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Stuttering John Fetterman: A National Embarrassment

Last Sunday, when I read that a section of Interstate 95 passing through Philadelphia had collapsed, a cold grey fog of sadness invaded my Pennsylvania-born heart. The Cradle of Liberty, precious land of my unplanned birth, had lurched yet closer toward becoming a Third World coffin.

I’ve endured multiple head injuries and survived at least one gigantic brain tumor, but at least I’m able to clearly enunciate the word “infrastructure.” Senator John Fetterman, who was born in southwestern Pennsylvania just like me and our walking sarcophagus of a president, is not nearly so lucky.

Standing bald as a cue ball at six feet eight inches, ghoulish-looking and hunched over with giant, floppy Dumbo ears, Fetterman comes closer than any politician in American history to resembling the pinheaded “Schlitzie” from Tod Browning’s 1932 horror classic Freaks.

But unfortunately for Fetterman and the rest of the country, that’s not the scariest thing about him. Word has it that he was relatively lucid until May 13, 2022, when Fetterman, Pennsylvania’s then-Lieutenant Governor, suffered a debilitating ischemic stroke that has rendered him permanently unable to finish a sentence without sounding as if he’s been hit in the head with a sledgehammer non-stop since infancy.

By last May, Fetterman was already running as a Democrat for a seat in the US Senate against Dr. Mehmet Oz, and the sick irony of a TV-celeb physician competing against a brain-damaged movie monster was only lost upon the brain-damaged among us. Democrats insisted that a candidate’s “health” shouldn’t matter. These were the same Democrats who insisted that both Donald Trump and Ronald Reagan were demented vegetables who were clearly unfit to hold public office.

During his televised 2022 debate with Dr. Oz, Fetterman notoriously opened the show by saying, “Hi, goodnight everybody,” which may be the funniest thing I’ve heard since Groucho Marx’s, “Hello, I must be going.” When asked about whether he’d flip-flopped on fracking, Fetterman flip-flopped in his frickin’ answer: “Oh. Uh, I, I I do support fracking — I don’t, I don’t — I support fracking, and I stand, and I do support fracking.”

Thanks for clearing that up, Senator Schlitzie.

Signifying that we are clearly a nation in the throes of late-stage dementia, Pennsylvanians voted Fetterman into office anyway. Barely a month after being sworn in, he was hospitalized for lightheadedness. Two days later, citing the mystery illness of “depression,” he was again hospitalized, this time at the Walter Reed Army Medical Center, where he spent nearly two months being spoon-fed tapioca pudding while watching Three Stooges marathons. (I made up the parts about the pudding and the Stooges only because they seemed plausible and also because I doubt that anyone can definitively prove me wrong.)

Last Wednesday at a meeting of the Senate Environmental Committee, Delaware Senator Tom Carper asked Fetterman to pour everyone a glass of his thoughts regarding the I-95 collapse. Fetterman regaled the crowd with the following dark and inscrutable Zen koan (I very carefully transcribed Fetterman’s ululations, even repeatedly listening to them at half-speed to ensure I didn’t fuck up any of his fuckups, so nothing is misspelled here and is instead faithfully represented as it was spoken):

Uh, no, I, I, uh, would, would, would just, uh, really like to, you know, the 95, 95, 95, you know, um, you know, obviously, that, you know, you’re pretty much preoccupied with the, uf, uh, 95? And I know I certainly am, too, and we know it’s a major, uh, atery, not just for, for Pennsylvania, but for the East, the East Coast. And a lot of Pennsylvanians are worried that delays in repairs bring to its, standstill deal.

On Saturday, ostensibly to make Scranton-born Joe Biden appear to be less senile than everyone knows he is, Fetterman spoke on the I-95 collapse as Biden stood next to him, nodding and probably thinking, “This is good for me — this is very, very good for me”:

And now, I’m standing next to, uh, the president again, next to, uh, a collapsed bridge here, and he is here to commit to work with the governor and, the, the, delegadation to make sure that we get this fixed quick fast as well, too. This is a president that is committed to infructure, yeah, and then on top of that, eh, the jewel, uh, well, kind of, uh, eh a law, of the infra—, infruct—, yeah infration, uh bill, that is gonna make sure that there’s gonna be bridges all across this like this, uh, all across America getting rebuilt.

John Fetterman is living, breathing, drooling, stuttering proof that nothing in America is getting rebuilt. His stroke-addled brain epitomizes the current State of the Union.

New Poll Suggests Americans May Be Suffering From BLM-Induced Neeg Fatigue

Last Monday was my birthday, and I vow to hold every reader who failed to send me a present in lifelong contempt. I spent the day of my nativity 0ut in Savannah, Georgia with my wife. As we were waiting outside in the humid coastal Southern summer heat for a tony restaurant that serves alligator and venison to open, a young black male approached us mumbling some gibberish about how someone was dealing drugs in a nearby alleyway. The next thing out of his cartoonishly puffy lips was something along the lines of, “America is a racist country, and if you don’t agree with that, you’re a liar.” I suspect that he thought I’d be intimidated instead of laughing and saying, “It’s my birthday — give me a fucking break, man.” Possibly sensing that I was not willing to hand over my wallet without a right good street scrap, he ambled away.

I’m really getting tired of these blacks and their endless guilt-tripping schemes.

A new poll by the Pew Research Center suggests that I am not alone among my co-ethnics. Negro Fatigue — or, as I prefer to call it, “Neeg Fatigue,” because it bears more of a snappy, hip-hop lyricism to it — seems to be setting in among the Ghost People after three dadblamed years of shamelessly stupid and often gleefully violent black misbehavior, much of it egged on by the media-governmental-corporate triumvirate based on provable lies about George Floyd’s death.

After three years of blacks raping, robbing, looting, killing, smashing, bashing, burning, defaming, degrading, destroying, extorting, and lying, somehow everyone is still expected to believe that white cops are the main problem. It doesn’t even matter that Black Lives Matter has led to More Dead Blacks — keep your eyes on the prize and find inventive new ways to blame, frame, and shame whites.

Seriously, when was the last time you saw a clear-cut case of a white cop wantonly brutalizing a black criminal suspect? Can you think of even one during this century? Meanwhile, a simple search will bring up endless videos of blacks, sometimes in choreographed chimp mobs, gleefully and sadistically smashing white heads. Just like Joe Stalin’s famous line about how it’s not who votes, but who counts the votes, it’s not the number of videos that show interracial violence, it’s who gets to cherry-pick the videos designed to give an unforgivably skewed perspective on who’s committing most of the violence.

Pew’s poll was conducted online from April 10 to 16 among 5,073 American adults. Major findings include:

• 51% of Americans say they support the Black Lives Matter (BLM) movement, compared to a historic high of 67% in 2020.


• 84% of Democrats and “Democrat leaners” still support BLM, whereas 82% of Republicans and “GOP leaners” oppose it.


• 81% of blacks support BLM, whereas 63% of Asians, 61% of Hispanics, and a robustly low (but still too high) 42% of whites support it. That Asian quotient is unacceptably high. Apparently, the endless black-on-Asian beatings of the past few years haven’t dampened the slants’ misguided ardor for their dusky tormentors.


• All racial groups say they’ve seen the overhyped videos of white cops allegedly brutalizing blacks, but only whites say that publicizing such footage makes it harder for cops to do their job.


• 57% of Americans say BLM hasn’t improved black people’s lives; 61% of Americans say it hasn’t improved race relations, either.


• 59% of Republicans say the word “dangerous” describes BLM, whereas 54% would agree that it’s “divisive.”


• A paltry 14% of white Republicans support BLM, whereas 45% of black Republicans place their race over their political party.


• 64% of those aged 18-29 still support BLM, whereas 41% of those over 65 approve — but sure, keep blaming the goddamned boomers for everything, kids.

According to Pew: “The decrease in overall support is mostly due to the declining share of White [sic] adults who say they support the movement.”

WAY TO GO, WHITE ADULTS!

Elderly Bike-Riding Female Professor in San Francisco Equates Hatred of Bicyclists with Racism, Sexism, and Homophobia — and I Agree, but for Wildly Different Reasons

What’s worse than a bicyclist? A black bicyclist. What’s worse than a black bicyclist? A black lesbian bicyclist. What’s worse than a black lesbian bicyclist? Nothing. There is nothing on Earth worse than a black lesbian bicyclist.

Ruth Malone looks like she’s been run over by a car at least once in her life. She’s not black, and I can’t confirm whether or not she’s a lesbian, so at least she has those things going for her. But she is a bicyclist. What’s worse, she’s a bicyclist apologist. And by that, I don’t mean that she apologizes for being a bicyclist, which would at least humanize her in my eyes. No, what I’m saying is far more sinister: She attempts to justify everything that’s unjustifiable about bicyclists and their so-called lifestyle. Whereas anti-Semitism is often called “the world’s most ancient hatred,” hating bicyclists is the world’s most justifiable hatred.

Malone, a professor of Social and Behavioral Sciences at the University of California, San Francisco, recently had the moxie to write an article called “Hate is Dangerous, Including Against Bicyclists,” and the San Francisco Chronicle had the temerity to publish it. One would think that people who inhabit a city that is one of America’s most topographically beautiful metropolises — a place that in classic films such as Vertigo and The Birds was nigh on perfect, but that’s now crammed with street-shitters who desperately rummage through the feces of other street-shitters hoping to find a flake or two of undigested fentanyl — would have learned how to feel shame, but one would think wrong. Malone wrote it, the Chronicle published it, I had the misfortune to stumble across it, and now I’m feeling a dangerous level of hatred against bicyclists.

Malone kicks off her piece assuming that anyone beyond her and a handful of likeminded bicyclist apologists were aware of the death of USA Cycling champion Ethan Boyes — whose corpse Malone gravely dishonors by misspelling his surname as “Boyce” — who was struck dead by a car in April while being foolhardy enough to be riding his bike in San Francisco’s Presidio district.

Whenever I hear that someone was struck dead by a car while cycling, my first instinct is never to think, “Golly, that’s horrible.” Instead, my mind leaps straight to, “That’s what you get for riding your bicycle on roads that were built and intended for automobiles, buses, and trucks.” It matters not to me that, according to Malone, Boyes “had been riding in a properly designated bike lane when the speeding driver swerved across the road and hit him head-on.” To me, that’s as silly as lamenting the death of an anchovy that had been swimming in the same waters as a great white shark and wound up being eaten head-on. The plain fact is that when I was a child and the world was a far better place, no one in their right mind thought that roads should have “bike lanes,” just as no one felt that any anchovy foolhardy enough to share underwater spaces with sharks didn’t deserve being eaten by them. Just as it would be reckless to place kindergarten-age judo students in the octagon with heavyweight mixed martial artists and expect them to fare well, anyone who justifies placing bicyclists on the same thoroughfares as buses and trucks and expects a thin painted line to keep everyone safe is either naïve at best or a psychopath at worst.

Malone relates her “growing horror” at having to read comments under the article about Boyes’ cycling death to the effect that bicyclists disobey traffic laws, do “insanely dangerous things,” and “need to be more mindful.” She also appears to feel that the following comment is hateful rather than perfectly sensible:

I question how one can value their life while literally putting themselves in voluntary danger. (San Francisco is among the) top 5 most dangerous cities to ride in. I’m so confused on how cyclists are on here accusing drivers for deliberately trying to kill them, then hop right back on the bike. If I thought someone was out to kill me, I would not continue to put myself in that position.

Why, it almost sounds like black people who never stop flapping their purple gums about how living in a majority-white country is a source of endless danger and anguish, yet who never seem willing to cash in their chips and buy a one-way ticket back to Mother Africa. And this is where Malone, just like me, begins to make the connection:

Just as those who tolerate or encourage racist, sexist and homophobic or transphobic comments on social media contribute to emboldening the people who attack and menace particular groups, people who parrot stereotypical comments about cyclists on social media subtly encourage those who would harm them — tearing down a memorial, close-passing a mother with a child on her bike or aggressively edging their car into a bike lane to menace and squeeze a bicyclist. . . .

Ultimately, hate of bicyclists comes from the same place as racism, sexism, homophobia and transphobia: a desire to cling to the status quo power arrangements that favor some over others. As the bicycle becomes re-popularized as a legitimate form of transportation, there are inevitably more conflicts with those who continually and mindlessly assert that “streets are for cars.” But just as gay people are no longer willing to stay in the closet, nor women in the kitchen, bicyclists are no longer willing to settle for crumbs in terms of use of our public roadways.

One again, I concur with Malone. Bicyclists, along with gays and women, are getting increasingly lippy and obnoxious. So what’s the solution, Ruthie girl? The answer is obvious: legally enforced segregation!

The answer, of course, is to support protected or separated street infrastructure that will allow people on bicycles to go places safely. Until that time, those of us who use bicycles — for our errands, our commutes to work and school, our grocery shopping — will continue to assert our rights as users of the roadways. We don’t deserve to be placed at added risk by hateful stereotyping.

Putting aside the fact that Malone misspelled “infructure,” whether or not any animate being “deserves” the relatively benign indignities of “hateful stereotyping” or the existence-terminating horror of being struck forever dead is a subjectively metaphysical question, which means that you can make up any answer and feel good about it without having to prove a thing.

But on one matter, Ruth Malone and I agree: Bicycles and motorized vehicles are not equal. As long as they are quarantined in separate spaces rather than forced together in some delusional egalitarian ecotopia, it is for the best of all concerned.

Where she and I would disagree is whether the same sensible standard should be applied to the innate and intractable differences between good ol’ regular human beings and blacks, women, and homos.

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