An older man, possibly drunk, flew into a rage when asked to put on a face mask while he was on a subway. The resulting fight is both comical and sad:
Courtesy of ROK Drop.
An older man, possibly drunk, flew into a rage when asked to put on a face mask while he was on a subway. The resulting fight is both comical and sad:
Tim Pool, who has been prophesying civil war for months, if not years, now says that it seems the time for talking is past:
A tasteful pic of candles and cake:
Here's Tim Pool on the latest data supporting a Trump victory:
I'm not a fan of standup comedian Jim Gaffigan and his utterly bland, flaccid, milquetoast-y sense of humor, so given my already-negative view of him, it came as no surprise to find out the man is a virulent, TDS-ridden hater of the current administration. Here's Canadian lawyer/vlogger Viva Frei (David Freiheit), analyzing a recent rant by Gaffigan:
One of the most muscular edits of Star Wars footage I've ever seen:
I visited my #3 Ajumma tonight because she had asked me over in order to throw me a quiet birthday party. I think she has long felt a lot of sympathy since my mother passed away, and she doubtless feels a bit lonely since her husband, my #3 Ajeossi, passed away from liver cancer in January of 2019. So I went over to her place, and her eldest son—my cousin Gi-yeol—was there with his young son. Gi-yeol is a professional singer. Like my brother Sean, he performs at prestigious venues with prestigious groups, and he also does plenty of tutoring on the side. A musician's life is never easy. Gi-yeol named his firstborn something like "Ayn" (pronounce it like the German "ein," i.e., "ah-een"). You'll see a few pics of him below.
In fact, we'll start off with a shot of Ayn (not sure of the romanization; I'm basing it off Ayn Rand), who is developing a bigger-than-life performer's personality like his dad's:
Tim Pool, in the past couple of videos, has been flinging around the term "Iron Range," a reference to a geographical area with a certain voting bloc. The Iron Range has become significant as a bellwether for how the November election is going to go. Composed largely of working-class unionists, the Iron Range voters have been vocal, since the advent of the riots, about voting for Trump. In the video below, Tim Pool goes into some detail over who these Iron Range folks are, where they've traditionally stood, and where they stand now. I see parallels with the so-called "Rust Belt Revolution" of 2016, in which working people in the Rust Belt concluded that the Democrats had done little to nothing for them over the years, so it was time to try something new, i.e., opt for Trump. In terms of racial strife and division, something like this revolution is also happening: Trump's support in the black communities is around 36%, which is astronomically high for a Republican. A sea change in thought is happening as more and more people become disenchanted with liberals, the left, and the Democrats. And in places like Wisconsin, the Iron Range is now activated and may do some serious damage to Joe Biden's electoral prospects.
After all the effort that cowardly mayor Ted Wheeler had put into sucking the collective dick of the rioters in Portland, the rioters paid back his groveling by swarming his apartment building and making demands, thereby slapping Wheeler wetly in the face with the very dick he had just been sucking:
Charlie at Emergency Awesome has put up a fine tribute to actor Chadwick Boseman:
Unbelievable. Actor Chadwick Boseman, who played the protagonist T'Challa in "Black Panther," died this past Friday of complications from colon cancer. Boseman starred in 2017's "Marshall," about the life of Thurgood Marshall, as well as in 2013's "42" in the role of Jackie Robinson, alongside Harrison Ford. Boseman was only 43 years old, and he didn't talk publicly about his cancer, which is why those of us wondering what was taking so long with the "Black Panther" sequel had been in the dark all this time. Now we know why.
RIP, Mr. Boseman. You deserved better than to be so ill-served by Mother Nature.
Japanese humor, sketch 1:
Rand Paul and his wife got attacked by a mob. The man can't catch a break:
As the election draws nigh, there's more and more to talk about.
The temporary power outage in our building was scheduled to begin at 11:50 p.m. Friday night. It began at 12:05 a.m. Saturday morning. I dutifully shut off my A/C and my computer at around 11:45, relying on my cell phone, my GlocalMe portable Wi-Fi hot spot, and my rather wimpy portable power pack to keep me through the night. The outage was supposed to last until 7 a.m., and the moment my A/C shut off, my apartment began heating up. I was toying with the idea of taking a long walk out to the Jamshil Bridge and back, but such a walk would last no more than four hours, so I didn't want to go too early, then come back and suffer for several hours in a hot, humid apartment. So I waited, watching YouTube videos in my queue, all the while getting hotter and sweatier. I ran some cold water over a paper towel and wiped myself down several times, allowing the moisture to evaporate like sweat, cooling me off at least a little. I lay in bed as still as possible, conserving energy and trying my best not to heat myself up through movement.
By 2:45 a.m., I'd had enough. Using my phone's "lamp" setting, I illuminated my domicile, scrounged around for my clothes, then dressed up to go for a trek out to the Jamshil Bridge. Outside my apartment, the hallway lights were still on, albeit slightly dimmer than usual, and the elevators were still in operation (as per the announcement I had translated). I hit "1" and went down to the lobby level. I had checked the weather before leaving the building, and I saw that it was in the high 70s Fahrenheit (about 26℃), with winds at only 1 mph. Ugh. I hate walking in hot, humid, still air. It's suffocating.
The night was indeed hot, humid, and still. Every once in a while, a grudging breeze puffed past my face, but it was nothing sustained. (When a decent breeze did come by, I would thank the wind gods.) Despite it being nearly 3 a.m., plenty of night-owl bikers and old people were out and about, cranking or shambling away on their wheels or their feet. I lumbered heavily along, bandanna wrapped tightly around my large skull, my right hand covered in a fingertip-less biker's glove to protect my palm from abrasion as I swung my trekking pole like an old man's cane. My feet grumbled from various aches and pains, but I largely ignored them. Maybe three or four scattered, misty drops of precipitation hit my face, but as I noticed on my way back from the Jamshil Bridge's U-turn point, it never actually rained.
In a city of eleven million people, odds are that a lot of them—hundreds, if not thousands—will be walking the Han River bike path on a summer night (those odds go way down when the weather starts getting colder). I hadn't brought along any water, and I regretted that decision, but as I approached the Jamshil Bridge, I saw some water fountains and stopped by them to slake my thirst. It was a sweaty walk, and my mouth ended up feeling dry despite the water fountains' help. I know myself well enough, though, to know I can brute-force my way through certain kinds of discomfort. The prospect of real, honest-to-God dehydration is fairly remote, even for a sweaty guy like me, because I retain so much damn water that I'd have to be near death before I ran out of sweat. When I do the hike to Busan in a few weeks, the average temperature will be cooler (or at least, less warm), so I won't need much water as I march.
I was pretty pooped by the time I reached my neighborhood; I limped into a convenience store, bought drinks, walked across the street to the outer border of the park that sits by my apartment building, sat on a bench, and guzzled some fluids before getting tiredly to my feet and trudging the rest of the way to my apartment. By the time I got there, it was around 6:45 a.m. I had been gambling that, like last year, the repairs would have been completed an hour early, so I'd be able to stumble into my apartment and take for granted that I could benefit from my fan and my A/C.
Ha ha—what a fool I was! When I entered my place and stripped off my disgusting, sweat-soaked clothes and bandanna, I immediately noted that the power was out. A few minutes later, a bit after 7 a.m., an announcement in Korean came over my PA system (yes: my power was out, but the fucking PA system was still on line), saying that the repair work would need to go on for another hour. As per the rules of Korean politeness, the message ended with what could be literally translated as, "We give you inconvenience, so we're sorry" ("불편을 드려서 죄송합니다"), the Korean equivalent of "Sorry for the inconvenience." I sank back into my bed, resigned to endure the heat for another hour. Then, around 7:30 a.m., a second announcement came through: the repair crews would need yet another hour. I wasn't sure whether this meant "another hour after the first announced hour had expired," or "another hour, starting from right now." It ended up being the former, and the power came back on almost exactly at 9 a.m. I had endured a bit more than two hours inside my apartment, which had transformed from a little heaven to a little hell once the power had gone out.
When the power came back on, I was in a bit of a vengeful mood so, wanting to make up for lost time, I shamelessly cranked my A/C down two degrees cooler than I normally keep it (i.e., from 22 to 20℃). I blasted both of my electric fans (one small, one medium-sized), aiming them both at my bed, and then I tried to sleep. Alas, sleep didn't come easily, and I drifted in and out of consciousness. The end result was that I'd wake up, feel too tired to get out of bed, then lapse back into an uneasy slumber. Lather, rinse, repeat. This went on for several hours, and I didn't drag myself out of bed until midafternoon.
What a pain in the ass, and there's another power outage scheduled for next week. I think I might just find a motel and spend the night there, basking in the motel's air conditioning.
Our building's first of two scheduled power outages will occur tonight, running from about midnight to about 7 a.m. If it's like last year, the outages will end earlier than expected. I'm not sure what to do with myself; I'm thinking of taking a long nighttime walk so as to be out of the apartment when the electricity shuts down and everything starts heating up. I had toyed with the idea of walking out to Hanam City after midnight, but I probably won't do a long walk like that until after the first week of September when, in theory, nighttime temperatures might finally start to drop and become more autumnal.
My #3 Ajumma wants to see me for my birthday, which is actually on Monday the 31st, but she's aware that I have to work that day, so she and I will be meeting on Sunday. Turning 51 isn't quite the milestone that turning 50 is, so I'm not looking forward to any fanfare. I did, however, receive a nice gift today: my coworker's wife, the professional chef, made a very delicious dakdoritang for us all, and just for me, she also crafted a red-velvet cake, which was easily as delicious as the chicken stew.
I'm back in the office tomorrow, alas: I have many cartoons to draw for the textbooks we continue to make, and I'd like to get half of them done tomorrow. In other news: I now have dates for my hike to Busan: September 26 to October 26. We'll be pulling the wool over the HR department's eyes again: I'll be submitting a vacation-request form that shows only two weeks' worth of vacation on it, but as you can see, the actual vacation will be a full month. I'll be taking advantage of two national holidays occurring somewhere between the end of September and the first ten days of October: there's Chuseok, and then there's Hangeul Day (which celebrates the creation of the Korean alphabet). Those holidays, plus the two weeks' paid vacation, will fill up about three weeks of my month off. The remaining days will be covered by my comp hours, of which I have over 50, now. I'm not sure how I feel about leaving for my walk earlier than I did last year; readers of my Kevin's Walk 3 blog will recall how much I bellyached about how warm the walk was, especially during the first half. It'll be even warmer this year, given my earlier start. But this can't be helped: if I start later in October—say, around October 15—I'll lose the advantage of using those national holidays for my vacation. It is what it is, I guess.
More on walk prep later.
Kenosha, Wisconsin, is in flames because police shot a black man several times in the back. The man, Jacob Blake, was reaching into his SUV for a knife when police shot him after having repeatedly ordered him to stand down. The Photoshopped parodies of CNN's lying coverage of the ensuing riots were quick and brutal.
Here's the original image that set off the parodies:
Adam Crigler, who left Tim Pool's Timcast to form his own carbon copy called Adamcast, has the scoop:
Paul Joseph Watson would make no bones about the situation and call California "a shithole." Tim Pool pulls his punches, by comparison, and he calls California "a failed state." Both assessments ring true.
Until I read Steve Honeywell's review of "Pelle the Conqueror," I had no idea that actor Max von Sydow had died earlier this year, on March 8, at the ripe old age of 90. The man had a storied career, and for me, he seemed to have the bizarre property of not aging. My first encounter with von Sydow was in "The Exorcist," in which he played a very old priest who fights a demon he has encountered before. This may be part of the reason why I think of von Sydow as not aging: he looked old when I first saw him on screen in the 1970s, then he aged into that elder image of himself.
Von Sydow starred in movies ranging from "The Exorcist" to "The Seventh Seal" to "Minority Report" to "Star Wars: The Force Awakens." His roles tended to depict people imbued with a certain dignity and gravitas. He spoke seven or eight languages, among them: his native Swedish, English, and French (which he spoke fluently—or close to fluently—in several French-language film roles; here's a French-language interview he once did around 2013). He was a French citizen, in fact, and spent his latter years in Provence, where he died. Von Sydow was married twice and has four sons.
I'm remiss: I really need to watch more films from von Sydow's filmography. He was a great actor, one worthy of deep appreciation. RIP.
John McCrarey turns 65 today. Go visit his blog and leave him a Harpy Barfday message.
"They say that if you don't see color, you're racist. I hate that."
The man's parents are Ghanaian; they move to the States; Billy joins the US Air Force, ends up disobeying orders he finds unethical, leaves the military, leaves the Obamaite Democrat party, and has now #WalkedAway. Here's his story. (Tim Pool obviously loves this guy.)
Behold: the Meat Tornado!
Saw this on Instapundit, which Glenn Reynolds says someone saw on Facebook:
As Tim Pool himself notes, people jokingly or scornfully refer to him as a "milquetoast fence-sitter" for his inability to take a clear stand on the matter of voting for Donald Trump. Pool has tried for a long time to cultivate the image of someone who values truth and facts, but who also tries to be fair-minded and balanced in his opinions. But anyone who has followed Pool for a while knows that, little by little over the past few months, the self-identifying liberal has been leaning more and more Trumpward. In the video below, Pool has finally reached the tipping point and is now officially declaring his intention to vote for Trump.
I have to say: this video practically had me cheering at points—not because Tim had finally declared himself (I think most of us knew this day would come, so it's not that surprising), but because of the values that he finally expressed as he read aloud from Trump's proposed second-term agenda, most of which Pool agrees with. Pool and I agree that terms limits for Congress are a huge item: I don't know Trump's details, but I'd say that a maximum of two terms should be enforced for both houses of Congress. Allowing politicians to become career politicians is utterly unhealthy for the country, not to mention unhealthy for each respective party. This is how swamps and deep states are created. The crusty layer of older members of Congress who cling to the Capitol like disgusting, desperate barnacles needs to be dispensed with as soon as possible. As Pool notes, it'll be hard to get Congress to sign off on such a self-limitation, but maybe there's some clever way for this to happen.
Pool says that, overall, he heartily agrees with Trump's second-term agenda (watch the video to learn about the rest of it), which is a hell of a lot better and more substantive than anything to come out of Biden's camp. Biden, to the extent that he's still conscious, has become a slave of the far left, and since it's likely he won't survive his first theoretical term in office, we're essentially staring down the twin barrels of a Kamala Harris presidency, which would be a nightmare. My congratulations to Tim Pool on finally achieving clarity. I can tell he still wants to hedge and hesitate, but over the next several weeks, he'll start to feel firmer about his decision to out himself as, finally, a Trump supporter.
This may be the best public service I've done on this blog: informing my audience about the plethora of folks, mostly black, who are now part of the #WalkAway movement, leaving the liberals, the left, and the Democrats en masse. The leavers don't all become Republicans or conservatives, but they all utterly repudiate the slave-owner ideology of the Dem-left side of the aisle, which prefers to keep them in mental chains. This is why black members of #WalkAway refer to their own movement as "walking away from the plantation." This is a kind of self-liberation for them, and God bless 'em for it.
Here are two more #WalkAway stories:
If this really summed up the peninsular situation, we'd all be a lot less tense:
I think the Dems do, however, intend to cheat and to claim that the election is invalid. As all the pundits are saying these days, we will not know the election results the night of November 3rd—or for weeks after. Expect lawsuit after lawsuit, and plenty of confusion. Expect recounts, and possibly even re-votes. Unless someone lays down the law beforehand and says all voting will only be in-person voting done on paper ballots after ID verification, no one will trust the election results. Peaceful transfers of power are among the most important indicators of a country's health. I think America is pretty close to failing that metric. I expect explosive violence in the form of rioting, and there may be conservative elements who will finally have had enough, and who will respond to this violence with the sort of violence that results in a definitive victory. I sincerely hope it doesn't come to this, but with the left loudly, constantly, stupidly pushing its twisted agenda, enough may soon be enough.
Tim Pool's video, below, focuses on Sleepy Joe's plagiarism (including self-plagiarism as he recycles old speeches), but Pool starts off with the sentiment that, from his perch, it looks as though the Dems have given up. Victory by cheating is now the only victory possible for a party that has exhausted all its options after making a long, long series of stupid decisions, all while remaining unmoored from reality. Poor bastards.
I've sung the praises of un-PC comedian Ryan Long, but let's not forget fellow Canuck Ryan George (the other funny Ryan) and his Pitch Meeting series on YouTube. I saw his recent sendups of "The Fellowship of the Ring" and "The Two Towers," and now we have his satire of "The Return of the King":
Type "global wind map" into Google, then click on the topmost link of the search results. This takes you to the website called earth.nullschool.net, where you can see real-time wind patterns all over the globe. It's a fascinating website, and right now, it's proving to be a useful way to visualize the coming storm, Typhoon Bavi, headed right up the pipe to Korea.
Here's a screen capture of how things look right now, but I highly recommend that you visit the website itself because the wind patterns are animated there, and the whole planet looks spookily like a living organism that breathes in many directions.
My right foot has been slightly swollen since February, but for the past few months, it had seemed as if it had begun to settle down, albeit only slightly. Now that I've started distance walking again, though, the foot has swollen back up—not to the point where it was in February, but to a point where the skin feels tight. I also have a nice little ache in my right foot; it started last week, and it's been with me ever since. Yesterday's walk intensified the ache a bit, so I'll be watching (feeling) its progress over time, but ever since I took my orthotic insoles out of my size 12s and put them into my size 13s, life has improved.
So there are several factors I'm keeping track of: the tightness of my shoes, the pressure of my socks on my toes (I try to leave some toe room in my socks before I put my shoes on, but the socks creep backward toward my heel as I walk, becoming tight over my toes), the general swelling of my right foot, and a few other, minor things. I'm trying to lose a few kilos before the walk begins; the lessened pressure might help with some of these problems. For the moment, I'm optimistic that I'll still be able to walk come October, although I admit it's a bit disturbing to have to check my readiness.
A comment in response to an Instapundit post lamenting the departure of restaurants and other businesses from big cities because of the lack of police protection during all these retarded riots in places like Portland, Seattle, and Chicago:
Woe betide the city in which the breasts of injustice sag as low as the buttocks of perfidy—an unholy convergence prevented only by the heroically straining bra of law enforcement.
Oh, and my most-upvoted comment (14 upvotes) was this one:
When asked about this latest example of plagiarism, Biden reportedly exploded that he had never had sex with that woman, Miss Lewinsky; that he had never once doped during the Tour de France; and that he was not a crook.
Met up with my buddy JW for a walk out to the Jamshil Bridge and back. JW lives in Samseong-dong, and I live in Gaepo-dong, so we elected to walk from our respective residences and meet near the confluence of the Tan Creek and the Han River, right where the drive-in movie theaters are. I left for our 7 p.m. meet-up a little after 6; JW left his place around 6:20. He had bought a new pair of running shoes, so he ran to our meeting point and got there early. I lumbered up to the spot about five minutes late thanks to a bit of a miscalculation in terms of step count and walking speed.
There were plenty of people on the path; JW marveled at how crowded it was. I'd say about 60 to 70 percent of the walkers and bikers were masked up; South Korea is freaking out because of a sudden spike in coronavirus cases over the past couple of weeks, so everyone was walking around with a slightly chastened air. I was resolutely unmasked; wearing a mask while outside for a long walk is irrational to me.
JW was charmed by the nighttime scenery as we approached Jamshil Bridge; he took out his cell phone and started taking pictures to make his family envy him; I was inspired to take out my own cell phone and take two shots, which you see below:
Yikes:
Here's Tim Pool's commentary on Rose McGowan's very angry tweet (remember?):
Another typhoon is headed toward the Korean peninsula.
Typhoon Bavi, formed off the east coast of Taiwan, is expected to hit the Korean Peninsula on Thursday, the national weather agency said Saturday.
The Korea Meteorological Administration said the season’s 8th tropical storm is moving northwest towards the peninsula at a speed of 28 kilometers per hour and forecast to make landfall on Thursday after passing through the southern island of Jeju.
The #WalkAway movement isn't just for gay folks like Brandon Straka or for black folks like [the several dozen names I have collected in my #WalkAway/Black Conservatives playlist on YouTube]. It's for the normies, too.
Brandon Straka (whose surname is apparently supposed to be pronounced "strahk") is the founder of the #WalkAway movement. What "walking away" means depends on the walker. For people like Brandon, walking away meant leaving the Democrat party and eventually becoming a Trump supporter. Keri Smith thinks of herself as a "classical" liberal, but she also walked away from the lib-Dem side of the aisle to become a Trump supporter. For many black folks, walking away has been linked to the powerful metaphor of "the plantation," i.e., the mental slavery associated with marching in lockstep with the liberal-leftist-Democratic machine. Walking away from that is like leaving the plantation, leaving mental slavery. Below is the young, smart, self-possessed Sidni Standard (I'm pretty sure that's her online moniker, not her real name), talking about her own #WalkAway experience. It's worth a listen:
Time for another "shithole" video by Paul Joseph Watson. His target this time: New York City.