January 10, 2021

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The Week’s Testiest, Zestiest, and Unrestiest Headlines

Well, this was a crime worthy of Ocean’s 11. Or perhaps more appropriately IQ of 11. Twenty-one-year-old Royshana King (no word on whether she has a brother named Siegfriedshana) of Houston was looking to score big. A real caper, a real “this’ll put us on easy street” kinda crime. But what to steal? Where to hit? Jewelry stores? Naw, the good ones have that whacked-out security shit where you gotta go through a door into a little booth then through another door, making it hard to smash and grab. Also, they have that other security system called “instinct” that prompts proprietors to cock their weapons when a 21-year-old who looks like Royshana King walks in.

Banks? Please. Those security guards have guns…that they cock when a 21-year-old who looks like Royshana King walks in.

After several nights of hard thinkin’ and crack smokin’, King and her male accomplice hatched the perfect plan: They’d read somewhere that purebred dogs can go for thousands of dollars. Thousands of dollars! Royshana and her man would visit one of those big-time breeders pretending to be a couple interested in buying one of them fancy-ass moneydogs…and they’d run off with it!

The perfect crime! Dogs can’t fire no guns.

Armed with that knowledge, the two smooth criminals visited Bully Kamp, a Harris County establishment that breeds and sells show-quality bulldogs.

The caper went off beautifully…at first. Royshana saw a 7-month-old bulldog priced at $10,000. And she be like, “Can we see that dog?” And the proprietress was like, “Of course. This particular breed has a lineage that…”

And then Royshana and her man ran out of the store with the puppy.

What they didn’t count on was that the proprietress, Alize James, didn’t need to cock no gun to take on two dognappers. The doughty James chased after the pair and jumped on the hood of their car, T.J. Hooker-style. The pup had recently had surgery, and needed meds. And James was not about to let it fall into the hands of a couple of thugs without a fight.

“My mind was focused on [the puppy’s] health, I obviously didn’t care about my well-being,” James told a local TV station.

James rode that hood for ten minutes at highway speeds, until King and her accomplice, realizing that their Ocean’s 11 caper had hit a snag, finally pulled over. The male beat the crap out of James, thus proving his preference for the Sinatra as opposed to the Clooney version of the film, and stole her necklace. But thanks to James’ bravery, authorities were able to arrest King, and they’re currently searching for her partner, a large African-American male who still has possession of the dog.

It’s probably safe to assume that this rocket scientist has received a swift and merciless lesson in how a “$10,000 dog” isn’t a “$10,000 dog” without documentation. It’s not like pawning a gold watch or a Stratocaster. One can almost hear the dialogue as the hapless gent attempts to fence his booty:

“This a $10,000 dog. How much you gimme?”

“Well, what is the sire?”

Man! Look, I’ll take $5,000.”

“Okay, but where are the registration papers?”

Maaaan, c’mon, $3,000.”

“Can you show me the proof of pedigree?”

Maaaaaaaaaaan, I shoulda robbed a minimart.”

Hopefully, Fat Albert Einstein will return the dog unharmed once he realizes that it’s not only unsalable but his intellectual superior.

Hollywood’s Rules of Woke are getting increasingly harder to follow.

In the early days of movies, white dudes would play Japs, Chinamen, Injuns (tomahawk throwers), and Injuns (acid throwers).

Was it respectful? No. And certainly the industry only got better as Japs could play Japs, Chinese could play Chinese, Chief Dan Georges and Will Sampsons could play every Native American role in every movie in the 1970s, and, well, okay, India Indians were still primarily portrayed by white guys.

Birdie Num-Num.

And not just white guys. Even Hong Kong cinema classics like 1976’s Master of the Flying Guillotine used Chinese actors to portray subcontinent Asians, with Wong Wing-sang, wearing brown makeup and a patchy glued-on beard, portraying an Indian yogi master who can extend his arms ten feet long to deflect attacks (a skill that, had Gandhi possessed it, might’ve saved his life).

Thankfully, over the past decade actual Indian actors have been scoring lead roles in Western cinema due to absolutely no popular demand whatsoever but boy does it make white Americans feel self-satisfied to talk about how much they like that cute little Indian guy with the name that doesn’t come to mind who was in that thing where he was funny but also heartwarming.

In recent years, it’s become verboten in Hollywood for non-Indian actors to affect an Indian accent, to the extent that even Apu was canceled. It’s a tragic turn of events that’s forced marginally talented white Groundlings hacks to narrow their go-to “comedy gold” accents to Scottish or German.

Still, one would assume that actual Indians would be allowed to do Indian accents.

One would be wrong.

Rizwan Manji is an Ismaili Muslim of Gujarati Indian descent, whose parents immigrated to Canada from Tanzania. Manji, an actor, has a supporting role on a show called Schitt’s Creek (a.k.a. the show your friends insist you just have to watch because it’s so critically acclaimed, and then you find out they haven’t seen it either). Manji’s character has a slight Indian accent, and apparently the arbiters of wokeness have decreed that this is racist.

Yes, it’s now racist for an Indian to have an Indian accent.

From CNN:

Fans of the show have taken issue with “Schitt’s Creek” resident Ray Butani (portrayed by Manji), an eccentric businessman who runs a real estate-travel-photography enterprise. Butani, one of the few non-White characters on the show, speaks with an accent and, according to some viewers, plays into stereotypes of South Asian men.

It’s unclear how an Indian with an Indian accent is “a stereotype” as opposed to “a reality.” Some Schitt’s viewers have even gone so far as to call Manji’s role “brownface,” apparently oblivious to the fact that the man actually has a brown face. By that definition, all black actors should be excommunicated from the business because they insist on performing in blackface.

Whites-only Hollywood is the only true way to avoid racially insensitive portrayals.

As baffling as this attack on an Indian actor for having an Indian accent may be, it’s perhaps more understandable if viewed in light of the industry’s obsession with shoehorning actors of color into historical roles for which they’re wholly inappropriate, from British monarchs to Viking warriors to the Little Mermaid. With a blacker-than-Yaphet-Kotto actress set to portray Anne Boleyn in a British TV miniseries, it’s understandable that Manji might want to lose the accent, as rumor has it he’s up for the role of FDR in an upcoming biopic.

“We have nothing to fear bud-bud fear itself.”

And on the subject of “blackface”…

Big Tech has gone to great lengths to rid the ’net of “right-wing conspiracy theorists”—Alex Jones types who pollute the world with wacky nutty koo-koo-bananas tall tales about secret government plots and schemes to commit mass murder or engineer disasters to depopulate the world.

But take any standard Alex Jonesian conspiracy theory and darken it up like Jolson, and bang, you have a hit Netflix documentary!

It’s a fairly simple dynamic: The only difference between “loony conspiracy theory, shut it down” and “wow, makes ya think, deserves to be heard” is skin tone.

“Yes, it’s now racist for an Indian to have an Indian accent.”

In 1994, a filmmaker named Randy Holland produced a doc called The Fire This Time. The film posited that the 1992 L.A. Rodney King Riot was a CIA antiblack covert op. There were no rioting blacks; just government “crisis actors.” Rooftop Koreans? Nope, just CIA guys in Mikado makeup. Reginald Denny the beaten white trucker? Possibly an animatronic replicant, although also maybe a hologram (Holland, a cautious researcher, doesn’t firmly commit to either possibility).

Holland’s film won the WGA Award for Best Documentary. It was broadcast on Cinemax, and received glowing reviews in Variety and the L.A. Times, because it’s not at all crazy like that Alex Jones “gay frog” Illuminati crap.

In 2006, Spike Lee released his doc When the Levees Broke, a central theme of which was that Hurricane Katrina was a government depopulation op designed to genocide New Orleans’ blacks. It won three Emmy Awards (Exceptional Merit in Nonfiction Filmmaking, Outstanding Directing for Nonfiction Programming, and Outstanding Picture Editing for Nonfiction Programming), a Peabody Award, the NAACP Image Award, and the Horizons Award at the 63rd Venice International Film Festival.

The reviews were—what’s the word?—glowing, with critics taking great pains to point out that it’s important for these “conspiracy theories” to be heard, because they come from black folks. L.A. Times infinite monkey Paul Brownfield, normally a foe of all theories conspiratorial, gave Lee’s film a free pass, writing that, regarding the movie’s claim that Katrina flooding was government-caused, “This isn’t a film about journalistic balance, it’s about being there so people can exhale.”

See, when white folks speak of grand CIA psyops, false flags, weather control devices, and chemtrails, it’s “right-wing conspiracy bullshit” that must be banned and suppressed as even allowing it to exist is a threat to society because “disinformation.” But when blacks indulge in such nonsense, it’s just them “exhaling.” Lettin’ off steam! To censor or condemn such content is to tell blacks that they mustn’t breathe.

Yes, if you criticize black conspiracy theorists, you’re literally suffocating George Floyd.

And this week arrives the new Netflix doc Crack: Cocaine, Corruption & Conspiracy, another gust of black exhalation about how crack cocaine was all a CIA plot and (as the Daily Beast points out, this comes off as a bit contradictory) blacks (a) were never actually harmed by crack—it was all media slander to portray them as addicts, (b) were terribly hurt by crack, per CIA depopulation plans, (c) were left to deal with the crack epidemic on their own by uncaring public officials who never took the problem seriously, and (d) were severely oppressed by caring public officials who took the problem too seriously and overreacted with draconian enforcement.

That’s some exhale! Terry McMillan, eat your heart out.

The Daily Beast is forced to conclude that the film is “borderline disingenuous.” That “borderline” part is an understandable bit of caution, as nobody wants to be too critical of next year’s Oscar winner for Best Documentary Feature.

Rest assured, though, that this “disingenuous” film will not be banned from social media, but any white “right-wingers” echoing its talking points will.

Planning to burn a flag? Choose your standard carefully, because your decision might mean the difference between going to prison or becoming independently wealthy.

Remember little Joey Johnson? He’s the Revolutionary Communist Party radical who was arrested in 1984 for burning a stolen (note: stolen) American flag during an anti-Reagan protest in Dallas. Johnson’s case led to the landmark SCOTUS decision that struck down anti-flag-burning laws as unconstitutional. Yes, Americans, you have the right to burn flags, even flags that don’t belong to you, even flags you’ve purloined from folks who don’t want ’em burned.

It’s your sacred right!

Of course, that sacred right only applies to American flags, which (SCOTUS sez) are not sacred. But truly sacred flags must never be burned.

Like the Holy Flag of BLM.

Last week, Proud Boys leader Enrique Tarrio was arrested in D.C. for having burned a BLM flag he took from outside a “historic black church” a month earlier. He’s been charged with “destruction of property” (not theft, because it’s not the theft that matters but the desecration of a sacred object). Even though the burning happened a month ago, D.C. cops were still hot on the case, because there are no other, more serious crimes to investigate in the peaceful utopia that might soon become the nation’s 51st state.

Cops were lying in wait for Tarrio as he flew into D.C. from Miami. They staked out an airport to catch a guy who burned some cloth a month ago.

But of course, it’s not just “some cloth.” BLM banners make the Shroud of Turin look like a cocktail napkin. The BLM flag is the Koran of banners; defile it, you die. One gets the feeling that had Tarrio burned a Bible from that “historically black church,” neither the pastor nor the cops would have pursued the matter.

D.C. prosecutors are contemplating charging Tarrio with a “hate crime” enhancement.

Yep, dude would’ve been a lot safer burning a Bible.

Tarrio had already told The Washington Post that he would plead guilty to the destruction of property charge and reimburse the “historically yada yada” church for the banner, but he’s pledged to fight any “hate crime” charges, as he steadfastly maintains that he destroyed the banner not out of racial animus (Tarrio himself is Afro-Cuban), but because BLM “has terrorized the citizens of this country.”

He’s likely to find out that truth is not a defense in his case.

For the flag-burning alone (not counting the potential hate-crime charges), Tarrio is facing a $1,000 fine and up to 180 days in jail.

Sure, it’s easy to bring up the fact that BLM terrorists have destroyed statues and monuments and burned entire buildings to the ground without facing arrest, but that’s too obvious a point.

Let’s return to little Joey Johnson.

After he was cleared of all charges by the SCOTUS flag decision, he continued burning flags for the next 25 years (to a “revolutionary communist,” that counts as a profession). In 2016 he lit an American flag on fire outside the Republican National Convention in Cleveland. Police stepped in to douse the flames.

And the city of Cleveland was forced to pay Johnson $225,000 for violating his right to publicly burn American flags.


Think on that as you await your $600 Covid relief check.

And now that you’re in a bad mood…

The news from D.C. following the Capitol unrest is nothing but grim. One pro-Trump protester—a fourteen-year military vet—shot dead by Capitol Police. Three other protesters dead via stroke, heart attack, and trampling, and a D.C. police officer—an Iraq War vet—succumbing to a head injury the day after the skirmish.

There’s just nothing fun or funny here.

But as always, there are things that can be learned, and instructive points to glean.

The left spent all of 2020 encouraging the wanton destruction wrought by BLM and Antifa. Cities were burned, hundreds of businesses large and small were reduced to ash, thousands of stores, homes, public spaces, and monuments were vandalized. And it was all good, because, as Chris Cuomo—the guy who makes every cast member of Jersey Shore look like a genius, the guy who best exemplifies why “the Italians” are far, far removed from “the Romans”—said back in June (as BLM thugs were sacking cities across the nation), “Show me where it says protests are supposed to be polite and peaceful.”

Yep, back in the summer, raucous protests were just fine.

If cops, business owners, or concerned citizens dared to harm a BLM or Antifa thug in self-defense, they were guilty of murder. Because violent protesters were not to be opposed. The right to smash, punch, and intimidate is guaranteed by the First Amendment. Maybe that’s not spelled out in the Bill of Rights, maybe it’s not supported by 230 years of Supreme Court precedent, but it’s there, between the lines, in the left’s supplemental footnotes, right alongside the unqualified right to abortion.

But as of Jan. 6, that all changed. Now “impolite” protests are insurrection, treason, and terrorism. All of a sudden, the left has decided that the only good protest is one in which mannered gentlemen with muttonchops exchange platitudes whilst nibbling on cucumber sandwiches and sipping fine aromatic tea.

“I say, dear Cholmondeley, verily have I a grievance to air.”

“In faith, good Sinjin, I shall hear it out, old friend.”

“I do hope my protest has not caused thee undue vexation, kind sir.”

“No more so than has my measured response, I do pray, caused you.”

After almost a year of mass destruction championed and defended as “peaceful protests,” this is how the left now says it should be done. Funny how that works. The Democrats gain control of everything—the White House and Congress—and protests from this point on are supposed to resemble a Jane Austen novel.

But what’s especially interesting is how the left is redefining terrorism. Melissa Chan, an Emmy-nominated journalist who has written for The New York Times, The Atlantic, The Washington Post, The Guardian, and Time (if there’s a place for vacuous leftists, she’s occupied it), made a big stink on the 7th about how the MAGA Capitol-stormers should not be described as “protesters” but “terrorists.” When pesky Twitterers resurfaced past tweets in which she’d proudly referred to violent and destructive BLM hoods as “protesters,” Ms. Chan tweeted the following:

Breaking into the Capitol is not the same as breaking into a Best Buy and I can’t believe I have to explain that. But if you think they’re the same, you should go to the Capitol and try to buy a Playstation 5.

In other words, attacking civilian targets doesn’t make you a terrorist; attacking government targets does.

Except, no. The widely accepted definition of “terrorism” is “the unlawful use of violence and intimidation, especially against civilians, in the pursuit of political aims.”

“Especially against civilians.”

And the Encyclopedia Britannica defines terrorism as something that strikes “places where members of the civilian population are familiar and in which they feel at ease.”

Like a Best Buy.

But, as we saw in 2020, definitions change quickly when they outlive their usefulness to leftists. So in the weeks to come, expect the definition of terrorism to drop any mention of “especially against civilians.” Because when given a choice between altering their behavior to be less uncivil or altering the language to redefine incivility, leftists will always choose the latter.


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