad. “Plattsburgh. No, Platts–no, P as in psilocybin….” She understood him. Such were the times.
One afternoon after crossing the continent from DC my ride dropped me on on the Riverside exit in California. I was looking for my friend Jimmy Auld, who later killed himself by swimming out into the Rappahannock River at two a.m. in mid-January. But that’s another story. The day was sunny and I felt good after a long haul and in the distance I heard Carmina Burana.
That would be Jimmy. He was a music freak and had a Fisher tube-amp that he managed to carry with him everywhere.
So I reached the house on the main vein through town and there in the living room was Jimmy sitting on one of maybe five pink porcelain toilets, connected to nothing. Just there, in a sort of ring. I asked him why toilets.
“I stole them,” he said, clearly thinking this a reasonable explanation. It seemed he had worked in a hardware store.
“Oh,” I said. “But why toilers?”
“They watched everything else.”
It made as much sense as anything else in those years. It was an age of hunting and gathering.
One thing we all noticed on the road: The less a car cost, the more likely it was to pick you up. Caddies? Forset it. Thing was, people in old cars had probably been down on their luck. They knew what it was. So they pulled over. A crumbling ten-year-old pickup covered in Bondo and pop-rivets would usually stop.
Another thing we noticed was that in the South people were friendlier and more charitable. As you went from DC south, there was a sort of social thermocline at Fredericksburg, a sharp increase in warmth and courtesy. . You could feel that you somehow belonged in Fredericksburg. In the north, you were always just passing through, and usually under suspicion.
I once got dropped off in Boone, North Carolina, almost dead broke. Mountains loomed green and gorgeous and the towns thereabouts had the feel on having been there since at least the Civil War. I went into a local eatery, Dixie Lee’s of something with Dixie in its name I think, to spend my last buck on a coke. The owner could sort of see what was going on and she gave me a burger on the house and offered to let me wash dishes until I found something better. A construction worker, hearing this, put me up on his floor if I needed it. I did.
A lot of kids, late teens, early twenties, were in Brownian motions then, drifting from coast to coast, city to city. Since we seldom had anywhere to stay while in transit, we learned to forage for accomodation. One insight was that if you go ten feet off the sidewalks even in a crowded city, and lie down in tall grass, you no longer exist. In Waverly, New Jersey, hoping for a train south, I spend several nights in a clump of bushes not a yard from a sidewalk and maybe fifty feet from a Puerto Rican bar. Nobody Noticed.
One summer night in one year or another a friend and I–it was Jimmy Auld–had climbed into the Pot Yards–the Potomac Yards in Virginia just outside of DC–planning to hop a freight to New York. I say climbed: The yards were protected by one of those nine-feet-high chain-link fences with the Y-l’shaped out-leading barbed wire.
Why these are thought to provide security, I don’t know. A wiry stripling jumps as high as he can and grables the fence. The gaps provide a toe-hold. He then tests the outleaning Y-piece to be sure it will hold his weight, very carefully throws a leg over, and the other, leaving him inside the Y, and reverses the process down the other side. This might take thirty seconds.
The only sounds were the diesel yowl and the shuddering clangsbangbang of couples hitting each other.
Anyway, we hid under some bushies at the edge of the yards and watched the yard mules making a train to head North, where we wanted to go. The yard crews didn’t really care if you hopped trains, but it was better not to make them decide.
We heard but couldn’t see someone approaching. It was an old black guy–both “old” and “black” were obvious from his voice–with a couple of gallon jugs of water. We said hey, what’s up, nice night. Once it is clear that no one is threatening anyone, people in such circumstance feel pretty much at home with each other, or close enough.
It turned out that he had nowhere to live and was staying in a shelter of some sort that he had put together out of sight and had to go for drinking water. A hell of a way to end your life. Then as now America was killing large numbers of people in foreign countries and then, as now, I wondered why they couldn’t give this old fellow a few C-rations. He gave us some hints as to which trains stopped where. We said goodbye and he walked slowly away with his water. I don’t think his joints worked too welol. The diesels were still howling as mournfully as ever.
There was then in Austin a sort of outdoor beenhall called the Armadillo World Headquarters where various bands played, such as the Greezy Wheels. Austin was where corn-fed blond guys and gals met Haight Ashbury and engaged in joyous syncretism. The presence of the University of Texas did nothing to inhibit this. The result was a rich country-music scene fueled by forbidden substances. At places with names like the Soap Creek Saloon, with girls danced on the tables for the sheer fun of it while a beer-drinking contest raged about them A deeply conservative Texas was properly horrified.
At the Dillo, as it was called, as in Alice’s Restaurant, you could get anything you wanted. The freaks would holler, “Waiter, LSD,” and it would come in mugs.
Lone Star Draft
Today the roads are empty. I’m glad they weren’t when they weren’t.
https://fredoneverything.org/how-we...hiking-recollectons-of-the-social-cryogenian/
I’m really disengaged with so-called American culture. But, I heard through my teenage daughter that plastic straws are now the scourge of the environment. That Starbucks or other restaurants, and possibly the state of California are banning plastic straws. My daughter thought it made sense...