A Bad Rap

In the newly formed principality of CHAZ (the Capitol Hill Autonomous Zone), the only thing actively being produced is irony - and plenty of it. The leader (an admittedly hazy distinction) is a local rapper with an AK-47 and enough gold rings to pay for all of the commune's needs...if he was willing to give them up, which he's not. Apparently seizing his property for the people is still unacceptable.

CHAZ has erected border walls to keep out foreigners and demands voter-unfriendly (and likely racist) photo IDs at checkpoints. The local citizenry divides its time between demanding that all land be seized for communal farming, and begging for food that someone else has produced. To paraphrase Steve Martin in "The Jerk," land and freedom and autonomy are all they need. And food and ice and Gatorade. That's all! Land and freedom and autonomy and food and ice and Gatorade are all they need. And Cigarettes. And clothes. Land and freedom and autonomy and food and ice and Gatorade and cigarettes and clothes and shoes and solar chargers and pillows and flashlights and Tracfone minutes and folding chairs and body lotion. That's all! And disinfectant.

While we've previously suggested going Branch Davidian on these numbnuts, our better angels have spoken to us and we now realize that this situation should be handled non-violently. So rather than drag them out of CHAZ, we keep them in. As in permanently. And we cut off the flow of all of those items that they want for free but haven't earned.

Let them break up the streets and plant their crops. Let them turn dumpsters into dwellings. Let them defecate on the sidewalks and drink rainwater from the gutters. And let them see just how long one a**hole can hold on to his gold rings without help from the police.

The Garden of Eatin'

BONUS: UNCLEAR ON THE CONCEPT

Perhaps to clear up the confusion between "autonomous" and "erogenous," the Seattle squatters are changing the name of their encampment from CHAZ to CHOP (Capitol Hill Organized Protest).

But as long as the name is in play, we'd really like to suggest the Capitol Hill Union of Militant Protesters Zone. Because CHUMPZ has a nice ring to it.

Book 'Em

As Old Lodge Skins famously said in the film Little Big Man - "Sometimes the magic works. Sometimes it doesn't." Today was a "sometimes it doesn't" for us.

We tried mightily to come up with a worthwhile post and some pithy wit, but found our muse uncooperative. As muses are wont to be when the feces hits the fan.

People are losing their careers for not kneeling before the New Taliban, movies and television shows are being pulled from public view, Amazon and Google have announced plans to cut off certain forms of technological support for the police, a significant chunk of Seattle has been commandeered by armed radicals who are getting no pushback from hamstrung law enforcement agencies, the stock market plunged (after first enthusiastically running off a vertiginous cliff, stopping in mid-air, briefly turning into a cartoon "sucker," then plummeting), and people are waking up to the fact that the coronavirus didn't actually disappear just because there was a bigger story in the news. Yow!

And so we struggled to find something to say. Thinking about the way police officers are now being demonized, we thought about the children's books of our youth which always depicted the police in a positive light...

We looked for other old police-themed titles which might lend themselves to a comedic updating, but came up dry. Not that we weren't pleased to discover this classic...

But still thinking of old children's books as a good contrast between the innocence we once enjoyed and the current destruction of our culture, we thought about "Goodnight Moon," and thought maybe we could write a parody along the lines of "Goodnight freedom, capitalism, and western civilization."

Hmm. Not really good, but maybe if we diddled around with a cover for awhile, something would come to us (spoiler alert: it didn't)...

You can kill an impressive amount of time trying to find the right font, find burning buildings to put outside, and creating a broken window effect. And in the end...it was "meh," and we still didn't have any ideas. How in the heck could we even use this piece of art we'd labored over?

That's when Busty Ross helpfully said, "Send me in coach!" And it seemed like a good idea, because no matter how lame a blog post we make, people are wonderfully forgiving if Ms. Ross has paid a visit. Which is how today's cartoon came to be, and why the weekend has arrived for us in just the nick of time.

Whirled Health Organization

The WHO has spoken, but (wait for it!) we won't get fooled again. Once more, they've opened their inept, over-funded, Chinese-owned yaps to spread completely incorrect information about SARS-CoV-2, then issued an immediate retraction when their lies were challenged.

In this case, we're referring to their announcement several days ago that there was virtually no risk of contagion from asymptomatic spreaders, as such cases were "very rare." Which meant that society could reopen fully and, as long as someone wasn't running a fever or hacking up a lung, social distancing and masks could be forgotten. Hooray, right?!

Only they've now issued a "clarification" that what they really meant to say was that up to 40% of coronavirus transmission might be due to asymptomatic spread but "more information is needed." Information which they apparently get by spending way too much time on Facebook.

Let's be clear: Covid-19 is still a critically serious world crisis...and one which gets worse every time blatant misinformation from the World Health Organization spreads virally.

FLOOR SHOW

It's official: "cultural appropriation" now only applies to sombreros.

To show their support for George Floyd and, apparently, their African heritage, on Monday Democrats solemnly pretended to kneel on a black neck for 8 minutes and 46 seconds. Which brings the total time they've been kneeling on black necks to about 100 years, 8 minutes, and 46 seconds.

We marvel, and not in a good way, at what the thought processes must have been behind this repugnant idea:

"Maybe we should finally allow black kids to go to good schools?"
"Nah - teacher's unions."
"Close the borders so illegal aliens don't take jobs from black Americans?"
"What - and lose our nannies and lawn crews?"
"Why don't we stop paying Planned Parenthood to abort black children?"
"No way - we'd lose the women's vote!"
"Okay, let's finally renounce Senator Robert Byrd - the longest-serving Democrat senator in U.S. history - for being an Exalted Cyclops in the Ku Klux Klan!"
"C'mon, let bygones be bygones."
(A long pause as brains are wracked. Then...)
"Let's pretend that George Floyd was from Africa and we can all dress up as Africans!"
"BRILLIANT! Now let's raise taxes and get lobster bisque for lunch!"

For this very sincere ceremony which was in no way a cheap, transparent, condescending grab for black votes, Nancy Pelosi was given the tribal name "Kunta Kente." Kente is the traditional African fabric seen in the neck wraps the Democrats were wearing. And Kunta is, well...let's just say that it fits Nancy Pelosi perfectly.