Nothing says “End Capitalism” quite like queuing up for lunch at McDonald’s. Then again, nothing makes much sense in the formerly serious country of Great Britain. Those revolutionaries, exercising suspiciously lax working hours, moments before implored all with chants of “Beef equals grief!” Which rhymes, and is therefore, profound. London this week crumpled into a
At risk of sounding like a tiresome Twitter progressive whose made-up child readily espouses the grandest of witticisms, I offer this: My nephew, all of 8 years old, has joined the ranks of contrarians, skeptics, ruffians, and rogues. Or, perhaps, he just doesn’t buy whatever Greta Thunberg and her shameless handlers are peddling. Upon seeing
A couple who named their child after a bougie Middle-eastern dip favored among Great Britain’s woke classes have decided not to reveal the gender of their child. Chanti Annette Humphrey and Jake England-Johns have even kept secret for one-year the sex of 14-month-old Anoush from the knowledge of their doubtlessly proud parents. Yes, the Baba
Certain images possess an unshakeable power. They crystallize a moment in history with greater strength than the millions of words which follow. “Napalm girl” running for her life down a dirt road in Vietnam. The eerie calm of New York City firemen traipsing upward toward death in the Twin Towers on September 11. Another picture,
It comes to something when the one of the most serene and sensible of political voices stems from a newspaper dedicated to the violent overthrow of capitalism. Yet, The Morning Star—Britain’s only Communist newspaper, and once reliant on bulk orders from the Soviet Union—this week offered much in the way of common-sense; a commodity vanishingly
Dave Chappelle, cigarette dangling from his gape, hands a swooning youngish lady in the front row a jangling highball. With a smile: “Bill Cosby says ‘Hello.’” Raucous laughter. That was just three years ago. And that joke, the most sanguine of the night’s offering, barely registered on the radar of the Woke. His new Netflix
The age of bullshit thickens. It’s pandemic. On social media, one can conjure and manicure a false image at will. Perhaps you’ve seen the posts. Syrupy pseudo-waffle. “Inspirational” bilge. You, mutated monkey, can make a difference. The worst enthrall themselves to the narcissism of the author. You know, those synthetic bores who implore you to
Ever dated a crazy girl? Sorry. It is 2019. What I meant to ask is: Have you ever consensually courted a woman of alternative mental enthusiasm? Well, it is marvelous. Narcotic and vibrating. Every fibrous sinew tensed and trilling. Sooner or later, however, that choppy high leavens into a faint despair. That vivifying alternative mien
