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The Week’s Most Pedantic, Bacchantic, and Sycophantic Headlines

ZULU DAWN OF THE DEAD
Two months ago The Week That Perished featured the madcap tale of Lindani Myeni, a Zulu prince from the Kwazulu-Natal province in South Africa whose Coming to America story ended in bloodshed and death yet still managed to be funnier than the recently released Amazon Prime Eddie Murphy sequel.

Prince Lindani and his white American wife Lindsay were living in Hawaii, where one night in April the restless regnant decided to break into the house of a married couple who were complete strangers to him. He removed his shoes and made himself at home (he is a prince, after all), and when the frightened couple called 911, the sovereign squatter assaulted the cops, inflicting serious injuries on them before being royally riddled with lead.

Good night, sweet prince.

Last week, the AP posted an article penned by two of its “journalists,” Hawaii-based Jennifer Kelleher and South Africa-based Mogomotsi Magome (which sounds like how a straight-D student in an inner-city classroom might try to say “memento mori”), that condemned the state of Hawaii for not rioting over Prince Partycrasher’s death. “No mass protests after Honolulu police shoot, kill Black man,” the headline read. “The muted reaction from residents is a reminder that Hawaii isn’t the racially harmonious paradise it’s held up to be.”

Funny, but one might think that the lack of rioting is actually very good proof of a “harmonious paradise.”

While there have been some local gatherings and small protests decrying Myeni’s death, it hasn’t inspired the passionate outrage seen elsewhere in the aftermath of the death of George Floyd, and other killings by police. Myeni’s death “would have generated mass protests in any other American city,” said Kenneth Lawson, a Black professor at University of Hawaii’s law school.

Kelleher, Magome, and the prince’s widow put the blame for the wacky Wakandan’s death squarely where it belongs: Asians! Lindsay Myeni explains that the couple moved away from Denver because there were “too many white people,” but in Hawaii they encountered “Asians” who proved just as hostile. Indeed, Myeni reserves most of her scorn for the Hawaiian couple who were the victims of the break-in, describing the wife as “that Asian woman who called 911” (fact check: Hawaiians are American).

“White people don’t come from Hawaii, stereotypically. Black people don’t come from Hawaii, stereotypically,” the widow told the reporters, complaining that to the “Asians,” she and her husband were dismissed as “haoles” (foreigners).

To back up the claim that Hawaiian Asians are inveterate racists, Kelleher and Magome offer this one killer piece of insurmountable proof: “Businesses in Waikiki boarded up their windows ahead of a peaceful Black Lives Matter march last summer.”

How racist that Hawaiians, having seen the BLM riots and looting on the continent, took basic precautions ahead of a march in their city.

Racist Asians like that deserve to be taught a lesson. And while Kelleher and Magome stop short of suggesting random street beatings, continental blacks seem to have gotten that message on their own…and not a moment too soon!

A BIRD IN THE HAND IS WORTH TWO MILLION IN REPARATIONS
Woke is for the birds. Literally. The racial justice revolution has come for not just the bird-watchers, but the birds themselves. Black ornithologists—both of ’em—have decided that too many birds have racist names. And according to a breathless front-page Washington Post story, these trailblazing young bird-watchers of color are aiming to rename those racist birds because, it turns out, all of the problems plaguing black America can be traced to offensive bird names.

Who knew?

To be fair, certain bird species do have names that might make a black birder uncomfortable. There’s the KKKockatoo, the Lynching Treepie, the Bull Connor Cormorant, the House Nigga Nightingale, the Strange Fruit Dove, the James Earl Rayadito, the Middle Passager Pigeon, and of course the Woody Wilson Woodpecker.

But the new generation of black bird-watchers is not content hitting such easy targets. According to the WaPo, as many as 150 bird names are on the chopping block. They include the Townsend’s Warbler and Townsend’s Solitaire, named after John Kirk Townsend, an 1800s ornithologist who dared to scientifically examine the sacred bones of dead Indians (science has no place in the new woke ornithology!), and the Wallace’s Owlet, named for British naturalist, explorer, and anthropologist Alfred Russel Wallace, who once used the N-word in the 1850s (that’s literally the only beef against him).

“Conservation has been driven by white patriarchy,” said J. Drew Lanham, a Black ornithologist and professor at Clemson University in South Carolina, “this whole idea of calling something a wilderness after you move people off it or exterminate them and that you get to take ownership.”

Now, who wouldn’t want to spend an afternoon bird-watching with an affable, good-humored fella like J. Drew Lanham?

Many of these social justice twitchers favor a return to Native American names for North American birds. Examples given by the WaPo include awâ’hili for eagles, kâgû for crows, uwes’ la’ oski for hawks, and sïkïlïlï for chickadees.

Funding for the project is being provided by the National Institute for Making Simple Pleasures Unnecessarily Complex and Cumbersome.

Jeff Gordon, president of the American Birding Association, told the WaPo that he agrees with the mass renaming proposal, because he believes it will give young inner-city blacks an increased interest in bird-watching and conservation. When asked exactly how renaming the chickadee “sïkïlïlï” will attract people who often have difficulty with basic remedial reading skills, Gordon explained that some of the new names will be created with an eye toward this new prospective demographic.

“Just wait for the LaQuisha Lark, the Daquan Duck, and the George Floystercatcher,” Gordon said, before flapping his wings wildly and jumping out a window screaming “ha-ha-ha-HAH-ha!”

GET OFF DA BUS
In 2019, a man named John Walsh passed away. No, not the fugitive-catching America’s Most Wanted guy, but a man who, in his own way, was probably more influential, even if he never became a household name. John Walsh fought a lifetime battle to force people onto buses. First in NYC and then, for the remainder of his life, in L.A., he tirelessly led campaigns to cripple light rail and subway service and block new highways and toll roads.

According to Walsh (who dressed like a hobo and rarely bathed, and he was proud of that fact), bus travel is the only true egalitarian mode of transport, the most effective way to end “privilege” by forcing “elitists” to sit ass-to-ass with stinky bums like himself. Only by being forced out of cars, off of trains, and into crowded, fetid, noisy, air-polluting buses can we finally all be “equal”—the fat mamacita with her ten babies sitting next to the hopped-up gangbanger sitting next to the white commodities broker sitting next to the tubercular transient.

That’ll teach that broker to think he’s “superior”!

Laugh as you may, Walsh was credited with being the man who ended light rail in L.A. The L.A. press dubbed him “The Freak Who Stopped the Subway” in 1998. His tireless advocacy led to the establishment of “bus rider unions” in big cities across the country.

Then a few years later he proclaimed at an MTA meeting that light rail was part of a “Jewish conspiracy” to stay separate from “the gentiles,” and suddenly, for some inexplicable reason, he fell out of favor.

Hence why the death of this formerly lauded “gadfly” passed unnoticed.

Walsh would probably love to be back in NYC these days, because the city’s buses have somehow managed to become even worse than usual. For whatever reason—as if certain kinds of people need a reason to wreak havoc—assaulting bus drivers has become the new “punching Asians” for a certain type of hip-hop urbanite.

Last month, a Brooklyn bus driver was pulverized by an impatient motorist who ran her over when she exited her bus, and a Bronx bus driver was beaten senseless by a passenger who must’ve had a pathological hatred of Ralph Kramden (sometimes you just gotta punch a Kramden).

This month, a Brooklyn bus driver was pummeled by a teen who took the driver’s request to wear a mask as a racist insult, and a Bronx bus driver was stomped by a young passenger who took the driver’s request to turn down his boom box as a genocidal outrage.

To add insult to massive injury, last week an Asian bus driver who was assaulted by a gentle giant who was in the process of assaulting an elderly Asian couple (the driver tried to stop that assault only to become the honor student’s next target) was told by the New York MTA that he would not be receiving workers’ comp because he was technically on break when the assault occurred. The MTA told the driver, Tommy Lau, that he had a Chinaman’s chance in hell of being compensated, to which Lau replied, “I’m a New York City bus driver; this Chinaman’s already in hell.”

Pity poor John Walsh, who didn’t live long enough to see his dream of buses as brutal communist reeducation camps where kulak faces get stamped by proletarian enforcers come to full fruition.

PEE-YEWCHARIST
Kamala Harris has the over-the-top face-scrunching mouth-contorting loud obnoxious cackle of a woman practiced in laughing just a little too hard at the bad jokes of influential men she’s trying to bed.

“And then the Scotsman said, ‘Those ain’t bagpipes, but please don’t stop blowing.’”

“Ha-ha-ha-HAAAAAAAAH gackle gackle gackle hork hork haaaaaah! Oh assemblyman, you’re TOO funny!”

Unfortunately, false laughter only works on horny men and insecure, desperate stand-up comedians (i.e., all stand-up comedians). For everyone else, it comes off as unbearably annoying. Yet as irritating as Harris’ cackling is, it’s not even the most annoying thing about her. Arguably, that award goes to her complete lack of self-awareness regarding how she looks to anyone not hoping to have a quickie before the wife gets home.

Kamala’s worst qualities were on full display during her less-than-stellar first trip abroad as Joe Biden’s eventual plug-puller. Indeed, her performance during the trip was so cringeworthy, Democrats started rethinking the wisdom of being saddled with this chortling chuckle-head once Biden gets Klaus von Bülowed into retirement.

Harris’ trip began on a laughable note: On the anniversary of D-Day—typically a day when normal, decent Americans reflect on the sacrifices and bravery of men who placed their nation above themselves—Kamala Harris handed out Kamala Harris cookies to the press on Air Force Two, an act that even the usually fawning San Francisco Chronicle described as “slightly strange and possibly narcissistic.”

“Possibly narcissistic”? If feeding your flock a Eucharist in your own likeness is only “possibly” narcissistic, it’s hard to imagine what could be “definitely” narcissistic.

In Guatemala, Harris told migrants “do not come” with all the sincerity of every man who ever told her “I’ll call ya, babe” as they were zipping up their trousers. AOC, who is at least sincere in her vacuity, thrashed Harris for daring to tell border stormers not to storm the border.

And The Hill was forced to admit that Harris “flubbed a response” after NBC’s Lester Holt asked her why she hadn’t visited the border. “And I haven’t been to Europe,” Harris replied, adding, “I haven’t seen London, I haven’t seen France, I have seen Willie Brown’s underpants.”

“She is going to be haunted by this trip and this issue for as long as she is in politics,” a Democratic strategist told The Hill.

Frankly, it’s more likely that Kamala Harris will continue to be the one “haunting” U.S. politics, regardless of her missteps. Dems may have backed the wrong horse(face) as VP, but they’re gonna have to live with their choice—a cackling apparition roaming the moors like Cathy from Wuthering Heights, appearing at Heathcliff’s window, telling him she’s good for a boff if he can get her that plum committee assignment.

LARGELY PIECE-FUL ELECTION
No matter how much of a mess U.S. elections have become, things can always get worse. And they will, as Democrats and Chamber of Commerce Republicans continue to import Mexico to America.

During the infamous Florida recount that followed the 2000 presidential election, volunteers were forced to confront thousands of “hanging chads.” That was a walk in the park compared with what election workers in Tijuana had to deal with last week—namely, hanging nads (and other assorted body parts).

Yes, Tijuana—TJ—that mecca for American frat boys looking to score some fentanyl, or test their immune system against a hooker who hasn’t washed since Cantinflas was alive, or who just enjoy the thrill of being kidnapped and mailed back to their parents in pieces, didn’t exactly have the smoothest time as Mexicans went to the polls to choose between the corrupt leftist party that wants to foist all of its problems on the U.S. and the corrupt slightly less leftist party that wants to foist all of its problems on the U.S.

Polling stations all over TJ were plagued by troublemakers who scattered human body parts in voting booths. At one station, a human head in a wooden box was left on a pile of ballots. Initially, local officials wrote off the incident as a clumsy attempt to cast a write-in vote for Señor Wences. But soon enough, additional reports surfaced of body parts being left in booths at other polling stations. Arms, legs, hands, feet, internal organs, and genitals.

A confused President Biden, upon hearing reports of the election-day carnage, asked his handlers, “But didn’t I end the ‘remains in Mexico’ policy?”

For some candidates, their cleaved cojones were the only parts of them to get near a ballot that day. Over 89 candidates were killed prior to the election, although the reasons for the murders were varied (politicians who opposed drug cartels, politicians who possibly opposed drug cartels, politicians who didn’t support drug cartels strongly enough, and politicians who expressed a dislike for Australian actor George Spartels and it was incorrectly overheard as “cartels”).

Sidney Powell blamed the deaths on sentient Dominion voting machines that developed a taste for human flesh after being fed adrenochrome.

Still, even with the human body parts and 89 candidate murders, Vice described the election as “largely peaceful.”

To which BLM cofounder Patrisse Cullors replied, “Okay, that’s nutty even by my standards.”

Left-leaning President Andrés Manuel López Obrador, who ran on a platform of “my name isn’t long enough,” suffered huge losses in Mexico City, normally a haven for the far left. Obrador’s party was crushed by the opposition, 46% to 20%.

Fortunately for the distraught presidente, Kamala Harris showed up with a fleet of C-130 Hercules aircraft to airlift the disaffected voters to Boise and Kalispell, where they’ll be given stimulus checks, unemployment insurance, and a bag of Kamala Kookies (reganadas flavor).