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The Week’s Most Velocious, Ferocious, and Braggadocious Headlines

PRAISE RHESUS FOR A BOUNTIFUL HARVEST!
Not every country is lucky enough to be situated next door to Mexico. Indeed, illegal immigration would be far less of a problem in the U.S. if not for the marriage made in heaven of an agriculturally fertile nation with stuff that needs to be picked and an impoverished nation filled with exceptionally skilled pickers. Mexico may not have produced many Nobel Prize winners, astronauts, or disease-curing scientists, but hot damn when it comes to yanking a thing off another thing, Mexicans are undeniably the best.

Unfortunately for the people of Thailand, Mexicans would have to get their backs very wet to travel there for fieldwork. And sure, India lies right across the Bay of Bengal, but those laborers are only good for fertilization.

Speaking of which, India is one of the largest importers of coconuts in the world. Indians consume more than 12 million tons of coconuts a year. Considering that coconuts act as a laxative, one might question the wisdom of such mass consumption in a nation with no toilets. On the supply side, Thailand is the world’s No. 2 exporter of Gilligan fruit, second only to Indonesia (Thailand exports over 70,000 tons of coconuts a year). As a nation with a pedophile-based economy, it’s important for Thailand to stay competitive in the coconut game, especially with Jeffrey Epstein no longer pumping cash into the treasury.

Deprived of Mexicans, the Thais have been using monkeys to do the coconut picking. This has been going on for decades, but most Americans only became aware of the practice last week, when, following an exposé by PETA, shopping giants Wegmans, Costco, Food Lion, Stop & Shop, and Target agreed to stop carrying coconut products made by the Thai company Chaokoh—a leader in the field of monkey pickers.

The process of creating monkey farmhands is fascinating if not necessarily humane. Captive monkeys are trained from infancy to recognize a ripe coconut from an unripe one. Then they’re forced for days on end to learn how to “spin” a coconut (lacking the hand size to pluck one, monkeys need to spin it to twist it off at the stem). They’re then put through ground-level obstacle courses to time their ability to detach ripe coconuts hanging from ropes. The monkeys that graduate with honors not only become pros, but find themselves possessing more useful skills than the average University of California grad.

The lucky monkeys are then shackled to long chains and sent up into trees to do the work for real.

Chaokoh had previously pledged to abandon simian slavery, but an undercover PETA investigation revealed that whenever international monkey rights auditors showed up, the company would dress the furry little laborers in bonnets and dresses, stick them in prams, and pass them off as very ugly children.

PETA’s call for a boycott is getting pushback from Thai coconut growers, who point out that monkeys have no fear of heights, so using them in the tall trees reduces the risk of human injury (Thai men are very mindful of their own health and well-being, as evidenced by the nation’s insanely high cigarette consumption rate). Thai coconut growers claim that they treat the monkeys as family, which, grading on a curve, is a somewhat benign conceit in a nation with so much child buggering.

PETA, comprised as it is of leftists who want to flood the U.S. with illegal human pickers who can be abused and exploited in the worst possible conditions for the least possible pay, has pledged to pursue a ban on all Thai coconut products that come to your table straight from a monkey’s paw.

As for the monkeys, no word on whether they plan to unionize. While monkey trade unions don’t have a great success record, at the very least the meetings consist of far less poo-flinging than those held by SAG/AFTRA.

DIFF’RENT CROAKS
Hollywood loves interracial adoption. More often than not, the stories that make it to the big or small screen tell the tale of a loving white family that gets really, really lucky with their adopted black child, who, bolstered by the kind of support one only finds outside da ghetto, becomes a football star, a music icon, or a malformed catchphrase generator hooked to a dialysis machine.

There’ve been transracial adoption films that reverse the races, but those parents are rarely as fortunate (“Do all white boys age backwards, or just ours?”).

Still, the movie messaging on transracial adoption is uniformly positive.

The real-life messaging, not so much.

Remember Jennifer and Sarah Hart? They were the white lesbians who decided that being lesbian just wasn’t woke enough (these days, lesbianism is about as shocking as a nose ring). So they adopted six black kids (two sets of three siblings), because that’s the way to get Facebook likes! And indeed, the Harts practically lived on social media, with the proud moms posting daily about how brave and anti-racist they were to be raising the children of crackheads and felons.

Online, the Hart family was perfect. In real life, “my two mommies” were beating, starving, and torturing the children for fun. When neighbors reported the parents to CPS in March 2018 (and not for the first time), Jenn and Sarah piled the kids into the ol’ SUV and drove everyone off a cliff into the Pacific Ocean.

It was the Brady Bunch series finale if directed by David Cronenberg.

Last week, America saw the rebooted “Hart Bunch” with an urban twist. Sassy black mama Ariel Robinson took home the grand prize in last year’s season of the Food Network show Worst Cooks in America. Turns out being a terrible cook is the best thing that can be said about this water buffalo, who (also last year) adopted three white kids (two boys and a girl) to supplement the two biological children she and her husband already had.

Like the Harts, Robinson lived on social media, posting endlessly about how her “white children” have “white privilege,” and how she was the great racial equalizer in her family, making sure that her ofay devil kids learned to be “equal” to her black ones.

The similarities to the Hart case are striking, especially the fixation on hair (the Harts constantly posted about messing with their black kids’ hair, and Robinson obsessively posted about blackifying her white daughter’s hair). And the parallels don’t end there. Last week, Robinson and her husband were arrested for beating their little white girl to death. She was only 3 years old.

If there’s a lesson here, it might be that anybody, black or white, who sees a transracial adopted child as a trophy, as a means to flaunt wokeness and win social media influencer points, should never be allowed to adopt. Frankly, it’s probably a sound idea to mandate that if transracial adoptions are to happen at all, the parents should be banned from posting about it. A policy like that, which would quickly weed out the unbalanced, ideologically driven, attention-seeking homicidal lunatics, might just be the one social media ban that all good people could get behind.

THE EMPRESS JONES
If that last story was slightly depressing, this one should lighten the mood. Indeed, this is almost certainly the feel-good story of the month.

Kristen Gray has the kind of face you see in TV commercials when some hack producer is trying to convey “black pride.” Young woman, mocha skin, wildly natural nappy-ass hair, and a resting look of “I’m a proud black woman, behold my pride” permanently stamped across her smug kisser. Gray is lesbian, too, which means she’s exactly the kind of person who’d be featured in one of those “social justice” commercials for a product that has no need for it…the young, semi-attractive black lesbian buying a box of Cheez-It because dammit if Cheez-It stands for anything it’s social justice.

Gray blogs about her travels around the world, and her favorite thing to do is brag about how “countries of color” are so much better, so much more tolerant, than racist AmeriKKKa.

On Jan. 16, Gray posted a series of tweets about her yearlong stay in Bali. The crux of her tweetstorm was, Bali is a paradise for black Americans who want to live like the kings and queens they were before the white man stole them from Wakanda. Gray boasted of her lavish lifestyle, attainable only because of Bali’s Third World economy, which allows an average American to live quite comfortably. She invited other black Americans to join her, with the promise that “black Bali” was fast becoming the nation’s moneyed elite. She even gave instructions on how to skirt Indonesia’s Covid travel restrictions.

Gray went so far as to offer an e-book ($30) that touted the joys of “being Black in Bali,” emphasizing the “safety, low cost of living, luxury lifestyle, and queer friendly” environment (for $50 she gave personal consultations on how to make the move to Wakanda’s new Asian colony).

Sadly, Gray forgot one rather important lesson: That “I’m untouchable because I’m a proud black lesbian with a natural ’fro” routine doesn’t mean shit to Indonesians.

Her tweets spread like wildfire among Bali natives, who accused her of being a “gentrifier” and a “colonizer” and, best of all, privileged! Yes, Ms. Oppressed Black American was now being hit with every charge she’d previously lobbed at whites.

Gray, displaying the lack of introspection and self-awareness that is damn-near inborn in American blacks these days, responded to the criticism by (can you guess?) calling the Balinese “racists!” And the Balinese government responded by hauling her and her equally nappy girlfriend into detention, slapping Covid masks on ’em, and putting their proud black asses on the next flight back to the U.S.

Before departing Bali, Gray released a statement claiming that she was the victim of antigay prejudice, and that she was only being deported because of her race and sexual orientation. Because God forbid a black American should gain perspective about how the concept of “privilege” is subjective and transitory, and how notions of “colonizer,” “exploiter,” and “gentrifier” are not bound by the definitions of The New York Times.

Following her forced departure, Balinese Twitterers and Instagrammers ridiculed Gray for her unsuccessful attempt to use the “race card” and “LGBT card” to prevent her deportation.

And now poor Kristen Gray is back in Los Angeles, no longer living like a queen in a lush tropical jungle, exiled from paradise by the savages and peons who should’ve worshiped her skin color and sexual predilection. Roaming the streets like an average schmo, she’s forced to return to her previous life of picking apart everything straight white males do as “racist” and “homophobic,” ruing her fate as a captive in Nazi America, living better than 90% of the world but acting as though she’s Jean Valjean trapped between the walls of le Bagne de Toulon.

It’s a tragic ending, both for Gray and the millions of Americans who don’t mind the idea of sticking disgruntled blacks on a Third World island and abandoning them to rule the jungle like designer-clothed Tarzans.

Bali’s out, but perhaps Madagascar might be persuaded to pick up the slack.

THE NITTY GRITTY DIRT BANNED
In ancient times—like, twenty years ago—“racist” words were fairly easy to identify. Because they were racist words. And, being easily identified, they were successfully banned from the public square, which left black activists and “woke” whites looking for new targets.

If your blogging career at Mic or Ebony or Salon depends on hounding whites who say “nigger,” you’re just not gonna fill your daily quota of expository vomit (especially if Quentin Tarantino is off-limits for criticism).

Soon enough, leftist word cops were forced to go after words that sound like racist words. Niggardly fell quickly, as did the poor overeducated bastards foolish enough to use the word in daily life. Next to go was the Mandarin “stammer word” (as in the English “uh, um, er”) nèi ge, which, when pronounced properly, sounds like “nee-ga.” A USC professor lost his classroom over that one. Chink in the armor, spick-and-span, spook, nip, and coon soon followed.

Before long, illiterate Huffington Post hacks ran out of those kinds of words, too. So it was time to go after words that, while neither racist nor racist-sounding, have racist origins! From Cracked to BuzzFeed, from Upworthy to CNN, it was all-out war on words like cakewalk, master bedroom, blacklist, freeholder, hysterical (misogynist!), grandfathered, blackballed, gypped, and phrases like hip hip hooray (anti-Semitic!), sold down the river, no can do, and long time no see.

Sure, the woke literati couldn’t agree on the supposedly racist origins of those phrases (Upworthy claimed that “peanut gallery” is racist because “the nickname ‘peanut’ was given due to the fact that peanuts were introduced to America at the same time as the slave trade. Because of this, there was a connection drawn between black people and peanuts,” while CNN claimed that it’s racist because “the term dates back to the vaudeville era of the late 19th century and referred to the sections of the theater where Black people typically sat”), but who cares about accuracy when white people are using words!

But even the worst diarrhea eventually peters out, and in time, once every leftist site on the ’net had done its “racist word origins” piece, it looked like there might be no more mountains to ban.

Oh ye of little faith! The newest craze is to ban words that are falsely rumored to have racist origins. Last year, The Today show told its viewers to stop referring to chocolate sprinkles as “jimmies,” because the primarily East Coast term for little brown sprinkles comes from “Jim Crow.” That this is a patently false claim matters not. Even imaginary racism must be extirpated! Two months ago, the University of Michigan banned the word “picnic” because the word was originally used for the outdoor lunches that would accompany lynchings. “Pick a nigger” (to lynch) simply got shortened to “picnic” over time.

Even leftist sources like Snopes, PolitiFact, and Reuters agree that this is a 100% fake origin story (the word derives from the French piquer and nique), but it’s not like U Michigan has any responsibility to teach facts or anything.

And last summer, the BBC ordered its on-air talent to stop saying “nitty-gritty” because the term “is thought to refer to the detritus found in the bottom of transatlantic slave ships.”

Except no, it doesn’t. Someone at the BBC just made that shit up. And last week, after BBC political editor Laura Kuenssberg was slammed for using the term during a Brexit podcast, new BBC Director-General Tim Davie did the unthinkable—actual research—and, after determining that the “racist origin” story was pure bollocks, he revoked the ban.

One small victory across the Atlantic. Heaven help Salon and Vox if such sanity spreads here.

MAYOR OF SIMPLETON
Portland mayor Ted Wheeler represents a new kind of American Democrat—the kind nobody likes (and that includes Democrats), but who keeps winning because voters fear what might replace him. L.A. mayor Garcetti is like that. No one has anything good to say about the man except that at least he’s not a George Soros-backed “black power” lunatic who advocates the complete dissolution of the police department (Garcetti merely advocates budget cuts, which is center-right on the current Democrat curve).

In November, Wheeler became the first Portland mayor in two decades to win a second term. Not because anyone cares for him—the city’s Antifa thugs consider him too “right-wing” because he doesn’t let them murder at will, and the city’s decent working folks view him as a weakling who allowed downtown to be turned into a permanent riot zone. But Wheeler’s opponent last November, Sarah Iannarone, was a literal murderous communist. This is a woman who’s proud of the fact that in 2016 she cast a ballot that was comprised of the following write-in candidates: Ho Chi Minh, Joseph Stalin, Mao Zedong, Che Guevara, Fidel Castro, and Vladimir Lenin. Iannarone launched her 2020 campaign by declaring “I am ANTIFA!” while wearing a skirt featuring the faces of Stalin, Guevara, and Mao.

Faced with the choice between an ineffectual weakling and a violence-endorsing would-be genocidal maniac, Portlanders stuck with Wheeler. And Wheeler is stuck with Portland, a city that basically only chose him because the alternative was Betty Beria.

Antifa and BLM terrorists have resumed their nightly riots, smashing the Oregon Democratic Party headquarters, an ICE facility, and other buildings in Portland’s downtown. First responders were attacked, and residents who’d hoped that a Biden win would mean they could venture outside again at night realized that besiegement is to be their “new normal” for the foreseeable future.

Ordinary Portlanders who are pissed off about Covid restrictions on local businesses are equally unhappy with Mr. Lesser Evil. Last week, as Wheeler was dining maskless, a local attorney decided to record yet another example of a Democrat Covid lockdowner violating his own regulations. As the mayor was leaving McMenamins Pub, the lawyer—Cary Cadonau—approached and heckled Wheeler for eating indoors with no mask. The mayor responded by invoking that odd bit of lockdowner logic that because he’d been eating in a structure that had been built outside the restaurant, it qualifies as “outdoor dining” because a building isn’t a building if it was built around outdoor seating.

Like Wonder Woman’s plane, yes there are walls but you’re not supposed to see them. In architecture, this is called a “Harvey Rabbit” structure.

When the disgruntled Cadonau refused to back off, and when the mayor judged that the man was closer than six feet away, he pepper sprayed his constituent, because in Portland that “six feet of distance” thing applies only to mayors, not store owners and residents who deal with nightly violations of their personal space.

Needless to say, Antifa drubbed Wheeler for using pepper spray, calling him a fascist who demands protection for himself while leaving poor, defenseless rioters at the mercy of cops who don’t let them enter private residences to murder people. And the right (or what passes for it in Portland) condemned Wheeler for his hypocrisy in demanding his own “safe space” while depriving downtown residents of the right to have theirs.

Funny enough, Cadonau has since apologized to Wheeler, most likely due to the realization that in a town as hopeless as Portland, with a mayor who’s only mayor because the alternative is literal death by Stasi, residents might as well let the poor bastard have a night out at the invisible pub, where he can try to forget, if only for a few hours, just how fucked he actually is.