INSANE CLOWN PRESIDENT?

Book TVMatt Taibbi was just on BookTV talking about his 2017 book INSANE CLOWN PRESIDENT. Among the interesting things he said was that Fox News under Roger Ailes has done one thing to change the world of US politics: to make it impossible to compromise on anything, or to be friends with anyone who doesn’t agree with you politically. He made the comparison with asking Minnesota Vikings fans to not be Minnesota Vikings fans anymore. “Not going to happen.” Interesting that he mentions the Vikings, who were cruel and “very, very” unusual too. His point is what I’ve been saying all along, in attempts to promo the Coffee Party, (which actually does exist—and which no one ever mentions—believing 100% that the two-party system will be around until America falls off the Flat Earth around 2019, due to melting ice caps and Yellowstone exploding to levitate us toward the edge…see The “History” Channel or Youboob.) Hey, Matt, a more accurate book title might be GAME SHOW PRESIDENT. Trump is not insane, he’s a narcissist and borderline sociopath pretending to be a Christian of the Creflo Dollar ilk. (God wants you to be rich now…Jesus never really liked poor people much anyway, or as Trump interprets it, “losers.”) Taken together with other books mentioned on Book TV, including by Hunter S. Thompson and Neil Postman, if you add Popular: The Power of Likability in a Status-Obsessed World you have the answer: we have moved from desiring the goodness of being liked to the goal of being top dog in the dog fights everyone bets on and shouts about. “Losers” are those who are eaten alive, twitching in pools of blood. (Like the movie 300 or the UFC.) If you’re not rich by whatever means (including war) you “lose,” meaning you DESERVE death. This is also Putin’s view, mixing up his version of Jim Jones Koolaid for anyone who disagrees. Trump has also said this: “The point is to win. You say and do whatever it takes.” Being honest or good? That’s for sissies and “nut jobs.” BTW, there are no tapes, folks. Trump is going to say “I never said there were. What I said was ‘you better hope there aren’t.’” It’s a game show, for ratings. You cherry pick whatever works, deny the rest, and watch as your brand gets more valuable. (Kinda like the Kardashians, while wearing furs ripped from living animals.) Once everything is a game (and it all is, now, sadly) the most important thing is to bludgeon the other side in a quivering mound of crimson flesh…and then turn on ESPN… While preaching how righteous you are, meaning those on “the other side” of the gridiron deserve the concussions you have administered. —Ryback Solomon

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Matt’s book from the publisher: In twenty-five pieces from Rolling Stone—plus two original essays—Matt Taibbi tells the story of Western civilization’s very own train wreck, from its tragicomic beginnings to its apocalyptic conclusion. Years before the clown car of candidates was fully loaded, Taibbi grasped the essential themes of the story: the power of spectacle over substance, or even truth; the absence of a shared reality; the nihilistic rebellion of the white working class; the death of the political establishment; and the emergence of a new, explicit form of white nationalism that would destroy what was left of the Kingian dream of a successful pluralistic society.

Taibbi captures, with dead-on, real-time analysis, the failures of the right and the left, from the thwarted Bernie Sanders insurgency to the flawed and aimless Hillary Clinton campaign; the rise of the “dangerously bright” alt-right with its wall-loving identity politics and its rapturous view of the “Racial Holy War” to come; and the giant fail of a flailing, reactive political media that fed a ravenous news cycle not with reporting on political ideology, but with undigested propaganda served straight from the campaign bubble. At the center of it all stands Donald J. Trump, leading a historic revolt against his own party, “bloviating and farting his way” through the campaign, “saying outrageous things, acting like Hitler one minute and Andrew Dice Clay the next.” For Taibbi, the stunning rise of Trump marks the apotheosis of the new postfactual movement.

Taibbi frames the reporting with original essays that explore the seismic shift in how we perceive our national institutions, the democratic process, and the future of the country. Insane Clown President is not just a postmortem on the collapse and failure of American democracy. It offers the riveting, surreal, unique, and essential experience of seeing the future in hindsight.

Why I Believe Earth is Flat

Flat Earth

A Few Reasons the earth is flat:
The Bible repeatedly describes the Earth as Immovable (Stationary), Geocentric, and Enclosed in a solid dome structure called the firmament
All images of the Earth from space are admitted to be computer generated
We’re able too see objects such as land, buildings, and boats that are supposed to be behind the curve
The North Star, Polaris, never moves and the constellations have never changed
Horizon always rises to eye level
Water is always level and it makes up 71% of our earth
The heliocentric model was created by Freemasonic Occultists
All the space agencies share the same vector logo
AstroNOT almost drowning in space
Water bubbles & Scuba tank viewed in space
Density, buoyancy, & Electromagnetism are better explanations for gravity
GoPro lenses used to fake the curve of Earth
No observable proof of evolution
Sun rays come down in angles and not parallel
Moon Light always tests colder then Moon Shade
Super zoom cameras show that boats do not go over any curve
The United Nation’s logo is a Flat Earth map
Flight paths make much more sense on a Flat Earth
All but one challenger crew members are proven to still be alive today
No genuine 24 hour live feed of the Earth from space
No actual photos of Satellites in Space
Sun dogs and Sun Hot spots
Antarctic Treaty
Admiral Byrd said that there is more land
The Michelson–Morley experiment proved the Earth is stationary
Rockets never go straight up
Bedford Level Experiment
Our own senses tell us that the earth is flat and stationary
The Sun & Moon appear as the same size
No one has ever circumnavigated the earth from north to south
The Antikythera
Sun dials
Gyroscopes
Astrolabes
No parallax with the stars
Time lapse Star Trails shows the stars makings perfect circuits around the North Star
Bolivian Salt Flats missing curvature
Sun shrinks smaller as it sets
Architects, Excavators, and Railroad Engineers don’t account for the curve
Air planes fly level and don’t account for the curve
The Selenelion Lunar Eclipse
The Analemma Time Lapse of the Sun

—-Donald Trump?

Trump

According to a Youtube video posted today, all the above items “prove” the Earth is flat. Other videos claim Trump believes it. Several tweets are shown to prove it. Note the lack of punctuation in the list above, and how the Earth is “the earth” in the title. Why is “Enclosed” in caps? Why no explanations to most of the items? Simple: these people are lazy and ignorant. They appeal (as Trump did) to uneducated people. They are in denial of science, and favor conspiracy theory to reading. Stats show that America is #1 in sports, and 23rd in math and science education. This is why: They are proud of their ignorance and parlor tricks. The philosophy is, “My opinion is as good as yours.” Really?  The last science book I read (last week) repeats that, “it doesn’t matter what you believe, only what you can prove.” What if I believed one-eyed, one-horned flying purple people eaters were coming in mass for a cooking competition featuring flank steak a la homo sapiens? What if I got 100,000 people to believe it, and we all started posting viral videos? Would that make it true? Would my opinion be “as good as NASA?” Trump doesn’t believe the Earth is flat, and never did. He was playing to a NASCAR audience for votes. Calling and thanking InfoWars for their help. (Infowars claimed that 9/11 was an inside job, during the Bush administration no less, but recently admitted that “we are performance art.” Meaning it’s all fake news.) By the way, “ignorant” does not mean “stupid,” it means lazy. They’d rather post nonsense with ads attached in order to pay their cable TV bill. Then they kick back with pizza and beer to watch ESPN or the Kardashians (in which case it’s malt liquor with chips.) Trump is now pushing for a manned mission to Mars. If we’ve never been to the moon, why would he do this? More questions: how do you explain satellite TV with no satellites? *The Weather channel updates, hourly, showing storms from space? *Antarctic Space Telescope data? *High res photos of Jupiter and Saturn, with terabytes of data never before collected, which will take years to analyze? Hubble Space Telescope images of distant galaxies are invisible to previous telescopes, with spectral star data so vast it would take every human on Earth working round the clock for a year on computer to simulate. CGI? There goes that argument. If space were fake, as they say, then it follows that Hubble and Chandra (and the coming James Webb Space telescope) do not exist, and are instead a vast conspiracy. But who then collected all these images and created so much data on supercomputers that researchers have yet to see it all: aliens from The “History” Channel and Roswell? *The Lizard people? *Illuminati Freemasons with a penchant for blood rituals? *Dark Age acolytes like ISIS? (No, wait, even they don’t believe the Earth is flat.) Whenever someone gets their identity from dogmatic beliefs, it is nearly impossible to dissuade them from fill-in-the-blank. Only scientists (real ones) attempt to add to knowledge, not stop it. They change with new evidence. Flint, Michigan water department officials denied the science right up to the end, even with kids dying. When the proof of was finally published, after water samples were taken from thousands of homes, it was finally revealed that they had willfully violated EPA laws. Some were fired, others resigned in disgrace. Trump is anti-regulation, anti-EPA. He is funded by the Koch brothers, who pollute rivers with chemicals and want regulation ended. (Read Dark Money.) The Flat Earth people will not admit it, but they are a smokescreen to avoid global warming science. Dollars are more important than clean water or air. Only problem is, it’s unobtainium. What good is swag if you’re dying? Where to spend the money you can’t take with you? A pretty solid-gold casket? Technology can solve all these problems, says the author of THE BEGINNING OF INFINITY, but only if we are willing to change. “Progressive” is an ugly word to those living in the past. …You’re supposed to string those people up, or poison them. Putin tried that a couple times. So has Assad. And ISIS. The march against science is a backward march, into the Dark Ages. Thing is, they are marching backward, and don’t see the chasm coming. Unless they are lizard people, in which case they have eyes in the back of their heads.  

James Comey Gives Graduation Speech

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When I graduated from college, I was a very confused nut. They told me that since I was educated in the Humanities now, I had the broad picture of life. The theory was that, amid all those practical, near-sighted automatons who’d opted to attend technical school, I alone possessed sufficient vision to define the true parameters of man’s social, moral, and ecological condition. And I can still recall vividly the commencement ceremonies when the dean waxed eloquent on the great challenges which faced us as we went out into the world with our parchments and our purple cardboard hats. It was the same night they found Eddie Fishbein, a credit-laden senior, curled up in his dorm closet with one thumb in his mouth and a sweat drenched security blanket wrapped tightly around his neck.
    Understandably even more distressed by the prospect of the competitive unknown, I soon became sullen, morose, and saddened to learn that my Alma Mater had betrayed me by not telling us about the injustice which allowed someone who could recite Shakespeare, Byron, and Yeats to lose out to some YUTZ who happened to know his way around certain bathroom plumbing fixtures. Here was I, able to grasp the really significant essentials of postmodern film, the art of Phyllis Diller, and the reign of Genghis Khan, reduced to trudging the city in search of beer cans, while investing my hard-earned assets in a diversified portfolio of lottery tickets and bingo cards. Would I make it? I wondered anxiously. Would I be forced to take up residence in a dumpster and start eating re-refried beans? Would the student loan officers from my Alma Mater attend my funeral and hold a pocket mirror to my nose? In the throes of my disillusionment, it all seemed highly probable.
    Luckily, that was when I got lost while searching for a restroom at the US Tennis Open. Evoking some bizarre set of circumstances, then, I was immediately mistaken for a tennis player due to my resemblance to an NBA cross-dresser. Evidently the man hadn’t shown and was presumed withdrawn. The official I addressed in the hallway as “Bud–hey Bud!” responded before I could complete my question by laughing and wringing my hand. The upshot is that he ushered me into this room where the pros were sitting around sipping grape Koolaids and discussing the cons of their investments. Now, not only did I have a job, but a few friends as well.
    I wouldn’t say it was sheer LUCK which enabled me to reach the second round. Even though my opponent made more unforced errors than McDonalds has commercials, I WAS pretty high on adrenaline. For instance, we were already three games into the match before I realized the warmups were over. And then some of my service returns had this knack for hitting the tape and rolling over on his side like a prophetic yo-yo too. Toward the end there’d be sparks spurting up all over the forecourt as he tried to scoop the dead balls back. The topper, though, was when I miss-hit match point into a lob which caught the back of the baseline and placed my luckless opponent within slapping radius of our resigning chair umpire.
    Back in the locker room afterward, I was accosted by several autograph seekers of the racket manufacturing ilk. They wanted to know why I’d changed playing hands in mid-career, and if this meant I’d be changing rackets too. Muttering something under my breath about a new go-for-broke strategy, I managed to con several commentators into spouting one-liners about my revolutionary style eventually “doing to Laver what McEnroe’s serve-and-volley later did to Borg.” This was particularly satisfying in that before then I wouldn’t have been able to get a passing shot past a ball machine.
    Here was poetic justice at last, I reasoned. Too bad the outcome of my second round established the record as being the only love match in history when I was ousted by the 98th seed–a defrocked ex-priest who nonetheless kneeled in supplication before serving four consecutive aces. I think it was at the 6–0, 5–0 point that I also began to suspect that my opponent had the psychological edge, much like Freud had over Skinner. When the linesmen and ballgirls began heckling me, I was sure of it. Regretfully, there’d been little time for me to brush up on the paperback I’d found in my locker room, INTERMEDIATE TENNIS: RELIEF FOR THE FRUSTRATED BEGINNER. Now I’d either have to fill out an application as night shift relief at the nearest Di-Quickie Mart, or try entering the Papua New Guinea Open, hoping I’d get into the finals because no one else knew how to get there. Since I had no money for plane fare, I decided on the former.
    It wasn’t long before I began to realize that although being a jack-of-all-trades has its perks (one can always brag about being a ‘master-of-none’), I was somehow missing out on obtaining fulfilling employment and its subsequent burnout, and that if only I’d majored in Banking or Computers, I wouldn’t be sitting around evenings contemplating the BIG QUESTIONS with Pan Pizza on my breath, but I’d be talking private condos in Big Sur, and maybe going on monthly junkets to the Cayman Islands to launder my petty cash.
    To make this protracted story shorter, I eventually began attending spy school, and before long I was feeling much better about my future. That is, until several dishwashers told me about another course at the school titled Poetic Devices And Their Application In Government And Industry. The course instructor was Dr. Percy Snodgrass, former curriculum director at my Alma Mater.

spying on Americans
Future Shock

Word of the Day: MODESTY

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MODESTY:  An out of date modality, replaced by the Selfie, the viral Sex Tape, the Nip Slip, and the rise of reality TV, the NFL front office, Fox News, Goldman Sachs and other poster boys for AMERICAN GREED. Thanks to the new narcissism, the “modest” person is now considered a “loser” in need of coaching by “successful” sociopaths on how to fake emotions for pleasure and profit. The goal of perpetual adoration by worshipful masses is, in the end, usually thwarted, however, by 60 Minutes or Frontline reporters showing up with a list of questions for which they already know the answers.

hollywoodAn Alternate History Moment

Ryn Jacobs played short stop for the Yankees in 1948. He was a one season player who once hit a ball so hard it disintegrated in flight. . . not just ripping the cover off, but turning it to dust. (Every other time Ryn hit the ball he never made it to first base.) THE LEGEND OF RYN had been optioned by Fox for a feature film, centering on the controversy that day about whether a flake of dust on the glove of the pitcher constituted an Out or not. The History Channel also planned a special science docudrama on the event to replace a rerun about a swamp monster inhabiting Duck Dynasty’s man-made mud hole. And it all started when a screenwriter named R. Solomon fabricated a fake baseball card, using old stock and vintage ink sufficient to fool The History Detectives. He then pitched the film to studio executives, giving them the card, which was in a display album next to an authentic Mickey Mantle card. The ruse fell apart when a Yankees fan named Howard Ziffle, working at the Fox mailroom during casting for the movie, declared that no one named Ryn Jacobs ever played for the Yankees. Studio heads had R. Solomon arrested on the spot. When asked why they believed a mailroom clerk, even though Solomon had a flawlessly forged baseball card authenticated by Antiques Road Show to boot, (not to mention a History Channel film already in progress featuring J.J. Abrams as director), studio chief Bernie Wolfe replied, “You don’t know Ziffle.” Apparently, although Howard Ziffle can’t get out of the mailroom because he has no marketable skills, no one disputes his baseball expertise. “He can tell you who was traded for who, and for how much, going back to Prohibition. Not only does he know the shoe size of every player in Yankee history, but he can tell you what their lockers contained during any given season. I’m talking about a fan so obsessed that his incense candles are shaped like bats, which he dipped and shaped himself, adding the scent of catcher glove leather. Too bad he’ll be working at McDonalds next week. We’re automating our mail room, and I hear his expertise doesn’t translate into anything but flipping burgers, being nothing unusual among rabid fans.” Fox is going ahead with the movie, as is The History Detectives. As for R. Solomon, he will be replaced by in-house screenwriters related to the studio heads, even as he spins tales in the Big House and (no doubt) tries to craft a gun out of soap.
IN OTHER McNEWS: We interrupt this nonsense with even more important news about sports. Neanderthals Still Alive! Human species thought to have gone extinct are actually still alive and kicking. . . footballs. That’s right: NFL teams are comprised of the descendants of Neanderthals, who possess the Eat or Be Eaten “sporting” gene. (Note: originally, being a “good sport” meant “tastes good.”) According to Dr. Neils Zahorsky of Cal Tech, only those schools without winning sports teams have homo sapien ancestors. (Cal Tech basketball lost 310 games in a row, and so was penalized by the NCAA for “academic infractions,” including 32 Nobel Prizes.) Everyone else descends from the newly discovered Nikeinus, who made up the Neanderthal fan base for various knuckle-dragging skull bowling competitions, using the heads of homo sapiens. . . whose bodies were roasted in prehistoric tailgate parties (thrown in the trunks of open flying saucers, silverware provided by Ancient Astronuts.) “The DNA and NCAA evidence doesn’t lie, although your biology textbooks do,” says Dr. Zahorsky, adding, “It is vitally important that these new findings be updated so that students will be unable to sell their old textbooks next year. In business parlance, as in other Neanderthal-dominated blood sports, such as war, it is necessary to crush the competition in a balls-to-the-wall display of egoic delusion so crippling and overwhelming in terms of “shock and awe” that it never reaches a nuking sudden death overtime. Thals did this by following their playbook, written in stone, as Nikeinus watched and munched on the junk DNA of those pacifist, vegetarian ‘win-win’ nerds who deserved to be eaten alive anyway.”

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