I know some of you don’t like Twitter – well, nobody likes Twitter; we just endure it – but if you felt bad that you were missing Iowahawk’s almost preternatural ability to tell you what the car was in that snapshot of your Aunt Mabel, well: he’s got a Substack now. $5 a month, $40 a year; and Lord, but the number of people out there upset that Substack even exists! And they’re all the kind of people you take some pleasure in seeing upset, too. Gives an extra little frisson to the whole affair.
But it’s still mostly about the car IDs.
Continue reading #DavesCarIDService Now available on Substack!
I got nothing, sorry.
And I feel no shame. It’s an honor to lose to this, really.
I can’t say that I blame Iowahawk for being upset, though.
On the other hand, they really came through when it came to communicators, huh? And datapads. Hell, at this rate we’re going to get tricorders available at Target within twenty years.
I am, of course, appalled.
Absolutely and utterly appalled. I may even have an episode over this.
I mean, I don’t think that Iowahawk has recordings or anything – but there’s nothing that rings false in this decidedly NSFW post on the ongoing Democratic civil war between the President and Congress. Somebody, somewhere, is saying all of those things. Profanity, insensitive language, stereotyping, and all.
PS: Who am I rooting for, in said civil war? Why: injuries, of course.
He mocks me with these, he truly does. Not least because they’re impossible to excerpt.
(Via Ed Driscoll) Yes. This is precisely how it comes across.
Oh hi there! I was out shooting caribou on the Arctic Cat and saw your synapse lights on, and so I said to myself, “now, gosh darn it, Sarah, you’ve been living inside this nice person’s cerebral cortex for, what is it, almost two years now? By golly, it’s about time you dropped in at their frontal lobe with a plate of your famous homemade Alaska welcome wagon cookies and introduced yourself.” So anyhoo, I sure hope you like ’em. Don’t want to give out a family recipe, but the secret ingredient is baby seal. I clubbed ’em fresh this morning!
Oh my goodness… you look kind of confused. I get that a lot! You were probably thinking, “hey, I only wanted to move next door to Sarah Palin — now what in the goshdarned heck is she doing inside my brain?” Well ya see, the deal is I’m not Sarah, but boy I gotta tell ya, we sure do get mistaken all the time! No, I’m just a plain ol’ homunculus Sarah Palin that your own id created to sublimate your deep-seated psychosexual neuroses. Or so those egghead books say, anyway. But if you ask me that sure sounds like a lot of elite Anti-America liberal professor gobbledegook! By the way, your id says hi.
As usual, the problem with excerpting Iowahawk is figuring out where to cut, so read the whole thing. I got nothing that can top it, anyway. Continue reading ‘Sarah, John! Sarah… from the *ID*!’*
So I was catching up on my Iowahawk reading, and was laughing at this post on the Mighty Scarlet Iowahawk Jumpsuit. In a perhaps unguarded moment, I mentioned to my wife how I couldn’t decide whether Iowahawk wanted the jumpsuit that his girlfriend got him, or whether this was an escalating War of Silly Presents situation. She replied:
It could be something in the middle. For example, he was ranting about jumpsuits for a week and a half…
– not that I speak from experience or anything –
…and she decided to buy him one because he’s so obsessed with them.
I have the vague, undefinable feeling that I somehow lost that particular one. Which is odd, because I wasn’t even aware that I was playing.
PS: And now she’s quietly embroidering. Like a ninja.
The conclusion of Iowahawk, via Little Miss Attila.
And that, ladies and gentlemen, is what a brag looks like.
Crossposted to RedState.