As I've said repeatedly, I bought the data that Fauci and Pfizer presented regarding the vaxx ending viral transmissibility too readily late in 2020. Because they lied. Which is one reason I think Fauci should go to jail.
In my entire life I've only heard the phrase "boys will be boys" used when like a 7 year old breaks his leg trying to jump off a roof using an umbrella as a parachute
James Carville calls on the next President to "increase the goddamn [Supreme Court] to 13, add Puerto Rico and DC as states!"
"We're gonna have to do that!"
USA. A Mexican restaurant. We had not yet ordered anything, and the food was already arriving.
Chips. Salsa. Unrequested. Free.
I stopped the waiter. "We have not earned these."
"They just come with the table, man."
They come with the TABLE. In my land, hospitality is a debt. Every gift creates an obligation, weighed carefully, returned in the proper season with interest of feeling. Here, the gift arrives before you have even proven you can pay for dinner.
This is not an appetizer. This is a declaration: we trust you. Eat.
I ate with the gravity the moment deserved. And then — I must report this calmly — the basket emptied, and a new one appeared.
"Did we…?"
"Refill," the waiter said. "It's bottomless."
Bottomless. They have wells of salsa. The supply lines of this nation are beyond anything my ancestors imagined.
My friend warned me. "Don't fill up on chips, dude."
Too late. I had accepted three baskets. Honor demanded each one be finished — an unfinished gift is an insult. By the time my actual food arrived, I was a ruined man.
I was not hungry. I was not comfortable. I had been defeated by a courtesy.
Generosity that arrives before the request cannot be repaid. It can only be survived.
I know the rule now. I have made my peace with the basket. One basket. Two at the most.
Who am I deceiving. There is no number of baskets I would refuse. The trust of a nation is in that salsa, and I intend to honor all of it.
Cute theory, let's play it out.
A monkey hoards a trillion bananas. The troop, enraged, beats him to death. They gather around the pile to feast at last.
But... oh wait, there is no pile.
It turns out the "bananas" were shares in a banana-launching company the dead monkey founded.
The shares were worth a trillion because he was alive to run it.
Now he is dead and the stock is worth $0.
The retarded monkeys have clubbed their way into a recession.
But it gets worse.
Half the "bananas" were tied up in a rocket that supplies bananas to monkeys on the far mountain who had no bananas at all.
Another chunk was tied up in a little satellite dish that beamed banana coordinates to the troop after a flood took out their trees.
So now they realized they beat to death the only monkey who knew how the dish worked.
So the monkeys sit there.
No bananas.
No rockets.
No coordinates to get more banananas.
Just a dead body and a powerful sense of fairness as they all now became infinitely poorer.
OH
And somewhere a smaller monkey watches the whole thing and quietly decides he will never build anything in front of these animals again.