Hey! I thought I asked for a picture of Joe Biden–not Dracula. What’s that? You find it hard to tell them apart? Hmmm….
Tonight’s the first presidential debate of 2020. Gibberin’ Joe Biden has been lured out of his basement–don’t ask how–and refused to take a drug test before the fun starts, which can only mean he’s chemically equipping himself for it.
We are warned by some conservative commentators that the bar has been set too low: that all Biden has to do, to “win” the debate, is not do a Nadler in his pants. After 50 years of taking up space on Capitol Hill, if there’s one thing Joe can do in his sleep–and he might really be asleep–it’s debate politics. What’s he done for 50 years but talk?
I pray that this will be the end of it–the Biden campaign in particular and the Democrat Party in general. Forever. We do not need the Riot Party doing to our whole country what they’ve done to the unhappy cities they control.
The great thing about a monster like Dracula is that even though he scares you, at the end of the book, he’s toast. But the headlines just go on and on, endless horror. Even if you could get rid of Pelosi, someone just as awful would take her place in a nanosecond.
It’s a great relief to escape from a horrific situation, even if it’s only by shutting the book.
If only we could shut the book on Far Left Crazy.
P.S.–Only one comment so far today? One?
Somebody tell me what sort of stuff you’d like to see posted here today.
Meanwhile, back in Eastern Europe, descendants of the original Dracula are reaping huge public relations benefits from re-naming their group Transylvanian Lives Matter.
A visit to their secret site on the Dark Web reveals that the group’s aims and interests have not changed at all: feeding on the blood of the living, turning people into vampires, spreading fear and misery and violence everywhere (“Our mission is to spread fear and misery and violence everywhere,” says their Preamble). But suddenly the group is not only socially acceptable, but also politically ascendant.
“Changing our name changed everything!” exults the current president of the group, Count Vladimir Yorga. “Now, anyone who criticizes anything we do, or offers even the most trifling opposition, is immediately accused of believing that Transylvanian lives don’t matter! So the next time anyone asks you, ‘What’s in a name?’, tell them–‘Everything!’ In all honesty, we were getting nowhere the whole time we called ourselves Blood-sucking Abominations.”
(And let’s just see if I get away with this. But really, somebody does have to say something.)
They must expect the Chinese Wuhan Communist Death Virus to close up shop pretty soon, ’cause it sounds like they’re getting us ready for another round of OMGwe’reallgonnadiefromClimbitChange blah-blah…
First I’ve got to see John Kerry or Theresa May chow down on a nice bowlful of squirming mealworms. See, I know they want us eating bugs just so they can laugh at us. Grubs and crickets and flies–that’s not for them! That’s for us. To help keep us in line. Who’s going to listen to a protest by someone who eats cucarachas?
You guys don’t know it, do you?–globalism’s dead. Your buddies the Chicoms killed it. All the tomato worm sandwiches in the world won’t bring it back. You global elites are mighty slow on the uptake!
So you can take your tent caterpillar flambe and stuff it.
Among other highlights of last night’s Democrat food fight, Joe Biden claimed 150 million people in the U.S. have been killed by gun violence since 2007… apparently forgetting who was in office for eight of those 13 years. Nor did he offer any suggestion as to who might have wiped out half our country’s population.
As a comment on the debate as a whole, I cannot improve on this little clip from Dracula, filmed in 1931. The action takes place, appropriately, at a lunatic asylum…
A few days ago, on the radio, Mark Simone and Michael Goodwin said something that I’m still thinking about. They agreed that none of the 25 bozos currently vying for the Democrat presidential nomination was going to wind up as the nominee. Quite simply, because they’re all too far-out to be elected president.
But if not one of them, then who? Simone and Goodwin had to admit they were stumped, had no idea. And I was stumped, too.
Until now. ‘Cause now I know just who it’s gotta be.
The Dems should run Count Dracula for president.
And here are the irrefutable reasons why. 1. He lives by sucking other people’s blood–just like the government. 2. He’s here illegally, and Democrats love that. 3. Whenever you try to pin him down, he turns into a green mist, or a bat, and gets away. Only Bill Clinton ever did it better. 4. He has absolutely no use for our Constitution or anybody else’s.
In Chapter CCXXX of her epic romance, Oy, Rodney–we’re still waiting for Chapter CCXXIX–Violet Crepuscular writes of a visit to Scurveyshire by Bram Stoker, the famed author of Dracula. It is vain to protest that Stoker wasn’t born until 1847 and would have been only three years old in 1850. “I do not believe the dates commonly given,” asserts Ms. Crepuscular. Nor do we get anywhere by denying that Stoker spoke fluent Pidgin with a broad Irish accent. “My sources are impeccable,” she says. We are not sure she knows what “impeccable” means.
Stoker comes to Scurveyshire to do research for Dracula, which was not published until 1897. He is immediately informed that “We ain’t had but one vampire in Scurveyshire, and he retired from it long ago to go into the tea business. Last we heard, he had a big plantation in Norway.” But before he can leave, he learns that Scurveyshire is being terrorized by the long-dead necromancer, Black Rodney. His interest is piqued.
Stoker interviews Constable Chumley at The Lying Tart, where the local brew goes straight to his head and incites him to entertain the night’s customers by reciting rather lurid nursery rhymes. “Yer flothering bandy fair made a clogger that brawsty night,” the constable recalls.
The next night, Stoker disappears. Forever. It is discovered that the itinerant spider girl, Lizzie Snivel, fell madly in love with Scurveyshire’s exotic visitor: and also that he took advantage of her infatuation to purchase from her a rare Tasmanian blow-dried spider at a shamefully low price. Miss Lizzie, the only witness, insists that Mr. Stoker, hunting for traces of Black Rodney, ventured dangerously close to the wading pool in the vicar’s back yard. “I fear he was dragged under by them tentacles!” she cries. “Oh, I should have stopped him!”
Still trying to plan his wedding to Lady Margo Cargo, Lord Jeremy Coldsore finds it hard to do his duty as Scurveyshire’s justice of the peace. “I don’t have time to investigate the disappearance of a Pidgin-speaking Irishman!” he cries. So there is no investigation, and the wading pool has claimed another victim.
We are promised that in Chapter CCXXXI, Lord Jeremy will acquire a new cravat especially for the wedding.
Yeah, I’d love to see that at one of those $10,000-a-plate fundraising dinners the whoopee crowd loves to hold–a gaggle of liberal politicians and Hollywood celebrities chowing down on crickets. John Kerry with a mouthful of nice, tasty spiders: that just might shut him up for once.
Hey, you deplorables out there! Why aren’t you eating insects like the experts tell you to? Huh?
Um… in Bram Stoker’s novel, Dracula had an insane worshiper named Renfield who used to eat all kinds of bugs so he could be more like his “master.” And the Devil sometimes uses the moniker Baal-z’vuv, “Lord of the Flies.” Anybody seeing a pattern here?
Bear in mind this simple rule: Never, never do anything recommended by the UN or any of its so-called “experts.” They are not your friends.
And let’s see that private jet-and-limo Davos mob all get together for a cricket fry.
In an age of teeming idiocy, it’s hard to say or do anything that really makes you stand out as a jackass among jackasses. But comedian Sarah Silverman has done it, with these few words (drum roll, please):
Or, as Shakespeare put it in Act I of Julius Caesar, “You blocks, you stones, you worse than senseless things!”
***[Service momentarily interrupted]***
Well, there! What did I tel you? Us peple who in collidge we leaders of the revoltion! And aslo we alyaws on the rihgt side of histry! And now you heared it from Sara Silver Man hersself, and she’s a wimmim!
Boy that stopid guy who blogs hear, whut dose he know? He aint in collidge anymor. He aint on the righjt side of histry no more. My prefesser he says us milennails am not just goin to lede the revoltion–we are the revoltion! And he teached us this thing we can say, like they used to say whin he was a studint…
Power to the peple! Rihgt on!
***[Normal service resumed]***
The 1960s are like Dracula. No matter how many times you drive a stake through his heart, he always comes back in the next movie.
Helpful sociological hint: America has way too many colleges and universities with way too many people in them.
Sorry, but I have to take a break from writing about current events. There’s too much going on out there, all of it bad.
Christopher Lee as Dracula, via Hammer Films. Thanks for the memories.
The great Christopher Lee died recently; and as a salute to him, I decided to re-read Dracula, by Bram Stoker. The ground-breaking vampire novel, first published in 1897, became one of the pillars of our popular culture when it was adapted for the movies–most famously played by Bela Lugosi, and later, and very often, by Sir Christopher.
But how many of you have actually read the book?
So you open it up and take a look, and sneer, and think, “Sheesh! Does it get more 19th century than this? I mean, letters, diary entries–what’s wrong with chapters?”
It doesn’t matter. This is one of the best and scariest horror novels ever written, to this day. And while there have been a lot of very good film adaptations–check out the one starring Louis Jourdan as the Count: my wife watched it alone at night and got the heeby-jeebies, big-time–not one has quite done justice to the novel.
Stoker uses some mundane writing tricks that we all can learn from. He has a keen eye for the physical setting of any scene, and the skill to use it. By using letters and journal entries, he can shift from one point of view to another while always remaining in the first person. Notice that the chief villain, Count Dracula, and the chief hero, Professor Van Helsing, are the only characters who never speak to us directly. I am sure this technique is not as easy as it sounds.
The first few chapters, in which young lawyer Jonathan Harker is first a guest, then a prisoner, and finally an item on the menu in Castle Dracula; and the nature of his predicament only becomes clear to him gradually and horribly–well, if that’s not the best horror-writing ever in the English language, I don’t know what is. If that scene with Dracula’s “wives” doesn’t scare you, what will?
Dracula is full of unforgettable scenes: poor Lucy, Dracula’s first victim in England, now an un-dead vampire herself, prowling the London parks at night to prey on small children; Dracula recalling his ancestors’ glorious wars against the Turks; Harker, having only just recovered his health and his wits, and newly married, suddenly breaking down because he sees the Count right there on a London pavement…
You may wonder why I read stuff like this. Don’t we have enough real-life horrors to contend with?
More than enough, says I: hence Dracula. The Count is an imaginary horror. He is successfully dealt with: good defeats and then destroys evil. That never happens in the headlines. Far, far easier to dispose of Dracula than of the Democrats! Drive a stake through Dracula’s heart, and he’s history. But how do you get rid of the Clintons?
I first read Dracula when I was a young teen. Since then I have come back to it occasionally, with years intervening. And each time I come back, it gets better and better. I always enjoy it more.