June 19, 2017

I’m at the driving range at Kokopelli Golf Club, ten minutes from my house. It’s a bright, sunny late Saturday morning, the temperature already hovering around 100 degrees, and there’s just me and another guy four spots down hitting balls.

The goal of my session was to try and figure something out with my hybrids and my 5-wood. As I mentioned in an earlier post, I’d hit them miserably during my round at Lone Tree, and I was determined to at least get to the bottom of the problem if not fix it altogether.

I wasn’t making a whole lot of progress. The 4-hybrid, in particular, was abysmal. I tried playing the ball forward in my stance, back in my stance, in the middle of my stance. Didn’t make any difference. I tried choking down on the 5-wood, playing that in the middle of my stance, then forward in my stance. Didn’t matter – just when I thought I’d found something, it seemed I’d scull the next two balls. Thin hits. Deep-trench fat hits. It was all weight shift, I knew – or at least I thought I knew – but I couldn’t figure out how to fix it. After one particularly ugly swing, I slammed the club on the ground then cursed myself.

The guy who was out there with me didn’t believe in taking his time between balls. I was probably halfway through my bucket when I saw him heading back into the pro shop to have his bucket refilled again. I’d already seen him hitting balls out there by himself as I walked from the parking lot into the pro shop, then I passed him as I walked out with my bucket, he walking inside to get his bucket refilled.

It was getting hot, so I set my club down, grabbed my towel, wiped my face, drank out of my bottle of water.

“You’re not keeping your ‘V’s, mate!”

I look up and see the guy who was hitting balls walking towards me.

“Your ‘V’s are breaking down, mate. I can see it from where I’m hitting.”

Now (at least in my mind) there’s an etiquette out on the driving range that I would never, ever consider breaking. As far as I’m concerned, you keep to your own shit no matter what else is happening around you. I’m not a great golfer by any stretch of the imagination, but I’ve seen beginners hitting balls next or near to me, flailing away hopelessly, and even though I know I could help them with a simple recommendation, I would never consider invading their space. To me that would not just be improper, but rude. I mean, who do I think I am, David Leadbetter?

But here he is, David Leadbetter, or someone who looks like a dead ringer for him, walking towards me. He certainly looked the part: tall, sunglasses, wide-brimmed straw hat (it wasn’t Callaway), that Aussie accent and him calling me mate. Were there other people there I think I would have handled it differently. But since we were the only ones out there, I resisted the urge to say, “Thanks for your concern, podna, but you’re not exactly lighting it up out there yourself from what I can see. If you had, I doubt you’d be on your third large bucket, correctamundo?” Instead, I decided to allow him some of my space.

“I can see why you’re struggling, mate. It’s your ‘V’s. They’re breaking down. Here, let me show you.”

He demonstrates his swing to me, tries to show what it is I’m doing wrong.

“Y’see, if you’re not keeping your ‘V’s, then that makes it tougher to stay on top of the ball. If you’re not staying on top of the ball, then it’s much harder to transfer your weight from back to front. And it’s damned near impossible to make consistent contact with the ball. Let me demonstrate…”

He took one of my balls – I started to raise my hand in protest – but he was on a roll now. “See, this is what you’re doing…”

He takes a swing with his hybrid and stripes it down the middle, 190 yards.

“…well, in this case I guess I made up for it. But what you want to do…” He takes another of my balls, then takes a couple of practice swings “is this…”

He drubs one down the middle about thirty yards.

“OK, well that wasn’t so good.” He then takes another ball of mine and hooks one into the far left side of the range, just next to the first fairway. He then goes into a long spiel about his swing from the ground up, then from the top down. Tells me he used to be a boxer in Melbourne, and that he learned his weight transfer from learning how to throw punches.

“But you have to always be careful not to over-swing. Even if you’re keeping your ‘V’s it won’t make any difference if you over-swing. I’m tellin’ ya mate, you keep your ‘V’s and don’t over-swing you’ll be fine.”

While he’s talking I’m only half-listening, drinking from my water bottle. He’s tall and sun-burnt. When he smiles he has what looks like a gold or wooden tooth in the front. I reach out my hand, ask him his name.

“It’s Matthew, mate.”

I ask him why he’s hitting his third large bucket on such a hot day, and he tells me he’s working on a move where, at the top of his swing, he then turns the shaft slightly to closed before starting his downswing.

“I’m already getting ten more yards with that move.”

I thank him for his time, tell him I’ll definitely take a look at my ‘V’s.

Matthew goes back, yanks his next shot way left into the first fairway. I pick up my towel, wipe my face, take another sip of water. I grab my 5-wood, put the ball slightly forward in my stance, then focus only on keeping my ‘V’s and shortening my swing. Clean contact. The ball takes off like a rocket, 180 yards or so down the middle of the my make-believe fairway. I drop another ball, same thing. Drop a third ball down, same thing.

I look at Matthew, give him a thumbs up. He smiles, drops another ball and hits a big push into the netting separating the driving range from the putting green and chipping area.

It would make for a great story if I said that every ball I hit thereafter was striped down the middle. They weren’t. But I’m guessing the ratio was 70/30 good hits and sculls. And even with the sculls I could immediately feel that I had strayed from the program. I went back in, got a small bucket and started working my hybrids into the same program. Again, 70/30 decent shots to crap sandwich.

Halfway through my bucket, Matthew grabbed his now-empty large bucket and headed for the pro shop.

I went out on Sunday with just my hybrids and 5-wood, this time at the Papago Golf Club range. Different day, different range, different conditions, little bit hotter. I followed Matthew’s advice to the ‘T’ and found myself hitting the same ratio of solid hits to poor hits – something like 70/30. More importantly, I committed myself to two very simple, easy to understand swing thoughts: keep my ‘V’s and don’t over-swing. The idea being, if I do that everything else will fall into place all by itself. Thanks to Matthew, I’m starting to gain confidence in clubs that, just a little more than a day earlier, I had zero confidence in.

Sitting in the cool, dark Mexican restaurant over a margarita afterwards, I thought back to Saturday. I had finished my small bucket, and the heat was really starting to come on. Walking back to my car, I stopped and turned around to look in time to see Matthew, the only soul in sight, stripe a hybrid down the middle, then yank the next one into the first fairway.

Matthew may not be David Leadbetter, may not even be a good golfer, but as a golf instructor he’s good enough for me.

Filed in: Golf Quest by The Great White Shank at 01:50 | Comments Off on Matthew’s Five-Minute Fix
June 18, 2017

It was one year ago today that my mom passed away. I look back on the days preceding her passing and the week that followed and it all seems so unreal. It’s not like you can ever prepare for something like that happening (and to be truthful, compared to others who have had to witness one of their parents withering away with cancer or just fading away from view due to Alzheimer’s, I know we as a family had it about as best as anyone could rightly expect), you just have to go through it. True, my mom had had a rough 3-4 months at the very end, but she was under great care from family members and health care providers during that time, and she still had her wits about her to the end.

We should all end up so fortunate.

It was two days before she passed away that I was awoken by her care manager at the rehab facility. We were to discussing her status and (I thought) her treatment plan when she asked me when I was planning our next visit. I told her our intent was to get back around the first of July so we could be there for my parents anniversary on the 4th. I could feel the blood drain from my face when she said, “I think it needs to be sooner than that. Much sooner.”

“Like how much sooner?”, I asked.
“As soon as you can.”

Well, that was that. I called Mom at the rehab place, spoke to her for only a few minutes. She sounded kinda groggy and tired, but as was her way she didn’t want us to be bothered making the trip out there just for her. We were at the airport Saturday morning when I got a text that the family had been called to her bedside, so it became a question of whether we’d get there on time. I think we would have just made it had our rental car at the Logan Airport facility not been delayed by 45 minutes. Instead, we got there about 20 minutes or so after she had passed.

The following week was the most stress I’d ever felt myself under in my life. To me, it was all about keeping my mom’s wishes regarding her arrangements. She wanted it simple: no wake, a simple funeral, but in the end you’re just trying to compromise and keep everyone reasonably happy and things within reason, and I felt I did pretty damned well under the circumstances. The day we flew back to Arizona, a week after her passing, Tracey and I nursed Bloody Marys at the Legal Seafood at Logan Airport; my brain was like cotton candy, my nerves frayed to the quick, and the world around me out of focus like a shimmering fog.

It wasn’t until a month later when, in the midst of my Goodboys friends on the first day of the Goodboys Invitational weekend, a shanked 7-iron triggered an emotional breakdown that left me a blubbering puddle of goo that lasted the better part of the day. Being the Goodboys they are, my friends were cool about it and understood. I guess it just took being in a safe place and surrounded by friends that my body felt it could finally let go of the stress. It took a while longer for me to come to grips with her passing and start to make peace with the events that surrounded it.

To be truthful, I’m not there yet.

All in all it’s been a sad year. Having all the anniversaries, occasions, and holidays where I’d expect to either hear from Mom or call her just roll by one day after another is something that has to be handled. As to be expected, my dad had it rough at the start and it took him several months to (in his own words) get his bearings, but he’s come through the other side of it and is doing great. I’m so proud of him.

I look back on Mom’s death as the ending of an era, the final chapter of a book whose epilogue is still being written by everyone who knew her, loved her, and miss her. For me, her passing has changed the way I look at everything, although I can’t say exactly in what way. I still feel in my spirit a void that will never go away. But along with that sense of loss there’s also a feeling of gratitude that I was able to have her along for the first six decades of my life. Not everyone can say that, that’s for sure! In the end, all you can do is offer up thanks for having known someone so caring, so loving, and so wise for so long.

I go on. The family goes on. But it’s all different now. You simply can’t have someone who held the fabric of two families together through her life, love, and personality depart and not expect things to be different once she’s gone. That’s just life and the way things go. I think about her a lot, wonder what she’d think or have to say about the various events that have taken place in everyone’s lives since her passing. She had a wisdom and a way of putting things in context that can never be replaced – not in my life, not in the lives of those she loved and those who loved her.

That’s just the way it is.

Filed in: Uncategorized by The Great White Shank at 16:43 | Comments (2)
June 17, 2017

Days until the 2017 Goodboys Invitational: 35
Location: Lone Tree Golf Club
Score: 50 / 53 = 103
Handicap: 23.7 / Trend: 23.7 (no change)

It’s a good thing I’ve got more than a month to go before Goodboys Invitational weekend because it’s clear that, while I’ve been working harder on my game and my swing than I ever have, I’m not seeing the kind of progress I would have expected to see at this point.

When I last played Lone Tree Golf Club a year ago, I shot 87, my lowest round ever. Now I wasn’t expecting to shoot another 87 this time out (there are too many things I’m working on), but a 103 is still pretty disappointing. Right now I just can’t seem to put good shots and good holes together. I’m having to do way too much scrambling out there, my hybrids and my 5-wood are absolutely killing me, and I just can’t get comfortable with the yardages and my new Steelhead XR irons.

A look at the raw numbers tells the story: I hit ten fairways today, yet played those holes fifteen over par and hit only one green in regulation. That’s just not getting the job done. The course played almost 6,500 yards, so there were some long par 4s, but that doesn’t excuse one quad and two triple bogeys. Granted, had I been trying to shoot as low a score as possible I would have left the 5-wood and the hybrids in the bag, but I’ve got to learn to hit them sooner or later. I thought I’d been baking progress at the range with them, but they killed me today. My putting improved a little bit (35 putts, six less than the last time out), and those ten fairways hit showed my recent work with my weight transfer is starting to pay off with the driver. I also did a better job out of the sand today than I have been doing, so that bucket of balls I hit solely out of the sand last weekend helped out.

My biggest issue continues to involve my iron play: the way I’m hitting them at the range still hasn’t translated to playing real golf. Today it seemed I was always “in between” and questioning my club choice, and then I started jumping at the ball and yanking them on the last four holes. I realize that between trying to change years of bad habits out there and breaking in new irons I’m not going to see results overnight – especially when I’m playing one time a week at the most, but that doesn’t mean it isn’t frustrating.

There’s a big difference between hitting balls and scoring, and right now the scoring part is eluding me in a big way. I’m not giving myself any chances at making par right now, and as long as that’s happening one can’t expect to shoot a good score. All I can do is keep working at it and have faith that sooner or later all the work is gonna pay off. The improvement I’m seeing right now may be only incremental, but improvement it is – I’m not lost out there like I was at times last year: when I make a bad shot I know what I did wrong, and when I make a good shot I know what I did right. The 5-wood and the hybrids remain a mystery but I will figure them out sooner or later – hopefully sooner.

With the big heat coming on there won’t be much of a chance for hitting balls next week. I’ve still got four rounds of golf planned before I head back to Massachusetts for Goodboys Invitational week, and then I plan on playing at least twice before Goodboys, so there is still time, but for right now all I seem to be doing is treading water.

Filed in: Golf Quest by The Great White Shank at 01:07 | Comments Off on Treading Water
June 16, 2017

I’m getting ready to head out to play some golf, but in the meantime…

Out here in the Valley of the Sun we’re used to the heat. But there’s heat, and then there’s heat. What we’re about to get is no joke – I think it’s only been that hot once since we’ve been out here and it’s as if the whole world is on fire around you. Even walking down to the mailbox becomes an experience in and of itself.

You’ve undoubtedly heard The Guess Who’s “American Woman” a gazillion times on oldies radio but I guarantee you’ve never heard anything like the full version as played live with the reformed original lineup. Randy Bachman’s guitar work – on two Fenders, no less! – is nothing short of mesmerizing. I never realized he was quite the axe man. Talk about your “wheat field soul”!

There’s been a lot written about the attempt by that Bernie supporter to kill as many Republican congressmen as he could, but National Review Online’s Kevin Williamsom absolutely nails it. This is nothing new for the liberal Left, which has increasingly and enthusiastically embraced the concept of physical violence without any admonishment from Democrats in Washington. Some folks out there are trying to excuse Hodgkinson’s actions by saying “both sides do it” and “both sides are guilty”, but as Powerline blog’s John Hinderaker puts the kibosh on that:

They can bridle all they want, but when has a Republican proudly displayed the severed, bloody head of Nancy Pelosi? Or Chuck Schumer? Or Barack Obama? When have Republicans thrown bricks through store windows or assaulted Democrats on the street? When have Republicans rioted to prevent Democrats from speaking on college campuses? When have Republicans accused Nancy Pelosi or Chuck Schumer of treason? When have Republicans sent provocateurs into Democratic presidential rallies to start fights? When have Republicans urged “Resistance” against a Democratic president who they claim is a Nazi?

I would argue that the Obama administration actually encouraged it, and look where we’ve come. Should anyone, therefore, be surprised that some unhinged loon is going to feel encouraged to act on his impulses?

And speaking of unhinged loons, my next question to Nancy Pelosi would be, if you truly believe that Republicans brought it on themselves, do you believe women encourage rape by dressing seductively? She’s a moronic, disgusting hag.

Given the current climate, I’m totally into situational awareness when I go out in public – especially when I’m at the supermarket – and y’all should too. There are wackos out there, and pretty soon I’m going to be concealed carrying. Paying attention to your surroundings at all times is something that unfortunately goes with the turf of being human these days.

While Democrats and the mainstream media talk Russia and obstruction of justice, President Trump is getting the job done. Here’s example 1. Here’s example 2.

Baseball quickies: I had a feeling for Pablo “Fat Pig” Sandoval this was going to happen. I’m not surprised that with Yanks hurler C.C. Sabathia this has happened. That dude is way too heavy. And hurry back soon, RemDawg.

Filed in: Uncategorized by The Great White Shank at 01:38 | Comments Off on Friday Thoughts
June 15, 2017

I’ve had three really good practice sessions in a row over the past week. The swing changes I’m attempting to implement are actually very simple: 1) play the ball a little more back in my stance than I’ve done in the past; 2) focus on my weight shift; 3) Don’t jump at the ball, and by all means (4) keep my lower body quiet. These sound pretty simple, but, as hard to believe as it is, I’ve got decades of bad form needing to be overcome. I’ve stopped worrying about the angle of my takeaway, stopped worrying about tempo, per se, stopped worrying about shanking the ball. If I do the above I’ll be OK.

I’m picking Dustin Johnson to win the U.S. Open. Secretly, however, I’ll be rooting for Rickie Fowler, Sergio Garcia, or Jordan Spieth.

Today I had a really good session with my short game. It’s tough to practice short game and putting out here in preparation for Goodboys Invitational weekend because the grass around the greens and the speed of the greens is so different here compared with back in New England. But you still have to stick with the fundamentals: for me, I tend to get a little upright in my takeaway when chipping, which then causes me to get more wristy. Far better, I think, to take a shallower takeaway and keep the wrists quiet.

Y’all know I love Phil Mickelson as much as anyone, but enough already. Either you’re in or you’re out. Don’t make your daughter feel like her graduation might be getting in the way of your U.S. Open experience. Don’t just attend her graduation and make way for Dodge – stay with her and share her day.

Filed in: Golf & Sports by The Great White Shank at 01:42 | Comments Off on Golf Stuff
June 14, 2017

This is the kind of thing that happens when the U.S. withdraws from the Paris climate change accord.

David Price is pitching like a Tommy John surgery waiting to happen.

If I needed a bailout from the American taxpayers I’d vote for statehood as well. No brainer, that.

In these days where virtually all pop music is electronically drenched and manipulated without needing much in the form of musicians and/or human talent it’s always good to remember what a tight rock band with a killer lead vocalist can sound like. That’s Burton Cummings on lead vocal and piano and the very underrated (at least in my view) Kurt Winter on lead guitar. They could really combine to make some cool noise when they wanted to. Winter passed away to young from the vestiges of the rock and roll lifestyle, but I’d put him in my top five lead guitarists of all time. And Cummings? Well, there are just a handful of great rock vocalists that could do what he could do.

A par 3 hole shaped like a hockey rink? Why not? After all it’s the Canadian Open. I think it’s a great idea. Bang one off the boards.

She’s a textbook case on how to destroy one’s career.

Keep it classy, liberals. Maybe I should send back by Associates degree in Electronic Data Processing. (How’s that for showing one’s age?)

I have to agree with Rory, here. It’s clear that the USGA is bending to the moanings and groanings of professional golfers who have been bitching about the fescue at Erin Hills. What a bunch of pampered privileged elitists. I say screw ’em. It’s not called a major for nothing. And no one is forcing them at gunpoint to play. So suck it up, buttercups.

They don’t call Batman a superhero for nothing!

Filed in: Uncategorized by The Great White Shank at 01:34 | Comments Off on Wednesday Wangdoodles
June 13, 2017

With the first serious heat of the summer scheduled to hit the Valley of the Sun this weekend it’s a damned good thing I got my summer planting in last weekend. Normally I get my hydrangea in the front pots Memorial Day weekend as a sign of solidarity with the way my peeps back in New England mark their summer season, but this year Hi at “the nursery” didn’t have any hydrangea the way I like them: the light baby blue kind. So, I had to wait a week while he got some supply from one of his other stores.

But they sure look nice, no? It took me all of fifteen minutes to “fertilize” them so hopefully they’ll last at least a couple of summers out there. Between the sun, the heat, the dust, and any rain we might get over the monsoon season they really take a beating if they’re not thoroughly sprayed and coated. I’ve already got some compliments from the neighbors – guess that’s to be expected when you possess a “green thumb”. 🙂

Filed in: Uncategorized by The Great White Shank at 01:22 | Comments Off on Summer Planting
June 10, 2017

If you’re all for inundating the US with Muslim refugees you might want to read this piece first. I’m actually all in as far as embracing different cultures goes, but it has to be a two-way street. Here’s the line that stuck out to me:

The nice lady who asked me to give a talk a couple months ago on my hometown asked me if there were any refugees who were an “asset to the community”. I replied that they do not consider themselves part of your community, so if they are going to be an asset to any community, it is not going to be yours.

As the saying goes, read the whole thing.

…along those same lines, maybe something like Yahoo! News considers this a celebration of multiculturalism, but I sure don’t.

I tried to tell y’all to watch out for the Yankees this year. I don’t see them folding.

The Langhorns are a pretty damned fine surf band from Sweden. If you’re feeling stressed out close your eyes, kick back, and listen. Doesn’t get a whole lot better than this, surf music-wise.

While the Democrats want to focus their efforts on damaging Trump in whatever way they can, they’re missing the ballgame going on behind the scenes:

Over the past couple of weeks, as the media and congressional Democrats have focused on Comey and the Washington impeachment circus, Trump has been on a roll. He named 12 new well-regarded federal judges to the bench, rolled back one of the EPA’s “most expensive regulations ever,” put an end to Obama’s corrupt policy of using public money to enrich far-left activist groups, pulled the U.S. out of the laughably bad but absurdly costly Paris Climate Change Agreement, and continued a far-reaching reversal of regulations that the American Action Forum called a “profound” shift in policy that will have a major impact on the U.S. economy.

And on Thursday, while Comey spoke and Democrats fumed, the House passed a bill that would undo some of the most pernicious elements of the Dodd-Frank law — another promise Trump made and is now on the verge of keeping.

Personally, I hope the Dems keep it up.

R.I.P. Adam West. His Batman reflected a more simpler and less cynical time.

If you’re looking for the last word on what was truly going on between President Trump and former FBI Director James Comey, this piece is hard to beat. McCarthy’s opening line says it all:

He believed that the FBI director misled the public to think that the president was under investigation.

…it will ultimately be understood that Comey was nothing more than a partisan Washington hack with delusions of grandeur – an embarrassment to both the FBI and to Democrats who thought he was their means to “getting Trump”.

Would it be difficult to imagine a Tiger Woods announcement that he’s checking himself into rehab due to an addiction to pain-killers? The guy seems to be in a very dark place right now.

Have a great weekend, everyone – I’m checking out. Now that I know who my Goodboys Invitational playing partner is, I’ve got balls to hit, both today and tomorrow.

Filed in: Uncategorized by The Great White Shank at 11:23 | Comments Off on Weekending
June 8, 2017

Electrifying? Game changing? Much ado about nothing? I’ll take door number three, Alex.

Former FBI Direct James Comey’s widely-anticipated and much-ballyhooed appearance before the Senate Intelligence Committee wasn’t a game-changer and was hardly electrifying, but it definitely wasn’t much ado about nothing. Of course, the mainstream media and liberals and Democrats everywhere (my apologies for being redundant) had hoped this would be the first step on President’s Trump road to impeachment (for what I’m still trying to figure, but more about that later), but at the end of the day, when you’ve lost Chris Matthews

Just like a good baseball trade, however, there was something for those on both sides of the political aisle. For Democrats, Comey’s testimony that President Trump expressed to him his hopes that the investigation involving Trump transition team member General Michael Flynn might be curtailed gives them “obstruction of justice” ammo for their talking points, but as Paul Mirengoff writes at PowerLine blog, Trump’s comments don’t even sniff at obstruction:

Comey says he took President Trump’s statements about the Flynn investigation as a “direction” to drop the investigation. However, the words Comey attributes to Trump, and Comey’s subsequent conduct, render the former director’s inference highly questionable.

Stating a hope or a desired outcome, or even exerting pressure to see that outcome occur, is not issuing an order or directive. And if Comey thought he had been directed to drop an investigation, it’s quite likely he would have resigned (as he threatened to do in 2004 when he thought the Bush administration was behaving improperly — a point made by Sen. Tom Cotton), complained publicly, or complained to the Attorney General or the White House Counsel. He did not.

For Republicans and conservatives, Comey’s bombshell testimony that Obama AG Loretta Lynch advised him to downplay Hillary Clinton’s e-mail investigation served as a big “I told you so”, and made Comey look nothing more than a two-bit Washington insider who, rather than standing up for the FBI’s reputation and the rule of law, chose to play it fast and loose for the sake of political expediency. Is it any wonder he never had President Trump’s confidence and deserved to be fired?

And then there was the bomb Comey tossed at the mainstream media when he testified that their continued use of anonymous and unnamed sources showed they really didn’t know what was going on. That had to hurt.

I do think it’s fairly safe to say that Director Comey put himself in legal danger with his testimony today, either by committing perjury before Congress or admitting to being a leaker of intelligence to the media.

In short, as PowerLine blog commenter David Spence commented, there were really only five main takeaways from Comey’s testimony today:

1. Comey leaked potentially classified info to the NY Times to smear Trump, an offense not only criminal but disqualifying him in any position of trust;
2. [Obama AG] Loretta Lynch absolutely tried to obstruct justice;
3. Comey didn’t “expect” Trump to lie, he set this up to try and trap Trump into a lie (committing a “process crime”) or obstruct justice. It didn’t work;
4. Comey lied today by saying he leaked the dinner conversation after waking up in the morning of May 15th. The NY Times story Comey leaked appeared on May 11-quite the feat!;
5. Comey is a Democrat hack; a narcissistic, whiny drama-queen – and those are his good traits.

Where does this leave the Democrats and a mainstream media who has been pushing the Russia election “hacking” probe on a daily basis since Trump’s election? Hard to say. It seems CNN is committed to keeping their impeachment dream alive. I suppose certain batsh*t-crazy moonbats might hang their vagina hats on the idea that the President’s withdrawal from the Paris climate change accord is an impeachable offense. But if that’s all they’ve got to keep their voters energized ahead of the 2018 midterms, well, they’re crazy – Elizabeth Warren crazy.

The mainstream media, of course, needs something – anything – to maintain its outrage at Trump’s election, but the only thing they have left is Special Counsel Robert Mueller’s investigation. I wouldn’t get my hopes up: after seven months of daily and unrelenting faux outrage, unnamed sources, anonymous stories and explosive headlines, no one – and I mean no one has brought forth a single piece of evidence tying the President or his administration to any wrongdoing. Whispers? Lots. Accusations? Lots. But one would think after all this time – seven months since election night – if someone, anyone, had any kind of solid, irrefutable evidence of wrongdoing in the form of documents, taped conversations, or direct eyewitness testimony it would have been leaked by now, right?

I have to think even Democrats know that the time has come to sh*t or get off the pot when it comes to Trump and Russia. You can only string your loyalists along on fake and/or manufactured news for so long – otherwise, you end up being revealed for the hapless morons you actually are, running on and standing for nothing but manufactured outrage and obstructionism without any real opposition party agenda. Does anyone out there – and I’m asking all of you liberals (and you know who you are) – know what the Democratic Party stands for anymore outside of being against anything Trump? If you do, let me know.

The clock is ticking, fellas, and Director Comey’s testimony today did y’all no favors. Sorry, hipsters.

Filed in: Politics & World Events by The Great White Shank at 20:17 | Comments Off on Poor James Comey, He’s Nobody’s Homey
June 6, 2017

Not sure what the point of this article was, but there is nothing I feel I’m missing out on from working from home.

Some “nice to knows” if I ever choose this line of work once I retire.

Weird to see so-called journalists writing about Tiger Woods’ recent DUI arrest without openly asking what on earth he was doing out by himself at 3 AM? Not that I care, but it seems to me that would be an interesting line of questioning.

It doesn’t bother me that so-called “comedian” Bill Maher used the N-word the other night. It does bother me that his guest, Republican senator Ben Sasse, just sat there like a dope grinning like a goose in response. Talk about a defining moment – like Tin Cup’s Roy McAvoy said, “either you define the moment or the moment defines you.” A glorious opportunity for conservatives and conservatism wasted.

…and speaking of Roy McAvoy, here’s a cool story about the golf course actually used for the U.S. Open course in “Tin Cup”. It would be a hoot to play, I think.

Check the two airport security pics here and tell me this isn’t a world gone mad.

As Howie Carr is wont to say about liberals in the post-Obama age, their agony brings me joy.

To be honest, I’m surprised this doesn’t happen more often. Unless you’re using something like UPS or ShipSticks you’re really taking chances expecting the airlines to take good care of your clubs. If you’re a professional you ought to spend the dough-re-mi and do it right.

He’s #1 on Amazon and he’ll be #1 on my list of books to read during my trip back to Massachusetts in July.

I’ve been pushing this kind of thing all along: start deporting people – and lots of them, even if they had nothing to do with the act itself – and you’ll see the number of terror attacks drop precipitously. Start with the killers’ inner circle, then go out two to three levels of relatives. Or, alternatively, deport everyone associated with the mosque the killer(s) attended. Pretty soon folks will get the idea. When you’re in a war, the only way you win is to break the spirit of the enemy.

Filed in: Uncategorized by The Great White Shank at 01:59 | Comments Off on Tuesday Thoughts


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