Nikki Haley, Comedienne

Yeah, I overslept, hey it is Saturday, so here is Nikki Haley at the Al Smith dinner. Well worth your time.

 

She cleans up pretty nice too, as far as I’m concerned.

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Sir Roger Scruton on Burkas and Letterboxes

I picked this up somewhere, in the last week or so, as a comment on something. I’m reasonably sure that it is authentic, beyond that I know little about it, except that it is quite current.

It is also indubitably correct, so enjoy the words of a very wise man.

“The emerging witch-hunt culture would be an object of half-amused contempt, were we still protected, as we were until recently, by the robust law of libel. It is still possible to laugh at the absurdity of it all, if you sit at home, avoiding contact with ignorant and malicious people, and getting on with real life – the life beyond social media. Unfortunately, however, ignorant and malicious people have discovered a new weapon in their unremitting assault on the rest of us, which i s the art of taking offence.

I was brought up to believe that you should never give offence if you can avoid it; the new culture tells us that you should always take offence if you can. There are now experts in the art of taking offence, indeed whole academic subjects, such as ‘gender studies’, devoted to it. You may not know in advance what offence consists in – politely opening a door for a member of the opposite sex? Thinking of her sex as ‘opposite’? Thinking in terms of ‘sex’ rather than ‘gender’? Using the wrong pronoun? Who knows. We have encountered a new kind of predatory censorship, a desire to take offence that patrols the world for opportunities without knowing in advance what will best supply its venom. As with the puritans of the 17th century, the need to humiliate and to punish precedes any concrete sense of why.

I recall the extraordinary case of Boris Johnson and the burka. In the course of discussing the question whether the full facial covering should be banned here, as elsewhere in Europe, Johnson humorously remarked that a person in a burka has a striking resemblance to a letterbox. He was right. A woman in a burka resembles a letterbox much as a man in white tie resembles a penguin or a woman in feathers resembles a chicken.

It was obvious to anyone with a smattering of intellect that Johnson had no intention to give offence. However, there was political mileage in taking offence – so at once offence was taken. One ridiculous Lord (a Cameron creation) told us that the party whip should be withdrawn from Boris; MPs and public figures fell over each other in the rush to display their shock and distress that our Muslim fellow-citizens should have been so grievously offended; even the Prime Minister ste pped in to reprimand her former Foreign Secretary. Virtue-signalling was the order of the day. A kind of hysterical fear swept away all the important considerations that Johnson was putting before his readers, so that everyone, friend and foe alike, ran for shelter. We are not guilty, was the collective cry of the time-servers and wimps that govern us.

In reaction to this madness I ask myself who it is, in the matter of the burka, that habitually gives offence, and who it is that strives not to take it. We live in a face-to-face society, in which strangers look each other in the eye, address each other directly, and take responsibility for what they say. This custom is not just a fashion. It is deeply implanted in us by a thousand-year old religious and legal tradition, by the Enlightenment conception of what citizenship means, and by a literary and artistic culture that tells us that we are in everything duty bound to see the other as on equal terms with the self. Being face t o face with strangers is at the root of our political freedom.

I was brought up in that freedom. I cannot easily accept that people should appear in public ostentatiously concealing their face from me. The British believe that strangers deal openly with each other and are accountable for their looks and their words. It is natural for them to take offence at those who brazenly hide their face, while nevertheless claiming all the rights and privileges of citizenship. I certainly feel awkward in the presence of such people, and suspect that they are abusing the trust that we spontaneously extend to strangers. Nevertheless, it seems to me a singular virtue in the British that they strive not to take offence, when standing before a black letterbox, wondering where their message should be posted.

No sensitive person, however ignorant he might be of the Muslim faith, would fail to take off his shoes when entering a mosque – not because he feared the reaction of the worshippers, but because he knew that long-standing custom requires this, and that not to observe that custom is to show disrespect for a sacred space. Somehow we are supposed to forget that principle when it comes to long-standing customs of our own. For us too there are sacred spaces, and the public square is one of them: it is the space that belongs to others, not to you, and where you meet those others face to face. When we encounter those who refuse to accept this we are supposed to think that the entitlement to take offence rests entirely with them, and the tendency to give offence entirely with us.

Is it not time to get this whole matter into perspective, and to recognise that we must live together on terms, that Muslims must learn to laugh at themselves as the rest of us do, and that the art of taking offence might be a profitable business to the experts, but is a huge loss to everyone else?”

Roger Scruton

I would only add that while Sir Roger is speaking of the Moslems learning to laugh at themselves, an appropriate comment in contemporary Britain, it is also true for almost the entire left.

We have commented before on the death of comedy, and this is why. If one can’t laugh at oneself, one cannot laugh at anyone. And almost all of life, even our misfortunes, is at some level funny, and we’ll be much healthier if we can see it.

Week In Pictures

Steve over at PowerLine, as always our source for most of these, comments that American politics increasingly resembles a kitchen blender running on high with the lid off. He’s got a point, and whatever was in that blender seems rather nasty. Still, we made it through another week.

I haven’t had a lot to say about Obamacare this week, seems like we’ve said it all so many times, doesn’t it? Still, it clarified that the GOP is not interested in doing what the country wants them to, so there’s that.

 

 

Does make me feel a bit sorry for the Capitol Police

 

In other news

 

But Hillary will never be President, so there is that.

 

 

 

 

Yep!

Doesn’t look like a winner to me, but maybe London is different.

Well, you decide

A really tough decision

Hmmm, Nope, leave this alone, Neo.

The Wise Ass

Well, kids, I overslept, without having anything prepared (yeah, the dog ate my homework) and we’ve been too serious around here lately anyway. So here ya go, from my friend  OyiaBrown.

A newlywed farmer and his wife were visited by her mother, who immediately demanded an inspection of their home. The Farmer had genuinely tried to be friendly to his new mother-in-law, hoping that it could be a friendly, non-antagonistic relationship.
To no avail, she kept nagging them at every opportunity, demanding changes, offering unwanted advice and making life unbearable for the farmer and his new bride. While they were walking through the barn, the farmer’s mule suddenly reared up and kicked the mother-in-law in the head, killing her instantly.

At the funeral service a few days later, the farmer stood near the casket and greeted folks as they walked by. The pastor noticed that when ever a woman would whisper something to the farmer, he would nod his head yes and say something. Whenever a man walked by and whispered to the farmer, however, he would shake his head, no and mumble a reply.

Find out more at Wise Ass!

What a Coincidence

The last few days, I’ve been deep into a project, which as usual is taking a lot more time than expected. So since I haven’t been getting much done here, and very little writing done, you get this, today. Enjoy it, I did 🙂

A chicken farmer went to the local bar. He sat next to a woman and ordered champagne. The woman said: “How strange, I also just ordered a glass of champagne.”
 
“What a coincidence,” said the farmer, who added, ” It is a special day for me. I am celebrating.” “It is a special day for me too, I am also celebrating!” said the woman.
 
“What a coincidence!” said the farmer.
While they toasted, the farmer asked, “What are you celebrating?”
 
“My husband and I have been trying to have a child for years, and today, my gynecologist told me that I was pregnant.”
 
“What a coincidence,” said the man. “I am a chicken farmer and for years all my hens were infertile, but now they are all set to lay fertilized eggs.”
 
“This is incredible,” said the woman. “What did you do for your chickens to become fertile?”

Continued at: What a Coincidence | Oyia Brown

Don’t be this woman!

via Dealing With Women

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