Gazette and Pencilneck give it another go. Or not…

It had been some time since she had seen him in person. She had, of course, maintained an interest in his activities. Though he had gone relatively quiet for a time, there remained an ample collection of press conference and hearing appearances from which to observe. In recent months these had increased markedly in volume, again piquing her interest in the man who had so eagerly indulged her penetration fantasies. He still looked mostly the same, though there was something different.  He still presented a comical stick figure profile with those buggy eyes and bad haircut, yet there seemed to be a new confidence in him. It was almost as if he had actually grown a spine.

Though he had still called upon her periodically, the intimacy they had once shared was absent. For a brief time she had actually considered that dear Pencilneck had grown a set and gone the way of MGTOW. “Nah! Too beta for that!”, she had checked herself.  Being the same self-centered bitch as ever she returned to form, assuring herself that the Pencilneck’s renewed frequency in the spotlight could only be a signal that he would soon return to grovel for her help. And it was indeed true; he clearly had waded out into waters well over his head. It was only a matter of time before he came crawling back. Like all the rest of her desperate suitors. They always did.

After viewing his pathetic performance on Sunday 13 October she found herself in a quandary. This latest intrigue he had launched largely on his own. He certainly had not consulted her expertise in these matters. The entire escapade was amateurish from it’s inception. Even the most absolutely moronic soul in DC could see this. If only he had asked for her help before, but now? She dreaded the call. Not because of what she knew she must say, rather because of her immensely conflicted feelings.

She was at once drawn to him and repulsed by him. Drawn to his vulnerability. Vulnerability has been Gazette’s lifeblood throughout her long and storied career. These are the souls she has preyed upon and made her own for an age. She runs the cool kids club. This vulnerability, however, was born of the man’s own arrogance and stupidity. It was a sign of weakness and he wore it well. He now reeked of desperation and failure, two qualities which Gazette had long striven to distance herself from. She found an uncommon need to chastise herself, contrary as it is to her vain nature.

Though the Pencilneck could mouth all the correct platitudes by rote, he really never belonged in their club. He wasn’t as smart, he wasn’t really good looking at all. Not even interesting looking (which usually will suffice for entry). And most of all…..well, no matter how much lipstick you put on the pig, he just isn’t cool enough to be in the club. Cool enough is that certain je ne sais quoi that only Gazette and those of her innermost circle may define. You know. The sort of things beyond mere plebeian comprehension. She could see where it might be said that she was to blame for this: it was her fault for introducing him into the cool kids club. From this he had formed the delusion that he was capable of pulling this off on his own. It was almost sweet in a way. It was like he was trying to show off for her. Oh, would that it should not turn so tragic!

The reality of it was that he was now toxic. He might remain a source for some juicy leaks, but that would have to stay behind the curtain. He would, at least for a time, remain a tool. Just as he had always been. He came at a time when she was at her low ebb, giving up that booty to manifest her rage at being rejected. Used him up like a tampon. 

Studying that video carefully Gazette noted one detail that allowed her a moment of relief for the poor sap. In addition to an apparent spinal implant it became evident that Pencilneck had undergone some work of a cosmetic nature. That previously missed, subtle change in his appearance was about his mouth. A lip job, one supposes to say. It seems he’s had them molded in a perpetually pursed shape and….if one looks very carefully it will be noted that the inside of the lips have been tattooed with the caption: Caution- large brown logs entering and exiting roadway at this point.  He may be nothing but a tool, but there is something to be said for him embracing it.

 

Ford Wenty report end 16 October 2019

420

 

Yes, there will be blog…

Good name for a blog, I think. As the Ale 81 Inn proceeds through its evolution Yes, there will be blog… will remain as the free, public facing side of the site. Comments are encouraged and welcomed, though they may not always be answered. Various contributors will appear on this blog, identified either by the color of text or with an icon corresponding to the writer. Black text for Tom Darby,  blue text for Celestial Wilde and green text for Ford Wenty. Icons will be added later.

What are we about?  Well… about anything, really. To elaborate a bit further upon the tag line on our home page we are:

An eclectic collection of trivia, musings and free range lunacy. There may be blood, very loud music, the consumption of illicit substances and on Wednesdays there is about a 60% chance of sexual deviancy. (80% if the fair is in town)

Sound like fun? Stick around, things could get interesting.

 

Being for the benefit of Mr. Schiff

For the benefit of Mr. Schiff

hearings held within a SKIF

their words they parse

The diplomats will all be there

Counsel furnished by lawfare

What a farce

Secret hearings and depositions

designed to weave a lie into fake news

It’s no test

Oh Mr. S

will muzzle his foes!

The celebrated Mr. S

will shit his pants and then digress

on Watergate

Then CNN will dance and sing

while Mr. Schiff flies through the ring

Don’t be late!

Mr. Schiff plays up to the gallery

His authority is second to none

And for sure

Nancy the pure

is hitting the sauce

The fun resumes on Tuesday morn

when Mr. Schiff will show his scorn

for Mr. Trump

Then Nancy dear will vacillate

upon how she will evacuate

such a dump

Having been some months in preparation

A splendid time is guaranteed for all

Take a whiff

Mr. Schiff

is shitting his pants

FM memories

Fevered dreams

divide by zero

Soundtracks past midnight

when the airwaves were free

Now perfected, digitized replicas

Memories held hostage

to satellite subscription

Backbeats and feedback

from the time we believed

we could make a difference

 

Wait… what? Vol. 45

I don’t know what is going to come of all these investigations in Washington. I’m a skeptic where it comes to that town. I won’t be surprised if nothing ever happens to any of them. I can say one thing, though. If you have seen the program The View lately you know what I’m talking about. If Hillary ever does go to prison? Meghan McCain moves to the front of the line as custodian for Hillary’s collection of pantsuits.

Fauxcahontas

pretendian

There are so many things to dislike about this woman. It is truly a challenge to figure out where to begin. I could recite the laundry list of concerns, but there is one set of facts that do a pretty damned good job of encapsulating them all. It is something which cuts directly to the issue of her character as a person. As one might infer from the title of this article, I am of course referring to her now infamous assertion of Cherokee ancestry.

Though I have some rather strong opinions to the contrary, it is a generally held consensus that Harvard is a top notch institute of higher learning. If we are to base this on nothing more than a dollar equation then the idea has at least some credence. Otherwise how does one account for the exorbitant price tag attached to obtaining the pedigree? One could attend four years at Harvard and learn nothing, but for the right price they will bestow a piece of paper that says you have arrived: you are now among the elites.

Sometimes the value of that paper commands a price over and above money. In Elizabeth Warren’s case that price was high indeed. So desperate was she to obtain that pedigree, she willingly sacrificed any shred of integrity she ever possessed by an absurd attempt at cultural appropriation. Back then this was not the mortal sin that it is today, but let’s be completely clear that there is a huge distinction to be made. We are not talking about something petty. You know, like exploiting another race’s identity in your choice of Halloween costumes. What Lizzy pulled, without even the aid of a costume, was an assertion of racial identity (for which she had NO legitimate claim) for the sole purpose of obtaining preferred treatment in entry to an esteemed university. In one of the most bizarre manifestations of affirmative action Harvard actually cosigned this ruse.

So what we should question is this: was her motivation rooted in some insecurities surrounding her qualification that needed that additional edge? Or was it all just about that ancestor of virtue signalling, social posing? These are the only reasonable conclusions that one might draw from this and whether one or the other, neither are desirable traits in leadership. I’ve always had a sense that I had seen this kind of play somewhere before. And then I remembered this:

Go ahead and watch that and try to tell me with a straight face that the two are not the same.

Wait… what? Vol. 44

At some time in your life you may make the unnerving discovery that there is someone living rent free in your head. DON’T EVER let that person (or persons) know this. The minute they realize they’ve been found out they will assert squatters rights and you will never be rid of them.