Sonia Sotomayor and Vice President Joe Biden

Source: Public Domain

The Week’s Most Supping, Cupping, and Surf’s-Upping Headlines

ALOUWITLESS, GENTILE ALOUWITLESS
The French word for “wave” is “vague,” from the Latin vagus, which means “uncertain” and “wandering.”

And the French decided to apply it to crashing tides, which are neither uncertain nor wandering.

Last week’s projected French election “red wave” (vague rouge) was therefore doomed from the start by a retarded language. Everyone expected the far-right National Rally to win a majority, and it did—a majority of the bargain-basement Jerry Lewis DVDs that serve as the runner-up prize (“ooh-là-là, we have lost ze poleetical power, yet we’ve gained ze director’s commentary on Cracking Up. We are ze real winners here!”).

Turns out, as popular as the National Rally was for its anti-immigration platform, the stench of its Holocaust denial past retarded the party.

So of course last week Candace Owens, who by her presence retards any party she attends (even a birthday one), declared that the GOP needs more Holocaust denial.

Owens is not so much La Mer as La Merde.

Meanwhile in the U.K., as expected Labour roted the Tories (yes, that should be “routed,” but U.S. tariffs demand that for every pretentious British “u” that’s imported, one must be removed elsewhere in the sentence). PM Keir Starmer, who by name sounds like he should be publishing “happy merchant” cartoons, has promised more immigration, more crime, a smoking ban, and the end of institutionalization of the violent mentally ill.

Most people don’t realize that, historically, England has fought more wars against the French than the Germans (the German wars just get more publicity because Candace Owens pleasures herself to photos of them). Were the Brits and Frogs brothers all along, united in imbecility, or did they kill each other to such an extent that only the retards are left?

A question to ponder.

A WISE GAT-INA
Supreme Court Justice Sonia Sotomayor describes herself as “a wise Latina,” which is like when a parrot says “I’m a pretty bird,” except in that case it’s sometimes true. And Sotomayor keeps a muy bueno lowrider at her D.C. home.

And it’s a beaut—the horn blares “Tequila” and everything.

Now, Sotomato Mayor (the vegan version of McCheese Mayor), she don’t want no pinche gabacho stealing her cholo-mobile. She got like a dozen Antonio Banderases stationed outside her home to put bullets in the Bander-asses of any mayates who try to run off with her Edward James Olmosbile. Sure, she wants you disarmed, she wants criminals on your street. But while to whites she’s a civilize Latina, on her own block she’s barbarize Latina.

Enter Kentrell Flowers, a lengthy rap-sheet teen who transcends mere honor student or gentle-giant status; he’s an honors giant, and he found himself wandering Sotomayor’s block last week, looking for free wheels. Of course, there were black-garbed Secret Service guys everywhere, but Kentrell had been told from birth that he built the pyramids, and every pyramid contains a sarcophagus, so when he saw Sotomayor’s carsophagus, he be like, “That my reparations.”

Yes, he tried to steal her car, and yes, he was riddled with bullets. Wise Latina became demise rat-a-tat-tina.

Amazingly, Kentrell survived the deluge of bullets. Sotomayor herself will supervise his sentencing next month; he’ll get one year’s probation, and a court order to only steal the cars of whites.

Visiting Kentrell in prison, Sotomayor angrily asked him, “Why you no steal Amy Coney Barrett’s mommy-van? It get a better price in Tijuana.” To which Kentrell responded, “You’re the first beaner on the Supreme Court and you got no kids? No kids? That’s like Clarence Thomas having a black wife. It ain’t natural.”

It’s unfortunate that Kentrell Flowers’ rocket science future was interrupted by a chiquita who, when it comes to blacks stealing from her, shifts from wise Latina to cold fries Latina.

THE PEE-YEWSUAL SUSPECTS
A frequent complaint of air travelers regarding black passengers is loudness. Loud talking, arguing, and laughing.

Well, according to a lawsuit filed last week, eight black men who boarded a Phoenix-to-NYC American Airlines flight in January didn’t bring the noise.

But they sure brought the funk.

As described in the suit, a flight attendant encountered a “toxic miasma” of body odor emanating from the section of the plane where the black passengers were sitting. The reek was so severe, surrounding passengers were begging for oxygen.

Or at least nose plugs.

The acridity was so intense, eyes watered as the smell hung in the atmosphere, turning American Airlines Irish, as passengers complained that the Aer Lingers.

In response to the Cryinair, attendants moved the blacks off the plane to try to identify the offender. Needless to say, the eight men out, known collectively as Chad Ochostinko, screamed “racism” and were allowed to reboard.

To be fair, “B.O. Baracus” was never identified, leading some to believe that it wasn’t any of the men per se, but their carrion luggage. And of course American CEO Robert Isom has pledged to up the company’s “DEI outreach” to make amends to the Stepin Retch-its. Indeed, all future American flights will have “stanking” and “non-stanking” sections.

Isom even suggested that the entire incident might’ve been a frame-up by a competitor. After all, he who smelta, Delta.

Also last week, a Honolulu-to-Anchorage flight was grounded after an “unknown odor” sent two flight attendants to the hospital.

Hawaii? Anchorage? Looks like the targeted black men were well-compensated with fetid flyer miles.

THE BATTLE OF OKINAPPY
The 1928 American jazz novelty song “Nagasaki”—a crowd-pleaser at parties until some a-hole named Truman queered the fun in 1945—opens with the lyrics:

Hot ginger and dynamite,
There’s nothing but that at night.
Back in Nagasaki where the fellers chew tobaccy
And the women wicky-wacky-woo.

These days, the Japs themselves sing a different opening verse:

Did someone say “Dy-No-Mite”?
It’s Jimmy Walker! Ladies run in fright.
Back in Okinawa where the bruthas beat and plow ’er
And deflower women black-and-blue.

You’d think, following the 1995 gang rape by black American servicemen in Okinawa, and the many incidents since involving black soldiers, that the U.S. Command on that island would tighten the reins on blacks.

Then again, last month was Juneteenth. And you can’t say no to a black on Juneteenth. Or in February during Black History Month. Or January during MLK Month. Or March (Harriet Tubman Month). Or April or May (Emancipation Month, Malcolm X Month). Actually, November is the only month in the U.S. without a special commemoration for blacks, but there’s probably one in the works to memorialize black deaths over Thanksgiving leftovers deemed too cold.

Anyway, last week saw the reluctant admission by U.S. military leaders that two black servicemen had committed two separate rape incidents on Okinawa in the previous months. Jamel Clayton, a Marine, accosted a Japanese woman, beat her severely around the head, choked her, gouged her eyes, and raped her. And Brennon Washington, an airman, kidnapped a minor and raped her a few months prior.

Jap politicians in Tokyo have lodged vigorous protests over the incidents (if by “vigorous” you mean bowing politely and staring stoically). Still, U.S. officials maintain the importance of showing the Japanese people the value of “diversity.”

“Diversity matters,” Lieutenant General Ricky Rupp (whose name sounds like a bad impression of a Japanese accent) told the Japanese press corps last week. “It’s our strength. Unfortunately, sometimes it’s a little too strong for its own good. Sorry about that girl’s eyes. But hey, think of it as free blepharoplasty!”

And as the Jap leaders recoiled in disgust, from beyond the grave Mishima screamed, “Tojo so!”

TRANSGERIATRIC
To say that Joe Biden had a bad week is rather like saying the kid from ALF had a bad car ride. Poor Joe was given multiple chances to recover from his “U.S. Americans” Miss Teen USA moment (that’s “teen” as in 1918, the last time Biden was cogent), and he blew every one of them. Indeed, Old Blocked Joe’s blown more interviewers than Sharon Stone on vodka and Oxycontin.

Following his disastrous debate performance, Joe’s handlers booked him on two black talk shows, assuming that black hosts could be easily manipulated into asking softballs in exchange for a free order of Happy Meals. The first host, Wisconsin’s Earl Ingram, at least got away with the fraud without any humiliation beyond pretending to be a journalist while asking a sitting president, “Ice cream: Is it sweet and creamy or tart and acidic? A nation wants to know.”

But the second host, Philly’s Andrea Lawful-Sanders…well, her name should’ve been a warning. A black named “Lawful” is like a Chinaman named “Badatmath” or an Irishman named “Soberfella.”

Even though Biden’s protectors fed Lawful the questions in advance, as they did Ingram, they allowed her one opportunity to improvise—to ask a question of her own to prove that her main man Joe is compos (de)mentis.

So she asked, “You’re not a black woman, right?”

And Joe responded, “I’m proud to be, as I said, the first vice president, first black woman…to serve with a black president.”

Yes, he not only thinks he’s VP, but a black woman.

Cornpop has become cornmom, and the Democrat vultures circling the Oval Office are “measuring the drapes” (except for Harris, who’s only concerned with the carpet, as old habits die hard).

Lawful and Ingram were called out by CNN for being manipulated by the Biden camp into asking preapproved questions. And to her credit, Lawful resigned from her hosting gig.

Bye-bye, network salary, but at least Lawful-Sanders will be able to eat her Colonel Sanders with dignity.