God bless the Irish. They are a Warrior Folk. UPDATE.

Never pick a fight with an Irishman. They are brilliant wordsmiths and fearsome warriors. Men and women both. Check out Queen Maeve.

The drawing is Albrecht Durer's Three Kerns. Kern was adopted into English as a term for a Gaelic soldier in medieval Ireland.

“Fascism is capitalism plus murder.”
- Upton Sinclair

“The essence of fascism is to make laws forbidding everything and then enforce them selectively against your enemies.”
- John Lescroart, A Plague of Secrets

The American fascist would prefer not to use violence. His method is to poison the channels of public information. - Henry Wallace. 

St. Patrick's Day Bread.

Treacle Bread is a slightly sweet Irish Soda Bread. It seemed an appropriate recipe for March because it is the month in which we celebrate St. Patrick's Day. St. Patrick is the patron saint of Ireland and most Americans pretend we are Irish for a day every year.

A thin slice of this bread well buttered or with a bit of jam and a cup of black tea in the afternoon is one of the finer pleasures in life. This bread toasts nicely too when it is a bit hard.

Miss Peggy Daum's Treacle Bread

3 cups sifted all purpose Flour
1 teaspoon Salt
1 tablespoon granulated Sugar
1 scant teaspoon Baking Soda
3/4 teaspoon Baking Powder
1 cup Whole Wheat Flour
1/2 cup Molasses
1 cup Buttermilk, divided

Sift all purpose flour, salt, sugar, baking soda, and baking power into a large bowl. Thoroughly mix in whole wheat flour. Warm the molasses a bit and combine it with 1/2 the buttermilk. Make a well in the center of the flour mixture and stir in the buttermilk mixture. You want a soft dough. So add the other bit of buttermilk as needed.

Turn out on a floured board. Knead only enough to shape into a ball. You do not want to develop gluten. Flatten the ball of dough into a circle 11/2 inches thick. Place into a greased and floured 8-9 inch baking pan. Dough does not have to fill the pan. Cut a cross 3/8 inch thick across the top and down the sides of the loaf.

Preheat oven to 375 degrees. Bake bread 40 to 45 minutes or until bread is browned and loaf sounds hollow when you knock on it. Best sliced thin and lightly buttered, toasted or untoasted.

Hot damn!

The Honorable Stephanie Flowers is a force to be reckoned with.  Watch as she ends a Stand Your Ground Bill in an Arkansas Judiciary Committee hearing all by herself. Spit-spot. 

Watch the man on the left try and stop her. Flowers' argument is sound and informed. I hope the dude is not a Democrat. If he is, he needs fired. Pay attention to this smart woman, Democrats. This is a/the winning argument.

Meet an ALT-Left Troll or Two

I hang at a "Progressive Website." The comments below are from a few regular posters who shall remain nameless.

Comments refer to Paula Duncan who appears in this video with Lawrence O'Donnell. Ms. Duncan was a juror in the Manafort trial. It is important to watch all the way through. Ms. Duncan, who is a Trump voter, is going to tell you why Trump has lost his war on America. We all, pro and con, know him better now.

COMMENTS IN QUESTION

Manny - No, you’re seeing the poorly educated in action. The fact that Dump hangs around all these convicted criminals means nothing to her. She just loved him on the Apprentice.

Mo - Her freaking eyeballs had a will of their own...bobbing about in their sockets...can't imagine speaking to her face to face....very disturbing and disquieting...

Jack - Agree. if she voted for President Stupidass, she's a stupidass and shouldn't be allowed to make any decisions.

Paula Duncan is an American Hero. She took a principled stand for the Rule of Law and simple civility. She did not allow her personal bias to affect her public duty. Praise her with great praise.

Duncan does not believe the MSMedia. She has no reason to respect them. First Trump was a star and now he is shyte? All this information coming out now was available when Trump was running. MSMedia pissed their pants from happiness over how exciting Trump was. They hung on his every word. We are 45th from the top in press freedom worldwide. Do you believe the Press? I am not fond of infotainment myself.

Paula Duncan has taught me to stop abusing the Trump voter. She renewed my respect for America and Americans.

Trolls come to play in social media. They are amateur and professional. They are Republican, Progressive, Russian, Marketing and/or Disinformation Specialists. They fly all flags and colors. Job #1 for these wankers is fomenting anger, division, and contempt among Americans.

What is the difference between the above Trolls and Donald Trump et al functionally? Not much. Not too damn much. And I smell hanky panky. One juror and one juror only who refused to convict on 10 counts. Old Man judge reduces the sentence and thereby makes the crimes look small. I smell Rat shyte.

Schultz for POTUS?

“never trust anyone
who says
they do not see color.
this means
to them,
you are invisible.”
― Nayyirah Waheed

I trust my gut. I cannot vote for Schultz. If I gaze at him in action too long, I want to shove my foot, in my work boot with cleats, right up his nancy ass.

I try to avoid men that arouse that sentiment in me. Not because I am particularly peaceful. Oh no, because I might do it on a good day and so far I have managed to avoid jail or the nuthouse.

NERD and MENTAT NINJA 2020 ! with Music

Elizabeth Warren

Stacey Abrams

2020 !

We need financial and voting integrity and reform bigtime. These women have been in the trenches fighting for a long damn time. They got the guts. Give them the glory. They have the experience. Anybody want to try an amateur businessman again?

Graphic below our heroes by Buddy McCue.

Morning in August - Real Philadephia - #1 - First Draft

I keep baker's hours. Snoring at nine p.m. and up at three a.m. Philadelphia time. My front step is on the pavement. What happens on the street happens fifteen feet from my desk. Dawn happening. Peace.

I began to feel vibrations in the ether. Maria de los Dolores passing: earrings flashing, bracelets clashing, accompanying cherubs jiggy jigging. Everybody calls her Lola. Lola is louder and crazier than I am. I find that soothing. Everyone else runs when they see her coming. Lola starts her circuit ride around ten o'clock most days. Big disturbance in the pattern means big news. It is the Cherubs. Little fuckers tell her everything. So I opened my door.

"What?"
"Baby Dee is dead. You got a stamp? Give me fifty cents and I get my own stamp."

Lola jiggy jigged away, Cherubs in tow and one dollar richer. I sat until the light told me it was coffee hour. I meet all my neighbors at the bodega, one time or another.

Robbers shot the clerk behind the counter at the bodega five years ago. Then they went straight home. Cops had them in 45 minutes. Robbers had a wee problem with drugs. We got new owners of course. They spent their first year looking fierce. Now as the hipsters and Art studios begin their invasion, they just look bored.

Everybody in the world goes to the bodega just the same. The bodega is our oasis in a food and sundries desert. I get mango ice cream and Dominican beef stew. I get the heat. I get succulent roasted pork leg. I get fly tapes, socks, lottery tickets and EZwider. I get the story.

When I rounded the corner onto Tangerine Street, I saw the Commodore and Shorty.  The Commodore looks like a mocha stork. Just as tall as can be. I call him the Commodore because he is a sharp dresser. Always looks like he is about to go sailing. Classic Sport, you know what I mean? Shorty is short and short.

"What happened to Baby Dee?"

"Maybe you don't know Baby Dee worked with these young druggy kids. One kid freaked and Baby Dee was trying to calm him down. Boy shot him 4 times. Shorty found him."

Shorty nodded. He short.

"What can I do?"

"Funeral on Thursday at the Baptist Church at three o'clock. They started putting candles and flowers around his door. Shorty put up a balloon say PEACE."

Shorty nodded. Just stood right there. Shortening.

I keep walking toward coffee at the bodega like always. I pass Baby Dee's altar. It grew over days. Candles, flowers, notes. He was the Mayor of the 'hood and kept the day folk nicely separate from the night folk.

Baby Dee and I, we had a thing. Knees. I would hobble around to the bodega on my (I can still walk and get my own coffee) mission every morning at 7 a.m. Dee ruined his knee being a football person. He would stop detailing some Cadillac, limp over and hug me. I am like a child. I thought it was forever. I can walk now and Baby Dee is gone to Jesus.

Miss Norma - Real Philadelphia #2

Midnight. It was a soft day. Now it is a balmy night. A gentle breeze is sending smoke from the chemical plant out to sea.

Miss Norma is parked outside my door in her running car. I can smell the engine and hear the exhaust. Norma is dancing in her seat with the windows closed and the bass turned up so high the car is pulsating. She has been tossing her hair and waving her arms about for 20 minutes now. Norma has good taste in music, thank you God.

Norma is living in the rowhouse next door with another single Mom and eight children. Norma is sheltering a family while their house is repaired after a fire. The combined children range in age from 3 to 14. It has been three months now. You would be pulsating in your car too. Norma was so trashed after the Eagles game that she was out there pulsating at 2 am. She told me "I do not think I can make it inside." Offers of aid were refused. All must be well because she is running another concert tonight.

Norma has five children. Rosy Posy is my favorite. I promised crayons to all the kidniks for Xmas and then I fell. For awhile I could not write a sentence or even read. I need the boxes with the sharpener and all the colors. Soon children, soon. The girls came by after Christmas and politely reminded me I made a present promise. They are beautiful and I love them.

Norma and I, we have an unspoken deal. I ignore the constant pile of dogshit in her backyard, and her blood curdling howls of frustration that penetrate the brick walls that divide our rowhouses, and she lets me borrow the children and pretend I am their Grandma. Solid.