Episode 34 of my podcast with Kevin Steel is now posted here
(with copious links). In Part 1, we discuss the increasing desperation of the Never Trumpers. Even as their world crumbles around them, they keep busy with blacklists
, threatening the professional ruin of all those who disagree with them. Didn’t take long for Conservatism Inc to go full Social Justice Warrior, did it? So deep in the bunker are they that they don’t understand they are writing President Trump’s enemies list for him. If the Donald has read his Machiavelli—and I’d wager he has—he’ll know what to do with this gift.
We then examine Ted Cruz, the Soup Monster . As wife Heidi has testified
, this is a man who greeted the end of their honeymoon with the purchase of 100 cans of Campbell’s Chunky Soup and the instruction that she would not be cooking for him, as his nutritional needs were now well in hand. Thoughtless and heartless, you might respond, but Cruz has always had his eyes on the prize, whether that be mastery of Candy Crush
or the occupation of 1600 Pennsylvania Avenue.
We conclude Part 1 by confessing our excitement at the appearance of Heat Street
, the Internet site co-founded by Louise Mensch
, erstwhile “Cameron cutie
” and noted expert
on Zionism . Heat Street promises all the celebrity glamor of Heat
magazine plus the latest cuckservative wisdom. For instance, that Justin Bieber deserves to be boycotted
because he “appropriates other cultures with his white dreads.”(Hooh, sick burn! Given the structural failure of the clickbait model and the irrelevance of Rare.us
(Cox Media’s one-stop shop for “with-it” young conservatives) Heat Street seems an odd venture for Rupert Murdoch to fund. Presumably, he knows what he’s doing, but on the other hand, he did pay $580 million
In Part 2, we consider—and reject—the claims made by supporters of Hillary Clinton that her political career and indeed her life have been bedeviled by “sexism.”
Hillary has always been a strange object of feminist adulation, as she is in no wise a trailblazer. Instead, she came to prominence the old-fashioned way, with an unrelenting hold on her husband’s smutty coat-tails. By contrast, no one has ever accused Canadian Conservative MP Michelle Rempel
of not making her own way in the world, but the poor girl hasn’t learned that accusations of misogyny directed at your enemies come best from surrogates, lest you look a whinger.
Rempel loves cats, wine and maudlin, late-night tweeting.
I urge her to stand for her party’s leadership; the gaiety of the nation demands it.
We conclude Episode 34 with a short appreciation of Prince. I explain here my employment of “Wyatting
” via repeated jukebox plays of his song “Darling Nikki” to enrage a group of boors who blighted the Vancouver pub I once favored. (Both song and anecdote are NSFW, so sensitive listeners will want to skip this bit.)