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The Week’s Most Lean, Mean, and Augustine Headlines

WELL, BLOW ME DOWNTOWN
June 2021, Downtown L.A.—A Mexican had been stockpiling illegal fireworks (the only thing Mexis love more than drunk driving is setting off fireworks; the Mexican dream is driving drunk in a car that shoots off fireworks like the battletruck in Land of the Dead). When cops removed the explosives, they overloaded the kaboomie-containment vehicle, which was built to detonate 33 pounds at a time.

They stuffed in 40.

The truck exploded, taking out 22 homes, 13 businesses, and 37 vehicles. Seventeen people were hurt, 80 were displaced.

As this part of L.A. is laden with sidewalk-sleeping transients, the difficult task following the explosion involved separating the strewn bodies of Mexicans blown through their roof from the everyday pavement schizophrenics.

“Excuse me, were you just blown across your yard?”

“Lionel Richie uses Little Debbie cakes to paralyze my foot Falana.”

“Sorry to disturb you, sir.” [Moves to the next body] “Excuse me, were you just blown across your yard?”

“Sí, señor. I am gardener but today I feel like the leaf.”

Leftists tried to get the beans to riot. To at least protest.

Nada.

So last week the L.A. Times “outed” the officers who miscalculated the explosion, hoping that because the offending cops are white, the Mexis might riot.

No luck!

The only person angry about the explosion (except the whites at the Times) is local anti-Jewish communist “educator” Ron Gochez (and frankly, his accusation that the fireworks were genetically altered to spare Ashkenazi Jews is a little suspect).

The political passivity of L.A.’s Mexicans is a huge stumbling block for L.A. leftists, the only people in the county mourning the absence of blacks.

THE UNCIVIL WAR
The Civil War pitted brother against brother. And America’s ongoing conflict between black customers and fast-food workers over food temperature (the Sizzle War) pits brutha against brutha. But last week the war took an even more tragic turn, pitting worker against worker and customer against customer.

First to New Orleans, where Applebee’s server Boderrick Donya Ford (which sounds like an Irishman cursing out his car) complained that the cooks were taking too long on the chicken. When the cooks lifted their shirts to reveal the bullet wounds they’d received for serving food that wasn’t hot enough, Ford told one of the cooks that she’d “pop him” after work.

In a city where the majority population wants its food cooked both super fast and piping hot, and the penalty for failing at either is death, cooks should get frontline pay.

True to her word, Boderrick waited for the cook after work and ran him over with her car.

Boderrick dunya with her Ford.

Meanwhile, in Chicago, Carlisha Hood entered a hot dog joint as her teenage son stayed in the car. Apparently, Hood was taking way too long to order, so the traffic light inventor behind her saw red. He asked her to hurry up. Which prompted a flood of “oh no you dih’nt” from Hood, which prompted Snoop Hotdog to yell, “Just git yo food! Git yo food! You say one more thing I’m gon’ knock you out.”

Hood continued yammering, but Adam Clayton POWell had good follow-through. With his fist.

Talk about blood sausage.

Naturally, the bystanders immediately restrained him. Oh wait, no. They laughed and let loose with “oh no he dih’nt!” But Hood’s son was no bystander. He ran inside and fatally shot the attacker three times in the back.

And Chicago Polacks lowered their heads in mourning for a city where, once upon a time, ordering a kielbasa didn’t lead to violent death.

BLACKENED CATFISH
There’s no consensus regarding how many people live in Newbern, Alabama. Some sites say 275. Wikipedia said 133, but a day later it was reduced to 131.

What everybody agrees on is that the town’s 85 percent black.

So why the inability to do the math on a population that small?

Perhaps that’s what happens when you’ve beaten all your Asians to death.

In fact, the reason for the rapidly decreasing count is that blacks are fleeing Newbern because there’s no fast food. There’s one general store, which goes out of its way to not sell “black products” (if the store’s name isn’t Whiteman Mayo, it should be). So black residents are forced to eat catfish from local creeks.

Newbern recently made headlines when, for the first time in its history, a black man was elected mayor, having campaigned on a platform of bringing cheap food to Newbern so black residents can have something to shoot workers over (ever shot a catfish? It’s not satisfying at all. They don’t even wear weaves you can pull off in a fistfight). Unfortunately, even though the black gentleman, Patrick Braxton, won the election, the all-white town council refused to seat him.

Even without McDonald’s, Newbern has a much higher violent-crime rate than the national average. Introduce fries into the equation? The population will dwindle like a Highlander movie until there’s only one, ripping out her own weave and tossing herself over the counter for lack of a sparring partner.

Braxton has filed suit to be duly recognized as mayor.

An amicus brief has been filed by the catfish, who are sick and tired of getting punched for being too cold.

KLAUS BARBIES
National Review: standing athwart history, yelling, “Hey, remember that time the Blow Monkeys were banned because Tipper Gore thought ‘blow’ referred to coke rather than sex? That was conservatism’s finest moment.”

Last week was a weird one for cultural conservatism. Saucerhead Ben Shapiro condemned the Barbie blockbuster for having a “feminist” message, as if a movie about dolls shouldn’t appeal to girls.

Yeah, what the Barbie movie lacked was Nick Searcy in a ten-gallon hat reading Thomas Sowell. Ten-year-old girls would’ve swooned over that (“Err-mah-gerd, Becca, systemic causation involves reciprocal interactions, rather than one-way causation”).

It’s a movie about dolls. It’s not Phoebe London-Bridge hijacking an Indiana Jones flick or Melissa “don’t laugh at me because I’m fat; why aren’t you laughing at my fat high jinks?” McCarthy soiling the Ghostbusters legacy. It’s a movie about girldolls. So yes, it appeals to girls. Just because Barbie dolls don’t come with the Barbie Dream-mikvah shouldn’t be a reason for Benny Shapiro to attack the film.

And while conservatives were yelling at dolls, oblivious to the far more important point that the massive success of the Barbie movie proves that filmgoers would rather look at a beautiful white girl than Leslie Jones, National Review weighed in on the Jason Aldean “Try That in a Small Town” controversy. NRO chupacabra Kathryn Lopez declared, “We need songs about virtue, not violence,” as she slammed Aldean for singing about guns. Lopez, whose business card reads “I’m proof they’re not sending their best,” praised Tipper Gore for trying to censor rock lyrics in the 1980s. Because that’s what Americans really care about in 2023!

Lopez also blamed songs for making women get abortions. Were that true, surely 1986’s No. 1 hit “Papa Don’t Preach,” an “I’m not getting an abortion” anthem recorded by Madonna at the peak of her fame, would’ve led to lower abortion rates that year.

Except, 1986/1987 saw a jump in U.S. abortions.

When asked to comment on this snag in her “songs influence abortions” fallacy, Lopez said, “¡Me no comprende; taco taco burritos ay yi yi!”

It’s a testament to the state of modern conservatism that as people are being mass-murdered in the street by black criminals, as the southern border’s thrown open to the world’s detritus, and as teachers tell children to cut off their genitals, NRO finds solace in attacking song lyrics.

Thanks, William F. uckley.

LOWERING THE BAR…BIE
Still, pointless as it may be to spend hours dissecting a movie about dolls (though it should be noted that the film Strawberry Yellowcake was a moving portrait of a beloved doll who challenged George W. Bush’s Iraq War propaganda), it’s fun to imagine the havoc a real-life Barbie would wreak upon the world.

Meet Alison Rose, CEO of National Westminster Bank, formerly abbreviated as NatWest until Nick Searcy kept showing up in his ten-gallon hat thinking it was a “change the culture” Western film costarring Kevin Sorbo as a horse’s anus and Gina Carano as a tick-filled tumbleweed.

Ms. Rose, an over-the-hill blonde who likely got her job because she’s in possession of a used condom from some inbred royal, stepped down last week after it was revealed that she’d broken, like, ERR-MAH-GERD every rule in British banking by leaking the private account information of anti-immigration campaigner Nigel Farage.

Turns out that in the U.K., where people branded as “racist” lose every right they ever had, the leaking of banking info is a Tower Bridge too far. Rose leaked the info to excuse why her bank closed Farage’s account. But just like the British criminals sent to the colonies Down Under, she threw a boomerang. Her flaunting of U.K. banking rules led to her own dismissal, and, being 54 and not nearly as hot as Elizabeth Holmes, her application for a Netflix biopic starring Dakota Fanning was swiftly rejected (though she was offered a role in the Benny Hill biopic as “stuffy dowager annoyed by farts”).

It’s a fascinating irony; blonde bimbo sacrifices her career to kill the bank account of a man who’s dedicated his life to stopping the importation of Third World immigrants who rape blonde bimbos.

Maybe the proper place for Barbies is the silver screen and not financial institutions.

Conservatives should be at peace with that.