The Week’s Most Spaying, Slaying, and Presidents’-Daying Headlines

I GOT YOU, BOOB
California’s 31-year “year of the woman” is finally coming to an end (that was one looooong year).

In 1992 two female Democrats—Barbara Boxer and Dianne Feinstein—became first-time senators. While Feinstein was a known quantity, Boxer was a long shot. Moderate Republican Rep. Tom Campbell was favored to beat her, but in the GOP primary, bell-bottomed dago Sonny Bono challenged Campbell, splitting the moderate vote so that “family-values Jew” Bruce Herschensohn won instead…only to then be exposed as a hypocrite after he was caught having his shofar blown at an L.A. strip joint.

Boxer won handily.

Thanks, Sonny. Watch out for that tree.

Boxer quit in 2017 to make room for Kamala Harris (who’s blown so many shofars she’s an honorary cantor), and last week Feinstein announced that she won’t seek reelection in 2024.

Dems Adam Schiff and Katie Porter have thrown their hats in the ring for Feinstein’s seat.

They should save their hats the wear and tear. After Newsom appointed a Latino to fill Harris’ seat when she became VP, the party promised that the next senator would be black. So unless Schiff or Porter can fake a 23andMe to show Ubangi ancestry, they’re out.

And count on California Republicans to run a black of their own, in yet another massive grift to shear gullible donors for an unwinnable race. It’ll probably look something like this:

“I’m DeTwangy ‘Stank-azz’ Odom, and I gonna be California’s next senadder because I’m all about family values…just ask my twenty baby mamas. Here’s my friend Nick Searcy to explain why you gotta vote for me. Nick used to have a big TV series but now he make scale doin’ Ben Shapiro movies one after another after another after another.”

Searcy: “Please kill me.”

“We all know Trump won Cali by a million points, but they stole it from him. Ain’t no way to change that…unless we get a time machine. An’ I know the Deep State got one, so my first act as centaur will be to steal they time machine, go back to 2020, and make Trump win. Send money today!”

Searcy: “Dear God, let me die. Why won’t you let me die?”

DRAG ME TO HELL
Fenton Litwiller sounds like the name of a caricatured villain from some 1940s movie.

Like the guy who tries to foreclose on an orphanage.

“I’m Fenton Litwiller, chairman of GreedCorp, and I’m giving you filthy urchins ten days to vacate or I’ll have my Pinkertons tan your impoverished hides with their billy clubs. And that goes for you, too, Father O’Hanlon.”

In the real world, there actually is a Fenton Litwiller. He’s a “queer professor” at the University of Manitoba (and based on his photo, he was also the model for Gary Oldman in The Fifth Element).

Litwiller’s bio reads, “Dr. Litwiller is a critical leisure scholar who is currently using community-based research methods and queer theories to account for LGBTQ2S experiences.”

Well, that’s self-explanatory.

In olden times, a “critical leisure scholar” was a guy who said, “Don’t put your hammock under a beehive.”

Litwiller’s obsession is drag queen shows. He hates ’em; he considers them transphobic. Why?

Discursive production of gender performance is relational and creates fleeting moments of hegemonic rupture, but, this leisure practice is both enacted by agentic bodies and heavily informed by the cultural scripts of binary oriented gender. Drag Queens lay a possessive claim to a singular professionalised notion of drag, who make visible the axis of gender through transphobic mockery.

Now, who could argue with that? Or understand it.

What Litwiller’s saying is, cis gay men playacting as women threaten the racket of mentally ill men who think they are women. Yet, funny enough, as the mainstream media slams “right-wingers” for trying to stop drag shows that play to minors, nobody criticizes Litwiller for trying to stop all drag shows.

Maybe conservative activists who protest drag shows should adopt Litwiller’s lingo:

“Hey hey, ho ho, discursive production of hegemonic rupture has got to go!”

URINALY-CIS
Sticking with trannies…

Many people wonder why New Hampshire’s called the Granite State. Okay, actually, few people wonder about a forgettable state with a population smaller than the number of people on L.A.’s 405 freeway at rush hour.

But for those who do wonder, it turns out that the “granite” has nothing to do with quarries. It refers to what exists between the ears of the morons who run the place.

Milford, New Hampshire—population 15,000—had a problem. A couple of tranny public school boys wanted to wave their stalactites in the girls’ bathroom.

What to do?

Well, the school district could’ve said no. But instead, the district banned urinals. If all students are forced into stalls, nobody can waggle their willy at anyone.

Within days, the Milford urinals were wrapped in plastic, Laura Palmer-style, until the facilities came to resemble your grandma’s furniture.

Not being able to pee standing didn’t sit well with Milford’s male students. Plus, the bathrooms became logjammed as those looking to spend a penny had to wait for those pitching a loaf.

Meanwhile, Milford’s tranny students—both of them—surveyed the chaos and laughed, proof once again that a real-life Joker wouldn’t plot elaborate heists; watching kids piss themselves because urinals are banned would be satisfying enough.

After a week of student protests—Live Pee or Die!—the district finally relented, and the urinals were unsealed. Which sent the entire matter of the tranny students waving their Nadsden flags back to square one. Considering the collective intelligence of Milford, expect even more imbecilic solutions to come.

Adult diapers issued to students? Chamber pots under every desk? Catheters?

Sure, Milford’s students can pee freely…at the moment. But in New Hampshire, don’t take anything for granite.

HEE LEE YUM AIN’T NO CHINESE BALLOON
In L.A., Pico Boulevard begins knee-deep in bum poo in Santa Monica, and ends knee-deep in bum poo Downtown. If you want to make a day trip of it, Pico allows you to sample the finest feces from both ends of the city.

But “pico balloons” are something entirely different. They traverse the ends of the earth. Picos are high-altitude Mylar balloons used by amateur hobbyists to monitor weather conditions and transmit ham radio signals to shut-ins so reclusive they don’t even have cats.

Turns out one of the dreaded “enemy balloons” the Biden administration shot down last week was a pico launched last October by an Illinois nerd collective. The balloon, named “K9YO,” which sounds like a rapper in a 1990s Snoop Dogg video (“Bow-wow-wow, K9-YO in da house!”), was apparently taken down by a $400,000 Sidewinder missile.

Leave it to Biden to one-up The Simpsons’ “old man yells at cloud” meme with “old man fires missile at cloud.”

Of great concern is that the incident highlights how big a hobby “pico ballooning” has become in the U.S. (it costs about $300 on Amazon to get the equipment needed to send one of those things around the world).

This may prove way too tempting to the Chinese, who might eschew giant spy balloons for the smaller picos, posing as American hobbyists, prodding ham operators for info.

“Bleaker, bleaker, this is pico barroon HUPUYU; come in.”

“Roger, HUPUYU. Where ya from, buddy?”

“Me big Amelican cowboy. Bang-bang. Me rike guns. Me eat super fat. Hey, fliend, you have seclet miritary base nearby?”

“You sure you’re American?”

“Oh yes, pow-pow-pow cowboy pardiner. Me kiss brack man ass evely day. Me make son dress rike girl. Me buy many McNuggets with werfare money.”

“Okay, sounds legit. Yep, there’s a secret base about ten miles from your current location, south-east.”

To paraphrase a possibly apocryphal Einstein quote, “I know not with what weapons World War III will be fought. But I do know that World War Tard will be fought with balloons.”

CHAR LEADERS
Operating a McDonald’s in the U.K. is quite different from operating one in the U.S. In the States, the No. 1 hazard for fast-food franchisees is that they might accidentally give a black customer fries that are slightly cooler than the face of the sun. But in the U.K., Muslim immigrants are unlikely to murder someone over fries.

Bacon, on the other hand…

So there wasn’t much of a need for a McDonald’s in Cornwall, England, to erect a billboard stressing how hot and crispy its chicken sandwiches are.

And there really wasn’t a need to erect that “hot and crispy” billboard outside a crematorium.

After local complaints and chuckles from the tabloids, last week McD’s agreed to remove the advertisement.

How different things are on the American side of the pond. Winter Haven, Florida, is 25 percent black. And the No. 1 cremation chain in the city (this is not a joke) is called Crisp Coon.

Now, you’d think that these days, with blacks demanding the banning of every word and name they find even slightly offensive, Crisp Coon crematoriums in a heavily black city might be seen as “problematic.” But no, it’s a beloved chain. And if you think about it, that makes sense. With all the blacks who die in fights over non-crispy fries, this is exactly the place for their loved ones to see them off.

“In life LaDariuss never got them crispy fries. Well, you plenty crisp now, baby.”

Kind of like how gays in Atascadero, California, have been flocking to (again, no joke) Ball and Seeman Dentistry.

“Open wide for Ball and Seemann.”

Now spit.