8 thoughts on “Notify The SPLC

  1. No worries. London has a muzzy mayor…he will know just what to do .

  2. Stupidity condensed:‘Every day 90 people are dying from gun violence’: Gabby Giffords slams Trump for using London terror attack to make a point about gun control


    A year from now, probably another 90 people will die from gun violence. Might be a few more or a few less.
    Five hundred, or five thousand, or fifty thousand, may die from a terrorist attack.
    There are people, lots of people, with the motivation and the will to do just that. They are organized internationally, and they only lack the means.
    Giffords is a disgrace.

  3. At last count, the total workplace violence body count exceeded 190. Obama would be calling OSHA, Trump prefers calling the Seals.

    What do you call it when you allow a malignant growth in your body politic to metastasize? Because that’s exactly what the Brits under Blair did, intentionally, all in the hope of a permanent Labour government. And now look at the mess they’re in.

  4. Someone shared an SPLC article on my FB feed yesterday, decrying the climate of violence and hateful speech. I clicked the comments, sure that someone had posted the Kathy Griffiths/Trump head photo and agreeing with SPLC about the “climate of hate”. Not a single image or reference in the first 100 comments or so I scanned. And you really don’t want to know what was in the comments.

  5. *Ring* *ring*
    “Hello, third precinct. Sergeant Clancy speaking.”
    “Listen, uh, Sergeant Clancy . . . my neighbor. He’s gone crazy! He says he hates my Christmas display and he’s going to kill me!”
    “Calm down, now, son. You live on the west side of town, right, Mr. Jones? Caller ID.”
    “Yeah, West side. Now can you do something about this clown? He’s threatening my kids, now, says he’ll slit their throats!”
    “Do you know when the last time a person was murdered on the West side, son?”
    “Uh, no. What does that have to do with anything?”
    “Nineteen fifty-four. That’s, let’s see, forty six plus seventeen, sixty-one years ago.”
    “So? Help me! I can see him through the window, looking through his kitchen drawers . . . Now he’s got a knife! A big knife!”
    “Are you afraid of getting struck by lightning, Mr. Jones?”
    “What? No, of course not! Are you going to do something about this? He’s coming towards my house with that knife!”
    “Y’see, Mr. Jones, just twenty years ago, two linemen were struck and killed by lightning during a storm on the west side. So, y’see, it’s statistically more likely that you’ll be struck by lightning on the west side than that you will be murdered.”
    “He’s here! He’s broken down the door! Aarrgh! Ack! So . . . much . . . blood.”
    “No, no blood, Mr. Jones. Technically they fell from a power pole, but the lightening was the cause. So, sleep soundly, Mr. Jones. You’re as safe as if you were sleeping in your mother’s arms. Give your kids a pat on the head from ol’ Sergeant Clancy when you put them to bed, will you, Mr. Jones? Good night, now.”

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