Friday, August 1, 2025

Web Log for 7.31.25

Insanity, Violent 

In Danville the personal enemy of a businessman (and member of the city council, but the crime doesn't seem to be politically motivated) came into his business, poured what was initially reported as gasoline over the man, and set fire to it. The businessman survived. The Danville police emphasized that they don't usually report details of crimes to the public but are doing so in this case, not because the crime was so bizarre, but because as a councilman Lee Vogler was a minor celebrity who had forfeited privacy. All the mainstream media are reporting the same story. You can pick a link from any search engine for photos, ages, details about the Vogler family, and so on. The homicidal maniac,Shotsie Buck-Hayes, is not explaining his actions at the time of writing. We do know that his wife was divorcing him. Well, she is a decorator and he has no decorative value...

This web site will add: Nobody's mentioning why Shotsie Buck-Hayes was Mr. Vogler's enemy. For all we know, Mr. Vogler deserved what he got. Maybe he poisoned Shotsie's cats. But as Shotsie is about to see, when we take the law into our own hands, no matter how richly someone may deserve whatever bad things he gets, public sympathy instantly swings over to the victim. It is always better to enlist the sympathy of society by pursuing justice within the law.

(For our foreign readers: As a name "Shotsie" or "Shotsy" is usually given to dogs not children, but it's a legitimate name--a misspelling of schatzi, which means "little treasure" and is used as a term of endearment in German. Likewise used is mein Schatz, which means "my treasure" and might be misspelled as "Mineshots." I used to call a cat Schatzi.)

Poem 

Bad Poetry (TM) is now a Substack. Subscribe to get a new, ridiculous poem in your e-mail every week. I'm not aware of Substack sending out spam; I certainly don't.


Politics 

Division among left-wingnuts? Jasmine Crockett challenges Alexandra Ocasio-Cortez and Bernie Sanders...


War 

This web site does not think warfare is "kinda cool." Nevertheless...this web site does think rapists and baby killers have no reason to live. This web site would have been pleased if only the participants in the October Display of Satanic Evil had been lined up and, er um, neutralized. For all purposes. As it might have been by hanging. And their families had been made to dig a common pit, kick their bodies into it, and curse their names. This web site is less enthusiastic about harm done to widows and orphans.

The writer of the post linked below has a different opinion.


Actually, it's quite interesting to read the story the New York Times still doesn't dare to print--because of the loathsome "Trusted Media Initiative" in which news media pledged to censor stories that could have affected the profits of Bayer, Lilly, and Merck, and other evil corporations, but those were the big three we keyboard warriors were going after in 2020. 

Seems more than one baby has been reported dead or near death from what appeared to be starvation. The babies in question were photographed in the arms of adult relatives who were...modestly draped in baggy clothes, per Middle Eastern custom, but obviously not emaciated. (Not, as some trolls claimed, obese. Some of them had saggy faces, more likely due to dehydration, given the season and location, than to obesity; under their baggy clothes their bodies seemed normal-sized. One man's exposed right arm showed healthy muscles.) Little Mohammed Zakaria, the poster child chosen by pro-Hamas idiots, was photographed with a brother who looked healthy. 

While reading the New York Times' embarrassingly ego-defensive admission that MZ did not die of simple starvation, I was watching a kitten with late-showing Manx Syndrome die of superficially similar symptoms. Serena's sole-survivor kitten will never be called Miracle, but he found a name before he died. He was Zakitty. He shared food with devoted relatives who are not obese, but sleek and healthy, on the same rations--relatives who loved and protected him and made sure he had his share, if he was willing to try to eat. He grew very fast while he could live on milk alone, then slowly starved when he grew big enough to need solid food. The gene that gave him a uniquely doubled-up short tail and a thick soft coat also prevented his digestive system from growing normally. He went from looking three weeks older than he was, to looking three weeks younger, a little sack of misproportioned bones. He rejected kibble. When offered rice and chicken he ate chicken enthusiastically. He even managed to excrete a little partly digested chicken; but the strain left him bleeding inside, crying with pain, smelling of blood and attracting flies. To frustrate the flies I brought Zakitty into the office. This seemed to improve matters in the sense that he stopped crying and focussed what energy he had on clinging. In any case his heart stopped around sunset, on the day when he'd made his first little pile in the corner of his box around sunrise. He was fed, and he was loved, and nature's plan was that he starved to death anyway.

MZ had an interesting medical history. At first, according to an aunt, he seemed like a normal healthy baby. But within weeks he'd received different diagnoses including at least two different kinds of brain damage. He was apparently still able to drink milk...but, with a striking resemblance to our unfortunate Manx kitten, around the time nature intended him to start eating solid food, he went into starvation mode. He had grown to a healthy length for his age, then suddenly shrunk down to a bag of misproportioned bones. 

It's a lot easier to believe that that was because his bowels weren't able to do their job than that his slim, healthy-looking brother and pretty-faced mother were eating his food rations. It is not believable that anyone was intentionally withholding food from him. If the Hamas bosses or the vindictive Israelis or whoever had decided to stop sending rations for the baby, the mother would probably have gone hungry before the baby did. Palestinian women told Hannah Hurnard, "No one has taught us anything. We are animals," and there may be some truth in this, but nobody has ever claimed there was anything deficient about their Inner Mama Bears.

No. For some reason MZ was not digesting food. Possible causes for this would include hereditary intolerance of the primary protein in the food his family ate, such as lactose intolerance. Or, possibly related to brain and nerve damage, failure to grow a functional digestive tract. (Humans don't get the Manx gene.) Or, rare in humans but possible when they're living in camp conditions, intestinal worms. Or sensitivity to a chemical in the food his family were eating, such as glyphosate. Or an unusually severe reaction to a medication or vaccination he was given at the hospital where he was diagnosed as brain-damaged.

I'm guessing MZ died of starvation caused by either a glyphosate reaction or a vaccine reaction (or, of course it's possible, by both), because those are two fairly common conditions that doctors would have been trained not to see when the conditions were standing up and screaming in their faces, and also that the New York Times had signed a pledge not to report accurately. I'm guessing that, whatever damage had been done to him by simply being in a camp in a war zone in a desert country in high summer, which was enough to account for brain damage all right, the (did he ever toddle?) eighteen-month-old was actually killed by food and/or medical supplies delivered by the very very humane United Nations,  because that's something the NYT wouldn't report, either.

But blame Israel for defending itself against the indefensible depth of human evil, of course, because left-wingnuts used to be pro-Israel but have recently gravitated toward favoring the countries where the oil wells are. Mercy, they're predictable. And tacky.

This web site will say that if Israel had consulted this web site, we would have advised them to go easy on the orphans. Grandma Bonnie Peters might even have said that, although Palestinians are not children of Abraham, they became adoptive children of Ishmael when they converted to Islam--however incompletely some of them understand the Way of Peace, even now. But why should Israel consult us? They answer to a higher authority.

Young, The 

Elizabeth Barrette's remarks on books a lot of bloggers said they hadn't read are interesting, to me, but what you must see is the last paragraph:

Bonus Free Verse: Male Art Is So Confessional

Well they paint things like this,
("The Uncertainty of the Poet" by Giorgio di Chirico)
like a warning:
Girl, in a world where
men are not sequestered
even though all they see are
what you see as defects
your progress is and will always be impeded
by piles of useless disconnected bananas,
which is at least sort of funny
in a might-as-well-laugh-as-cry sort of way.
But they'd rather look at things like this,
(would-be actress, certainly model, Sydney Sweeney}
mostly because
more of us look like the former image
than like the latter.
Having grown old with C-cups 
I observe young Sweeney and think
Girl, you need daily sessions on a swing set
or sailboat, or something that works those muscles.
If they depend that much on support now
your name will be "Saggy Maggy" when you're forty.
But what does she care, she's raking in
money from advertising denim as lingerie,
which is such a stupid idea
it might actually catch on among the very young,
and probably figures, if she ever reaches
an age as unimaginably far off as forty,
she'll be able to afford corrective surgery.
Girl, exercise is a LOT more fun than surgery.
But if we didn't let men run around unsupervised
we could be happy with our sagginess right?
Like lesbians. Eww. Ick. Keep exercising.
The Poet ought to be able to make
some crystal of ladylike logic out of these
displays of male emotional chaos,
but it's still early in the morning.
Enjoy this dribble of ekphrastic free verse
that could probably only ever have been writen,
much less published, by using the Internet.
I am chortling. So are you, I hope.

Oh wottha...the link-up is still open, so I might as well link this one to 

Book Review: Sekka

Title: Sekka

Author: Jeff Pantanella

Quote: "He was a simpleton, unworthy of the world he ruled. You were right to send me to destroy him."

It's another prequel to a series, and though human characters will appear in longer books in the series, the characters in this mini-book are devils. Sekka challenges an older devil for a fictional territory called Taarne. 

Names have a Lovecraftian sound. Plots have an anime or even online game feeling. If you like Lovecraft, anime, or games and don't mind a story told from a devil's point of view, you will probably want the whole series.

Bad Poetry: Scab

For the Poets & Storytellers United, a  poem about scabs. A scab is a crust of dried body fluids over a wound, or a strike-breaking worker.

A strike was meant to be a blow
if only wounding profit.
If workers thought job paid too low
they simply would walk off it,
and this was felt as "bleeding" labor,
money, all away,
and bosses tried to hire a neighbor
to fill in that day.
And so this man was called a scab.
It wasn't meant to injure,
until the striking laborers' gab
added gall and ginger.
A skilled coal miner's pay was low; 
work, dangerous and hard.
How far below could wages go
on a day labor yard?
So scabs could easily be despised
as lowest of the low
though, when disasters traumatized,
to scabbing men would go.
Those times are gone to come no more
and who would call them back?
So Hollywood said "Mining lore
a scab's viewpoint doth lack."
And someone wrote an eighties movie
simply called The River
and said "Mel Gibson's young and groovy!
He'll make girls' hearts quiver,
and for the boys, bring Spacek in,
and show them having sex
(from shoulders up) with sweaty skin
in scabs' grim little shacks."
Mel Gibson played a noble-hearted
man who saved his farm
by scabbing; Sissy'd not be parted
from him, but risked harm
and left the kids behind to meet him
in his pine board shanty.
From that day on, reviewers treat them
as poison, not eye candy.
Gibson's his own producer now.
Spacek's career was charred.
Bygones are bygones, you'd avow,
but bitterness dies hard.

(The River (1984) is currently available to watch online--for a fee. 

In 1983 the producers looked for a real Tennessee town that looked weatherbeaten but not hopeless. The farm scenes that ended up in the movie were shot in Tennessee. For the town, people said "They wanted Clinchport; too bad they didn't come out before the flood." Gate City wanted to be used as the scene of the movie--though we don't actually have a river. The producers didn't think my town looked weatherbeaten enough but finally agreed that a short stretch of a back street could be made to look down-at-heel when wet. So you can see an unflattering view of part of my town, with some real local people in the crowd, in the scene where Mel Gibson goes to the bank after the flood. 

We never were a mining town. People I knew liked The River and Gibson and Spacek and the whole foofarah of having a film crew in town. Those who remember 1983 still do. 

People who belong to unions, e.g. the reviewers on Rotten Tomatoes, haaaated the movie and have never forgiven those who made it.

I'd never claim that it was a great movie, no suspense, no comedy, not even a car chase, strictly a reenactment of some long-gone scab's apologia, but what pretty scenery it has!)